We’re going on a road trip. Leaving before the crack of dawn, even. We will make the eastern trek over the great Canadian Rocky Mountains and across a considerable expanse of prairie to reach our destination. Eighteen hours in the car. Maybe nineteen if we stop for too many potty breaks.
Hello, gas station bathrooms.
Can you appreciate what this kind of driving time does to your brain cells? You’re pretty good for the first six or eight hours, but after that it’s snoring with your mouth open (hopefully not the driver, of course), laughing at practically anything, and stiffness in the posterior regions. You’ve sung through the top fifty on the oldies station providing, of course, you’re already through the mountains and have a radio signal again. You’ve discussed your life goals in detail. And you’re wondering if that really was a Sasquatch you saw over there in the trees. Good times.
Then the boredom sets in. There is silence in the car, each of us alone with our thoughts. We check the clock every fourteen minutes. We calculate, for the twelfth time, how long it will be until the agony ends. We stop caring about roaming charges and start texting, emailing and Facebooking anyone who will answer.
Ah, the road trip.
Could there be any better way to travel?