This Is Why Santa Flies: Our Christmas Road Trip
3:50 am: Pack Car. Badly.
3:55 am: Repack Car. Serviceably.
4:05 am: GPS wants to know what route to set. We tell it anywhere but via New York City. It calls us wusses.
4:17 am: Cross border into Massachusetts. Not the milestone it sounds. We’re right on the border, so we cross by accident just about every day.
5:10 am: Put on the cardboard snowflake glasses that I got at the Hershey Sweet Lights Show that makes all points of light turn into glowing snowflakes. Tollbooths and truck tail lights mesmerize me for the next half hour.
5:30 am: Can't get stupid Tom Cochrane out of head. Turn on Christmas music.
5:40 am: Connecticut welcomes us.
6:00 am: Discover that a triple-decker toadstool sandwich with arsenic sauce is starting to sound pretty good.
6:10 am: Stop at McDonald's. Close enough.
6:40 am: Dawn breaks. We pull over and fix it.
7:40 am: I awake and we find a parking lot to switch driving shifts. A starling murmuration dances mere feet away from us. For the millionth time, wish I believed in good omens.
7:50 am: Cross border into New York. Start seeing signs of past snowfall that continues the rest of the trip. Looks like the remnants of some grand party that we missed.
8:00 am: Tire of Christmas music. Pop in Leonard Cohen.
8:45 am: Cross border into Pennsylvania. Realize this blog post will be boring if something doesn't happen soon. Decide to exaggerate.
9:00 am: Saw an old woman get hit-and-run by some kind of flying caribou.
12:15 pm: Cross border into Maryland. Always dug how medieval our state flag looks.