Sorry for being gone so long.
My friends and I made the drive up to Myrtle Beach for Spring Break. I’ll start with the drive itself.
We left Houston at about 10 pm on Saturday. There was a good reason for this. You see, three of us, including myself were driving, while the fourth member of our crew took a plane. Our check in time was set for 4 pm on Sunday. So, we decided that we would drive all the way through and arrive after our fourth member had already checked in.We underestimated the misery of 22 hours in a car.
We decided that we would drive in three hour shifts. I took the second shift, which took place from 1 to 4 am through Louisiana and possibly another state. My memory is hazy. Overall, it wasn’t too horrible because I was still slightly pumped for our destination. That changed pretty quickly. My only real suggestion for driving through Louisiana in the dead of night is to watch your speed. I had a cop pace me for a few minutes. Once he figured out that I wasn’t going to bust the speed limit (Hell yeah for cruise control), he sped off. Within a minute his lights came on and he pulled over a truck. Trust me. Rural Louisiana, surrounded by black swamps and dense trees is not the place to be pulled over by the lone country sheriff. Personally, if the red and blue were for me, being that I am extremely paranoid, I would probably punch the gas and run for it, considering the backwoods reputation that come from movies like Deliverance and Stephen King’s Desperation.
Basically, we worked together like a well oiled machine. While the driver drove, the person in the passenger seat stayed awake to keep them company and the person in the backseat slept. It was the kind of plan that looked perfect on paper. Here is how it really went down, from my perspective of course:
While I drove, my passenger/counterpart/second pair of eyes, closed his eyes periodically and dreamed furiously, often jolting himself awake while yelling “Oh Shit! Oh shit!”, also managing to scare the shit out of me. Then I had my turn in the sleep seat. First off, it was uncomfortable. Secondly, and most important in my opinion, was that fact that I am a light sleeper. My ears managed to pick up bits and pieces of the driver’s weary dialog, which consisted of: “Oh shit man. I’m about to pass the fuck out. I keep swerving into the other lane and, I think I’ll just close my eyes for a few minutes.” These comforting, midmorning phrases were also bundled with the sound of him slapping his face and turning up the radio to stay awake. This was pretty much as good as it got the entire drive. I’m not saying that I was a perfect angel, because I too drifted off during my passenger seat duty.
The favorite and most looked forward to parts of the drive consisted of the times when we could step out of the car and replenish our bodies and minds with some good old fashioned, hearty, country Cracker Barrel. Let me say this. As some of you might know, I drove out to the west coast this past summer. Not a single Cracker Barrel after you go west of San Antonio. This time around, you could spot one every five miles. Southerners love their Cracker Barrel, along with old people too. I’ll have more to say about the elderly later. For now though, you must know that it is of great importance to eat at a Cracker Barrel at least once in your life. They embody the stereotype of southern states and manage to provide a pretty damn good meal.
I can skip the drive through Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia. They all looked disgustingly similar at night, not that I’m saying that they don’t have their high points in the light of day being seen through a pair of eyes that aren’t wired to a brain hopped up on 5 Hour Energy shots and deadly amounts of caffeine. I’m sure they are lovely destinations. Plus, I think I have a subconscious desire to forget everything about that drive, the increasingly rank and alive body odors, the drool covered community pillow, lack of leg room, and disappointment with XM’s song variety. Did I mention that it rained from Houston all the way to South Carolina, every second?
The real trip started when we actually arrived.
