On the road again..

It's official. I'm not becoming a truck driver.

Since Thursday, I've accumulated about 35 hours on the road. OK, maybe it's not all that bad when you split it up day by day, but a round trip drive to New York and another to DC in less than a week is nothing to sneeze at.

For the most part, I really look forward to road trips. Even when left to my own devices, and therefore unable to ask my fiance introspective questions gathered from years of pouring over books like If and If2, I tend to enjoy the solitary journey. I like the sense of accomplishment it brings, I like the ability to sing at the top of my lungs without judgement or rehearse scenarios in which I bring Sarah Palin down in a national venue or tell off the boy who asked me out as an April Fool's joke in the 7th grade.

Not that it still bothers me.

I also enjoy the excuse it provides to stop at Dunkin Donuts, Chick-Fil-A and Arby's all in one day.

But this latest road trip had me contemplating two major disturbances:

The first? Roadside memorials. Now, I could take this rant down a very wrong path so, please don't get me wrong. We honor our dead and our loved ones in our own ways. Visiting the site where a death on a highway occurred and building a makeshift grave with a cross made from rotted white picket fence pieces is fine. Of course, it's not how I would want to be remembered if, God forbid, I was to depart this earth in such a manner. I'd hate for such a necessary place to be a constant reminder of death; not to mention the fact that I'd rather folks reflect and grieve surrounded by peace and beauty, rather than amidst a sea of shredded Goodyears and an aroma of exhaust. Still, I can understand the need to mark where the spirit departed.

I just find it so creepy. On a long road trip, how many you pass, some on the left, others on the right. And how much worse it must be to drive by a group of folks putting it together. I dunno. It just gets me thinking and it creeps me out.

Hmm.. how to transition from here. Yikes.

The other disturbing realization I made on today's return home was just how much driving we're all not doing on the road; thus resulting in these informal grave sites on the side of the road. Nosepicking, paper reading, cell phone chatting, tv watching, teaching the dog a new trick; we've seen it all before. But take my genius move.

I was dying for Chick-Fil-A. It was all I could think about. I drove clear out of my way to find one when I reached my point of desperation. I had about 90 minutes left in the drive, and I never once considered eating in the car for 5 minutes while in park in the parking lot of the restaurant. No, I must eat and drive.

And did I pick a driving friendly food? No! It was finally time to try the nuggets and dipping sauce Mary keeps raving about. And I'll wash it down with a shake, thank you very much.

Thus, while cruising down 95 at 72 mph or so, I balanced sauce in my hand as it rested on the wheel, waffle fries on one thigh and nuggets on the other.

It was damned impressive until I reached for my milkshake. And pulled the lid off. And got milkshake everywhere.

2 napkins, the paper bag my food came in and a bottle of water was all I had to clean it up. And did I pull over to do so? Of course not. I had at it while continuing down 95.

Wipe wipe, curse curse, wipe, curse. You know the drill. I eventually cleaned it all up.

And looked up to realize I'd just missed my exit. The exit the nice British GPS lady was telling me to take but I was so distracted I didn't notice.

Yah.

Not my brightest, most shining moment. I spent the remaining 48 minutes of my drive (12 extra minutes than it should have taken) with my tail between my legs. Completely embarrassed. In front of the no one that was there.

I think I've learned my lesson, though. Only Combo #1 from Chick-Fil-A for future road trips. Nuggets are not for amateurs. Though I bet truckers could shell a lobster while driving.