Let me just tell you now, this trip turned out absolutely nothing like I had drawn out in my mind. I met basically two people, neither of which were named Large Marge, and I never got stuck on the side of a deserted highway in a snow storm. In fact, aside from scraping ice off my car windshield a couple mornings, I didn't even hit weather at all. I didn't go to any small town diners with no menus, happened to go to all the dinosaur museums on the days they were closed, and there sure as hell wasn't any mysterious handsome strangers in my journey. I didn't even "learn a lot about myself" like you're apparently supposed to when you spend so much time on your own. The only thing I learned about myself was that I can't sing, unless I'm doing my David Bowie impression. But I digress. Here are some things I've learned on my trip.
The self-timer on your camera is your co-pilot.
The moment I wanted a photo of myself in front of something (which was about 5 minutes into the trip), I realized I had a problem. Self timer became my best friend. I named it Wilson.
You don't have to stop driving to get a cup of coffee.
Stick a water bottle between a blanket and heater floor vent in the car. Put the heater on high and drive 10 miles going 70 mph. Open the water bottle, pour in one of those Starbucks Via travel packs, and shake it up. You can take the girl out of the ghetto....
You don't really get your kicks on Route 66.
Quite the contrary, Bobby Troup. There is nothing for the majority of the highway, apart from a few slaughter houses, abandoned barns and crappy rest areas.
Sometimes sleeping in your car is the best option.
My $50 motel room on the outskirts of Columbus, Ohio was probably one of the worst ideas I've ever had. Oh, Motel 6. You usually leave the light on for us, but this time I left the light on. All night. Sitting up in a chair, watching my car (& the drug deal next door), packing heat.
The atmosphere changes once you hit the New Mexico/Texas line.
Everyone is a lot nicer, with less teeth.
Big rigs are a lot less frightening after 500 miles.
It is a little embarassing when you see a giant truck whizzing past your "sports car", though.
You can make anywhere feel like home.
Well...at least I can.
Reading a map becomes second nature.
I hated looking at maps. Either it's all the easily accessible technology nowadays, or I'm just really stupid. I never wanted to touch one, much less own one. I now have 9 maps in my car, and I plan on keeping them there until they tow that piece of crap away.
Familiar faces are key to sanity.
Staying with family for a week in Missouri was incredibly important. Not just because I haven't seen them in a long time, but because driving for hours and stopping in unfamiliar places without seeing someone you recognize makes you feel like you're slipping away from society. Luckily, my family is more than enough sanity for me...
Tattooing customs are different everywhere.
In Missouri, two bottles of wine and a singalong to "Sweet Caroline" in the kitchen makes getting a tattoo a family event. The Griffins were an awesome family to hang out with, obviously.
There's a lot more I learned, recurring dreams that I analyzed and figured out, grudges I let go of by screaming off of cliffs. I tattooed new people along the way, that I look forward to tattooing again.
Well, it still hasn't set in that I now live in New Jersey again. I say give it another week. I'm only giving the accent 2 days to come back, though.
See you in hell. xo
