Highway 10 from California to Florida

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I've recently returned home after driving over 2,500 miles from San Diego California to Sarasota Florida. That's a long drive. It's the third long drive I've undertaken in my life, and I found that there are similarities which are too common to be coincidental.


Guy, Jenny, Tami, and me on D-Day (departure day)

1. There is a direct proportion to the number of miles driven to the intensity of which you will laugh at things which would normally only induce a chuckle.
2. Cops are just regular people, and being pleasant with them makes them be nice to you.
3. Never underestimate how much water you can drink (and conversely, how infrequently you have to go to the bathroom) while driving.
4. Even if you're equipped with two iPods stuffed full of music, it will become repetitive.
5. Apparently, based on pictures from this trip, I'm tall. Or conversely, other people are short.

Tami has been a friend of mine since I was an infant. We grew up together, went to high school together, I was her "emergency date" when she got stood up for her junior cotillion. We've always been very close. So, when she said that she was moving from California to Florida and didn't feel comfortable driving by herself (and with her parents' additional subtle pressure), I readily agreed to make the trip. I had no idea into what I had gotten. That's a long f*ing drive, even for her. Yes, a looooooooooooooooooong f*ing drive. Did I mention is was a loooooooooooooong f*ing drive? Yes? Okay, but it was also fun.

First I'll cover the highlights, then the lowlights. The highlights were seeing a billboard for "The Thing," about which I coincidentally blogged on my now defunct "Skiver Don" site. You can here to an NPR audio broadcast about The Thing, or search on Google using this link.

Another highlight was laughing hysterically to the point of facial and stomach pain about absolutely nothing. If I told you about being a Bayou Monkey or Pasha the Killer Lynx, you wouldn't laugh. You'd most likely chuckle politely and hope that the conversation turned quickly to politics or Paris Hilton.

Lastly, I have to admit that driving 1,400 miles in an absolutely straight line on Route 10 at 95 - 110 MPH for hours at a time is fun. Officer Tolley of the New Mexico State Police doesn't share my enthusiasm about driving at that rate of speed, but he's a hell of a nice guy. He's so nice in fact that he knocked down my fine to a mere $60, and then spent ten minutes chatting pleasantly with me and Tami about our professions. Could be the 110-degree sun. Could be loneliness. Could be just that he's a friendly guy. I'll never know.
The lowlights included being accosted by a pissed off cat (one of Tami's three cats is inbred with a f*ing cougar or lynx or bobcat or some such thing ... it's a house cat with an attitude of a goddamn rabid tiger); my sore ass from sitting in the sport suspension seat of a BMW for over 2,000 miles; and, all of the fast food. If I ever eat another Wendy's hamburger or combo meal from KFC, please Lord let the room temperature IQ employees get my order somewhat close to what I've asked.

Another lowlight was the ninth hour of the third day of driving. I don't care with whom you take a long drive ... it could be fucking Ghandi ... you're going to run out of things to say. But, have no fear, the slappy silliness of exhaustion and staring at brake lights ahead of you will soon assuage your boredom. In all fairness to Tami, there were probably only about 90 minutes of silence between us over 26 hours of driving.

Oh, one more lowlight ... why are there so many US Border Patrol stations in the United States? I'll answer my own question based on the number of illegal immigrants we witnessed being detained in plastic handcuffs and sitting on the bumpers of cube vans and 18-wheelers.

It was a long, fun drive. I experienced more adult interaction that I've had in the last five months combined. And I'm a PR professional.

One other random note from the road. At a dusty stereotypical hole-in-the wall gas station a few hundred miles west of El Paso Texas, there was a beat up van emblazoned with "The Freeze" painted on the side. After striking up a conversation while pointing to my Red Sox cap, it turns out that they're from Hyannis Massachusetts. The Freeze is on a 90-day tour of California, Washington, and Europe.

Tami begged me to let her go with them, but no, I promised her dad that I'd deliver her safely.