Four years ago a friend of mine left a ton of stuff in a storage locker and moved halfway across the country for medical treatment. Last week she asked if there was anyone who could help her get her stuff.

Why, what a coincidence. I have no job to report to and I have experience trucking stuff across the country. It’s something I did when I was younger, before I became a reporter.

So collecting and loading a small truckful of stuff and bringing it 1,000 miles to her is not a stretch. In fact I leaped at the chance to do it.

There is something about driving that rings specific bells in me. (Riding motorcycles too, but I crossed that off my list a long time ago, convinced I had already pushed my luck.) Back in the day I logged tens of thousands of miles driving three-axle diesels and semis. I’ve driven across the country in cars many times too.

One time a buddy asked me to drive a VW Rabbit for him from El Paso to San Antonio. Fifteen minutes out of El Paso, even before I hit the Border Patrol checkpoint, I managed to short out the tempermental car’s radio. I drove the rest of the 560 miles with only the sounds of the car on the road to listen to. I stopped only for gas. Much of the trip was made across long, rolling, empty stretches of open land where no one seemed to be.

When I reached the outskirts of San Antone I was disappointed. I felt like I was just starting to hit my stride.

So tomorrow, and the day after, are a chance to go to that zen place again. It feels like a good time for it.