The drive from our home in the balmy (ok, cold and drizzly) South to my parents’ snow-covered midwestern farmhouse went smoothly. Well…mostly smoothly. Somewhere outside Dayton, Ohio highway engineers designed an exit ramp with no associated entrance ramp to get back on the highway. Instead, they strung signs out along a country road supposedly leading to a highway access point. If by “signs leading to the highway” you mean “signs decoying you fifteen miles into the corn fields and then disappearing”, that would be correct.
One traffic jam
Two books on tape
Three tanks of gas
Four caffeinated drinks
Seven major cities
Indiana is the state of choice for people who enjoy running off the road. All the tire tracks stayed neatly on the road through four hours of snow-covered mountains, but veered wildly off the asphalt and across the median and shoulders from one end of flat, soybean-desert-of-the-midwest Indiana to the other.
Driving is fun, and it’s enjoyable seeing all the winter scenery, but I missed my co-pilot cracking jokes, taking turns at the wheel, and picking strange flavors of chips at gas stations along the way. I’m reserving O Brother Where Art Thou for road trips together after you return. It’s not the same without you, handsome man.