I have always enjoyed traveling by car, either as the driver or a passenger. I come from a car-centric family; at one time my dad had over 50 cars in various states of disrepair scattered around his “yard”. I grew up working on cars and taking long road trips with my family. I remember riding around Europe in a VW microbus from campsite to campsite, seeing the sights with my family. We would regularly make the long haul from and Alabama to North Carolina to see relatives, sometimes only for the weekend. Ever since I got my license, I would use any excuse to get on the road. Even now, I don’t think twice about jumping in the car and driving 45 minutes to an hour each way to go grocery shopping.
As much as I hate to admit it, my wife is right. Every year we go to the same beach for vacation, mostly because she doesn’t like change. This year, as in years past, I gave in to her wishes, mostly because it is an argument I would lose anyway. A normal beach vacation for my family goes something like this; drive like hell to get to the beach (no stops except for gas and you had better take your bathroom break then too), then lounge around for a week, and then drive like hell to get back home.