I drove from Portland, ME to San Francisco, CA in a Honda Civic, with no CD player, loaded with most of everything I owned, trunk, backseat, passenger seat.
Other than making sure the car was all serviced up and planning a half assed route with an atlas, I pretty much just pointed in the direction I wanted to go and pressed the little pedal.
I had relatives in Buffalo for the first leg, after that I just planned on an easy sort of “work day” of driving. 8 hours and I’d find a Motel 8 and hang it up for the day. I had a little map of all the Motel 8’s in the country, so it was easy to estimate a decent day of driving. I ended up mixing it up a little – doing a short day so I didn’t have to negotiate the Motel 8 in downtown Chicago. And across the plains, by then I was just used to it and I’d end up putting in a 10 hour day of driving just because it was easier than stopping.
So I didn’t push things. Did like Gump and stopped when I was tired, and sooner or later … what do you know … I made it to where I was going.
Well… no. I’ve never been a fan of southern food. I’ve been here for 9 years, but never became a fan of it. Although I must say, it’s the first time I ever had chicken and dumplings, and I LOVE that.
You have balls of steel. Me, not so much. I’m still nervous about it all, but I have to do it. I just want to make it there in one piece. Me and my car.