H1 and I are on our way to Vermont, ready for a long weekend of snowboarding. More than ready, in fact. Last year we got in one day, which is not enough. I'm super excited, even though I'm concerned I've forgotten how to do it.
Right now, however, the snow seems like a distant promise, and I feel like I wouldn't even care if it went unfulfilled. I'm in the car next to H1, listening to Mark Ronson, looking at the cars around us on the motorway, their lights glowing in the slowly falling dusk, and I'm completely, totally content - a feeling I don't often have. We just crossed the state line into Vermont, and as if by magic, the side-of-the-road snow made an appearance, a bright star came into view as though it had been switched on, and the trees grew thick and closed in around us. Soon we'll stop in some dreadful roadside diner and eat what I know will be inferior food - but I don't care. So long as H1 was with me, I could do this forever. Road trips are the greatest.