The phone jolted me awake. It was 2:45 a.m., the earliest I’ve set an alarm. I’ve certainly been up that late, but to be mobile and functioning at this hour seems insane.

The cab calls my phone at 3:15, and I say, “I’ll be right out.” My dachshund Max Wiener has realized something is up. He does his hind leg dance, the one that says, “I am a handsome, good boy. Please don’t leave me.”

I run out the door as fast as I can. That dance breaks my heart.

But I have a plane to catch. My vacation stretches out before me.

I caught the travel bug at a young age. My parents took my brothers and I all over the country. We went to California (Disneyland), Texas (Corpus Christi), Arizona (Grand Canyon), Las Vegas, New York, and many other destinations.

My family owned a pop-up camper, so we often slept in that.

We spent a lot of time traveling in our Ford Fairmont station wagon. I was usually in the middle, being the youngest and the smallest. Sometimes, I fit in the back with the luggage. I relished that. I loved my brothers, but being stuck in between two sets of sprawling legs was not an ideal way to travel.

My memory of these trips is in the small details, the little stories that lodged in my brain over the years.

I remember seeing what I thought was a snake while we were camping and running as fast as I could in the other direction. It turned out to be a green stick. (I’ll chalk that one up to an active imagination and a healthy fear of snakes.)

I remember climbing over tall, red boulders bordering deep canyons in Arizona or maybe Utah. And my mother saying, “Get back from the edge!” (I imagine now how hard her heart must have thudded in her chest.)

I remember taking a picture with Eeyore at Disneyland. In the picture, he has his arm around me, and I seem to be smiling. I remember feeling terrified of that giant, floppy-eared donkey.

I remember the beautiful, neon lights in Las Vegas. There was one white, high-heeled shoe that particularly delighted me. I loved it in all its sparkly glory.

I remember seeing field after field. Some with cows. Some with horses. Some with buffalo- those mysterious, horned beasts.

I don’t remember saying, “Are we there yet?” But I am sure I did, countless times.

I remember being read too. And playing games. I remember my brothers counting Ferraris and Porsches, when we were driving through California.

And later, I remember having a chance to travel to Australia and New Zealand with a group of kids my age. It was a three-week trip. No small expense, I’m sure. My parents didn’t hesitate.

I saw a sheep sheared. I ate a pig that was filled with hot stones and roasted in the ground. I stayed with a family in Australia that feed a kangaroo like it was their pet. I hiked through Waitakere Ranges Regional Park in New Zealand. It remains one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. (It looked like the set of Lord of the Rings, in retrospect. That adds to its remembered charm.)

Later, there was Hawaii, Colorado, England, Paris, and more. I saw so many beautiful, interesting places with my family.

My parents have now upgraded to a big RV. They still love to travel and explore.

I do too, whenever I get the chance. As I am writing this, I am sitting at the Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport, waiting for my flight to Albuquerque.

Bridget, our other friend Jeni, and Jeni’s husband Weezer are picking me up in Albuquerque. Then we are headed to Bridget’s place in Santa Fe.

I can almost feel the breeze whip through my hair, as we pile in the car, laughing. The road stretches out before us. The red of the desert catches our peripherals, as we start to drive.

I can’t think of a place I’d rather be.

This week’s video is “Colorado” by Chastity Brown. It’s a beautiful traveling song.