Suddenly you’re jolted forward and you’re awake again. Until you fall into a drift again. The motors roar as other cars pass around you and your stomach is feeling it. Very few times is a car ride fun. You sit, stare and sacrifice your time to be at the destination. A headache is a guaranty, especially with who you’re riding with. Then when all the peace and quiet is alongside you, one of those extremely loud and obnoxious motorcycles drive up and ride next to your car for the next five miles. Even though the car only left a half an hour ago there is always one person who has to go, but not the kind of go where they can wait, but the kind where the whole car has to get off the highway into uncharted territory. Finding the highway again takes a couple years off of the trip. Now you’re still four hours out and you’re supposed to be there right now. It’s almost as if the traffic gods know this because you hit every slow car, traffic and red light in the country. Once you finally arrive, no one cares because they expected you a couple hours ago and so you are left with seventeen suitcases, some skis, and all that trash from the trip by yourself. One o’clock am you sit down and ask yourself why didn’t we take a plane?