And as long and soul-sucking as some of these drives could be (three days from California to Texas was a favorite), they were great. I used my time more productively, and the entire idea of a road trip started to take on a campy feel of something very much not necessary. For the first time in years, I found myself on a road trip. I flew into Los Angeles, and for the next five days, my surfing bud Martin and I lazily made our way to San Francisco. Road trips were great while they lasted.