Car Following

When we were too young to foxhunt on our ponies, Mother would pile us into the red van to follow by car. As she patrolled highways in random anticipation of the fox’s path, we sat in the backseat without anything to do. Boredom-induced giggles or fights usually ended with Mother sentencing us to ten minutes of cleaning. Though our miserable efforts to collect empty cracker sleeves never lasted more than a few minutes, Mother, intently listening for hounds atop her running board perch, never enforced these orders. So we’d resume our silliness, waiting out this four hour drive to nowhere.