I journeyed the Blue Ridge from Georgia back to Marpennsylginia this past weekend.
Unbeknownst to me, an email went out earlier declaring this past weekend as the date everyone over age 90 from the following states/provinces was to migrate back to the North for the summer: New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, and Quebec.
(Apparently folks from New Hampshire, Vermont and Maine travel on a different weekend. Very clever that they stagger these trips.)
And so it was that I found myself wedged between and beside monstrous motor homes, campers, busses, trucks and SUVs on routes 95 and 81.
It was like a Where’s Waldo vacation puzzle and I was Waldo.
With that much traffic, you can guess that it was moving s—l—o—w—l—y.
When you’re driving slower than grass grows, you have time to look around.
So, I vehicle-watched.
You know what I mean, rather than people-watch, I vehicle-watch(ed).
Perhaps I should digress to explain: I used to live this seemingly glamorous life traveling as a business consultant. Invariably, I spent a lot of time in airports. My favorite thing to do was people-watch. In fact, I bet I could have spent an entire day observing people and wondering about their choices in hair, clothing, luggage, destination, companions, attitude, etc.
So, this past weekend, I got to vehicle-watch, and yes, I contemplated the many choices.
Like, who would drive on a major interstate in a death-trap “smart” car beside a massive, barreling 18-wheeler? Picture a tiny mouse beside a galumping elephant. I decided the car may be smart, but the driver is not.
I pondered for a good fifteen miles why a small pick-up truck would have a solar panel mounted on its roof. Just what does this solar panel do that the engine does not? I decided it’s probably best if I do NOT know.
For most of northern South Carolina, I tried to calculate the gas mileage of the motor home, with the six bikes and the huge Thule carrier straddled to the top, and which was pulling an SUV. Four mpg, maybe? Six, if the wind is with it?
I thought about accompanying the vehicles with the following plates into rest stops and telling them that they drive too close to other vehicles!: LEX EDU, OLE MISS, and KMISTRY.
And, hey, if I may: To Missouri plate #WC2-W90 – Your vehicle looks more like a giant baby shoe than a car! Phew, got that off my chest.
I also wondered: What’s the statistical chance that one person slaps this bumper stick on his car: “P.E.T.A. – People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals” while the very car behind him proudly displays this one: “P.E.T.A. – People Eating Tasty Animals.” Do the two then cancel out the thought entirely?
Finally, to Alaska plate # EYZ-458, I say: Really?! Are you kidding me? Yours is the largest motor home I’ve ever seen. With the money you spent in gas, you could have bought a home in “The Villages” in Florida and flown there and back, and still had money left over for a caribou dinner or whatever your pleasure is in Alaska. (Just don’t let certain P.E.T.A. bumper sticker people know.)
Finally, to my new friends at Outback Steakhouse in Rocky Mount, N.C.: See?! I told you I’d work you into one of my postings!
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What a great article! And am I ever grateful that you wrote it, posted it and that I read it! As you know from our early morning phone conversation, I’m not having the best day although it’s certainly not my worst day. But reading this article has put a smile on both my face and my heart. I’m so grateful for your writing gift.