I have a confession to make. I love road trips. For me, there is no such thing as “going for a ride.” We should be going somewhere, to do something or what’s the point? Even as a kid, they were road trips. Riding bikes around the block, or around the neighborhood? Nothing doing. Ride ten miles to the 7-11 where your sister’s boyfriend will give us free slurpees? What are we waiting for?
Just so we’re clear, a road trip never requires a solid itinerary. Got a whim to drive to NYC to hang out with buddies in Brooklyn? Let’s do it. Change your mind and want to stay at your cousin’s in MD? Fine with me. We can drive the Eastern Seaboard for all I care, as long as we have a destination of some form before we start the engine. A destination can be as concrete as driving to NC to see your old school or as nebulous as driving for 10 hours to find a cheap motel somewhere, and then throwing darts at the map again. As far as I’m concerned, we can drive all day and all night to get to wherever it is we think we’re going. We can hold driver fire drills at flashing red lights in the middle of the night and stop at all night diners for bad coffee to go.  Let’s pack a cooler with soda and snacks, bring someone to talk to (even if it’s the dog), and get some good tunes. Find a Stuckey’s, buy postcards, eat greasy diner food, sleep in the backseat (we can always put the dog in the front seat), get up and do it all again. Drive all night, sleep all day. Jack Kerouac never had it so good.


They say wherever you go, there you are? A road trip is the best way to get there.
I’ve got a road trip coming up, and I must say, I am really looking forward to telling you about it.

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