We squeezed in one last car show this last weekend. I only go to car events for the camping. However, for my husband’s sake, I spent all of Friday sitting next to a gazebo in one of the few patches of grass in the booming town of Long Beach so he could enjoy watching all the cars drive into town.

Leaning against the garbage can by the street with his car buddies, they talked about each and every vehicle, vintage or not. The only thing missing was a blade of straw stuck between their teeth and a fishing pole. I’m sure there were tales a plenty about the cars.

I had a chair, a book and the cell service was decent where I was sitting. What more could a woman want? Well, okay, the Cottage Bakery is another reason I like going to this rod run. The devil dogs are to die for – and I just may after consuming more than my fair share of them. Good thing it’s a three-hour drive from my house.

Although it was a good day for me because I had plenty of time to finish a book I’d been reading for the past month (because I’ve lacked the time to just sit down and read lately) and the food was obviously good, one of my husband’s car friends summed it up: Why?

He came around 8 p.m., just as the cruising party started heating up. He asked how long I had been there and I told him since 10 a.m.. Why, indeed? The friends we met there had arrived at 8 a.m. I guess the answer is because his wife let him.

Often when my husband brings me along to car events, I’m the wild card about whether his day will be enjoyable. I don’t like cars for sport like he does as my philosophy is, “Once you’ve seen one old car, you’ve seen them all.” I just want to get in them and have them get me from point A to point B with no issues in between.

I grew up with cars breaking down in the days when there were no cell phones. We lived out in the country, a highway’s drive to the nearest town. Usually, when I broke down either someone I knew would happen by or I’d start hoofing it. So when I became a grown up, I stepped into the world of car payments and reliable cars.

Then I married a car guy who’d never had a car payment in his life. I’ve had several cars during our marriage, new and used, because like having the right tool for the right job, I’ve always insisted on the right car for the needs of my family.

So Friday I sat in that little grassy area for eleven hours, because I didn’t want to make my husband’s day miserable. That was his day and I expected to have my day the next day. We were camping at Cape Disappointment and I was anxious to find out what was so disappointing about it.

Unfortunately, the beautiful day for exploring would have been Friday, because Saturday the Cape and ocean were fogged in and I couldn’t see much. After a few feeble attempts to satisfy my curiosity, I sent my husband off to the actual car show. I sat by the campfire; the first one of the season, thanks to the burn ban all summer. I read and wrote all day.

I still don’t know why the Cape Disappointment is disappointing, but at least I had a campfire before the summer was over. I wasn’t disappointed after all.