I've said it before and I'll say it again: the point of a good road trip is what's rolling past your window on the way there, not the pin on the map at the end. And there's a drive out in California that proves it so well that folks who've run it will tell you straight out that the destination doesn't even matter. MSN ran a piece recently on the Los Angeles to San Francisco run, and the whole argument is right there in the title: the stops are so good, who cares where you land.

Now, a lot of people making that trip just want the fastest line between the two cities, punch it into the GPS and grind it out on the interstate. That's the trucker's way of thinking. Efficient, and about as interesting as a waiting room. If that's you, I'd argue you're doing it wrong, and I don't mind saying so.

Me, I'd take the slow road. California between LA and San Francisco is loaded with coastline and small towns, and my thinking has always been that a road that pretty ought to be savored rather than survived. Stop when something catches your eye. Sit a minute when you find a good view. That part matters, and you can't schedule it from the driver's seat doing 75 with your eyes locked on the bumper ahead.

By the time you roll into San Francisco, the city almost feels like a bonus. Which, if you read the piece, is exactly what people are saying: the destination stops being the point. The road itself is the trip.

I reckon that's true of most good drives. Some of my favorite Ozark runs didn't have a destination worth naming. Just a gravel road, a fishing hole at the end of it, and whatever I found in between. California just does it bigger, with better scenery and, from what I hear, worse parking.

And leave room in the cooler for whatever you find along the way. There's always something. That's the whole point.