About 100 years ago, when Ken and I were first married, we lived in Colorado Springs and use to spend the weekends skiing.

We would load up the little Datsun truck we had and drive up to the mountains and spend the day on the slopes of Breckenridge, Vail, Copper Mountain or any one of the amazing mountains that had a path to swoop down.
One trip I remember in particular, we drove home in a huge snow storm. We were on Rampart Range and the snow was falling so hard and fast that we had to stop often to clear the drifts of snow off the headlights just so we could see the road.

I remember hanging my head out the passenger side window, watching to make sure we stayed on the road and didn’t slip off into the ditch. Ken drove about 10 mile per hour and it took us hours to get home.

We loved it.

Over the years Ken and I have cultivated different interests. Rarely do we do “things” together. What we share are values, so what we do on our own is encourages and easily supported.

One thing that never fails to get us in the same place at the same time though is a road trip. We love riding in cars together and we do it well. There’s no squabbling over where to eat, where to stay, or which road to take. We can get lost without stress and then just find our way again.

A road trip with Ken is just plain fun.

We listen to the radio and have several tapes of driving music. We sing together, chat and say, “Look at that.” One of us navigates and the other drives.

This last weekend we took a short ride to Bellingham and back. We weren’t in the car all that long, but we had a ball. We sang, gawked at the sights, got lost once, and talked and talked.

It wasn’t exactly like this… or was it?

I’d hit the road with Ken any day.