Seems like I've spent most of this month behind the wheel. This past weekend was spent in Vegas - Beth and I, sans Lucas, with her parents celebrating her mom's 60th. A high-speed dash up the 15, and a splendid time was had by all - a room at Mandalay Bay, dinner here (oh, Lawd, what a filet), great seats at Cirque de Soleil's "The Beatles: Love" (I am a Beatles Man - those of you put the Stones over them, know this: Lennon/McCartney/Uncle George - really, people, who among us can say that they hung out with George Harrison? - could've written "Satisfaction" in their sleep. Jagger/Richards coming up with "Sgt. Pepper"? Nawp.), and a winning streak at the blackjack table.
Of course, there was my earlier excursion up the coast. And next, we load up the Xterra and head east, through the highlands of northern Arizona and over the Rockies, bound for Omaha, there to spend a week with the folks.
Lots of mileage. But I'm excited. As a kid, that's how we traveled, the four of us strapped into the green and faux-woodie Oldsmobile wagon (which, and I'm sure this is not a coincidence, bore a striking resemblance to the Griswold's Family Truckster). We listened to the Beatles and Creedence and Manilow (Mom is a Fanilow), played the license plate game, and stopped at every tourist trap along the way. Yes - we saw The Thing ("Ancient Mystery! A Riddle From Beyond! Famous Cherry Shakes!" - those of you who drove across the Arizona desert in the 70's, you know exactly what I'm talking about, and I bet a part of you is jealous that I know what The Thing is and you don't). The horizons were constantly scanned for signs of a HoJo's or, even better, Stuckey's, or better still, a Bob's Big Boy. And the country seemed so huge.
I'm a bit apprehensive - the snowstorms that buried Denver are a concern - but for the most part I'm thrilled. Hitting the road, feeling the ground move beneath you, taking it all in...good times.