It was a joke. Kind of. But as my brother’s 21st got closer and closer, my resolve grew: we were going to do it. Well, we were going to do something, anyway. I told him we didn’t necessarily need to go to San Diego; we could take a trip wherever his little heart desired. Somehow, some way, we landed on Vegas. Yes, Sin City was going to be the one.
Read MoreGood road trip films? They're full of Clark Griswolds strapping old dead ladies to the roofs of station wagons; of dimwitted Tommy Callahans trying their darndest to sell break pads across the Midwest; of buddies riding across South America on their motorcycles, discovering injustice in the world.
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