Cracker Barrel Musings

8:40 AM - Sitting in the Cracker Barrel at exit 10 on I-70 in West Virginia, on Cabela Drive. This is a relatively new exit, built in the last couple of years to accommodate the enormous Cabela’s superstore across the way. I sat down at my table to the sounds of “Stand By Your Man” by Tammy Wynette

The departure from DC was delayed a little over 24 hours. With the exception of my couch and coffee table (thanks, Nick!) I loaded the entire car and trailer by myself.

Every. Single. Box.

By the time I was done loading, the car sat noticeably lower in the rear. The trailer is packed airtight. I think I could slide a folder in somewhere. I have a funny feeling I have exceeded the weight restrictions on the trailer, the hitch, my car, and perhaps the highway. I feel a pang of guilt for not pulling in at each weigh station I pass along the interstate.

As I left my apartment for the last time, I encountered my new neighbor, Jessica, once again. Jessica was kind enough to take some of my groceries off my hands before I left. She just moved in a little over a month ago, and we didn’t cross paths until two weeks before I left. In the couple of times we chatted, she seems a lovely person and I hope that the permanent-transients that I would find passed out on the floor of the apartment building’s mailroom and stairwells give her less trouble than they did me.

I figured that driving with such a heavily laden vehicle, I should stick to side roads and smaller two-lane highways. I was planning only to drive as far as Pittsburgh on my first day, but I realized as I pulled away from Mt. Pleasant that I had no idea how to get there without the interstate. I decided to purchase a GPS unit from the Radio Shack in Rockville to guide me along. As I worked my way up MD-355, my GPS guide “Samantha” kept directing me to I-270. But I stayed strong in my resolve, refusing to succumb to her feminine computer-generated charms and stuck to my stop-and-go path.

Until I got in the wrong lane.

The trailer has a label plastered on the driver’s-side wheel well in reverse lettering so that it is readable every time I glance into my side mirror. The label states “Speed Limit 45.”* It is a friendly reminder that when pulling the trailer, one should not exceed that speed or risk injury, death, dismemberment, rickets, gout, the heartbreak of psoriasis, and erectile dysfunction. After about five minutes on 270, I realized that I was pretty comfortable with slightly higher speeds** and that the other drivers could just pass me if I was going too slowly.

I made it into Pittsburgh at about 10 pm Saturday night and was fortunate enough to find four consecutive parking spaces on the street about 100 yards from John’s apartment. I called him up and asked him to come outside to give me a hand with parallel parking. However, by the time he had his shoes on and was standing alongside my car, I was resting gently against the curb.



I brought in my overnight pack and laptop bag and sat on the couch across from John and Anna. John is also in the middle of packing up his apartment so that he and his lovely girlfriend can move into a house together. We talked, had a few beers (which went to my exhausted head waaaaaay too quickly) and turned in shortly after midnight.

At roughly 6:30 this morning, I woke up. I tried for about an hour to get back to sleep, but to no avail. I decided it was best to get on the road and back to Indy so I can unload the trailer and return it by tomorrow. Speaking of, it’s time for me to get back on the road. Check in later.

Ohio

*In all fairness, the label doesn't specify 45 whats. Miles per hour? Furlongs per century? Leagues under the sea? For all I know, I was nowhere close to exceeding the 45 units of somethings per something else that the designers had in mind.

**This statement is not intended to negate any claims made by U-Haul or any of there subsidiaries. Any instances of injury, death, dismemberment, rickets, gout, the heartbreak of psoriasis, or erectile dysfunction that you should experience due to your failure to heed their recommended speed limit are your own damn fault.