I once drove a friend's truck up to Flagstaff for him while he drove his mobile home, which he parked there every summer. His ten-year-old son rode along with me, and I stopped at every single rest stop between Phoenix and Flagstaff. Every. Single. One. At first the kid thought it was amusing, but after a while even he was wondering *why?*
My question has always been the opposite. Why the hurry? Why is getting from point A to point B in the fastest possible time the most important thing to the vast majority of people? The McGuffins in our lives are, for the most part, pretty dull. We need to go somewhere, we need to go home. It's the adventure that's interesting. Still, I understand that I've always been weird, so when people ask me how long it takes for me to get from Los Angeles to Phoenix, I always say *six hours*. Once they get to know me, I will say four days.