Most grueling was definitely the Thursday after 9/11, when my mom, my sister and I rented a car from a place next to Madison Square Garden and drove to Santa Cruz, California so my sister could matriculate at UCSC. Along the way, she discovered that someone she knew died in one of the towers. We didn’t stop except to fill the tank and when I got pulled over in Iowa or something. Every possible emotion was experienced. Hands down, my most intense.

My most fun was probably driving my Jetta to New Orleans from Northern Arizona, averaging a little over six hundred miles a tank and listening to all the Springsteen I had in anticipation of seeing him at JazzFest.

Then, there was this April, which was a shorter trip than the others, but I got to take my Miata to a pindrop with my sister, her husband, their new baby and their dog in southern Colorado, then further up into the state, followed by a languorous return through scenic roads, all mostly top-down, through weather that started hot, turned into dust storms, got rainy, then snowy, then warm again, then ice cold. I ended up driving on ice, and dirt roads which had to be navigated veeeeery carefully, but I got there.

I got there.