Road Tripping

Feeling landlocked last week, I decided to hit the open road. Sometimes, some sweet highway miles, good tunes, the morning sun on paddocks, and lots, and lots, of coffee, are just what I need.

Some would say that road tripping is running away, but I say, there are some problems, writer’s block among them, that benefit from eating some dust. A road trip won’t get the writing done, for sure, but it will take me out of myself.

What I love best about road tripping - apart from the opportunity to sing loudly, without fear of reprisal, to Bon Jovi - is that Normal is bent just a little out of shape. Danishes, usually eschewed in favor of rye toast and vegemite, become suitable breakfast foods. I drive bare-faced with the windows down; I wear my hair in a bun and don’t worry about combing kinks out when I let it down. I wear my oldest, comfiest pair of flats. Loose tees and second-wear jeans are de rigueur, along with a thrown-in-the-car-as-an-afterthought cardie for windy truck stops. I take photos of silly things, things that normally aren’t snap worthy, but somehow, when I’m road tripping, are irresistibly Instagrammable.

And while that all sounds pretty hard to beat, it gets better when my destination is somewhere, and someone, lovely: last weekend I was road tripping to meet my friend Clementine Kemp, and her puppy, in Clem’s lovely little town.

Knowing a cup of tea, apple cake, walks along the main drag, glorious thrift shop finds, juicy gossip and inappropriate conversation await at my destination just makes those sweet highway miles all the sweeter.