Last week I attended the ESPY Awards in Los Angeles and I decided to drive to So. Cal. instead of fly. Why, you ask? It’s probably just as expensive to drive as it is to fly these days, and for the 5 hour jaunt to Los Angeles via car, it would most certainly be quicker to fly. On a plane you can nap. You can snack. You can people watch. Yet, I prefer to drive. On the day after the awards, as it was approaching time to make my way back home, I was having a splendid time with several friends and found it hard to tear myself away. It was 6 PM…then 7….then 8. And suddenly, 8:30. I get in my car, knowing that my ETA back into Palo Alto would be approximately 2 AM (yes folks, I did have the day “off” of training).

Funny thing is, I didn’t care one bit. I love, absolutely adore, can’t get enough of…..road trips. Nothing excites me more than striking out down the freeway, destination unknown (or known), with adventure lurking behind every bend. Phone charged up, coffee mug in its little nook, Ipod ready to inspire.

I struck out that night and headed north on the I-5. As I sailed over the Grapevine and enjoyed my last morsels of clear radio signal, I became contemplative. I careened down the hills and toward the central valley. Suddenly, the mountains opened up into a vast, flat plain. The road ahead became a line of white and red lights jetting off into infinity. The sun was setting and the air was cool (windows partially open, duh, how else do you rock a road trip?).

When I’m on a road trip, I love the bad coffee from 7-11 or that uber big Shell station. I love beef jerky and sunflower seeds. I love peering into peoples cars and watching their mysterious expressions. I love going fast. I love the rapidly changing landscape. I love maps. I love being unavailable. I love the forced conversation with other people in the car. I love the strange curiosity of the people who work at establishments along the freeway. I think I love the freedom.

As the night rolled along, I came to the stretch of road where one takes the 152 connector between I-5 and 101. I drove along the reservoir as it was lit up by the light of the full moon, with the dark shadows of trees and bushes dotting the hills. It was eerie and dramatic. Window still open to the smell of a summer night, I turned off the radio, turned off my phone, and entered into my mediation.