The West’s vast landscapes seem like old friends to me. In the 1960s, sardined together in Dad’s homemade camper, my family stopped everywhere Mom wanted to stop (antique stores), and at all the national parks. And long ago, Padre and I road-tripped through Montana (above), Oregon, and California. But neither of us remember so much scary fire. In 1965, I’m sure Dad didn’t check the daily fire maps – I bet there weren’t any, at least not that you could google. (Maybe a hotline? I don’t think so). As our departure date neared, I sometimes checked the fire maps twice a day, fearing we were headed right through prime fire…

I finally made it to Vegas, after a lifetime of avoidance. And it didn’t turn out the way I thought it might at all. I love it when that happens (usually). At first gaze, the Vegas Strip is one huge glittery mash-up of exaggerated everything: Architecture, debauchery, hotel rooms, shows – even the drinks people were carrying around were outrageous. I thought they were giant, candy-colored batons at first …. where’s the parade, I wondered? Until I realized that people were drinking from those things. And be advised that the hotels and walkways sprawl into, over, and under each other. We walked miles to get anywhere, even to the taxi…

Our trips anywhere often start on the Seattle ferry, even if it’s just to see a play at the Seattle Rep. In summertime the boat bursts with tourists snapping photos, hanging on the rails, soaking in the views. I usually read a book, but this time I donned my tourist glasses – Wow! What stunning vistas I’ve been missing. That’s why I love road trips, since they open my eyes to everything I’m not seeing in ordinary life. In the last few days we’ve learned a lot about our younger selves on our long drives: how 18-year-old Annette’s Trailer Park Blues set her course for the next 49 years why…