Roadtrip

Well, I’m here and in one piece. With airplane tickets as expensive as they are these days, perhaps super long drives will be the new way to travel. I might be okay with that. A few observations on the roadtrip:

• The amount of squished bugs on a windshield after an interstate drive is astounding and truly gross. I need to find a carwash. Which, if the prices of other things I’ve seen in Cleveland are any indication, should cost me about 89¢.


• The quality of radio stations across upstate New York varies widely. I’m not really an iPod person and I don’t buy CDs, so that leaves me at the mercy of whatever radio station I can scan to that isn’t country. There is a lot of country music out there once you leave Boston. But there’s also a lot of npr affiliates, so, skipping from crackly station to station, I listened to Fresh Air, Day to Day, and On Point, where Tom Ashbrook was interviewing a very cranky Candace Bushnell (the woman who wrote Sex and the City and wants to be taken as a serious novelist so badly that she got mad when Tom mentioned all the expensive shoes described in her books). There was also a really good alternative station, 90.5 FM from Rochester, NY that gave me a great 45 minutes.


• I was impressed with the availability of legal fireworks in the Midwest. Also that giant adult super store right off Highway 90 that is open 24 hours and resembles a neon-lit doomsday bunker. Like where you would go to buy porn if the world was ending.


• My trip included a lovely stopover outside Syracuse to visit one of my oldest friends (let’s just say when we met we both had big bangs and I was probably wearing my favorite peach-colored plastic triangle earrings). It was nice to relax with her and her family for a little respite after the last busy few weeks. It was also nice to eat a bunch of fabulous homemade pumpkin bars with cream cheese frosting.


• There was one notable roadtrip failure. It might take a certain kind of personality to get into books on tape, and I don’t think I have it. I really wanted to be entertained by my carefully chosen collection (I brought four full-length taped books, which is like, hours, of listening) but I found it takes a surprising amount of concentration and patience. Turns out you have to listen to John Updike for a solid 45 minutes before getting even one juicy sentence out of Witches of Eastwick. And that the first few pages of a murder mystery novel (the atmospheric set-up) are interminably long, and just got me itching for the part where someone discovers a dead body. Harry Potter had promise, but the tapes were warped and warbled, perhaps the result of an over-zealous fan listening to the book on repeat. I was surprised to discover I am a bad book-on-tape reader.

But really, driving by yourself for many hours is pretty okay. Even with no good music and aborted attempts to listen-read. It goes by pretty fast, there’s lots to see even on the highway, and when you do get a great song, it really feels like a victory. Add in a few good long phone conversations with friends (that are a true luxury since you don’t have to go rush off and do anything else), and you’re basically to your destination already. I felt like I could have driven all the way to California and it would have been kind of fun. Instead I stopped in Cleveland.

Next up: the city, its suburb, and calling 91 strangers in a row.