I didn't really have a destination; it was just a casual journey with wind in my face, music in my ears, and speed at my hands. It was great.

But it didn't feel complete.

I started out at Gilroy's outlet mall and then explored the other various malls in San Jose, trying to do a bit of light shopping. As I drove around, darting down this street and that, I couldn't help thinking about you.

You used to sit in the seat next to me, playing with the radio to try to find something good on. Sometimes you'd just pop in one of my CDs. Lifehouse or Matchbox 20, or even Linkin Park.

We'd get excited about discovering charming, cozy neighborhoods tucked in the back of grids of suburbs, forgotten by everyone except for the more local of locals. And intrepid explorers like us.

I'd take out the map and you'd pick a place. "We haven't been there before; let's go check it out." Once, we ended up on the Skyline, looking for a restaurant that you found in Zagats. Then we happened upon a romantic Japanese Tea Garden.

Ah, what a treasure that was.

After Gilroy, I came across a nice oasis of quaint, picturesque shops somewhere San Jose. "Hey look, there's a Crate and Barrel here!" I wanted to shout, because I knew you loved them so much. But when I turned to the passenger seat, I remembered it was empty and I was here alone. The oasis didn't seem remarkable anymore.

I drove on, without a companion. It used to be a lot of fun to drive around aimlessly, exploring the neighborhoods around me. But without a companion like you, driving around aimlessly is more like being lost now.

. . .

Do you have a driving companion?