Sunday Snapshot: The Journey West

I think I’ve finally recovered enough from the 3,500 mile drive from Florida to Washington to write about it.

3,500 miles is a lot of miles in a Toyota Corolla. There are a lot of boring states to drive through between Florida and Washington.

The drive was greatly improved by two facts: (1) I took a break in Indianapolis for several days and (2) from Indiana on I had a very able co-driver also known as my father.

What are dads for if not to drive hundreds (or even thousands) of miles through barren lands with their daughters?

The first day we drove from Indiana, through Illinois and Iowa, and landed in Minnesota for the night. We took a slight detour to visit my Great Aunt and Uncle in their teeny tiny farmtown in southern Minnesota.

So tiny, that the GPS became a bit confused.

The next morning we hit the road early and soon entered what I deem as the most tortuous leg of the journey: South Dakota. South Dakota is long. And there is nothing along I-90, except for an obscene amount of ads for Wall Drug.

Just as we were throwing a party for our exit from South Dakota, we began to hit snow. And I began to question my move north and west. The rest of that evening was a bit dicy as we traversed Wyoming and then entered Montana. I was too busy clutching my seatbelt and praying as we drove along winding mountain roads in blinding snow in the dark to document my first time in these states. Needless to say, I was quite happy to check into a hotel in Montana and call it a day.

We started bright and early on Wednesday morning, with the end of our journey in sight. We had about 10 hours of driving left to make it to our destination.

Montana is also quite long, but at least offered a captivating topography to us midwesterners.

We were moving along at a good clip until late morning. We were discussing whether we should stop for gas at the teeny town we were approaching, or if we could make it to the next (likely quite far) town when there was a loud pop followed by a very disconcerting sound. “I think we have a flat…” I announced to my dad as he gingerly pulled to the side of the highway.

Sure enough, one of my rear tires had been sufficiently decimated.

Which meant, my perfectly packed trunk with nary an inch to spare, had to be completely unloaded by the side of the road to get to the spare tire. And then completely loaded again to drive to {hopefully} a place where we could get a new tire.

Concern number one was whether my dad would be able to get the very securely rusted in place tire loose. Thank goodness for strong dads…that concern was soon alleviated. Concern number two was whether the spare would have enough air to get us to a tire place. Concern number three was whether there would be a tire place out in tiny town Montana.

But as far as unfortunate events go, this one happened in the most fortunate of ways. Turns out we were only about a mile away from a Les Schwab, one of the most commonly found tire places in the Northwest. We dropped off the car, I selected tires, and headed to lunch while they made the switch. We told them they could unload the trunk, but that they might not be able to get it loaded back up. When we returned, the guys in the garage were still marveling at how much I had fit in the trunk of a Corolla. And I decided packing may be a viable career choice.

A few hours behind in our timetable, we hit the road once again. We exited Montana, scooted across the skinny part of Iowa, and then on into Washington.

As the sun set and the stars began to twinkle, we rolled into my new home. And thus ended the last stint of managing a long distance relationship.

Our distance now? About a four minute drive. Which, I’m not going to lie, is pretty spectacular after a year of going three months at a time without seeing each other.