Not Trumboldt, Trumbull. . .

The actual road portion of the road trip began today as we embarked from Tallmadge, Ohio and pointed the car towards New York City. The road is straight sometimes, curvy in others. Sometimes there are cones and construction men on the road, sometimes not. The trees are leafy or not leafy - mostly not leafy. Each mile marker has a bigger number on it than the one previous to it. Trucks!
I had forgotten what the driving part of a road trip actually entails. It’s sitting and listening, changing your position and applying chapstick seemingly non-stop. The wind blows your hair, you drink a red bull or two, and when not passing the miles and miles of cow pastures one can inhale deeply and feel the very molecules of the open road spiraling deep into the lungs, fortifying the adventure until exhaled. And then you change positions in your seat and listen to the radio some more.
This is all easily explainable in that I’ve spent more time in a car today than I have in the last year. After 20 minutes I get confused that I’m not already at my destination. Where is the ocean? How come the radio deejay isn’t speaking with a slight pidgin tone to his voice? Where are all these other people going and where, my good sweet Jesus, where have all the Sebring Convertibles gone? The polished Mustangs with sunburnt snorkelers?
When living on Maui a person without a car will only be inside of one to retrieve someone from the airport or buy new socks from Kmart - neither are more than 30 minutes away. Other than that, it’s a bicycle kind of world. Groceries are limited to the weight bearable in a Schwinn basket and backpack.
But today New York is our new destination, and like the flowers on the trees in Central Park, people are out and about. Hotels are booked beyond booked and priced beyond pricey. The Homeless are charging $39 a night for their refrigerator boxes, the Ritz Carlton doesn’t valet your car, they keep it as a down payment on a three-night stay. So Connecticut is going to be our backdoor to the $15 martinis we so richly desire.
Luckily I was in charge of making the reservations for a hotel in Connecticut. I fulfilled this task by not doing anything and assuring my beautiful and forgiving travel partner that I had in fact already made the reservations. Sitting 16 inches apart for six hours doesn’t allow one a whole lot of "alone time" to cover one’s ass and make new hotel reservations exactly like the ones that were supposed to have been made already.
"Why would you tell me that you already made them if you didn’t make them?"
"I’m not exactly sure why I would do that."
"Well where are we going to sleep tonight, do you know that?"
"I’m not exactly sure about that either. I’ll probably know very soon though."
"Are you going to start looking now or should I pull over and do it?"
"This is my fault. I will fix this. I will call the hotels. I’ve got this all under control."
"I’ve heard that before," she says.
And then cell phone coverage got, we’ll call it, spotty. I did get to meet Pearl, Murray, Eve and Joy at 1-800-Marriott in acquiring one nights stay at some hotel in some city somewhere in Connecticut. At one point I did accidentally repeat Pearl when she said a sentence ending with: 19 miles north of Stamford.
"North of Stamford? Are we still going to New York?" the calmest, most non-violent girl I’ve ever known says as she continues to drive. So funny, she is! Doesn’t trust me with these things she doesn’t! Hah!
"Shh, honey please," I whisper at her. "I’m talking to Pearl on the telephone. Pearl is doing her best, and her best is damn fine I’m sure."
And then Pearl went the same quick and quiet way that Murray and Eve had gone, lost to the world of cellular technology and some roadside static as the state lines passed beneath our car like any other bit of pavement. Does anyone know where Trumboldt Connecticut is?
It should also be known that our timeline for departure and travel on this the first day of our two months on the road together was also something I had a hand in planning. And this is why I have enough time to comfortably sit in traffic and write funny things about our trip as though I’d known we’d hit gridlock at the same exact moment inspiration for travel writing would. I’m practically on par with Magellan at this point.