So it is possible to spend the lead-up to a trip going out at all hours, and then running about on the last day home in a flurry of laundering and house-cleaning.

Some months ago, Maud and I got onto Mapquest and asked for directions from New York, NY, to Hollywood Boulevard, Los Angeles, CA. The Interweb, she is an amazing thing.

This afternoon we will not be following the route suggested. I seem to remember something like, turn right on Canal, take the Holland Tunnel, something something something, get on a highway, merge onto another highway, something something, turn left on Hollywood Boulevard. Forty-two hours, nineteen minutes.

This afternoon, we have a 1990 road atlas that Maud scored from under the counter at a little Indian bodega. We have a lot of music, including mixes from friendly well-wishers, and at least two bags of car snacks. We know not to pick up hitchhikers, and, in case of a flat, to balance the jack on the car frame behind the wheel. We will look for cowboy boots in Nashville. We will sit on a latticed porch and eat beignets in New Orleans. We will drive through a drive-thru. We will depend on the kindness of strangers’ wireless connections. Cross your fingers for we will blog and we will guest blogue. And when we get to the West Coast, shining and golden with promise, we will put on our swimsuits and run along the sand and jump into the ocean, ally ally oxen free.