Rules of the Road

If you’ve been following me on Twitter or Facebook at all, you know I’ve moved recently. This wasn’t just any excursion, either. This was a massive move from Tucson, Arizona all the way to Portland, Oregon. The little jaunt taught me a great deal about moving, travel, and road trips in general. 

If You Can’t See It From The Road…

One last goodbye from Scarlet.

I made this mistake three times before I realized exactly what the problem was. I was lured off the highway by the promise of a blue sign. Gas! Food! Presumably bathrooms!

About ten miles in, it would dawn on me. Maybe, I’m not going in the right direction… The barren road certainly isn’t giving me any gas. I’d turn around, and try looking for signs. Sometimes, I’d even go just as far in the other direction.

Spaz, displeased and irritable.

What did I learn? You really shouldn’t go off the road for anything less than something you can see from the highway. Those large, obnoxious glowing logo poles are actually to be trusted. Blue informational signs? Not so much.

Similarly, LA is comprised of not only blue signs that lie but also logo posts that appear to have displacers of some variety. Wait the three hours it takes to get across the city. You’ll regret getting off the highway. The Wendy’s you wanted? It’ll always look about two blocks away, regardless of where you swear it has to be.

Something Will Go Wrong

Oh look, a light.

Oregon is a long way away from Arizona… the length of California, in fact. It simply would not do to leave the car unchecked before such a journey. Low and behold, the place I had her checked said she was fine. Fit as a fiddle, even if she did need an oil change (which she promptly received).

Fluids replenished, we hit the road! About a third of the way through California, the check engine light turned on and the car informed me I no longer had traction control, if I wanted it. I twittered. I also panicked and called someone even though the car wasn’t misbehaving. I think nearly 10 people told me to check the gas cap, which was not loose for the record.

A sensor having a panic attack is not grounds for flipping out, but something had to go wrong, didn’t it?

Sleep Is For The Weak

Snooozing.

I had such a wonderful plan. I would drive as far as I could on the first day, tuck into a rest stop, snooze for a good five to eight hours, and then get back on the road for the second and final leg of the journey. It was a very good plan.

However, I forgot a few key things. For starters, Spaz didn’t shut up for more than an hour at a time (which was a vast improvement over the every seven seconds pre-drugged). My seat no longer reclined to a comfortable position for napping. I’m not exactly in my most secure and restful state in the middle of California at a less than well lit grassy area.

I’m not sure I got more than an hour’s rest in a single stop. This wasn’t so bad. As long as I gave serious consideration to whether or not I could safely drive to the next roadstop 75 miles down the highway, it was a good plan. I even reached Portland in what I would consider record time.

Alls Well That Ends Well

The only thing worse than being two animals stuck in a small car for a 25 hour drive is being the human that has to deal with the two stuck animals. Puck was given the run of the yard, Spaz the run of the house, and I was treated to a long, hot shower. What’s better than that?