For the majority of my life, my favorite car ride ever was probably sitting on the metal backseat of a half-restored Jeep in fifth grade. The red paint was faded, the interior was stripped to the basics, and the car was completely open except for the roll bar. My friend and I bounced and squealed with wind whipping our faces the whole five miles to the restaurant. However, I generally avoided telling the men in my life that this trip was my favorite as they would probably all be horribly offended.
Though I still fondly remember this trip across town as a middle schooler, memories of the In-Law’s red Jeep have overwhelmed the original memory. I particularly remember the first time Cupcake lowered the cloth roof and we hopped in the car to explore the back roads around my house, rather than take up space in the kitchen preparing Christmas dinner. The day was sunny and warm, and as Cupcake found how all the roads connected, I embraced the wind and let my hair fly all over my head. (I did decide that I should probably wear a baseball hat in future. I have not yet tested this theory adequately.) We laughed and analyzed all the houses we could see. I squealed way too much at the cows watching us drive by. It was a nice break from the hectic holidays.