I can't believe it's been over two months since we left San Diego. I meant to post this blog sooner but...no excuses. Just lazy. Anyway, here it is.
I knew from the outset of our trip from San Diego to Pensacola that it was going to be incredibly sad, disgustingly hot, and painfully boring. On August 20th we left America's finest city and set out on a three-day trek to the Sunshine State. Since my Civic has adequate air conditioning and I have a surprisingly high tolerance for boredom, the most difficult part of the trip was the sadness I felt about leaving my friends who had made San Diego feel like my true home. I must admit, I bawled from San Diego to El Centro, (a good hour and 45 minutes), until we stopped at a 7-Eleven for a cappuccino. Evidently, the scorching desert sun wasn't enough for us and we felt the need to ladle hot gas station coffee products down our throats.
Once the tears dried up, the trip became an exercise in patience for me. My husband, as many of you know is an avid (borderline psychotic) water-drinker. Obviously, the bathroom breaks were more frequent than "Joe the Plumber" references in the final Presidential debate. I guess it's the price you pay for a healthy urinary tract.
In addition to the frequent potty stops, I noticed Kyle was taking an unusual amount of time between getting into his car and actually getting back on the road. At only 28-years-old and eight months my junior--a fact he loves to bring up--Kyle can be a bit of an "old man" in his ways. I figured he was just calibrating his compass, aligning his Kleenex and getting his Velamints* handy. Aside from the Velamints, I was pretty much right on. OK, he was also messing with his GPS, but that doesn't completely fit in with the "old man" image.
Aside from the frequent stops and slow restarts, the driving was tolerable. Since we spent so much time on the road each day, we weren't that choosy with where we lodged. We were also somewhat limited having our dog, Elton, with us. We stayed at an Econolodge the first night in El Paso and a Motel 6 the second night in San Antonio. Finally, we stayed ten days in a Residence Inn by Marriott upon arriving in Pensacola.
Our lodging accommodations proved to be a mixed bag. I was thoroughly impressed with the Econolodge. It was very clean with an unoffensive ambient odor and the room decor was more stylish than one could expect in an economy-class motel. Kyle and I are suckers for a continental breakfast and theirs was adequate. They even broke up the carb party--the hallmark of continental breakfasts--with some hardboiled eggs. Granted, the eggs looked pretty suspect but you have to admire the effort.
If the Motel 6 we stayed at in San Antonio had been any worse, I would be in treatment for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The 99% humidity in the room explained the mold which was not seen but very much smelled. I was actually dirtier after I used the shower and towels but it's hard to break your nightly ritual. Finally, the good folks Motel 6 not only "left the light on for us," but they also left a pubic hair on the toilet. I wonder if Tom Bodett can work that into his folksy, acoustic jingle.
Finally, the Residence Inn, downtown Pensacola gets my full endorsement. The free hot breakfasts and evening refreshments were wonderful. Some of you have already heard me rave about the night of barbecued beef and beer. That was special. And a big shout out to my girl, Agnes, who kept our room so clean.
Hopefully, we'll only have to make a trip like that every three years. But I did learn a couple of things from the journey. I learned to have patience with my husband because if it weren't for him, I probably would've ended up in a Mexican jail. Secondly, keep anti-diarrheals in your glove box because when you start doing the Johnny-Apple-Quickstep in the middle of Texas and you have to stop at a gas station to buy them, you're going to get hosed. Finally, that Tom Bodett is a lying S.O.B.
*Velamints are vile-tasting breath mints that my grandma faithfully carried in her purse and, while today the mere thought of them triggers my gag reflex, as five-year-old sugar fiend I could brush off the lint and choke one down in a pinch.
Kansas Auctioneer Championship
3 months ago
