BEACH TRAFFIC OF A DIFFERENT KIND

I left off yesterday's tale with Ass-Crack Man at the beach.  I don't stay long at the beach, about two and a half hours, because I'm actually on my way to Maine.  I could backtrack to the highway, but I decide to avoid the NH toll and continue up the coast.  The views from 1A in Rye are absolutely stunning.

Well, I know they're stunning from seeing the coastline all of my life, but I cannot look too much because bicyclists are swerving into traffic, and people are parking their cars everywhere along the road to trek their beach stuff down the hot street and up and over a giant and slippery rock wall that is so tall it would make Donald Trump happy.

Worse than the bike targets and the human targets, I have a red Corvette in front of me that is being driven by a total dickweed. He obviously thinks he knows how to drive a manual transmission, but I can tell from his driving habits that he does not.  He drives like my damn grandfather: fast on the gas then forget the gas and let the car slow down, slower ... slower ... then rev the engine with the clutch in so the car doesn't actually move, just makes this varoooooooom VAROOOOOOOOOOM sound.  Yeah, wicked impressive, jackass, as your burn out your clutch.  

I am behind Corvette Man for a long, long time, so long, in fact, that a Rye town ambulance pulls out in front of us.  This vehicle isn't in any more of a rush than is Corvette Man, and I start wishing I'd gone over to the highway.  I need to be at my sister's house in just over an hour.  Move your asses, people!

Corvette Man decides he is going to swerve over the solid yellow line and try to pass Ambu-Lance, who spots him, crosses the line himself as a blocking maneuver, then rapidly returns to his lane as traffic comes whizzing by going the opposite way.  Although I am not liking this whole "Drive 25 in a 35 mph speed zone" shit, I am enjoying the scenery along the way.  I get extremely joyous when I drive past Rye Harbor, home of the Pinwheel, one of the fishing boats featured along with the Gloucester Boys in the television show Wicked Tuna.

While we are driving along in a tight line, a bug tries to fly in my open driver's side window.  Instead, it dive-bombs the car, smacking into the side panel then bouncing back multiple times.  The humongous thwack it makes hitting the car is dull but sickening.  I suspect it may be an errant June bug by its density, but it's probably a killer greenhead fly, plotting a way to drain me of every last ounce of blood.

Finally, mercifully, the red Corvette turns, and I am blissfully driving along until I see the shortcut to route 1 and the highway.  I have taken this back road before, so I am perturbed when I am sitting in traffic at a dead stop.  We are behind the trash truck, and no one can pass because of oncoming traffic and blind curves.

I have the realization that I might never make it to Maine. Maybe I should've listened all those times just now that my GPS told me to turn left, and I refused.

After about three-quarters of a mile being stuck behind Trash Man, the truck turns.  I make it to route 1 and onto 95 at the giant Traffic Circle (say this, and everyone in New Hampshire knows exactly where you are just by those two words).  I am fine until I get to the Maine toll.

Apparently, my EZ Pass is no longer making automatic deposits in to my account. Great.  Terrific.  Fucking brilliant.  I have enough money in the account to get to Maine but not to get home.  Even after calling a representative (once I do get to Maine), the glitch still is not fixed.

Who knows?  Maybe Ass-Crack Man really is behind (hahaha) the problems.  Maybe he sucked up the entire universe up his butt-end.  Maybe ... maybe ... maybe I'll tell more soon.  After all, there is a final chapter coming on Monday.