I used to love long car trips with my husband. In my childhood, we never had a car, but my best friend did in high school. I enjoyed gassing up her dad’s light blue 1964 Impala and driving for hours around our hometown. It was an adventure for someone accustomed to sitting most of the day with a book. Patricia and I had a ball on those days, without a care in the world.
But lately, I prefer to fly if it takes more than four or five hours. My back cannot take long periods of sitting in a car or on a bus. My husband tells me that taking the car is faster because of airport wait times. If you must be at the airport three hours early, and then, when you arrive at your destination, you have to rent a car and wait for it, you could already have arrived and started enjoying yourself. Also, with a car, you can go to little out-of-the-way places. But, give me a plane ride, so that I can arrive pain-free and not lose a day trying to get my back to act right.
A cross-country trip would be great, and I would love to take Interstate 66 and see a lot of weird and wonderful places, but ultimately, my back would be an unhappy camper, too. So, give me a plane ride, and I will make short hops instead of trying to see the whole way. I’m not as young as I was when I had “gas on the chest,” a saying that denotes joy in riding in a car all day. Today, I prefer a quicker way.
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