I Call Shotgun!

Failed to bring enough Pizzeria Pretzel Combos for everyone

Much as I had set out recently to prove that following your dreams isn't just for the young and wealthy, so too did I set out recently to prove that road trips are an entirely appropriate way for a grown man to invest his time and energy. To this end, last weekend I embarked upon a fateful journey to the frozen north in an effort to check out Montreal and all that it had to offer. From the overpriced Cuban cigars to the streets packed with underage, booze-hounding Americans, I planned to indulge my inner 19-year-old and apologize for never taking him to this part of Canada sooner in life.

Tagging along with my good buddy and friend of the blog Shwa "Rock Lobster" Losben, I shoved a few t-shirts into a backpack, bought a giant bag of Chex Mix and hit the road. Since Shwa was heading up to play a show at Clarkson University, we figured we would extend the trip out a bit and drive the few extra hours across the border and into funky town USA...er, Canada. And like all great journeys with two idiots at the helm of a meandering ship, half the fun was getting there.

From my earliest days as a licensed driver with somewhere better to be, I've loved road trips. My freshman year of college I spent nearly every weekend driving the six hours back and forth to college from my homestead on Long Island in order to visit my then girlfriend...I will allow the reader to fascinate as to the reasons why. Each Friday, I'd arm myself with two powerbars, two bottles of water, a pre-ordered book of 96 punk CDs, and meticulously highlighted maps and route guides to make sure I didn't screw up the route. So concerned was I with getting each direction exactly right, I would stress myself out just planning the damn trip! By the time I was a senior in college, and said girlfriend had moved out to middle-of-nowhere PA, I ran the engine a bit leaner...two powerbars became a pack of cheap Winstons and two bottles of water a 20 oz. Diet Cherry Vanilla Coke. I measured progress in just how shaky my hands were at any given moment, but I still obsessed about getting the directions right the first time through. I've since learned to let go of all those hang-ups, and thanks to smart phones, GPS-guides, and basically not giving a rat's ass when I arrive somewhere, I've relaxed a bit on my trip preparations.

With snack food in hand, I hopped into the captain's chair and started mucking about with the radio. Unlike my college days, I much prefer the haphazard musings of whatever local radio stations might be willing to offer me as I pass from state to state, allowing me to stay in touch with the kids by learning about which Bruno Mars song I should request at NYU dive bars. Practice note - while I like the sound of Just The Way You Are, I feel that it's ridiculously upbeat message improperly prepares teenagers for the rigors of real relationships. I'll opt for Grenade, thank you very much.

Despite a couple of bumps along the way, including a grilling by the Canadian border patrol and a ridiculously dramatic death-defying swerve off the highway, Shwa and I put together a pretty awesome road trip and I felt successful in my never-ending campaign to stave off adulthood at all costs. I'm assuming that if and when I become a family man, my wife and kids will not want to survive on Panera and powerbars for six hours at a time, but until then I'll road trip however I please.