I spent quite a bit of time in my car this past weekend. On Interstate 85.
It’s a six hour drive from Raleigh to Atlanta. An awkward distance. Is it worth it to fly? Or just suck it up and drive?
Fortunately, it wasn’t much of a debate this time around. I am a giant slacker and procrastinated booking a plane ticket, so road trip it was. Plus, it was a good opportunity to load up the rest of my husband’s clothing and deliver it to him. I now have an entire closet all to myself….
Anyway. I motored it down to Atlanta Friday afternoon, was joyfully reunited with my betrothed on Friday evening, ate some good food, drank some good wine, ran some miles, and looked at some housing options. It was a pretty fantastic weekend.
And the drive wasn’t even that bad. I like road trips and I don’t usually get bored. Long drives are kind of like long runs for me. Sometimes, I make up little stories about the people/things I observe around me. Sometimes, I ponder Big Life Questions and such. But most of the time, I just host a running dialogue. With myself.
I blame this on the fact that I’m an only child.
There are a lot of tire pieces on the shoulder of the freeway. Is it really that common for tires to just spontaneously explode? Is that why big trucks have like a thousand tires?
Is my right tire going flat? It looked low this morning. Next gas stop…
OMG, I don’t want to spend my night stranded on the side of the road in South Carolina waiting for a tow truck. Better put some air in it. I need new tires.
Why is gas so cheap in South Carolina?
Costco probably has pretty good prices on tires. And I think they install them for you, too. Good thing, ’cause I’d have no idea…
Bug guts or bird shit on my windshield? I can’t tell. Whatever it is, they should make glue out of it. Ugh.
Who are these people who bring carrots and apples on road trips? You can pry my curly fries from my cold dead hands.
I’m so glad the South doesn’t have those nasty travel plazas that they have on all the tollways up North, where there are only like two food places to choose from. Those travel plazas must be solely responsible for keeping Sbarro in business.
Costco pizza is better than Sbarro pizza. Any pizza is better than Sbarro pizza.
The Superbowl is on right now and I’m beer-free. Wow.
I miss living on the West Coast on Superbowl Sunday. I like football better when it’s an afternoon thing.
How many miles did I run this week? Not enough. Why did I bail on my long run on Friday? I suck.
How many miles until I’m home? Too many. Do I have time to get in a quick run tonight? Probably not.
Maybe I should fly next time.