My dad loved family road trips. Whether it was a vacation or just a long weekend, he couldn't wait to strike out on the open road - with all us kids in tow. Did I mention my dad was pretty brave? He was. And plenty patient.

I don't think he ever told us to be quiet or settle down. Probably because he was the loudest person in the car. He'd sing songs like "King Of The Road" at the top of his lungs while Mom harmonized and we'd pretended to knew the words. We'd go along America's highways making noise and playing games until we'd see colorful signs beckoning to us from the road.

We loved seeing those signs. We knew that just beyond them lay promises of hot food, cold drinks, and tons of fun in a friendly town. We also knew Dad would have to stop. He couldn't resist the adventure of exploring new places, making new friends, and trying just about every specialty plate the town's diners had to offer.

I think Dad's love of road trips turned us into intrepid travelers. We all grew up to take our own families on raucous, unruly, wandering road trips. And every one of us turned out to be connoisseurs of roadside diversions and the homemade specialties of roadside diners.