Five hundred twenty five, actually.
Today I drove from Pennsylvania to New Hampshire. Yesterday I drove from Delaware to Pennsylvania. The whole production today took about seven hours, what with stops and everything. Yesterday was about two. The purpose of the road trip, for those of you who do not closely follow the details of my life, was to get the car that my parents gave me for my 21st back home to New Hampshire with me. The goals were as follows: Not get killed, get home, and name the car.
I didn’t do it alone- I had a friend from college with me and our venerable Doper BadAndi as the navigator. I was the only driver, though, and I have to say that I feel a bizarre sense of accomplishment on account of not getting us killed, extremely lost, or dented. I’ve driven parts of the drive to NH before, but I’ve never done it by myself.
I only got flipped off twice, on the wrong road twice (“Are we supposed to get on 87 or 287?” “87, I think.” “Okay.” “Um… actually…”), and I can’t say that there were any major shenanigans. I have learned, however, that all you need for success on a one day road trip is lots of good music (we had Nields, Great Big Sea, Simon and Garfunkel, and Tegan and Sarah on heavy rotation, among others.)
As far as the road goes… I really hate 84. The Garden State Parkway is incredibly dull. And there’s a great place in Deerfield, Mass, off of 91. It’s a butterfly conservatory; go in and there’s several thousand butterflies flitting about. I highly recommend it if you’re ever in that neck of the woods.
The nicest part of the trip was when I got onto 91. You know that point where the terrain goes from being just terrain to something familiar? That felt good.
Visiting the 'rents was nice, but it’s wonderful to be home.
Oh, and I have named the car Squishy. Those of you who have been to the movies lately will get it.