And I wouldn't change a thing if you paid me.

When The Three Amigos set off on our epic road trip, the roles for each of us was clearly defined. Rich was the comic relief and well, it WAS his car we were driving. I was the elder statesman and go to guy should we ever run afoul of local law enforcement or anyone JB or Rich torked off enough to come after us with a crow bar in hopes I could diffuse the situation.

JB? The Guide. The man who knew where we were supposed to go, how we were supposed to get there, and he had it down to the minute on when we would arrive at our next destination.

Some sort of warning bell should have gone off when my two erstwhile traveling companions spent roughly 4 hours stuck in traffic in D.C. on their way to my house, but that could be shrugged off as bad luck due to the geniuses in D.C. deciding to move a crane across 8 lanes of traffic RIGHT when they arrived in our Nation's Capital.

What REALLY should have gotten our attention was when we were trying to find his own Dad's house, a place he'd been to many times before, and he was trying to get me to turn on a road that, in fact, did not even exist. Which raised numerous questions in myself and Rich's mind about the navigational skills of Josh, who we had by then started to call Magellan, much to his cranky dismay. In fact, any attempt by us to wonder about his directional ability was usually met with "The directions aren't the problem! It's the DRIVING that is the problem!". Mind you, this was usually hollered at Volume: ELEVEN from his position in the GTI.

These "directions" were the equivalent of the Nuclear Football the President carries around with him, much talked about but never seen. I could almost swear he had them in a three ring binder with a sticker of Rasheed Wallace in a Piston's uniform on the cover but it's been 2 months and I've got Rakes and Trot to deal with on a daily basis so I could be wrong.

But once I show you the photographic evidence Rich somehow unearthed recently you'll realize why I felt like Benjamin Gates to his Riley from "National Treasure".

No, that isn't parchment paper, although it wouldn't have surprised me if it was. And that dark stain probably isn't some valiant patriot's blood shed to protect an item of national security but more likely the result of a spilled dip cup but that IS his hand writing and those WERE the directions we were blindly following into the breach.

It's a freaking miracle we even found the state of Florida.

And I had more fun on this trip since I can remember.

To quote the Should have won an Oscar movie Young Guns?

Pals.