Road-trip revelations

Multiple road trips in three weeks will teach you a few things about yourself, and the lessons are not always pretty.

In the second week of September we drove to New Jersey for an anniversary party.

Then the next week we drove to North Carolina to pick up beef. I brought my load back home, then delivered some halfway up to Northern Virginia. Then I took 3/4 of a cow to New Jersey.

The following week we drove to south Mississippi where we had loads of fun at the Shindig, and then drove back home. We split each way into two days because when Siri says it takes 11.5 hours she is lying by at least 50% and despite how great my husband thinks I am, I can’t drive 18 hours in one shot.

I just did the math (because I have a calculator handy) and that’s a total of 3,776 miles in three weeks. My car looks like it’s been beat to death with an ugly stick, to use one of Ben’s sayings-of-unknown-origin.

Anyway, it was a lot of driving and along the way I learned a few things about myself. Here they are, in no particular order.

1. I do not like change of any kind and I can be stubborn about it.

This is not news to anyone who knows me, but the revelation reached new heights on this trip.

If you read the last post you will remember that I am very sensitive to caffeine but I love coffee, and what’s better than whizzing down the highway on a bright sunny day with a hot cup of coffee? Nothing, that’s what.

And where is the best place to get coffee on the interstate? A Love’s truck stop. Pilot used to be my favorite until they took away the decaf coffee dispenser and replaced it with a grind-your-own gadget with a touch-screen display that requires 17 steps to get 2/3 of a cup of decaf to which you can add a little regular so you get at least a modicum of flavor and still have room for french vanilla creamer.

Only now Love’s has installed the same machine.

At our first coffee stop I grabbed a small cup, poured myself 1/3 of a cup of regular, added two drops of creamer, and put the lid on. I felt very ripped off but deep down inside I knew I was rebelling against the use of that newfangled coffee brewer.

But that’s okay, because I showed them by not using it.

My three sips of coffee didn’t last four miles. (Sadface.)

So at the next stop I leaned into a little personal growth and used the new contraption. Selected all the things. Made the cup of decaf. Poured out half of it to have room for some regular and creamer.

No one died and I had coffee the way I want it.

Lesson learned: Recognize your stubbornness and admit when it is not serving you. Just make the coffee.

2. I am 61 years old and I am in denial about it.

I can remember being a little kid and listening to the adults around me joke about not being able to get up off the floor, stay awake for the evening news (remember Walter Cronkite?), and a hundred other things they used to be able to do but were unable to now because they were "old." I can remember thinking they were ancient, shriveled up, close to needing a nursing home. They were in their 50s. I am happy to report I can still get up off the floor (thank you, yoga) and since we have no TV, the evening news is not an issue. But I will confess to falling asleep reading earlier than I used to. I attribute my caffeine problem to age, as well as the fact that I can't handle much sugar and fast-food is no longer my friend. All these things are probably just as well since they're not good for me anyway. But every once in a while, I react to something and then stop and ask Ben, "Do I sound like an old crab?" I never wanted to be one of those "get off my lawn" types, but call me "hon" and the inner Gladys comes right out of my mouth. I don't see as well as I used to, I have less tolerance for people who drive more than 10 miles an hour over the speed limit, and I don't like to drive at night. That's a huge—almost embarrassing—admission for me. It makes me sound OLD, and I don't like that at all. When my great Aunt Ethel was in her 80s, she lived with my parents in our 2-story house in Point Pleasant Beach. One day my dad came home from school and Aunt Ethel was running up the stairs. He followed her up and stopped her at the bedroom door and said gently, "Aunt Ethel, you really shouldn't be running up and down the stairs. You could fall." She replied, "Edward, my body is 84 but in my mind I am 17." Right there with you, Aunt Ethel. In my mind I'm 25 and invincible and I forget that I can't do everything I used to do. I've taken pretty good care of my body, but 61 is 61 and there's no getting past that. Lesson learned: Don't fight your age. Do everything you can to stay young, but admit where you are in life.

3. I get very easily frustrated when traveling. 

There is so. Much. Traffic. Where did all these people come from? Has the population quadrupled since I was a teenager and started driving? I seriously can't even comprehend how many cars are on the road now. When I was a kid, a highway had one lane in each direction. Now there are four. Or six. Sometimes eight. And every one of them is jam-packed with cars. I find myself always looking for a traffic light so I can turn whichever way I need to without risking my life. I'm sure this is an old-person strategy. I'm starting to understand why every turn in New Jersey is made from the right lane--it's self-defense. And that would be fine, but it irritates me. Deep down inside I am thinking, "All of you, just go home." (Aka, get off my lawn.) I am a joy to drive with. Then there are the signs. Oh, the signs. There are so many of them. They are on top of each other. All brightly colored, flashing neon, screaming for attention. The one I'm looking for is the size of a playing card, unlit, and right down near the ground hiding behind an overgrown row of hedges whose only purpose is to block visibility. Of course I miss my sign and have to work my way across five lanes of traffic so I can turn left into a parking lot and turn around, only to come back now on the wrong side of the road and try to spot my minuscule sign again. Siri is no help with her "in 900 feet, turn right into the parking lot." Sure, Siri. Let me get out my handy tape measure and figure out what 900 feet looks like. Or the ones on the interstate that tell you what gas/food/lodging is at the next exit. SHEETZ—THIS WAY, they scream. So with relief that finally there is a gas station I recognize, I take the exit only to find out that SHEETZ is to the left, 1.7 miles. What. Who is in charge of deciding which gas stations get to be included on the interstate signs? Because it should definitely not be the ones that are 1.7 miles off the highway. Especially when that 1.7 miles includes three turns where there are no further signs to tell you, HEY, SHEETZ IS THIS WAY. There is no indication that you get off this exit and turn left, go a half mile to the first traffic light, turn right, then follow that road another six tenths of a mile and bear left at the fork and it's behind the big gray barn down yonder. We spent literally an hour on the way home driving through quaint little Virginia towns looking for the Sheetz that was advertised. We finally found it by coming to a T, turning right, going a mile or so, and doing a U-turn. That's when we saw the giant billboard advertising Gaz and Eatz and Coffeez and all the other things that shouldn't have a Z in them. This aggravates the daylightz out of me. You should only be allowed to advertise on the interstate if you are within three-tenths of a mile of the exit. We old people have limitz. Anyway, between the traffic and the crazy drivers going 90 and the time wasted looking for a gaz station and all the McDonald's issues, I let my frustration build slowly over a long day. And here's the truth about that: frustration is just another word for anger, and it's ugly no matter what you call it. It's not helpful, it's not healthy, and it makes everyone unhappy. (I get pointz for alliteration.) Lesson learned: Call anger what it is, and refuse to be ruled by it. So that's what I'm working on these days: recognizing my stubbornness, admitting my limitations, and not letting frustration win. What's something you're working on?