20030513   

Michael considered fate at 11:14   |   Permalink   |   Post a Comment

Having read Bunine's diatribe on slow drivers in the fast lane (aka the left lane.. the one that is closer/closest to the lanes carrying traffic in the other direction.. the one where, if you fucking morons hold up the correct hand and make a 90 degree angle with your thumb and fore finger it will make an 'L', the lane will be on that side of the road that your hand is) I feel it completely necessary to whole-heartedly agree and tell you all to GET OUT OF THE LEFT LANE if you aren't passing someone.

Here in the state of Maine it seems like most people grasp this concept. It is only when the flatlanders (m)assholes or other southerners wander into our vacationland that I find myself cursing the heavens and bumper-riding like a 5 year old at a theme park. Cars were *not* meant to travel in train-like rollercoaster units - which is to say, if I am ON YOUR ASS you should GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY.

Bunnie's little spouting was in response to a bit of a road trip, I'm presuming, as is mine. Hiking in Virginia involved, in my case, driving to Virginia. Unfortunately 1/3rd of us travelers were not versed in the ways of manual transmissions - shortening the list of healthy drivers to 2. Nevertheless we made it down to Damascus on the Tennessee border in a mere 15 hours, stopping only three times for gas and snacks. I did 9. Somehow I was conned into about 9 of the return trip as well, but I'm not bitter at all.

D.C. traffic on the Beltway was not our friend and the old accord did some pretty damage to a little Mirage Coupe - smashing up it's rear corner and probably $2000 worth of damage. They don't make them like they used to - the wagon took it like a champ, it's blinker light assembly cracking into many pieces but the bulb underneath remaining intact. The insurance companies will say it was my fault and I'll leave it at that because I don't feel like swearing anymore today.

We also did some pretty miles on the trail. Having hiked a little over half the days we had planned everyone got antsy and we cranked out 30 miles our last day out just to get into town earlier in the week. 30 miles. I'm no Kitty, running marathons and showing off blisters, but I do have an awfully bloody sock and some rank underwear to show off if anyone is interested.

Also, despite the relatively easy hiking of the Virginia hills and the obnoxious heat (I'm glad I was there in early May and not mid July) they had wild ponies. Worth checking out Grayson Highlands State Park.

Ohh.. and did I mention the hippy hiker chicks in town with their freshly washed hair all frazzled in the sun and their flip-flops clicking and .. no bras? mmm. Sometimes no bra *is* a good thing. ... sometimes.