Laughter and loyalty

THE GREAT SUMMER ADVENTURE

Ben

It was the summer after our freshman year of college, and Jake and I had decided to spend it the way we always did-by embarking on some ridiculous adventure that probably involved far too much planning for something that would likely end in chaos. This year, our grand idea was to go on a "road trip" across our state, hitting up every tourist trap and quirky attraction we could find. Of course, by "road trip," we meant we were borrowing my dad's old van and packing it with enough snacks to last a month.

Jake and I had spent weeks meticulously planning every detail. At least, Jake had. My role was mainly to provide comic relief and ensure we had enough "essential" items, like a giant inflatable dinosaur for taking ridiculous photos at every stop. I'm still not sure how that became an essential item, but Jake insisted it would be the highlight of our trip. And honestly, I had to admit he was probably right.

Our adventure began early one morning as we packed the van. Jake was in charge of the music, which meant we were subjected to a continuous loop of his latest playlist-mostly '80s rock and questionable pop songs from the '90s. I was in charge of the snacks, which included enough chips, candy, and soda to ensure we'd either gain ten pounds or get a lifetime supply of cavities by the end of the trip.

As Jake pulled the van out of the driveway, I looked at him with a mix of excitement and trepidation. "You remember the route, right?"

Jake gave me a confident grin. "Of course. It's all mapped out."

"By 'mapped out,' you mean you've memorized the tourist attractions and have a rough idea of where we're going?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Exactly," Jake said, clearly proud of his planning skills.

"Right," I said, trying to stifle a laugh. "Let's do this."

Our first stop was a quirky little town known for its giant potato statue. Yes, you read that right-a giant potato. Jake insisted it was an "iconic" landmark, though I suspect it was really just an excuse to take goofy photos with the inflatable dinosaur. We arrived at the potato statue, which was even more underwhelming in person than I had imagined. It was basically a large, misshapen blob of concrete painted to look like a potato. Still, Jake was thrilled. He grabbed the dinosaur and posed in front of the statue, making sure to get every angle covered.

"Okay, let's see how many pictures we can get of this thing," Jake said, snapping away. "We need to make sure the world knows how awesome this potato is."

I couldn't help but laugh. "If the world didn't know about the giant potato before, they certainly will now."

We spent the next few hours driving through small towns, stopping at every roadside attraction that caught our eye. One highlight was the "World's Largest Ball of Twine," which turned out to be a giant, dusty ball of twine sitting in a dimly lit shed. I took a moment to appreciate the sheer absurdity of it all, as Jake enthusiastically explained the history of twine to anyone who would listen.

After several more stops-some of which were more questionable than others-we found ourselves at a local diner that boasted "the best milkshakes in town." Naturally, we had to stop and test their claim. As we walked in, the place was decorated with vintage memorabilia and had an old-fashioned jukebox playing classic tunes. It was the kind of place that seemed frozen in time.

Jake immediately took a seat at the counter and started chatting with the waitress, who seemed both amused and bewildered by his enthusiasm. I sat down next to him, scanning the menu for anything that looked remotely edible.

"So, what's the verdict?" Jake asked, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Are these milkshakes really as good as they say?"

The waitress, a middle-aged woman with a friendly smile, nodded. "You betcha. We make them with real ice cream and homemade syrups."