Earl and I drove home from West Virginia today. There’s nothing like a spontaneous weekend trip to get the blood moving and to clear the cobwebs out of the head. I tried something a little different when it comes to our road trip adventures today.
I rode the entire trip home as a passenger.
When Earl and I travel, I usually take the helm and he acts as co-pilot. His role is very important as he provides witty dialogue, a much needed neck rub after several hours of travel or a joyous symphony of snoring while he naps and I keep my eyes glued on the road.
Today we reversed roles and he drove while I snored. Actually, I only snored through Scranton, Pa. And everyone snores through Scranton. What else is there to do?
I think I’ve been the designated driver of the family (of my own volition) for all these years because I’m a control freak. Earl and I approach driving differently. He has a casual approach, using one hand on the wheel and only signaling to change lanes when there’s a driver close by that will actually notice the turn signal. Me? I’m the world’s best driver (if I do say so myself), obeying all rules of the road except for the maximum speed limit. I set my own when the speed limit is as high as it’s going to get. But I usually only do that in New York, now that I think about it, because I kind of think that 55 on these rural stretches of two-lane roads is dumb. So I usually do 70.
Nevertheless, Earl was the designated driver today, allowing me to see sights that I haven’t noticed as a driver. For example, the drive on I-81 between Harrisburg and Hazleton is quite high up and quite beautiful. Usually I only notice the potholes.
I think I’m going to try being a passenger more often.