Onwards, homewards.

Here's something that threw me for a loop: as of
yesterday, we've driven through 47 of the lower
48 states this year. Sorry North Dakota. Your
southern neighbor is warmer, has giant stone
craniums of four of the good presidents carved
into a mountain, and Walldrug, the world's leading
purveyor of useless plastic rubbish. Better luck
next year.

Yes, yesterday included drives through the
thrillsvilles known as Iowa, Nebraska, and
Wyoming. If you like tumbleweeds, jaywalking
deers, and arrow-straight two lane highways, take
the 80 through the middle of the country. There's
literally a thousand miles of it. If you're lucky:
roadwork signs with no roadwork. The sunsets are
nice though. We were driving through Utah today
and dusk was positively ominous. Black clouds,
craggy mountains. You know Mordor from Lord of
the Rings? A lot like that, sans creepily vaginal
flaming mouth of death. I could've missed it
though.

Defying the Google oracle, we're aiming to make it
back a day early (read: tonight) after three
sixteen hour driving days. And you know what? I'm
not even feeling insane yet. A bit dissapointing,
actually. Other long drives have devolved into
thoroughly embarrassing free style rap-offs, stale
donut eating contests, and peeing-in-gatorade
-bottle-marathons. This time? We're focused,
business-like, downright Amish about it. I think the
wonder that is the Donald has a lot to do with it.
Comfy leather, roomy interior, movies both vile
and fantastic, and the glory of cruise control make
the journey so much better. No more radiator
explosions. No more running the heater constantly.
No more Patrick Stewart, in other words. I miss
her in the way you might miss athelete's foot,
which is to say, not at all.

The only thing missing is Motown Philly. I want to
hear that song desperately right now. Boyz II Men,
besides the unclever Nu Metal-esque mispelling,
was the best boy band of all time. Back in school,
you know, they used to dream about this
everyday. And so on. Plus, we could've played it in
Utah, which I'm pretty sure would've been some
sort of cultural event.

Alright: gotta keep Zach awake, then drink some
"Warning: Highly Caffienated" trucker-strength
coffee and drive us home. The feeling you get
driving over the Bay Bridge after weeks away is
one I'm looking forward to. I think I'll put on some
Simon & Garfunkel so it feels like the Graduate.
Until soon.

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