I can practically hear the rubber hitting the road, my tires rotating at a rate of 60 mph as they carry me over the Wisconsin plains and into the land of 1,000 lakes.

By the time you read this I’ll be long gone, off in a distant land, lost in a whirlwind of celebration. I’m taking a trip, bound for Minneapolis, and due to arrive by vehicle late Friday afternoon.

My wife, Sarah, and I have been looking forward to this excursion for a couple of months, ever since we decided to go somewhere, anywhere to celebrate the second anniversary of our marriage. I can’t believe it’s already been two years. It’s been an easy breezy stretch of road to ride, and that’s largely due to her.

She thinks I don’t like to travel, but that’s not accurate. It’s just hard to get away from it all. There’s always something that ties me down, some personal obligation, house project or work task I must tend to, and that “normal life” stuff doesn’t seem to get any easier to manage.

Still, this time we worked it out. At least for a few days, I’m going to leave that all behind me and enjoy our little getaway.

The locals will surely rejoice at our arrival, but I’m sure they’ll carry on with their normal business as though we’re simply another out-of-town couple. I’ll attempt to blend in and pose like I belong there, expertly for a while, as if I know my way around town, but that masquerade won’t last long beyond the freeways. We’ll resort to technology, and place our trust in the little computerized voice that tells us which way to turn.

I can practically feel the tightness and stress leaving shoulders and clenched jaw. As soon as I’m off the desk Friday, it’s the beginning of my weeklong vacation. The word seems almost too conceptual, though — “vacation” — like it’s not rooted in reality, and more of a dream-like state we hope to attain, but each time it comes around we’re never quite able to fully embrace it. Vacations are always long overdue and never last long enough.

Don’t get me wrong, I like the work and the life I have back home along the shores of Superior, I really do, but boy oh boy, hot dog is it nice to get away for a spell.

The freedom of it all, being on the open road with the wind rushing through the window and the radio blaring some of our favorite tunes, or listening to my wife chatter on about something. I enjoy listening to her talk, and seeing her there in the passenger seat next to me as the countryside whips by. That’s the kind of life I can truly enjoy. But, ultimately, I’ve come to a realization that this trip won’t be all fun and games.

I can practically smell the pungent scent of manure enveloping our vehicle as we coast past the dairy farms, something I’d rather not experience. And there’s nearly 400 miles of roadway we need to cover, at an estimated travel time of close to seven hours, longer if the summer construction crews are still mastering their crafts and even more so if the little computerized voice giving us directions takes us down the wrong path, which is not entirely out of the question.

We could get a flat tire, run out of gas or pick up a hitchhiker whose only mission in life is to wreak havoc and catapult our road trip into chaos. Calamity awaits at every corner.

Our radiator could overheat and leave us stranded by the side of the freeway while it cools, like that one time just south of Chicago a few years back, or the engine might fail to turn over after a sightseeing stop, requiring me to pop the hood and rattle a couple of cables like I knew what I was doing under there. That happened to us once before on the back roads of Negaunee. Luckily, that cable rattling worked, and for reasons known only to the divine, we were back in business and on the road to civilization.

We’ve got a newer, more reliable vehicle now, so there’s some reassurance with that. But there are still a thousand other things that could go wrong on this trip.

Frankly, I don’t care. I’m going to have a good time no matter what. It’s all part of the experience. My vacation time is limited, and I won’t let it be ruined by misfortune. Besides, this is a celebration of our two years of matrimony.

We haven’t been at this thing too long. Marriage is a long haul, like a cross-country trucking operation, and we’re pulling our load through the mountains and prairie lands together. We’ve got plenty of miles of roadway ahead of us, and there’s no telling what kinds of speed bumps and detours we’ll encounter along the way. But that’s part of the journey.

I’m sending out my final emails and finishing up the last bit of work on my desk, then I’m hitting the road.

I can practically see the vast expanse of blue sky and blacktop stretching on for miles off to the horizon, and taking me to a future of countless unknown possibilities, both delightful and terrifying. I better buckle up.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Ryan Jarvi is city editor at The Mining Journal. He lives in Marquette with his wife, Sarah, and their dog Tino. Contact him at rjarvi@miningjournal.net.