Road Food

My road trip is continuing this week! And, in the tradition of road trips everywhere, at least one person is forever lost, and at least one person has VD. Also, I've gotten intimately familiar with road food. The key to good road food is to trick yourself into thinking you're being in any way healthy. This, of course, is not the case, because you're eating garbage out of an increasingly dubious cooler, combined with a healthy dose of fast food. But that's not important. What's important is being able to just barely convince yourself that you're totally keeping nutrition in mind, as you actively eat an entire party-size bag of chips between Omaha and Des Moines. It's all about research, dedication, and classifying twizzlers as "a starch."

This right there? That's protein and good hydration. That's a responsible meal. Also, you'll notice, the label is missing from the peanut butter. That's because of another classic road trip tradition: water from the cooler getting in everything, without giving a care about any precautions you take. "Go ahead! Double bag everything. Triple bag it. I'll still get in there, and I'll make you question your sanity along the way!" This is the motto of cooler water. It's not to be trifled with. 

Occasionally in your travels you'll stumble across some cheap, greasy takeout. Obviously you're gonna eat it, but you might make the rookie mistake of feeling guilty about that. And why would you? You've got vegetables and meat, full of valuable vitamins and nutrients. Probably! And the grease means your digestive tract will be well lubricated. Which has the fun bonus of being both untrue, and super gross. Let's see a salad do that!

So, as it becomes increasingly clear that I'm going to die on this trip, probably from scurvy, some might ask "why?" Why do I choose to continue onward, into the face of danger and adventure, despite the very real risk that I might get a Hollywood movie made about my life? Boredom is one good answer. The need to return my rental car is another, followed closely by the desire to see their faces when they realize how many miles I put on this car. But, like most Americans, I'm motivated by a deeper, more primal desire. The desire to see a Canadian biker gang politely wait their turn in line at a rest-stop-market. Which I totally did. The view along the way didn't hurt either.