Traffic Gods are Assholes

This year's summer vacation involved an 11-hour road trip to reach our destination and of course, another 11 hour drive to get home again.

Now, if you have read any my other posts, which is awful nice of you, you will know that car rides are my Kryptonite. If you have not read my other posts, could you? I would appreciate the support.Anyways, the too long did not read version of why I suck at road trips is this: I am easily bored, I tend to fall asleep a lot, I must constantly have access to snacks, and I always have to pee. Always. So, a vacation involving two 11-hour car rides is obviously Drake's idea (the dream of seven days on the island with our friends must have outweighed the terrible time he'll be stuck in a car with me.) Before we left, I endeavored to make the trip bearable for both of us. I packed a cooler full of healthy and delicious snacks, loaded my iPad full of trashy novels, packed headphones for both of us for when we both need time-outs, and made sure to bring a pillow and a comfy blanket for those inevitable hours I'd spend sleeping. What can I say? I'm an amazing wife. Here's how it went. (In prose form to make it more fun)

Chapter One: The Way There The morning of the trip, Drake and Laura got up at the crack of dawn (6 am), piled into the car and set off. They made great time, taking turns driving and stopping frequently for snack breaks for Drake and pee breaks for Laura. For lunch, they sat a picnic table at a campground and ate roast chicken sandwiches and fruit before continuing on their way. It was in many ways idyllic; the sun shining, the traffic bearable, the travelers feeling lighthearted and adventurous.

Unfortunately, these ill-fated travelers knew not of what awaited them on their journey. High above, the Traffic Gods were lurking. Waiting and watching for the perfect time to strike. If you've never heard of the Traffic Gods, consider yourself lucky. For they are the worst. A group of nasty, fiendish little twits who sit in the clouds. Their favourite past time is misleading and delaying travelers by causing roadblocks, accidents, and dismal weather along journeys. As Laura and Drake cruised along, chatting and listening to audiobooks in the beautiful summer weather, one of the Traffic Gods peeked over the edge of their perch and happened to notice how well things were going for Drake and Laura. With a gasp, he cried, "Nice weather, car running in perfect order, no traffic on the road?! This won't do!" So he gathered his group of nefarious friends and they set to work wreaking havoc in the valley just ahead of Laura and Drake. They caused to unfortunate vehicles to collide at top speeds. Tires squealed, metal twisted, glass broke, and gas spilled.

In moments, the serene stretch of undivided highway that was previously free of traffic, suddenly became blocked with bumper-to-bumper traffic; both directions at a standstill. Everyone stuck in their place in line. No exits or alternative routes were available. Families in trucks pulling travel trailers, moms in minivans, men on motorcycles, and Laura and Drake spent the next two hours in the middle of nowhere. The dash gauge read an outside temperature of 37 degrees Celsius. With no bathrooms in sight, Laura, of course, frantically had to pee. Finally, after a long, hot wait, the Traffic Gods allowed the incident to be cleaned up, the traffic to disperse, and the couple to continue on their merry way without additional incidents.

Laura and Drake enjoyed a delightful 7-day vacation basking in their activities and each other until it was time to journey back home. Chapter 2: The Way Back Laura and Drake get later start on their return trip, not pulling out of their parking spot until well after 8:30am. "Don't worry," says Drake in an effort to be upbeat. "It's not a long weekend, so traffic shouldn't be too bad. We'll just gun it for home." Laura smiles weakly and agrees with Drake. After a week away, surrounded by people, both of these introverts are ready for the quiet solitude their little house provides.

Image via Google Image Grammar Tales

They cruise down the highway, Drake listening to his audiobook and Laura napping in the passenger seat. The first four hours of the trip pass without a construction sign or roadblock in sight. They have chosen a different route than they the one took on the way out in an attempt to avoid any more traffic incidents. This way is longer, but the road design is better and easier to navigate.

However, the Traffic Gods will not be stopped. From their vantage point above, they realize that for the last four hours, they have been remiss in their duties. They crack their knuckles, and with devious grins, promptly start dolling traffic issues and mechanical trouble in much the same way that one would sprinkle Parmesan cheese on pasta; all over the fucking place. Instantly, the Google map app reports heavy traffic volumes and delays. The road report website cannot account for the various delays. There are no reported accidents, just an extremely high volume of traffic that never seems to dissipate. Drake and Laura are once again stuck in bumper to bumper highway traffic. Again, without a bathroom in sight for almost two hours. To make matters worse, neither one of their phones can connect to Internet, which means no Facebook or Instagram to distract them from their plight. After many terse conversations, and whining, the Traffic Gods take pity on the weary travelers.

Traffic begins to move. The cars creep along at 20 km an hour for the next 40 minutes. Drake is frantic. He just wants to go home. Laura is restless and tired. She lolls in the passenger seat, gazing sightlessly out the window. She whines about the duration of the trip and generally does whatever she can to be annoying. An eternity later, traffic clears and the couple is once again able to drive at a reasonable highway speed. Drake avoids becoming known as the man who strangled his wife in the front seat of a Mazda 3. Just as the couple breathes a sigh of relief, it begins to rain. Hard. The rain drops beat against the windows while the wind howls, pushing the car back and forth on the steep mountain roads. The couple strains to remain calm and collected. Of course, Laura has to pee.

Finally, six hours later, at 3 in the morning, the couple pulls into their driveway and gratefully unload their baggage into their house.

The End.

See, was that not a delightful way for me to tell you just how much our summer travel sucked? Seriously, though, the Traffic Gods are assholes. Just fly where you need to go instead. Best, Laura