“Do you want to go on a road trip with me, Sue? I’ll drive.” No, I thought. I’ve ridden with her on a few occasions and while her car is luxurious, her driving skills are not the best–in my humble opinion!
“Sure, but I’ll drive.” Now, I’d not been on a road trip as the sole driver for over forty years and had long since forgotten how arduous it can be. My road trips were simply flying into an airport, picking up a rental car, and driving not more than an hour to my destination. I failed to realize my offer to drive on this over 400-mile journey was something I hadn’t done in at least forty years.
I wasn’t prepared for the high-speed, bumper-to-bumper interstate traffic, where I remained on high alert. Cars wove in and out, as did the speeding semi-trucks. “Sue, what’s the place over there?”
“I CAN’T LOOK, I am trying to avoid getting an accident with that maniac trucker that just cut me off!” I clung to the steering wheel with my sweaty palms. When we reached the hotel, I said, “I need a shower and a drink, and not necessarily in that order.” The next two days of this adventure were primarily on two-lane state highways involving twists and turns and ups and downs. I’m no fan of these; I like flat, straight highways so I can see where I’m going. Of course, these damned roads were marked with warning signs: Watch for animals and Watch for falling rocks. Hell, that’s all I needed is to have a mountain slide down on my car!
Further, I know these small towns thrive on tourists: Tombstone, Bisbee, Tubac, Patagonia, etc. There’s certainly not much industry once the mines closed. We chose to only eat and/or drink at local establishments. (I’ve no recommendations; it was all equally terrible.) Of course, local government also survives on tourists by stationing police hiding around the curve, at the end of the tunnel, or wedged into the side of a canyon. No, I didn’t get a ticket. I played particular attention to speed; I knew that game.
Yesterday, I was less than forty miles from my casa when the interstate traffic came to a halt. I’d seen the warning signs: Crash ahead. Slow down. However, there was no crash. It was a normal Saturday when the interstate abruptly closes for road work. For the next hour, I crept along to the mandated exit and eventually wended my perspiring self home–again, in need of a shower and a drink. I turned to my friend and said, “Ask someone else to ride along with you the next time you want to do a road trip.”
Ain’t nobody got time for that!
I do not have a sophisticated palate; I’m far from a gourmand. Both of my grandmothers were excellent cooks; they prepared rural, regional cuisines. My paternal grandmother was the family legend of baking: pies, donuts, blueberry muffins, and cinnamon rolls were her forte. I knew I’d never learn to make pie crust or breads like hers.
Me thinks there is a substantial percentage of American consumers, who are so gullible they pay outrageous prices for routine items. Of course, my daughters are in that group. To me, a handbag or wallet fulfills a need. To them, it is a fashion statement. So I ask you: when was the last time you ogled someone’s wallet at the store checkout? When was the last time you coveted someone’s choice of paper towels or toilet paper? When was the last time you envied someone’s plastic bottle of water?
Dr. Suze Espouses 