Tuesday, April 10, 2012

We know who we are

This guy walks up to me at the urinal and says, “Minnesota, huh. You coming or going?”

“Beg pardon,” says I. “And it’s Texas.”

He saw my license plates at the gas pump and was just being Minnesota Nice. His van has Minnesota plates, too. And he just wanted to wish us safe travels. Admittedly, he could have picked a better spot.

Such are the rigors of the road for those of us tough enough to proudly call ourselves “Snowbirds.” We, who risk hip replacements by driving all day long in the confines of the damned old car, salute ourselves. For this is the time of year we trek to the north once again, leaving behind the good food and high humidity.

No joke, at the little motel in Cameron, MO., we ran into two more couples who go both north and south twice a year. It’s spring. That’s when we roll.

Somehow, without saying a word, we recognize one another in the cafeterias and the econo-lodges. Some say it the aura of adventure.

Others say it is the plaid shirts.

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