Last weekend I engaged in what every college student should (and many do) make a part of their life — the road trip. Just like in the movie “Road Trip,” fun, exciting, demoralizing and embarrassing things can happen.

I embarked on my own road trip as my best friend James and I ventured down to Atlanta for the 2003 NBA All-Star Game.

It was a hell of a voyage for this young man from Iowa State. I left Ames on Wednesday afternoon and drove to St. Louis to meet up with James. We packed up the 2003 Mustang rental car we rented from Budget and hit the highway to fun times, fine women and exciting basketball in Atlanta.

During our voyage, somewhere around southern Illinois (so very early in the trip), James started rambling on about how he thinks he is going to die young.

Bad idea, right?

No more than two minutes after James uttered his prophecy, the Mustang hit a piece of black ice and sent us spinning out of control, careening towards a 16-wheeler truck. Fortunately, the truck didn’t hit us. We spun out toward the snowy side of the road and slid off into a ditch. While spinning around, the first thing I thought about was, “Why didn’t I get the extra insurance Budget offered?”

At this point, James and I were a mess, not knowing what to do. We both started spazzing; we got out of the car cursing at one another about various things. While waiting for the AAA tow truck to arrive, I realized how na‹ve I am in not seeing how I am not invincible and can leave this earth at any time.

The AAA tow truck guy and an Okwaville policeman helped us get out of the ditch and we continued to keep a positive state of mind and kept on truckin’ to Atlanta for the All-Star game.

There was only one problem: The Mustang’s tailpipe was hanging barely two inches above the ground. We tried to figure out if the accident and the tailpipe were omens for a bad weekend. (We later solved the tailpipe problem. We had a mechanic named Roscoe tie the tailpipe back up to the car with a hanger).

We finally arrived in hot Atlanta after a three-hour extension on an already eight-hour drive from St. Louis.

After seeing a couple of friends and sitting around rappin’ with James’ godfather about life, it was time to see what the Atlanta nightlife would be like during this All-Star weekend. So, James and I hit the streets looking for a good party. At least that’s what we thought.

We first went to my friend Leah’s apartment on the Georgia Tech campus. My friend Kristyn had just got in from Columbus, Ohio, so they decided to have a little get-together over at Leah’s apartment. Between sipping on my homemade super Mandingo warrior jungle juice and trying to find a place to party that night, my friends and I found out that there is no way we are going to be able to kick it hard on our minimal $250 budget.

The next night turned out to be similar to the night before. James, Leah, Kristyn and I drove around to different places trying to get in. Too bad the traffic was bumper-to-bumper like there was some flight from Mecca happening. We went to clubs and parties only to find out that they were charging $60 to upwards of $400. I was wondering if these exorbitant prices included a stripper named Candy that would follow me around all night and call me “The Kid.”

Unfortunately, it didn’t turn out to be that way. The All-Star weekend was made particularly for “ballers;” those people who are able to spend exuberant amounts of money and not worry about what bills need to be paid the next month.

Some may have asked if it was worth it to go down to Atlanta for the All-Star game. Despite all the complications, I would say, “Hell yeah!” and I would do it all over again.

I learned so much about people and myself during this voyage from Ames.

I would do everything over again and not regret a thing for the love of the road trip.

Darryl Frierson is a senior in journalism and mass communication from St. Louis, Mo.