Hubris, Dirt Bags, and other insights.
We travel without reservations. I mean this in the literal sense, although some could argue that the metaphorical meaning is the very point of travel. As a guiding principle, we’ve chosen not to commit to being at a certain place at a specific time (with albeit a few exceptions). Furthermore, I simply hate the planning. The checking of fares, the online deposits, the user account creation, the naming your own price, all make me crazy. Though I’ve gained a certain satisfaction of doing the proper research, stitching together the disparate logistics all while trying to get the sweet deal, nothing beats rolling up to a rest area in rural Minnesota and saying, “yup, looks good to me.” I don’t even have to mention that we made good use of the unsecured electrical outlet box at the base of the ubiquitous midwestern security light pole to let you know that I feel like we’re somehow beating the system. Side note to the Ruritan Club in Pipes...