I recall...

At about 6:30 this morning, I was behind the wheel of my Rabbit, fantasizing about the coffee I planned to buy as soon as I arrived at work, at least until I was jarred out of my stupor by a vanity plate affixed to the back of a ridiculously lavish chrome-trimmed black Lincoln Navigator: SKI VT 74.

And with that, I was back. Recalling the place where going out to dinner means a fish sandwich topped with local cheddar at Vermont Pub and Brewery (accompanied, of course, by a plate of sweet potato fries and a pint of maple ale). Where my beloved Magic Hat #9 is on tap everywhere. About half the cars on the road are Subaru Legacy wagons. Most of the population is blissfully unaware that Suzuki even manufactures passenger vehicles. The term "winter beater" can be dropped into casual conversation without a lengthy explanation. My 1991 GTI was one of the nicest cars in my apartment parking lot. People can change their own spare tires. The two interstate highways are toll-free, and are rarely more than two lanes wide. Motorists stop and offer help to drivers of disabled vehicles. A ban on billboards is strictly enforced (and trust me, you don't miss them).

I was still daydreaming several miles later, stuck in work zone traffic; my body (aching clutch foot and all) were in Illinois, but mentally, I was still in Vermont, where my thoughts had turned to pancake breakfasts doused with local maple syrup and steaming mugs of cinnamon-flavored Green Mountain Coffee. As if to bring me back to reality, a shiny Jeep Wrangler suddenly veered off the paved section of road, dropping about six inches into the construction mess, sending up clouds of dirt. It passed a few cars that were stopped, waiting to turn, and then climbed back up and continued on its way.

At least there's someone else among the snooty suburban Chicagoans who's not afraid to get an SUV dirty.