And, lo, it was said that the hubcaps shall be melted down to make pots to cook stew that shall be used to feed the children, and the steering wheels placed in the fields as trellises for the grapes, and it was good. The motor oil, gasoline, transmission fluid, and washer spray shall be put elsewhere. I’m not sure where just yet, we’ll have to get back to that at our next board meeting. Such receptacles as were used for these liquids will now be used to collect rain water. And a hush fell over the congregates as the interstate parted, and the road warrior left his BMW and came to the kitchen to make a nice, seasonal soup with a white miso added to the stock.
After 16 hours of driving yesterday, stopping four times to refuel, letting the dogs stretch, eating a hot dog, and buying a Power Bar, after getting lost in the woods of Union, CT, aka, “America’s Hell Hole,” after the NAV system called it a night and just flat out quit except to say again and again and again, “GET ON THE HIGHWAY, GET ON THE HIGHWAY, GET ON THE HIGHWAY,” after the sweat poured off of me, like Ali in Manila, Round 14, Frazier unable to see, but still pounding back, as I realized that I could go no further, but still went further, I realized: Perhaps it would have been wise to STOP IN UPSTATE NEW YORK BY THER GORGEOUS FINGER LAKES AND CALL IT A NIGHT AT A GOOD HOTEL AND A HOT MEAL.
What, may I ask rhetorically, was I thinking?
Seneca Nation, in Upstate, offered to make me an HNA (Honorary Native American), but, no, I insisted on making the drive from Ann Arbor to Boston in one day.
A better plan would have been to take Route 20, which I enjoyed, and stop for the night. I knew this instinctively after 10 hours of driving, but testosterone kicked in and cramped my judgment.
Finally, as anxiety, spurred by hyper-sensitivity made worse by resistance to fatigue, as I was not tired, just deranged, I was guided home, literally, by my family over the cell phone I carry at all times along with my truffle shaver, police whistle, and Get Out of Jail Free card.
That’s me in the first orange car on the NY State Thruway just outside of Syracuse: