When I was a kid, highway 80 was the road to fun. I would get sooo excited when we made that turn off 680 north and onto 80 east. Because I knew that we were on our way to do something really cool. I knew that we were going to Walt’s cabin in Truckee, or we were going skiing, or going to visit mom’s family in Sacramento.

When I got older, highway 80 was the road we took to No (Reno). “I wanna go to No, dude!” Dave or Scott would say, in a drunken stupor at 2 in the morning. Reno meant gambling and drinking and hotels and skiing and more stories to make and tell and retell.

When I moved to Chico, 80 was the highway I took when I was going home. Home, meaning *back* to Chico. Because for the short 3 years that I lived there, Chico felt more like home than any other place I’ve ever lived. And highway 80 meant that I was leaving the Bayarrhea, and that always feels good.

Highway 80 still means the road to fun. It means that Yum and I are off on another adventure. Walt’s cabin, Truckee, Lake Tahoe. Now I live in Vacaville, and I’m a stone’s throw from highway 80. It means that I’m now less than an hour’s drive up highway 80 to Scott and the boys in Roseville.

I take 80 every day to work. While I’m driving I think of all the fun times and good memories that highway 80 reminds me of. I’m thankful that I’m so lucky, that I get to live in such a great place. I arrive at work feeling peaceful and happy.

Thirty six years of driving highway 80 and I still get excited–every time. Because finally, I *live* on the road to fun.