Pioneer Highway

There were just over 1,300 miles to drive from Denver to San Anselmo as we nosed the car onto Interstate 70. We planned to cross all but the last couple hundred over two days. The Rockies, vast Western deserts, the Sierra Nevada mountains and truck stop food stood in our way like menacing bouncers blocking our path.

Driving 85 mph past one of those historical markers indicating where yet another intrepid pioneer gave up the ghost, I wondered aloud what pushed those settlers across such awful expanses. Getting no response, I asked the kids to ponder walking across that desert and over those mountains making maybe 10 miles a day when we were covering the same distance every seven or eight minutes in air conditioned comfort.

Griffin said, "Wow (short pause) Can I have another raspberry licorice?" Owen kept his nose in his book. Isabel continued to kick my seat.

Answering my own question, I thought it must have been home, or the hope for a better home, that drove them to undertake such a terrible journey. After all, that was what was driving us along. And it wasn't like we didn't have our own hardships to endure along the way. Two straight days of peanut butter sandwiches and one bad Mexican meal. Five bellies full of refried beans in one car. You'd think we would have seen that one coming.

But considering we spent 24 hours together in the confines of a Honda Pilot during those two days, we all weathered it pretty well. There was that spell early in the drive near Glenwood Springs, CO, when Anna made me walk for a while. But I knew she couldn't stay mad at me for more than a few miles. We were on our way home and everybody seemed happy about it.