King Of The Road

I just returned Rental Car #2 of the weekend and stepped in the door. Even when you the place you live does very little for you, it's still good to come home: to your own bed, your Netflix and your supply of various teas and coffees. But great googly-moogly - did it ever feel good to get off my ass and do something worthwhile with my time for a change!

I booked a car with Thrifty but they hadn't updated their website properly. Their new downtown location was actually out past the airport! One cancellation later, I'm with Enterprise but when I went to pick up the car they didn't have one in Compact Class (i.e. El Classo Del Cheapo), which is what I booked. Problem? Nope. I got a free upgrade to a sporty white Pontiac Sunfire!



Mine didn't look like that, of course. Contrary to rumour and prediction, I didn't die once. I didn't even make a wrong turn until after the Holland Tunnel, when a cop helped me reverse down a one-way street and put me back on course to the Manhattan Bridge. I forgot directions for the return journey but the signing here is pretty good. Norfolk was signposted from over 180 miles away. But I'm speeding ahead, and not for the first time today...

According to Mapquest, I was looking at a seven hour drive. After ten-hours as a passenger to Atlanta last summer, seven driving sounded like a walk in the park - despite the lack of a gear stick to help pass the time. However, I had three delays en route. First, at one of the Seven Engineering Wonders Of The Modern World, the 20-mile long Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel. We spent 20 minutes in line for the toll booth while it seemed like all they did was change booth staff. The car didn't restart on the first try here, but I thought nothing of it.

Next, at a town called Delmar on the Maryland-Delaware border. Dig that naming comvention! The entire land mass is called the Delmarva Peninsula because it passes through Delaware, Maryland and Virgina. Neat! Anyway, I stopped for a bathroom break and the car wouldn't start again. At all. While I waited for roadside assistance, I continued fiddling and eventually got ignition. This cost me an hour in all, and pissed me off no end because my beautiful Puegot 205 (back in the day) had exactly the same problem and I went through two batteries in five years before we diagnosed the fault as the alternator.

So I got to the end of the NJ Turnpike around 8pm and waited another hour in traffic to enter the Holland Tunnel. I swore I was going to run out of gas while I sat there, and I didn't dare turn the engine off again.

Total outward-bound trip time: 9 hours.

Today, I wanted to get at least halfway home before taking a break but three coffees got the better of my bladder. Still in the Garden State, the car failed to start on me again at a rest stop. "Alright," thought I, "it'll be fine after it's had a rest. Let's make this work to my advantage." I called the rental office, and they agreed to slash the cost of my per-day rate and not require me to return the car with a full tank. Add-on costs like fuel, tolls and insurance had practically doubled what I first thought my weekend was going to cost, so this was super-sweet news. Of course, the car still wouldn't start so I wasted time before I called for roadside assistance. In all it cost me two frustrating hours at the only rest-stop in the States I'd ever been to before with an ex-girlfriend. That was weird!

The guy from the local Enterprise office finally showed with a silver Kia Spectra for me. I broke with tradition and didn't leave any CDs in the Sunfire. Result! But first we had to drive to Bordentown, New Jersey, to do the paperwork... He knew a sneaky way out of the rest stop that avoided the Turnpike tolls and said, "follow me, and don't look like you're doing anything wrong." After that, we drove another couple of miles to where Car #1 was to be repaired. Finally, I dropped my new life partner Dennis back at work and got back to doing what I wanted to do with my day.



The speed limits here suck. The country that gave the world fast food and instant gratification in so many walks of life doesn't want its people to get around too fast, it seems. To easier track them by satellite, maybe? Or have I watched too much 24? Most highways are 55mph compared to 70mph as the standard in the U.K. Back home you can easily drive 80mph and, providing there's some asshole weaving between lanes at 100 - and there usually is - he'll get pulled over before you do. You rarely even see traffic police. Here, they'll literally hide behind an ad hoarding and jump out after you like Roscoe P. Coltrane.

There seemed to be less po-lice on the road as the day got longer, so I pushed my five-over-the-limit rule to ten and finally fifteen over, which got me in the door by 10.30pm. I wrote about five blog posts in my head today, and they were all funnier than this one.

Total homeward-bound trip time: 10.5 hours.

So that's the whys, the wherefores and the how-I-didn't-get-killed-by-oncoming-traffics. I do feel like a very big boy indeed for single-handedly tackling the East Coast, and it was fantastic to see so many familiar bodies this weekend. My later, funnier posts are coming soon and include hot party pictures from Saturday night. Never let it be said that I don't know how to work an audience!