I thought we’d been driving forever, but that was only Pennsylvania
Ben and I are on the road to Michigan right now. I’m digging the touchpad (for simplicity, we’ll call her Topaz from here on) since I can easily write this while Ben drives. Perhaps “easily” is a bit disingenuous — I make a lot of typos.
We’re currently on Shift 3, somewhere in Ohio. Ben wants me to note that he thinks we just merged in front of Rainn Wilson, who did not want to let us in. I hope that means something to you, beloved reader, because I have no idea what he’s talking about.
Ben took Maryland, then we switched just before the PA turnpike. Not ten minutes into my shift, it started raining. And raining. Oh how it rained. I missed you too, Pennsey. You didn’t have to go to all that trouble to show how you felt. I wasn’t going to move back anyways. Especially not with the way truckers drive there. Not once, but THREE TIMES I had to slow down because I was hydroplaning at the speed limit, only to have a large truck crowd to less than a car length behind me and flash his headlights for me to move over, usually timing it so that there was another truck in the other lane. Oh how I loathe driving in PA.
Somewhere east of Pittsburgh, we stopped at a rest stop for lunch and switched drivers. Ben pulled back onto the turnpike and the sun broke through the clouds. By the time we hit Ohio, it was nothing but blue sky and cottonball clouds. Figures, right?
Ellipses indicate passage of time, right? That ellipsis indicates roughly twelve hours and three BILLION miles. Ok, slight exaggeration. Pittsburgh to Michigan, which sure feels like three billion.
After Pittsburgh came Ohio. We stopped in a rest stop outside Cleveland, which was lovely (the rest stop, that is. I can’t vouch for Cleveland, having not left the turnpike). A short walk and a chat with a gentleman headed for Minnesota, and we were back on the road. A hundred miles, then Toledo, then another rest stop not nearly as clean as the previous, then the Indiana state line. Our EZpass gave us quite the scare when it decided to stop working mid tollbooth. Fortunately, an employee came over to rescue us, and we decided to go for cash on our final turnpike stretch.
Indiana was pretty uneventful — mostly full of corn. We got to see at least seven types of irrigation machine in action, from orderly misters to “Hey, Pa, I done shot this rusty pipe with buckshot and now it sprays water!” (Was that insensitive? I’m sorry, it was a long day and I’m a little out of my element. I’m sorry if I offend.)
Michigan took us off the turnpikes and onto country “highways” – two lane affairs running through bitty towns. We switched drivers at a gas station, where I got hit on by an eight year old. That would have been disturbing enough, but then I realized, not only am I old enough to be his mother, it wouldn’t even have been scandalous. Young, yes, but not scandalously so.
We stopped for dinner at Bell’s brewery, had fabulous brats and split an Oarsman, which went down way too easily. In addition to all the bugs we splatted on the windshield, I apparently also did in a pixie (I’ll try to snap a pic tomorrow in daylight). We passed a church about the size of Columbia Mall, took the most circuitous route to the cottage, and then finally arrived around 10:30. I’ve been told the property is lovely, with a great view over the lake. From what I can see, the house is surrounded by several trees and a very thick blanket of dark. We’ll see tomorrow about those lovely views.
It’s been a long day and Ben is already asleep, having lay down all of thirty seconds ago, so I’m going to wrap this up. My plan is to journal the whole week. We’ll see how well that holds up…