Liz’s rant: The road trip

As I mentioned Monday, I took a little adventure last week, heading off to the nation’s capitol for four days. I wasn’t alone in my venture – let’s just call it 3 1/2 men and me. What was I thinking?

Just so we all know where I stand, my idea of travel involves stopping only for gas and potty breaks when absolutely necessary, eating in the car and holding the pedal to the metal. I don’t screw around because I want to get there.

Our journey began at Cracker Barrel, 7 a.m. Thursday. Except that Colton and I were the only ones there. The men were running late – and it was almost 9 a.m. before we got on the road.

An hour later, we stopped to get a prescription filled. Are you kidding me?? Instead of the “other driver” getting gas while we waited for 30 minutes, we stopped at a gas after leaving the drug store. Unfortunately for me, there was a caravan of old cars at the gas station, diverting the attention of the three men, who snapped photos of the cars and struck up conversations with the owners of said cars.

Enter exasperation.

After dragging them away from the “car show”, we hit the road, having traveled less than 100 miles in 3 1/2 hours. Please note that in typical man form, the men were leading the way. Which gets worrisome when, having finally hit cruising speed, the truck I was following takes a quick right on the interstate across one of those gravel cut throughs, marked “Emergency Use Only.”

Enter cell phone call no. 1:

“What are you people doing?”

“Did you see the beagle in the median? We’re gonna check it out – make sure the dog is OK.”

Don’t get me wrong. I really don’t mind my friends playing Florence Nightingale. But didn’t we have somewhere to be? And weren’t we in the middle of nowhere? What was the plan if the dog had been hurt? Was the trip  turning into 3 1/2 men, a beagle and me?

“If they want to catch the dog, they’re gonna have to run,” said Colton, who was equally as frustrated as his mother. They didn’t catch the dog. In fact they never got within 30 feet of it. So, after another delay of about 20 minutes, we took off again, having accomplished absolutely nothing.

I counted no fewer than five more stops that day – one for dinner at the BW3′s wings joint.

It was getting dark when we finally reached DC, but at least my GPS showed 15 minutes until we’d arrive at the hotel. Except that there’d been a wreck about a mile ahead of us, causing an hour’s delay. Shoot me now.

We finally arrived, tired and grumpy, but glad to be out of the car and equally glad the return trip was going to be the furthest thing from my mind, for the time being. Our visit was nothing short of phenomenal, meeting and surpassing all expectations. So maybe there was hope for the drive home.

Or maybe not, as the men’s GPS sent us on a series of U-Turns and backtracking on some of the weirdest roads I’ve ever been on. And my GPS had gone from having us back home at 4:17 to having us home at 5:59. Which is when I made the cell phone call.

“What in the Sam Hill are you people doing?”

“My GPS won’t put us on a major highway.”

Thankfully, I’m pretty good at knowing where I need to be. Plus which, my GPS was working just fine, thank you.

“Take the lead, Mom,” pleaded Colton.

I suspect those words were the smartest words offered, where traveling was concerned.

“Follow me,” I said to the men. Luckily they did. But not before making a request.

“If you see a Cracker Barrel, take the exit – we’re starved.”

What they didn’t realize, was that I was now in the lead. It was a new day of road travel that was gonna mean stopping only for gas and potty breaks when absolutely necessary, eating in the car and holding the pedal to the metal. This time it was gonna be all me – and of course, 3 1/2 men.

-Liz