On the Way to Savannah

I have not been on a vacation in years - that is, a vacation that has taken me out of town more more than three or four days at a time. My teaching schedule, court schedule, and church schedule run pretty much daily, and getting out of town requires that I find a teaching substitute, a piano substitute who will play for the praise team and for the choir, an organist, and a substitute judge. Until this past year, any trip out of town also required a puppysitter, who usually was our loyal secretary and dog-lover Michelle (and her family).

This year is different.

I am not teaching any summer classes, the second Sunday in June was Juice and Joplin, which meant no choir, no praise team and no organist (we bring in a Scott Joplin Festival pianist who plays for the one casual service in the Fellowship Hall), the substitute judge was free for one Wednesday - and as you all know, Fluffy is no longer with us.

So I planned to take a trip to Savannah for Emily's graduation. Max didn't have as many vacation days available as I wanted to be gone, so though we would normally have driven down together, I planned to drive by myself and he would fly down. This was going to be an adventure! I was going to put the top down on the car and drive as fast as each state's highway patrol would allow through Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Georgia.

So last Wednesday, I changed clothes at City Hall, jumped in the car, and drove off toward Savannah, Georgia, where my little girl was going to graduate without our being there (see previous blog entry if you have forgotten what happened - as if there is not more!). The day was warm, but not hot, the sun was shining, but not too intensely, and when the wind hit me full force as I breezed across Missouri on I-70, I was simply invigorated.

My plan was to get to Nashville by 8 p.m. and then eat dinner at the Bonefish Grill. Max and I had found that restaurant on the way back from Savannah at Thanksgiving, and the food was good and reasonably priced. The restaurant also pours really good wine, and I figured I would be able to use a glass after an 8-hour trip.

Well, as plans go, that sounded fine, but my plans had already been somewhat adjusted because of the graduation SNAFU, and then when I tried to get a reservation at Aloft, I found that the hotel was sold out because of some music festival called Bonnaroo. So while I drove toward Nashville, Max looked on line for a hotel where I could stay, and we lucked out because the Doubletree was available. It was not, however, close to the Bonefish Grill, and so my lovely dinner was out of the question. I simply was not going to check into a hotel and drive another 30 minutes or so to a restaurant. I figured there would be some chain restaurant close to the Doubletree that would do. It would be, of course, required to have a bar.

The drive to Nashville took about eight hours, as expected. I got through St. Louis with little fuss and bother, except that driving 80 miles per hour is somewhat stressful, especially with big trucks on both sides of my little car, and Lexi and "big-assed" trucks and SUVs whizzing by me faster than 80 miles per hour. Max usually drives through that area, and so I had not experienced the exhilaration of speed under my own foot for some time, but I was triumphant after I completed my solo drive-through - and I didn't get lost even one time!

The drive through Illinois and then Kentucky was uneventful, but fast. The speed limit in both states, in more rural areas, is 70, so I drove 75 and was passed continually by lots of travelers who were going much faster. As I passed through Paducah, I remembered my trip to the LowerArts District and the historic downtown, and thought about eating dinner at Cynthia's or Max's, but by this time - probably around 5:30 - I was hot and dirty, so I decided to keep on driving. Nashville was but 140 or so miles away, and I would easily arrive before dark. I had noticed more than a few "armadeddos" (say it fast) lying on the side of the road, and certainly more dead deer than I care to remember, so I was not thrilled about the possibility of finding a buck of my own to hit, and I had to travel through beautiful and wooded Kentucky lake country, likely full of deer trying to hit my car.

So I got to Nashville a little before 7:30, driving somewhat more slowly than I had on the open highway - I saw MANY troopers! - and discovered that lots of people live and work in Nashville, and that rush hour lasts until 7:30. The Doubletree was on the south side of the city, so I got to drive all the way through and around Nashville in order to find the exit to my hotel. Even with the Google map on my phone, I took the wrong turn off the interstate and took an additional 15 or so minutes to find myself in the only suburb of Nashville without a chain restaurant. The Doubletree, however, had a sports bar/restaurant off the lobby, and so I ate some food, and more important, had a Scotch and soda to burn off the stress of the day. The server asked me if I wanted a particular Scotch - I guess she doesn't drink Scotch. Why get a good one only to sully it with club soda?

After eating the mediocre food, I went to my room and celebrated my successful trip and my making the trip it on my own by reading a book: Burden of Proof, by Scott Turow. It was his first book after Presumed Innocentand deals with some of the same characters. I had begun reading it before I left for the trip, and was enjoying the story and reading itself.

As I fell asleep, finally clean and tired and tanned regardless of 70SPF sunblock, I reveled in the idea of being away, and looked forward to what the next day would bring. Stay tuned.