The road stretched out in front of us.

We would be traveling on Eisenhower's grand design for approximately three hours, if traffic permitted. It's an annual pilgrimage, and, for the next one hundred and eighty minutes, it's me, my brother, and the road.

Interstate 75 is a freeway that travels from the Southern tip of Florida to the Northern edge of Michigan's Upper Peninsula. We would be travel a little over three hundred miles through the Great Lake State's Lower Peninsula. It's one of the nicer stretches of this particular thoroughfare, but I'm admittedly biased.

The sun was on its way down when we started the journey. For years, we made this trip at night as a necessity. We had to made until my brother finished his job at a bar. Now it’s just tradition.

Besides, the road is best traveled at night. We're headed north under the cover of stars, which always makes the time go by just a little faster.

My brother drives and I navigate. Though, navigate is a bit of a strong word in this instance, as it's a path we've traversed more times than either of us can count. I’m fairly confident we could make it blindfolded.

We're headed to our cabin, the house that our great-grandfather built with his own hands. It sits nestled just off the road, deep in the woods, overlooking a sea of trees. No picture can do it justice.

The road brings a sense of comradery. We’re Sam and Dean Winchester, Butch Cassidy and the Sundace Kid, Bert and Ernie, well I don’t think the last two drove anywhere but you get my point.

Because of our familiarity with the route my role as navigator is mostly relegated to distributing the vast quantities of fried food between us. Somehow the combination of long hours and distance make fried food taste even better. (Not that it isn't delicious when stationary).

We roll past farms and forest, and the world looks different in the dark. This section of road is mostly two lanes running through a tunnel of trees. And the hour in which we left means that we have the roads mostly to ourselves. Other than the major details visible by starlight our world is composed only of what the headlights illuminate. It inspires contemplation and reflection and there's a deeper point that could be made here, but that should be left to a better writer to detail. I, on the other hand, will just say that it's pretty cool.

Of course, no amount of writing in which a large quantity involves being in the car is complete without a music discussion. Because of my slightly concerning infatuation, and sometimes borderline obsession, with the television Supernatural, every car trip that takes more than an hour starts with "Carry On My Wayward Son" by Kansas. My brother, nor I, will ever hunt monsters, demons or ghosts, and are car is not a '67 Black Impala affectionately called Baby. But, we are brothers, in a car, on the road, So I think it fits.

The rest of the music consists of tracks that would make a music snob snort. I readily admit to not having any taste in music and I am willing to be judged accordingly. There is a healthy does dose of classic Rock, top 40 stuff, and even contemporary country. We are both from just outside Detroit so Eminem makes several appearances. And, when it gets slow Wu Tang Clan's "Bring Da Ruckus" picks us both up. Once, we made the same trip, and through circumstances beyond our control, the only music available was our sister's Taylor Swift 1989 cd. It wasn't as bad as it sounds. Also, road trip protocol dictates that at some point, both of us will be singing Adele at full volume.

This will continue until we are no longer on the freeway, and our journey takes a more serious tone. The number one danger facing motorists, while we meander through a tunnel of trees, is the common Whitetail Deer. The deer have an all too common habit of suddenly appearing in front of cars. We decrease our speed, the hour in which we travel means an increased likelihood of inadvertent contact with a two hundred herbivore, and a distance that should only take us twenty minutes to cover takes nearly an hour.

Finally, we turn on the street, put the Adele back up to full volume, and under a blanket of stars we try not to wake anyone up because "When We Were Young" is blasting through the speakers.