How I Spent My Summer Vacation

Or, Utah:  A brain dump in as many parts as I feel like writing

Do they give out prizes for the number of times a blogger promises to write about something and then forgets or just disappears from the internet entirely?  Because if they do, I want one.  I believe I could be a serious contender for such an honor.

I’ve been gone from this interweb hovel for exactly one month today.  I’m not even going to apologize, because I’ve just been having too much fun.  If I did apologize, it would totally be passive aggressive – it would be all “Oh sorry I’ve been too busy living life to actually write about it.  Isn’t it just a crime that I’ve been acting like a responsible, real person and not a curmudgeonly hermit.”  By the way, there is a season for everything, and that curmudgeonly hermit will come crawling back to regularly blogging someday.   Someday.  (Probably in the winter when the Inversion lingers over the valley and I am, as a colleague predicted, ready to slit my wrists.) 

Let’s backpedal a bit, shall we?

The drive.  Yes, the drive.  We began our drive to Utah on July 11th, marking the third summer in a row that we have driven across almost the entire continent.  When you realize one day that it’s been blindingly sunny and 120 degrees every day for 6 months, I’m the reason.  You’re welcome for that golden tan, by the way. 

This time, we decided just spending four straight days in the car wasn’t punishing enough.  We reached the conclusion that if we really wanted to take road-tripping up a notch, it was time for the mental self-flagellation of driving alone.  (Full disclosure:  Andy had already driven across the country alone.  Twice.  In January.  So I am kind of being a huge whiner here.)  So we took separate cars.  Really, we did this to save money, because shipping a car is expensive.  Even though we had a generous moving allowance from Andy’s new job, the moving company, Allied Van Lines, if you’re curious, was giving us the run-around and trying to rip us off in ways that I may or may not remember to bitch about in an upcoming segment of this story, so we had to cut corners somewhere.

Monday, July 11^th dawned bright and steamy, like every morning in New Jersey between Memorial Day and Columbus Day.  We rolled out a few minutes after our projected departure time, because saying goodbye kind of sucks.  We waved to my mom and Andy’s parents and sister as we drove away from the flat, swampy farmlands of rural South Jersey and headed for the Delaware Memorial Bridge.  I just couldn’t wait to have one last day of paying tolls and driving on 6-lane highways in gridlock traffic. 

And boy did I ever get my fill.  Somewhere in Maryland, traffic came to a dead stop.  Shoulder construction forced several lanes of traffic to merge down to merely a few lanes, and obviously asking people to take turns while driving is just beyond so the next hour or so was spent alternately creeping at 3 mph or debating whether it would be more efficient to just cut the engine, put the car in neutral, and push.

Fortunately, this truck slipped in front of Andy’s car and kept my spirits high until almost Virginia.  ‘Twas magical.

The rest of Monday’s drive was unremarkable.  We arrived in Knoxville, checked into a Super 8 where we did a quick Bed Bug/Make Sure There Are No Crevices Into Which The Cat Will Disappaear Forever inspection, and set out for Keith’s house.  He showed us around his super sweet Brady Bunch-esque house (it still kind of makes me feel old that some of my friends are home owners and that comparing utility bills and appliance efficiency is a form of stimulating conversation). 

Then we went out for dinner, which was awesome and did not contain grits, hush puppies, or anything remotely Southern – a relief for both my waistline and my colon.  Afterwards, Keith showed us around a bit of downtown Knoxville.  He took us to the giant disco ball from the 1982 World’s Fair.  Good times were had by all, but we called it a night early so we could get some rest in preparation for a marathon drive from Knoxville to Tulsa the next morning.

Marathon is not an inaccurate way to describe Tuesday’s drive from Knoxville to Tulsa.  By the end, we were exhausted, dehydrated, starving, sore, and at risk for having a heart attack.  If my bowels had released at some point during the drive, it would not have been surprising.  Marathon.  

This tale of wandering and woe will continue...tomorrow.  Seriously, it really will, because I've already written it and scheduled the post.  You can take that to the bank.