#vintageroadtrip

by Me, your local unlicensed map enthusiast

Somewhere near the Upside-Down Dunes of West Noodleburg, where cell signal runs screaming into the hills and the only radio station plays accordion versions of 80s synthpop, a boy and a car stood in noble defiance of both time and practicality.

He didn’t plan to stop here. Nobody does. The plan was “drive until the road ends or the snacks run out.” Turns out the snacks surrendered first. And thus began the great solo expedition across the dry spaghetti curls of Noodleburg’s least visited region: The Beige Belt.

The vehicle? A rust-dappled station wagon known locally as “The Burrito Canoe” for reasons neither automotive nor culinary.

The landscape? Golden grass that tickles your knees and swallows your dignity.

The vibe? A cross between an abandoned postcard and a memory you’re not sure is yours.

Locals say if you stand still long enough, the hills start whispering unsolicited life advice. (“Don’t invest in novelty NFTs,” they warned me.)

Tourist tip: There is no GPS here. Instead, you navigate by distant mooing and the position of the sun reflecting off your own sweat. Bring a compass or an easily panicked goose. Either works.

This was not the road trip we expected. It was better. It was the sort of day that made you realize you’re alive and also that your water bottle is extremely empty.

And when we finally turned the key and rolled back onto the cracked, sun-split road, there was no doubt: