“Flagstaff, Arizona, don’t forget Winona,

Kingman, Barstow, San Bernardino …”

This catchy couplet rattled around in my head for days as my husband and I drove our Mazda Miata east on I-40, which traces much of what used to be known as Route 66. (Hence the song snippet.) We were covering three weeks, 20 states and more than 6,800 miles in the little convertible, on a much-anticipated private getaway.

Our friends marveled that we didn’t get sick of being on the road for days on end, especially in such a tiny vehicle. It helped to think of the trip as three separate vacations, really: four days in Las Vegas (which amounted to one too many – I’ve decided that place is nothing but an R-rated Disneyland); a week and a half playing roadie for our son’s drum and bugle corps as they made it to the World Championships; then a week to sightsee the West back across South Dakota and Wyoming on I-90.

We saw awe-inspiring parts of our country that were new to us, like Mount Rushmore, Devil’s Tower in Wyoming and Yellowstone National Park. We got to eat dry-seasoned ribs (sooo good) at Corky’s BBQ in Memphis, Tenn., with relatives of mine my husband had never met. We went to a Cubs game in Chicago and survived a tornado that threatened Wrigley Field in the midst of the most violent thunderstorm I’ve ever experienced.

We held our breath as the Oregon Crusaders performed their show at the Open Class championships, and got swept away with the rest of the crowd at the World Class finals as the emotional favorite Phantom Regiment beat the reigning champion Blue Devils by a fraction of a point.

We marveled at the audacity of the tourist attractions along I-90. Reptile Gardens! Pioneer Auto Show! Wall Drug! The Corn Palace! Every one is a testament to the spirit of entrepreneurism and self-perpetuation. Wall Drug is famous for its signs all over the world … claims one of what must have been 600 of them between Sioux Falls and Wall, S.D.

Our finite cargo space meant we had to shop for souvenirs judiciously. And every morning and evening involved a careful ritual of fitting our luggage like a 3-D jigsaw puzzle into the trunk and raising or lowering the Miata’s roof. Top up meant we had an extra shelf behind the seats for stowing small items. Top down – my feet shared space with the camera or the laptop.

Did we get sick of each other after 22 days of round-the-clock companionship? Happily – maybe surprisingly – not until we hit Portland and found ourselves tantalizingly close to home but stuck in 104°F gridlock. Tempers might have flared a bit then.

A week later, life is back to comfortably normal. But refreshed, our wanderlust temporarily satisfied.