Here are some highlights of the time spent with my ass in a seat, traveling companion at my side:
- I drove the first 3 hours while Scout read his book. I know, wild and crazy road trip! We forgot to bring our markers to make signs to passerby "Honk if you're horny".
- The radio choices in the miles between the cities that had more than one exit were: country, christian, country christian, and one lone pop station. After selecting our option (pop), I was delighted (delighted? did I turn into an old bitty on this trip? who says that anymore?) to hear Jon Bon Jovi crackling through the airwaves. I would have blasted it, but Scout is not a fan of blasting music, and constantly warns me about ruining my hearing (he must be in on the conspiracy with my parents, who have been warning me about that same thing since I was 13... hello? people? I CAN'T HEAR YOU!), so in lieu of blasting Jon Bon's dulcet tones, I took a break from my knitting, repurposed my knitting needle as a microphone (works just as well as a curling iron or brush, FYI, ladies) and started singing along. And when I say singing, I mean belting. Wooo-ooooaaaah... we're halfway (really only about a third) the-ere... Wooo-ooooaaaah... livin' on a prayer... Scout winced for the entire song, and during a break in the singing (when I was reenacting a guitar solo), he wished me hoarseness. Unfortunately for him, that did nothing but strengthen my resolve. Take my hand and we'll make it I swe-ear...
- My car has a tape deck player in it (I know, right? Scout thinks it is the last car out there with a tape deck - he is all snooty now that he has his new car!), and lo and behold, there was a tape in it. So we hit the "tape" button (click, click, whir) and listened to the high quality sound of Billy Joel's Stormfront. For those of you familiar with this album, it has the song that will get stuck in your head for days, "We Didn't Start the Fire"... it was always burning, since the world's been turning... Sorry, back to the story. As soon as it came on, Scout started to sing the words. I feel like "sing" isn't the right word for that song - you are essentially trying to whoosh all the words out and gasp for air between verses. Anyway, I was completely enthralled with this (skill? talent?) that I had not seen before... seven years - I thought I knew everything about him? So I rewound and made him start from the beginning, and he did very well! I got a crush on him all over again. I know, my standards are unreasonably high.
- Next trip, we are totally bringing our mix tapes... have to dig them out of the time capsule buried in our backyard. Kidding! They are in a tape deck organizer next to my nightstand... kidding again! I'm not THAT weird. But I am weird enough to still have most of them. Hey, they could be antiques someday!
- Upon departure from our driveway, I started the timer on my watch. So I could know how long it takes to get there. As a rough estimate, I think I looked at my watch about seventy three... make it seventy four times during our trip. Then forgot to look at until halfway through dinner after we had already checked into our hotel, unloaded our car and driven to Scout's aunt and uncle's house. Seriously, I should put a post-it on my steering wheel to remind me to check my watch when we arrive!
- Last time we drove to Oregon (a month ago), my faithful car sustained a massive injury to the windshield, and started cracking so bad (you could actually hear it crack and spread) that we decided it should be replaced immediately - safety first, kids! Can you see where this is going? Anyone? If you guessed "got hit with another rock and need ANOTHER new windshield", you are correct! Oh, the glass guys are going to love us. I like to consider it supporting the economy. Except that I can think of about 1,100 things I would rather buy than a new windshield.
So, after 1,100 miles and 18+ hours in the car (you could figure out our average speed if you paid attention during math class in high school), I was so happy to finally be home... only to get in my car the next day to drive to San Francisco for work. I should have called in sick... carsick, that is.