I recently arrived back in Boise after another long day of driving. The trip was lovely. The return has me melancholy. Not because I'm unhappy to be here: it's great to have another night with my family. And my sister and brother-in-law have a great house. Whatever negative feelings I'm experiencing derive entirely from the realization that I'm unlikely to spend a long time behind the wheel on traffic light-free roads anytime soon. I intuited during last August's trip to Idaho and confirmed on this one that something inside me turns sour if I'm denied the pleasure of regular road trips. I suppose that's why I have fond memories of living in Vallejo, California, even though the town has many problems. It may be a place that one wants to leave, but it has the singular virtue of being within a few hours drive of a vast array of different physical and cultural geographies, many of them accessible by twisting two-lane roads.