Remember when I used to live in Kansas City, and we'd schlep all the way out to Pitkin every summer in the Mazda MPV, counting train cars and reading Nancy Drews? When we got our mail General Delivery and shared about 16 square feet of house between the four of us? No? I hardly do either. But trust me--that used to be a thing. Before we lived in Colorado, we'd make the two-day trip, Jesse armed with gameboys and tapes of Star Trek (yeah, we had a portable TV in that van, NBD), and me loaded down with books and, well, books. I was kind of a nerd. Whatever. Well here's the thing. I liked my books. And Jesse liked his games and movies. We were happy and quiet and not really inclined to fight over a finger across the midline or whose turn it was to pick the next restaurant. There was only one restaurant, anyway. And by restaurant, I mean truck stop that also sold fried food and pies. The Mitten Cafe (although I think we added the Cafe part to class it up)