The sky, somewhere in Laurel Highlands. Reminded me of something you’d see in the Sistine Chapel, so I took that as a good omen.
Back in December, it seemed like a Really Great Idea to buy Chooch a ticket to see Pierce the Veil in Lancaster, PA. Never mind that it’s on the other side of the state and Chooch is only 6-years-old, and never mind that Henry really did NOT want to go, and never mind that we have never been to the venue (the Chameleon Club), so this was kind of a blind trip for us. But I was still so fucking excited! And so was Chooch, until he realized after the first 25 minutes in the car that perhaps this was going to be a long drive.
Henry was NOT excited. He was worried about the car and that this whole “taking Chooch to a concert” idea was going to blow up in our faces, and most of all he was worried about having to take care of two children for an entire weekend, hundreds of miles away from home.
(Chooch and I are kind of high-maintenance in that we need lots of special care.)
I had grand plans of leaving the house at 8AM, but it was not to be. Planning never gets us anywhere. Chooch and I were ready bright and early, and wound up waiting for Henry who was still packing. This might have something to do with the fact that all Chooch and I did to get ready was put our clothes on; Henry had to pack for all three of us. (Though I did put my makeup in my overnight bag all on my own.)
Then we had to wait for Henry to walk around the house, making sure everything was shut off and locked. God, it was so annoying. By the time we stopped at the McDonald’s down the street, Advanced Auto Parts for oil and then back to our house TWICE when I realized the Vic doll wasn’t in my purse (the first return to home proved fruitless, but I made Henry go back a second time after Vic wasn’t found in the parking lot of the car part place — it was a disaster that saw us progressing less than five miles away from home in an hour), it was nearly 10AM. We rule at road trips.
(Vic ended up being in Chooch’s room. He must have falled out of my purse when I ran up there at the last minute to grab Chooch’s sketch pad. Thank god he wasn’t stolen by some random scene kid going into Advanced Auto Parts for scene car parts!)
We took the scenic Rt. 30, eschewing the turnpike for a more leisurely drive through WIND TURBINE CENTRAL. God, I hate those fucking things. They’re so disgusting! LOOK AT THEM!!! And the worst part is that my jerk kid knows of my aversion to these things and water towers (ugh) so he LOVES to very sweetly say, “Oh Mommy! Look out the window, it’s so cool!” and every time it’s some disgusting thing that I hate and I fall for it.
And then Chooch lets loose with this gutteral giggle. He is my nemesis. Just like THOSE WIND TURBINES, AHHHHH.
There was one instance where I happened to look out the window just in time to notice that we were on a BRIDGE passing over the Susquehanna RIVER with WIND TURBINES to the right and a WATER TOWER ahead. Fucking kill me. (The capital letters mean THINGS THAT ERIN HATES. Just in case you didn’t know.)
In full disclosure, we only took the scenic route because we apparently have a bent wheel on our car and as soon as we go over 60 MPH, the entire car shakes and vibrates and maybe the wheel will fling off, who knows. So a 4-hour drive took us 6 hours, but it was worth it because there were tons of taxidermy & church signs to look at.
Rt. 30 goes through lots of mountains, so I got to yell at Henry a lot for being a shitty driver, and then he would yell back, “I’M DOING THE SPEED LIMIT!” but I really felt like were going to plunge over a cliff and I’m sorry, but I left my hobo-bag of night vision glasses at home.
Meanwhile, Chooch spent most of his time playing Minecraft on his Kindle, sleeping, and only occassionally asking us how much farther, to which we would both just mumble the answer because it was always TOO M ANY HOURS.
Henry and I actually kind of got along, which is amazing considering that taking this roadtrip was pretty much the last thing he wanted to be doing. Except that we had a mild argument over the fact that I always want to stay in Supernatural motels, but then we end up somewhere plain, like a Ramada.
“In reality, you would never stay in a place like that!” Henry countered. And sure, he’s probably right, because he knows I’m a former Silver Spoon kid, but sometimes I just really want to rest my weary head on a pillow in a roomwhich hasn’t been remodeled since 1971, and think about how Sam and Dean Winchester might have stopped there in between collecting rings from the Four Horsemen and fighting the Yellow-Eyed Demon if Sam and Dean Winchester were real people and not just characters on the CW.
We didn’t stop anywhere other than a thousand gas stations on the way there (Henry promised we could do all of my Roadside America bullshit on the way home), but that didn’t stop me from checking the app every five minutes anyway.
“OMG we’re going to pass where Abe Lincoln meets Perry Como!” I shouted as we crawled through downtown Gettsyburg.
“That’s great!” Henry exclaimed sarcastically. “Let me know when we’re going to pass Sheetz With Bathroom.”
Seriously, all that man does is piss.
Halfway to Lancaster, I put on Dance Gavin Dance and Henry started to wish that we had careened over that cliff 100 miles ago.