A Pox on Epic Road Trips

Just reading the words “epic road trip” makes me shudder because all I can think of is hours and hours and hours of driving. Have you ever driven all the way across Canada? From the North to the South, or from the East to the West? With my dear spouse, W? Don’t, is all I can tell you.

I dread long drives on my own because I alternate between being nervous about the traffic to being so bored I want to fall asleep. And I’m not a good passenger, I’m a whiny child. Are we almost there? I need a bathroom. I’m hungry. Close that window! Could we get some AIR in here please?

(Well maybe that’s just with W. who thinks trips are supposed to be non-stop marathons driven at the exact speed limit on cruise control. I kind of admire his steady determination, while at the same time I could cheerfully strangle him at the next gas station.)

Strangely enough, I think the best trip I ever took was a bus tour through Great Britain with my sister. Bus tour guide people know they’re dealing with a bunch of potential whiners with short attention spans who were too lazy to make up their own itinerary, and they cater to that kind of spoiled mentality. It was lovely.

So – after all this meandering preamble – I’ll finally answer the question. What was it again? Oh yeah. An epic road trip I’d love to take. Well, love is a pretty strong word to associate with ‘road trip’, but I’d LIKE to take a tour of Europe; by bus, and train and ferry and riverboat and gondola and whatever else it takes to see it all. Preferably with my sister, who is a delightful travel companion and likes to take just as many bathroom breaks as I do.

Or if someone else takes that trip, I’d be just as content to watch their slide show when they get back, and skip the actual ‘travel’ part of it completely.

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