Two long days of towing, and we’ve finally landed in New England with Otto’s family. This is very, very good.
It will be even better once I finish hyperventilating. Which at this rate will happen… never. It turns out that I don’t even have to be driving to end up being completely stressed out by the trip. I eventually ended up just going to sleep at every possible opportunity, because being aware of what was happening was an adrenaline-fest. And I can only take so many hours of sitting there with my heart pounding.
In the course of just two days, we:
1) Had a mower on the side of the road clip a reflector pole, which then came flying at us and hit the underside of our truck (remarkably, no visible damage)
2) Had a woman in a tiny Acura zip up at 80+ mph and cut us off, necessitating a swerve that I was sure was going to flip the camper and crash the truck (remarkably, neither happened, but inside the camper the force of the swerve opened and emptied our pantry, then slammed the door shut on the newly-empty cabinet)
3) Nearly ran over a car that thought the proper response to our approach behind it on the highway was to jam on the brakes (no collision, but a whole lot of swearing) (also: news flash, a truck towing a camper is not the vehicle you want to play jam-the-brakes chicken with, you know?)
4) Realized that towing kind of sucks.
I have already informed Otto that for the drive home he is to pretend that I am Mr. T on The A Team and we’re boarding a plane. In other words, he is to drug my milk, load my unconscious body, and wake me up when we get there. Given his reaction to my various screams of terror, I suspect he is completely on board with this plan.