Hell on Wheels

I've been home for about 2 weeks now, enjoying life immensely. I don't have a job and school hasn't started yet, so I've been spending my time in decadent hedonism, enjoying all of the things I've missed all summer.

High on the list has been driving. I missed driving all summer. The car I drive is nothing but fun: a sporty little 2 door black Civic with a manual transmission, a cd player, and a spoiler. You can't help but feel damn cool cruising around in the thing. For those of you wondering if I'm one of those punk kids who rides around with the windows down and the music blaring... Guilty as charged. And it's not nice music either. Driving is one of my guilty pleasures, and heavy metal is another.

Number three is my boyfriend, Chris. And he is a guilty pleasure. Looks like a model, is amazingly smart, has a great job, and is incredibly caring and sensitive. It just doesn't get better than that. And so last weekend, when I had a chance to indulge in all three of these vices, I just couldn't pass up the opportunity.

Chris spent the summer working in North Carolina, and his internship lasted longer than mine. He flew up for the party, and I decided to drive him back home and spend a few days in Raleigh.

The drive from Philadelphia to Raleigh is 7 hours on I-95. 7 of the most grueling, white knuckled, exhausting hours of driving I've ever experienced. I'm quite used to long drives. I commute between Philadelphia and Pittsburgh regularly, and generally I drive it alone. 5 hours on the PA turnpike is long, but it's not that bad. The trip is 2 lanes at most, and people fall into a groove around 70 or 75 mph. 70 is fast enough to make progress, but not so fast that you can't enjoy some tunes in the process. So I've found that once I resign myself to 5 hours on the turnpike, the whole experience isn't that bad.

I-95 is a bit different. 3 or 4 lanes of mass chaos at an average speed of 85 mph exhausting after about 30 minutes. It's hard to imagine that people commute on this road every day. And then, there were no rest stops south of Baltimore. There are little shacks with bathrooms and snack machines, but if you want gas or an actual restuarant, you have to get off the highway. I guess the turnpike has spoiled me, but I like eating actual food for lunch. Snickers bars don't cut it.

So I arrived back home, after 7 hours alone with the traffic, and promptly fell asleep. I was still asleep when my aunt, uncle, and cousin arrived for dinner. Hooray.