Long driving. Home now. Wrap-up.

Six hundred and fifty miles today began with a wake-up call that said, "The bad news is you have to get up; the good news is free coffee in the lobby until ten." And it was already ten, so we lie there a few minutes and then left.

This was Twin Falls, ID. Strip mall city flanked the road out of town and we found a Barnes&Noble there that filled us with pastries and coffee and refilled our water jug.

Then Boise. We stopped to get gas and Andrew said there were too many bees and at that moment a man yelled like he was stung, and it was funny.

Oregon. Baker City had Klondike Pizza, which tasted like frozen pizza. We discussed why the food is so terrible in the Wild West in comparison to cosmopolitan coastal towns. For me the determinant is wealth.

I started calling people to tell them G-ma's memorial is tomorrow. And I realized this is the hard part. While I'm out in the sticks driving in the comfort of the wide world and Andrew softly beside, the loss fits comfortably, but once I start sharing it with other people, I feel vulnerable and want to hide.

Southern Idaho has these sticky flies that adhere to everything. Andrew constructed a weapon out of socks and beat the hell out of a few while I was falling asleep. More bothered us in the morning in the hotel room. We could not escape them at the Barnes&Noble either. From Idaho on, small bugs rained thick and hard on the windshield. It sounded exactly like a spurting downpour and the windshield fogged with guts. At Echo, the woman filling the gas tank said one of her customers called them "navigation spots," which she thought hilarious.

From Tri-cities, the finish is a cinch. The sun setting behind Rainier and Adams is a first for me.

I introduced Andrew to Idaho Spud, my favorite childhood candy bar.

We've been in the car so long that we're giving companion cars terms of endearment: Mr. Bright Lights, Quasimodo.

I've driven the Volvo quite a lot and it fits now. What I like the best is punching the gas and blowing away from a tailgater who thinks you can't do it. At 95, the car is still reaching for the bit.

Good car: it got us out there and back without incident.

Next time: a cable to network the laptops, hardware to allow cell-phone dial-up, and a big, thick sleeping bag for Andrew. Also, not so much ambition: fewer miles, more days at any given destination.

Andrew, what else?

It's effortless traveling together.