Velociworld

ROAD WARRIOR

I'm whipped. I drove to Atlanta for a Braves game Saturday and returned Sunday. No big, but...

I flew to Mobile this morning for a meeting which I knew would be an abortion, and it was. Six hours getting there via Delta to get tossed on our ears after an especially brilliant presentation by me. It was genius, but it wasn't what they wanted to hear. I could have told them that on the telephone. But they are the Largest Corporation in the World, so we had to go get tossed like midgets in a mudpit.

I had a great idea, though, and suggested to my colleagues we drive back to Jax. Delta had us booked through Cincinnati (!) on the way back, putting us home around midnight, and it looked like we were going to miss that flight, so I asked Avis how far from Mobile Airport to Jax International. "343 miles," she said.

"Fuckin' Ada!" I told the boys. "I drove more than that Saturday and Sunday. I'll drive. Have us home in no time."

It turned out to be 420 miles, fueled by Red Bull and Slim Jims, plus the 40 more home. That's like 1,200 miles in three days. My spine is like one of those Catfish cherry stems, my hemorrhoids like jalapeno poppers. I'm getting too old for this kind of marathon driving.

Did I mention my amiable roadside chat with a Florida State trooper? We disagreed, amicably of course, on my precise velocity at the moment he tagged with me with a most unsportsmanlike single ping of the radar. I smoothied my way into a Warning. Still. All that driving at 90+ miles per hour for three days, and he wanted to bust my balls for a respectable 85? There's nerve for you. I was Driving Miss Daisy, I was.

I'm farking whipped.