Ever since I could remember, I've been making the arduous journey from NorCal to SoCal. I've made the trip down to Disneyland almost every year since I've been born. (We are a Disney family.) For a good chunk of those years, I was handed a portable DVD player and that's how I made it. The older I got, the more conscious I became of the actual journey. I quickly learned it was just plain boring.

Most car trips involve some sort of interesting scenery or just a general existence in civilization. Interstate 5 is another story. My family takes Interstate 5 from Sacramento straight to LA. It makes navigating pretty easy, but its a straight shot through the heartland of California -- which consists of farmland, cows, and just plain dirt. I'm sure anyone who has driven I-5 from NorCal to SoCal can relate to what I'm saying, even if you are able to drift away from I-5.

I don't know if it's the same experience going from SoCal to NorCal because no one in SoCal leaves apparently. Either way, I'm sure everyone can agree Interstate 5 is the most boring highway on the West Coast. What follows is a run-through of my journey that never seems to change.

1. Ordinary World

The car is packed. You’ve got your comfy pants on. It's time to go.

2. Call to Adventure

This is gonna be fine! SoCal here we come! Whatever the reason, whether you’re heading to Disneyland (I wish) or back to SDSU for your spring semester (unfortunately), many people from NorCal chose to make the journey down to SoCal.

3. Refusal of the Call

Just when you think the drive is going to be fine … oh great. There's an accident. And we left just in time to hit morning traffic. Any optimism stops, just like your car.

4. The Threshold

We made it out of the traffic. We are actually going the speed limit. We were able to swing by Starbucks. The journey has officially begun.

5. Challenges

The battle with the radio

• All of your presets are out of range. It's time to start flipping through the channels because of course, you forgot your AUX cord.

• Post coffee rest stop
  • Coffee runs straight through some people apparently.
• Nap time
  • “Sleep, it'll make the drive go by faster!” Okay sure, but when you wake up after only dozing for an hour, it's extremely disheartening. And then, of course, you can’t fall back asleep. Figures.
• The no-service zone
  • Or worse, it's spotty. There’s a glimmer of hope in the guise of two bars, but the moment you try to send a Snapchat, it's a dead zone. You have crossed the threshold into the unknown.
• The smells
  • If you’ve made this drive, you know. Let’s just say cows are smelly.
• Harris Ranch
  • It's one of my own personal mile markers. It's unnecessarily grand for being in the middle of nowhere. And hey, 300 miles left!
• The weird signs
  • “Is growing food wasting water” and “Congress created the dust bowl” are my two personal favorites.
• Expensive gas
  • It's crazy the prices they can get away with when there are literally no other options. It's a long drive, you have to refill at some point. Also, who works at those places? Where do they live? There’s nothing as far as the eye can see.
• Weird middle-of-nowhere sights
  • This time we saw a big airplane being followed by two little planes. Do planes need escorts?
• Bravo Farms and Kettleman City
  • This is another personal mile marker. We either drive right by it, get In-N-Out, or stop for some of the best ice cream I’ve ever had.
• The sense of removal from society
  • You have zero connection with the outside world. You can’t even make an old-fashioned phone call. We heard two songs by the same artist in a row and I had to assume they had died but had no way to confirm it. (It was a false assumption; it was a double play promotion for the radio station).
• Channel surfing
  • “Whelp, I’ve heard this song before.” Unless you want to listen to country, gospel, or Spanish music, you can’t afford to be picky (but nothing against those genres!) Stations will fall out of range, but the same Gregorian chanting station is always there. Why don’t I own CDs anymore?
• Just … nothing
  • Literally nothing. For miles. Just empty fields. There’s not even crops or foliage, it's just dirt. We saw a random mechanical crane, and my stepdad said,“What the heck is that? We're in Kern, there's nothing out here.” Only on this drive is the sight of a crane exciting.
• The token gas station run
  • After miles and miles of nothing, the sight of the civilization is beautiful. It's a small area, made up purely of gas stations, fast food, and a motel. It doesn’t matter if you aren’t hungry or don't have to go to the bathroom. You get food and use the restroom because you don’t know when you will get another opportunity (it's in another 50 miles, but during those 50 miles, when there’s nothing else in sight … you might not have had to go to the bathroom before).
• Bakersfield
  • Yet another personal milestone. My mom used to live there. And there’s literally nothing there. There’s a sign for Bakersfield and that’s it. Do these towns exist underground? Where are they?
• Adventures in the fast lane
  • This is a relatively recent observation I’ve made, now that I drive. Why are you going 60 in the fast lane? Why is there a semi in front of me? Please let me drive slightly over the speed limit in peace, please.

6. The Abyss

• Time to enter the Grapevine
  • AKA the Outlets at Tejon. The placement of those outlets always confused me. Why have an outlet mall in the middle of nowhere? Then it dawned on me. For people who live in SoCal, the outlets are just right through the Grapevine. Those stores just happen to be the first sign of true civilization I’ve seen in 200 miles.
• That one cop on the grapevine who you swear is gonna pull you over
  • I’ve only driven the Grapevine three times. Yet every time, I’ve had an intense moment of panic when I come up over a hill or around a bend, and that cop is sitting there, and I’m doing 85. My urge to brake is strongest in those moments.

7. Transformation

• Six Flags
  • I’ve never actually been there before, but I have driven by it more times than I can count. For me, it represents my arrival in SoCal. I might have technically been there for awhile, but anything before that Six Flags is No Man’s Land. Maybe I’ll actually stop there one day.

8. Atonement

• LA
  • Again. I was born and raised within a 150-mile radius of Sacramento. SoCal is very confusing; everything is LA to me. My family never really traveled past LA when I was a kid. I went to San Diego for the first time since I was a baby two summers ago. So SoCal and LA are basically synonymous to me. The entire space between the Grapevine and San Diego is LA.
• LA part two
  • Constant bumper to bumper traffic? Weird carpool lanes? Five or more lane freeways? SoCal is a mystery I don’t think I will ever solve.

9. Return

• LA part three
  • Honestly, it doesn’t matter where I’m going, I feel like I’ve reached my destination once I hit LA. I might still be three hours away but I made it. I’m back in civilization, my data is working -- in my Hero’s Journey, this is my "Return."