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We do, on rare occasion, venture down from our perch up here on the ridge. Road trips are our love language, so when the chance came to visit a grandson, we packed up and hit the road faster than you can say, “Did we remember the snacks?”
I had somehow forgotten the unique joy that is summer travel. There was construction at—quite literally—every turn. We hit so many detours, I started to wonder if Google Maps was just messing with us for fun. At one point, an entire interstate was shut down, and we were re-routed through what can only be described as the scenic route… if your idea of “scenic” includes sheer drops, endless curves, and a questionable number of signs warning of falling rocks.
We climbed and dipped through so many hills and switchbacks, I started checking the glovebox for a lap bar and safety instructions. At one stretch, the cliff walls were so close I could’ve rolled down my window and high-fived the mountain. I didn’t, of course—because manicure.
Some of the scenery was breathtaking (in a good way), and some… less so. We did enjoy the old buildings in the small towns we passed, but the speed limits? Not so much. There’s nothing like coming off a bridge or a steep hill and suddenly being expected to slam on the brakes to 25 mph. After about the tenth quaint little town with “vintage charm” and sudden speed traps, even the most architecturally interesting drugstore couldn’t hold our attention.
Also worth noting: there is a very specific kind of rural “air pollution” that wafts off large farms just outside many of these towns. Let’s just say it’s… different from what we’re used to. More “barnyard bouquet” than city smog.
But the visit with the grandson? Absolutely wonderful—worth every winding mile and unexpected detour. And just when we thought the excitement was over, we stopped for gas on the way home and saw a dinosaur riding in the back of a pickup truck. So yeah, the road trip was officially redeemed. You don’t get that kind of entertainment on the interstate.
Just sayin’.