There's No Place Like Home

My last day's drive offered me nothing new or exciting to report. I traveled roads into which I've practically worn ruts, I didn't listen to any radio programs offering an alternative viewpoint to mine, and I didn't see any anti-abortion, adult superstore, or FIREWORKS! EXIT NOW! signs. I took only one photo the entire day. Here it is.

The day's route was pretty straightforward: I-79 in Cumberland to I-81 to I-80. I cruised through the always attractive Delaware Water Gap, on to I-287, over the Tappan Zee Bridge, across southern Connecticut on the Merritt Parkway. I turned north onto I-91, hit some traffic in Hartford, then drove I-84 to the Mass Pike to I-495 to exit 21A. That's it. Trip over. Almost.

I did take the time to reflect on a few things I learned over the last two weeks, however:

• Judging by what you can see and hear while driving the interstates, Missouri, Nebraska, and Kansas seem to out-Bible the Bible Belt (or at least what I thought was the Bible Belt.)
  
• There is more to Mexican fast food than Taco Bell. Taco John's, Del Taco, Taco Tico, Taco Time, and Jimboy's Tacos all offered me their culinary delights during my days of driving. I passed on each one.
• John Sterling, the New York Yankess radio play-by-play guy, really doesn't call all that bad a game. As long as nothing exciting is happening, like a Yankee homerun or the final out of a Yankee win, he keeps his revolting Stirlingisms to himself. And as long as nothing controversial develops, he keeps his homerisms to himself too. I enjoyed my three innings with him.
• Road kill comes in many forms. Over my fortnight of driving, I saw dead rabbits, deer, raccoons (lots and lots in northern Missouri), prairie dogs, desert mice, possums, squirrels, skunks, cats, dogs (maybe coyotes, definitely not wolves), birds, frogs, and one red fox. Actually, I guess I already knew that roadkill comes in many forms, but I wanted to pass along the list of what I saw, and this provided the forum.
• Night Ranger's debut album Dawn Patrol sounds very dated. I still happily sang along to almost every tune.
• Speaking of dated music, try belting out the songs on Bat out of Hell with Meat Loaf. Be sure to tap into the pain and anguish of Meat Loaf's delivery, and be sure to hold all of the notes for as long and as loud at Meat Loaf does. See if you don't get light headed and gain a little respect for that sweaty fat pig; I certainly did. And then I played the album again just to see if my initial reaction was accurate. It was.
• This American Life remains the best show on radio, but The Moth is a close second. I recommend them both to you. Also, my youngest brother has twice been thanked by TAL's host, Ira Glass, for his help with stories.
• I am more frustrated than ever with Americans who never think of seeing their own country, instead believing that "travel" only means going to western Europe or some Sandals resort in a tropical location. Ours is an unbelievable country offering geological, geographical, and cultural variety unparalleled by any nation anywhere.

I pulled into my driveway at 6:15 p.m. on Sunday, July 11. My kids put a "Welcome Home, Daddy!" sign in the front yard for me; a neighbor said it looked as if I had been at war, but I was happy all the same. After hugs and kisses, we all enjoyed a chocolate "welcome home" cake, looked at pictures and souvenirs, and the trip officially came to its happy conclusion. No breakdowns, no attacks, no death or even severe injury, except to countless insects who were unfortunate to meet me driving across the heartlands, over the mountains, and through the deserts. (Click on and magnify these photos to get a look at some of the carnage.)

Two tasks remain to really complete the journey. First, I've still got a bottle full of Pacific Ocean water waiting to be poured into the Revere Beach surf. I also need to compute the final numbers—miles covered, gas used, time in the saddle, etc. Hopefully I'll get those done in the next couple of days, and I'll report back to you, gentle reader, one final time.