Friday, June 7, 2013

Road Trip: SF to Philly

Have you ever driven across this God-forsaken country in a mini van packed to the ceiling with surf boards, a bike, boxes of crap, and a cat? Let me tell you what that's like. It's exactly how you'd imagine it to be--utter misery.

Last Sunday, we woke up on a hardwood floor that was generously padded with camping sleeping pads. There were piles near us--things to pack, things to trash. Dylan went to go pick up the van while I cleaned out cabinets and tried to organize. Could we have completed these tasks earlier? Of course. Did we? Of course not. On moving day, I walked from one room to the next noting how much junk we planned to drive across country; I continually shook my head, thinking "This is not going to fit." In fact, I had said these words aloud many times over the past couple of weeks and was responded to with a sigh and a "It'll fit." Dylan must have some master plan that involves shifting atoms and rearranging space in a way never seen before by mankind. If he says it'll fit, it will fit.

So, the stuff didn't fit in the van. Who saw that coming? As we carried out box after box, Dylan all the while organizing our belongings in a puzzle-like grid into the back of the Caravan, I noticed the apartment still looked relatively full of stuff, while the van was also beginning to look full. Finally, after trying to ignore the inevitable, it became clear that once again I was right and Dylan would need to hang his head sheepishly as I rolled my eyes. It was not a pretty sight. We left my baby guitar, some rugs, an adorable floor lamp, and odds and ends right there on the sidewalk outside of our home. We drove a couple of other bags to my friend's house, leaving them with her to mail to us, so we would be able to see out of the rear-view window for the next 3,000 miles.

That is how the trip started. 10 miles into the trip, and I was absolutely furious. You can bet I didn't speak one word for the first 5 hours of the trip. I'm shocked I'm not in jail right now for murder, because I was pretty close to committing that crime with almost no regrets.

After that start, the trip had nowhere to go but up. Wyoming was the "up" part of the trip. Mountains, a sunset, only slightly trashy people and a handful of God signs. Nebraska was the worst thing I have ever seen in my life. I can't even go into words without ranting like a pyscho, but let me tell you, it is depressssssing. Iowa did not improve. One town consisted of a liquor store and a Subway. AND THAT'S IT. Finally, a few states later, we drove into Ohio, where people started to become less and less creepy until we eventually hit the east coast, exhausted by almost straight driving, a vocal cat on a leash, and an upcoming sister's wedding. Next time we move across country, remind me to kill myself first.


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