Hit the Road, Jack

Time to hit the road again! It's hard to imagine getting my love of road trips from the long journeys of my childhood. A thousand miles from Denver to Los Angelos, a thousand miles from Denver to Chicago. And, when I was ten, a thousand miles to Minneapolis via U.S.Highways that routed us through Pierre, South Dakota at 5 p.m. where the temperature was 110 Fahrenheit and the entire bag of Circus Peanuts I ate did not sit well. For our trip to California in 1967, my mom sewed me a bag for all my trip treats, books, and who knows what else. It was less than twelve inches square with two exterior zippers and a little handle. Whatever was in it, it somehow kept me going across the Arizona desert at night as the regular bumps meant we'd hit another bunny. What a weird trip. Things have become more complicated since the days of a Brownie camera or, maybe, already, a Kodak instamatic. For seven days on the road, I have a computer bag from the Aspen Music Festival, a Colorado Non-Profit Conference bag for books and notebooks, a little Clinique bag from Nordstrom for the camera charger and the phone charger and the computer cords, and an enormous bag from the Santa Fe Market for all the CD's I've collected and made to keep me sassy and singing all the way across South Dakota. My clothes are in a bag from the NCCED -- the National Community Capital something something else. I love driving across this country! Bad for the climate, good for me. I make trade offs to assuage my guilt. No air conditioning in the house, long car trips on the back roads of America. Somebody said that a woman's car is like her giant purse. Nope. It's better. My car is my closet. Several sweaters, multiple pairs of shoes, coats, random books and extra scarves, make-up, and granola bars, blue corn chips, lasagna leftover from Saturday's lunch, a three-hole punch, a two-liter bottle of caffeine free Diet Pepsi, and two tennis balls. Circus peanuts optional. I'll let you know if there's anything interesting out there.