When I was a kid, we used to take these two-day drives to New York from Indiana to visit my grandparents. It was kind of torture. There I was, in the middle of the back seat, sandwiched between my brothers with my knees hunched up as they jockeyed for leg room.
Those trips were loud. Really loud. And I really never liked car trips, not then and not now. Still, I always enjoyed the part where we drove through tunnels. Suddenly it got all dark and quiet, just a gentle flash of low lights slipping by as our car sped through the serenity. I always felt regretful when we burst out into the sunshine again and the noise recommenced.
So it stands to reason that I have a soft spot in my heart for tunnels. Tunnels of any kind. I love watching animals as they burrow or kids as they wiggle through small spaces. And I have a strange love of desserts that have a surprise in the middle.