TRAVELS ALONG I-95

I love to travel. I despise the highway.

This conundrum catches me so often that I am surprised I get into cars at all for any reason. I prefer traveling backroads and byroads because, quite frankly, people-watching far exceeds watching out for distracted maniacs texting at 90 mph mere inches from my vehicle as we tool along down the asphalt.

I often set Waze, Google Maps, or whatever I am using (TomTom set with Billy Connelly's voice so he can bust my chops when I miss a turn) for navigation to the "avoid freeways" mode just to make my life better. It actually worked wonders coming from and returning to Charlotte-Douglas Airport in North Carolina. For those drives I was treated to some lovely neighborhoods, gorgeous architecture, and a low-stress ride. By avoiding the highway coming home from my youngest's college, I discovered the hidden spaces of Lake Massabesic that extended beyond its touristy shore, scenic views I never would've caught otherwise.

Now, though, summer is coming. I need to get from point A to point B along with every other jackass who has a license to drive. I am going to have to make some tough choices about how and when I want to be somewhere. For instance, do I really want a ninety-minute drive to the beach when it's only forty minutes away by highway? Does my brain reject all highways or just select highways?

I have friends who hate driving with me because I will be three or four exits from my own home, and I will veer off a completely random exit and come in the slower, more direct way. I also have friends who love driving with me because I don't tolerate traffic jams very well and will just point my car in the general direction of home then hit the gas pedal.

Either way, I sincerely hope that this is my Swan Song to both the George Washington Bridge and the Cuomo/Tappan Zee Bridge. Much like trying to cross the Merrimack River during rush hour here in New England, nothing good -- absolutely nothing good -- can ever result from me being stuck in stop-n-sometimes-go traffic with a bunch of irate New Yorkers trying to cross the Hudson River. 

While I do like traveling with friends and relatives, being a Boston/Northeastern Massachusetts native limits both my tolerance level and ability to form coherent sentences when in traffic. Mostly I just scream out four-letter words: "Door!" "Moon!"  ""Ride!" "Kiss!" "Hemp!" I also occasionally give the half-peace-sign finger wave, though that has curtailed in this age of Strangers with Guns.

I do love to travel, so if you favor a backroads Jean Shepard's America kind of experience, then I am totally your co-pilot any time at all!