Events from the Roadtrip I never Announced

Sorry for the Silence Y’all!

I can’t believe I left you for almost two weeks with the breaking news that furby’s have indeed gone wild in the neighborhood!

While I was calmly meandering my way by car to south Florida to visit family, many of you were probably living in fear, looking behind you in empty parking lots, locking otherwise unlocked doors and windows and placing small children and pets on a twilight curfew. Well, rest assured, the Nawth Carolyna Gecko bear has not been spotted since.

On the Open Road!

God or Journey?

It took me just about an hour into my trip, flipping through stations on the car radio, to realize that my options for listening entertainment were going to be limited to God and the 80’s. At first I chose the 80’s, happily driving and singing along to songs that triggered adolescent memories of school dances, orthodontist appointments, and slumber parties. This lasted for hours and hours until an entire decade of my life had been successfully relived.
A few times though, during, let’s say, an Eagles, Journey, Rick Springfield, Madonna medley, I would land on a station and hear a tune I thought I recognized, only to find out it was a Christian rock song disguised as regular music! I heard people rapping (rapping!) about the light in their heart or bands punking out to the saviour. There was even a heavy metal version of salvation! So after I got bored with the 80’s, I started voluntarily tuning into God.


Speaking of God…

Don’t ever give the devil a ride
He will always want to drive.
-God

I saw this message plastered in black letters on the side of a big rig truck when I was already three states down (from North Carolina through South Carolina and into Florida), seven hours in and so over caffeinated that the four cups of truckstop coffee were starting to produce a dangerous hallucinatory effect.
I wondered if maybe I had missed the devil hitchhiking along the side of the road. I started to keep my eyes peeled because quite frankly, by that time, the thought of handing the wheel over to another driver while I relaxed in the passenger seat sounded divine. And if the little red guy ever got out of hand, all I would have to do is sing along with Whitney Houston to "I will Always Love You" and not only would the windows shatter, but he would definitely want to find another car to drive.

The Scratching of Cars and Un-Records in Savannah Georgia

Here are my first images of Savannah…

After waking up with my period and driving seven hours to Savannah, I backed into a pole and cracked up my rental car, but only after I had declined the collision insurance.
I then checked into the Thunderbird motel in desperate need of a good hormonal cry and a nap, but all I heard was bad 50’s music. I was soon confronted with their need to rip off my head and shove retro down my throat when I walked outside and saw speakers strategically set-up so that hearing the thunderbird playlist was not only recommended, it was mandatory. I debated leaving, but with a bad case of cramps, a dented car and all other accommodation being double the price, I reluctantly went back inside and burrowed my head under a pile of pillows.

When I woke up I texted Gecko: Savannah can bite me. But after some food, a couple of Midol, a stiff whiskey and a break dancing party where the DJ was scratching imaginary records on his apple laptop, Savannah started to soften at the edges and look a little more like this...

The drive from Savannah to Red Wing farm is four hours, but the 80’s God mix must have gotten me again, because I missed my exit and turned it into an epic eight hour return. I can’t help but wonder if I couldn’t have made it in two hours - if only I had let the devil drive.