Friday morning, we packed up, said goodbye to Grandpa, and drove northward again.
I was inordinately thrilled when “America” came up on the iPod and Simon and Garfunkel sang, “counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike” while we were driving on the New Jersey Turnpike.
On the Garden State Parkway, I observed a motorcyclist in a t-shirt and shorts going about 90 mph and being tailgated aggressively by a large pickup truck. I concluded from this and other driver interactions that New Jersey is the kind of place people want to leave any way they can, and that they want to take as many people with them as possible.
We encountered traffic all along our route, even though we gave New York City a very wide berth. We drove from 9:30 am to 8:00 pm, and we only stopped once, and that was to pick up my husband in New Jersey and get the kids some more junk food for lunch. Near the Massachusetts border, my husband wanted to stop because his rear was sore from sitting for so long. We asked the kids if they needed to use the bathroom.
“No!” was their emphatic cry from the backseat. They wanted to power through and get home. And so we did.
My husband declared them Road Warriors. I tend to agree.