Well, we talked about it and talked about it and..it looks like we actually talked ourselves into it after all of that. We’re officially in the car and driving West. I-90 to a targeted overnight in Cleveland, to be exact. We chose this route over the more direct I-80 because I’ve driven the latter through PA a dozen or so times in my life already. And there’s something kinda cool about driving off the end of the Mass Pike and into oblivion.
We’re about 40 miles East of Buffalo right now and I’d forgotten how beautiful western New York is. And historic. The Iroquois confederacy, the Erie Canal, etc. For oddities we saw a turkey fly confidently over the highway at an altitude of fifty feet or so. No idea they could do that. Also saw a pack of coyotes foraging at the side of the road.
Prepping for this adventure was interesting. I have a love/hate relationship with packing for trips. I always aspire to carry only what I absolutely need. But I’m a pessimistic planner. Or, more exactly, I relentlessly pre-disaster everything I undertake. Worst case scenario? Glass half empty? I’m your guy. So, predictably, I packed stupid. Like some 19th century Brit on safari in Africa. Fully aware that I have to fly back on an airplane (one checked bag), I’m bringing stuff I know I’ll have to leave at the other end. Including a fire extinguisher. And a cooler. Get the idea? I would have brought my floor jack too (seriously) but we didn’t have room for it. I can easily imagine the point – day three maybe – when Bill loses patience and starts throwing stuff out the window. Like a desperate sailor on a crippled ship jettisoning weight to maintain buoyancy. I’ll try not to stop him.
My son, by comparison, does not appear to have really packed at all. I watched him as he threw some random items of clothing in a backpack and tossed a pair of hiking boots in the trunk. Boom, let’s go. What, no silverware? He’s the mailman’s I think.