As a kid I remember the bi-annual trip to grandmas house. There was no over the river and thru the woods. There was simply 22 hours of interstate. In the late seventies/early eighties there was nothing to hope for at this stage but a Stuckey’s ice cream headache or a fine BBQ establishment where the waitress could had have the name of her choice but stuck with LuLu ” ’cause it was her mama’s name.” Obviously this was the south and our journey stretched from Baton Rouge, LA to Albertson, NC give or take a cow or two. If we didn’t stop at South of the Border on Interstate 95 in South Carolina, tears were shed or great promises were made about the return trip. This nostalgic piece reminds me of kids everywhere trapped in the back of sedans and station wagons not SUVs. This is for all of the diners, drive-ins and dives along the way before they were on trendy TV shows. Thanks to all the big kids like myself who endured sleeping in the backseat when the backseat was large enough for a kid, a pillow and a bag of Cheetos. This piece is dedicated to the long voyage and high price we paid to visit the relatives we loved enough to make the trip worth while.