There’s something really special about roadtrips.
Jumping in the car with a suitcase and a cooler, and driving off, away from routine and familiar landmarks. Letting the day determine destinations.
Stopping at little museums and historical sites just because you can. Taking a hike to an out of the way overlook for nothing but the view and the chance to stretch your legs.
Seeing how many different license plates you can spot. Finding the random radio show playing nothing but Celtic music for an hour.
Stopping at Amish stores and buying thirty jars of pickles and apple butter, because what you can find at normal stores doesn’t compare.
Watching storms move along the horizon as you drive through a desert. Feeling the eerie sadness of ghost towns. Stopping in the middle of a corn field at 1 am to watch the international space station go by.
Thinking of the various people you know in the towns and cities you drive through. Stopping and surprising some of those people.
Watching the sun rise and set from behind the wheel. The desolation of the interstate at 3 in the morning. Learning the unique look and feel of the states you drive through. The anticipation of friends and a bed at the end of the road.
Seeing places you would never see otherwise.
Because travelling isn’t about the destination.