I hate road trips. There. I said it. Everyone talks about how fun road trips can be looking at the scenery, talking, listening to music. B.S. After about an hour (or less), I’m done talking, the music is boring, and I don’t want to see another tree. I am ready to chew off my own arm to escape. It’s a monstrous waste of time. I just want to get to where I'm going. If I could pick a super power it would be teleporting. Screw flying.
On Friday of last week, I had to pick my son up from science camp. A stupid 2½ hour road trip. The camp happened to be located in the mountains near Santa Cruz. So I decided that if I had to drive that far, we might as well stop off at the beach. That would make the trip worth it.
The freeways here in California are insane. To get to Santa Cruz, I had to brave the San Francisco Bay Area commuter traffic of death. I myself am a bit of a lead foot, but I might as well be riding a tricycle around these people. That’s at least when the cars can actually move. Don’t even get me started on the traffic. You do not want to get pulled over here because the Highway Patrol officers are not very nice, or so I’ve heard anyway.
My favorite Bozo is the insane speeder guy who acts like I am the only thing standing between him and the open road, like the 5000 cars ahead of me are invisible. I’m just going slow because I feel like it. It certainly wouldn’t have anything to do with traffic. Insane speeder guy finally gets a chance to pass on the right and gives me a dirty look on the way by before cutting back in. Congratulations. Only 5000 more cars to pass and you’ll be home free. Moron.
The other thing that drives me crazy is that the Bay Area highways are confusing. There is the 280, the 580, the 680, the 880, the 8080… I think you get the point. Who planned that? My Honey drives all over Northern California, so he knows almost every road by heart. Whenever I have to drive somewhere, he tries to be helpful by giving me directions.
“That’s easy to get to. You just take I-5 to 205 to 580 to the 680 interchange. Take 880 south and get off on the third exit. Go about 2 miles, turn left at the Burger King and you’re there.”
“I’ll just Google map it, Honey. Thanks anyway.”
Once I got passed the Bay Area traffic of death and got into the Santa Cruz Mountains, I thought I could relax. The scenery was nice, the speed limit was lower and the traffic was ligheter; a nice cruise through the mountains to the beach. Sounded good until the highway narrowed; it was bordered by the alternating mountain face with jutting rocks and steep drop offs of doom on the right and a huge cement barricade down the middle of the freeway on the left. Add in cars and curves and you have yourself a “No room for error” party. The scenery may have been nice to look at if I wasn’t worried about dying in a fiery ball of twisted metal.
Unfortunately, as luck would have it, the Google map was wrong and I wound up having to call Honey for directions anyway. “See, you should have listened to me in the first place.” Sigh.
I finally made it to the camp to pick up my son. I even made it to Capitola where we were able to have a nice lunch in the sunshine right on the beach. Ahhh. Ok, so maybe it wasn’t so bad.
Well, at least not until we had to go home…