It's a four hour drive, but I told my mother not to expect me until six. So I had the luxury of time--nowhere to be and all the time to get there. I put the Zen on pure random--something I've never done--and set off. There were some silly moments (Cab Calloway after L'Arc, for instance, and for some reason--and I've heard this from others--random play has a fondness for certain songs) but overall quite soothing.
I let myself stop at places called Ozarkland and Nostalgiaville somewhere around the middle of the state. They had been advertised for (I'm not kidding) 70 miles. They were kitsch incarnate, but still fun. I bought my mother one of those booklets about the year in which you were born.
I could see myself doing that--driving across country alone--stopping where I chose, crashing in motels. I read something about someone who drove for 11 weeks, and wrote a book. I could enjoy that.