Whenever an out-of-town trip shows up on the agenda at our house, my wife always comments on how “I’m not looking forward to the drive”, which means “We’ll be traveling hundreds of miles to our destination but I will be doing very little, if any, of the driving”. Such was the way it went on our recent trip to San Antonio, Texas, to visit family. Automatically, she takes her places on the passenger side and I get in, behind the wheel. The sight of her carrying her favorite magazines out to the car is a clear indicator of her intentions. “I’ll help you drive”, she’ll say. A few hours out on the Interstate and I hinted about switching places. But that idea is only good for about forty miles or thirty minutes, whichever comes first because between the little things about the way she drives that bother me and the eventual “my back is starting to hurt” and “my shoulders are feeling a little tight”, I always end up taking over and driving for the remainder of the trip. That’s the way it goes and I guess I don’t mind it too much on this particular journey. The worst part of the trip if I can call it that would have been hitting Dallas as the wrong time of the day and having to fight the traffic through a city that goes on and on for miles and bumper-to-bumper cars, where everyone else is in a hurry but us. Fortunately, we eventually reach the other side of the city limits, the open roads lies ahead, and along the way, signs warn of the Starbucks that line the interstate and provide a caffeine boost to the weary traveler. Sweet!