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Byline: Cory Farley
A truth of the human condition is that we don't fully enjoy things to which we have easy access.
When I was a kid, Walt Disney built his dream park a 15-minute walk from my house. For a while it was Christmas every day. Once the novelty wore off, though, going to Disneyland became a chore ("Aw, Mom! Pirates of the Caribbean again?'').
As an adult in Nevada, I spend less time in casinos than the snowbirds who RV down from Canada. Partly that's because I'm cheap, but mostly: Blackjack again?
Something like that happened, too, with driving.
I never dislike it. When people moan about long trips, I have to stop myself from babbling like Dr. Seuss: "Oh, the things that you'll do and the things that you'll see!'' Just going to work, I practice something Jackie Stewart, unless it was Stirling Moss, said decades ago, "Try to drive so smoothly that a passenger can't feel the transitions.'' When you can drift Grandma through the esses without making her look up from her crossword puzzle, you can talk about smooth.
But no fun. Until I forgot the tent.