One of my favorite memories of my Dad from when I was a kid would happen every now and then on a weekend, or in the summer, when my brother and I were really bored. He'd strap both of us into the passenger seat in his pea-green 1970's Toyota pickup truck, we'd hit the road, and he would let us take turns navigating- "turn left" "turn right" "go straight," etc. We'd head out into the "unknown," usually in the North Bay or South Bay, and have an adventure. Once we found a house with lots of pink flamingoes in front of it; once we got incredibly lost somewhere near Point Reyes, in the rain, and had to buy lunch from a tiny grocery store. Wherever we ended up, it was always someplace new.
I'm pretty sure that's where the whole "wanderlust" part of my personality came from.