This Is How You Do It
We set out last night at about 7, stomachs full and four-and-a-half hours of driving stretching out before us. I’d printed only the most general of directions, amounting to “Get on the highway and go this direction.” They were slightly more specific, but only just.
I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
We hit the exit from interstate to state highway at about midnight, and within minutes needed to stop for directions. What followed missing a single sign directing us west was a circuitous easterly meandering through the streets of Smalltown, OH, as if we were hunting prey. As if we were hunting very clever prey.
We laughed at my claims of mystic directional intuition after finding they’d led us in a 10-mile-circumference circle. We laughed at the Walking Guy who very likely, after our sixth pass, expected us to hop out and bag him for rendition. We laughed at the Cirque de Soleil-like contortions sleeping little boys can form without waking.
We laughed, and that’s why I hope we never plan our trips too much.
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