And, action

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The trailer was loaded. The car was packed up. There were sandwiches in our bellies, and a tin of my Mom’s famous jam-strip cookies on the dash. The only task left before we hit the road was to hitch up our 1969 Shasta Compact and our faithful Honda Element.

We wheeled the former to the appropriate position and backed the other into place. I twisted the handle down a few turns. A creak, a clunk. The handle would turn no more. Turns out a trailer jack built in 1969 has a shelf life of exactly 44 years.

With sweat dripping from my brow and forming circles on my undershirt, I considered postponing the trip. Then I recalled a good interaction with a small business called the Hitch House, just a few miles from my house. They had the replacement part and an appointment in 45 minutes.

Instead of going through the usual departure list and checking it twice, my family was a whirling dervish of ‘Throw this in the back seat’, ‘Toss me that umbrella’, ‘Where are the keys?’, and ‘I hope we remembered everything.’

The geniuses over at the Hitch House sprang into action, and only an hour later, we were weaving our way through the beginning of the Atlanta Friday rush — and headed, as we have dreamed of doing for many years, westward.

I am writing from the epicenter of nowhere, which turns out to be the belly of Alabama. Thanks to the wonders of 4G-LTE, as a cow moos in the distance, we are as wired up as we would be at home. If you are into Instagram, you can follow images from our adventure at instagram.com/blinkpack. And I am on Twitter as well: @blinkpack.

I hope as you follow along, you will be inspired to make space for a grand adventure in your own life. Where would you go? What would you do?

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