There's a highway that takes you from central Louisiana to south Louisiana, a highway that I've driven more times than I can remember. I can tell you which bathroom smells the best. I can clue you in to where the police are hidden just waiting to pull you over. I know which gas stations have Starbucks Frappucino drinks, and which only have Red Bull.
Usually this highway is a means to an end; just another leg of a long, boring drive. But this time, in our rental car that smelled of stale smoke and a desperate whiff of "new car smell" air freshener, we decided to treat it like a proper road trip.
Which, let's be honest, just means that I took out my camera.
Rule #1 of road trips: you don't choose your road trip music... it chooses you.
These abandoned FEMA trailers have been sitting on the side of the highway for years.
Good sunglasses are a must. Many thanks to Y's dad for donating these slightly used (read: have been run over by a lawnmower) Ray Ban wayfarers.
Sugarcane fields as far as the eye can see.
My road trip partner in crime -- we've driven across the country together twice (and then some) and still kind of like each other.
You don't choose road trip music, it chooses you. Truer words have never been blogged.
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