I once had an editor - we’ll call him Rob - who hated what he called old-people-still-do-things stories.

They continue to be a staple of newspapers. And I, too, have long since ceased to be interested in 75-year-old-woman-goes-skydiving pieces. These tales are inevitably penned by breathless 20-somethings who are astonished that those over 50 can still walk let alone run, ride bicycles or jump out of airplanes.

I hope this doesn’t fall into this hackneyed category. Yet it is about a woman of a certain age who eagerly jumped into a 15-year-old SUV with her 30-year-old son last Thursday morning and headed to Utah.

Yep, we drove more than 2,000 miles, through two snowstorms and 10 states. In three days.

Why not? He’d taken a job at a ski resort and was preparing for a solo road trip. I figured I’d pack a bag and keep him company.

We talked, we laughed, we argued and we listened to “A Time To Kill,” as we hurtled our way across America. We didn’t stop at a single scenic overlook or make even one detour. We never sat down for a meal until we had breakfast Sunday morning in Chick’s Cafe, Heber City, Utah. Gotta tell you, sliding into that warm booth felt marvelous. The temperature outside was 7F. The temperature inside that breakfast joint was all hot coffee and bacon.

The most terrifying part of the drive - for two Virginians who hadn’t seen snow in years - was a snow and ice storm we encountered right outside Lincoln, Nebraska and another the next day in Wyoming, near Laramie, where even the 18-wheelers were doing 35 with their flashers on.

We had one heart-stopping, Jesus-take-the-wheel moment in Wyoming when I tapped the brakes on a steep descent, our Ford Escape hit a patch of ice and we went into a spin. I could hear my late father’s voice telling me to “steer into a skid” but now - as then - I had no idea what that meant.

We came out of that without hitting anything and kept going.

As we passed truck after jackknifed truck on I-80 I found myself singing Springsteen’s “Born to Run” through clenched teeth:

The highway’s jammed with broken heroes on a last-chance power drive…

We left Norfolk right after “The Kerry and Mike Show” Thursday at 10 a.m. and we pulled into a Holiday Inn in Heber City, Utah at 11:30 p.m. Saturday. That was about 41 hours on the road.

We forgot to pack food - I know, mother of the year - so we got by on stale truck stop sandwiches, beef jerky, Diet Mountain Dew and Nabs. So many Nabs.

In Iowa we stumbled onto the spa of truck stops: Sapp Bros. with immaculate bathrooms that featured heated toilet seats and bidets. Pilot and Love’s better up their game if this Midwestern chain ever goes national.

We saw scores of tacky billboards. About 90 percent for attorneys, including one for a personal injury lawyer named Funk whose slogan is, “Funk Them!”

By Sunday afternoon I was in the Salt Lake City Airport, waiting for my flight. It was delayed, of course. We landed in Norfolk after midnight and I happily violated the governor’s new curfew as I made my way home.

A whirlwind weekend.

What follows are scenes from the road, in no particular order. Most were taken through increasingly dirty car windows by my son as I yelled, “Get a picture of that!” from the driver’s seat.

A road trip with no time to enjoy the scenery is ridiculous. A road trip in winter with no time to stop for snow and ice is crazy. But an opportunity to spend a few uninterrupted days with one of the people I love most in the world?

Worth it!