The menagerie departs

I have not done a test drive with all the stuff in the car. If I cannot get across the country with two dogs, one cat, and six houseplants, I do not want to know in advance. There is no Plan B. I have 45 CDs, a new power steering belt, and an unholy gasoline budget. I hope this works.

I start with Alicia's Up and Out mix, which (with apologies to Adam) is the single best mix CD I have ever received. It was a "come to Philly" bribe, and was intended for dancing around the house prior to a night on the town. Off-label, though, it's a kick-ass road trip collection. Playing it, I have the odd sense that Alicia's in the car with me. When I talk to her a few days later, I complain about not having time to write. I am afraid I will miss all this. She suggests writing while driving, but "just notes, and you have to promise not to look at the paper. DON'T LOOK AT THE PAPER!" She reminds me that she was raised in a guilt-ridden household, and will never forgive herself if her suggestion is responsible for my crashing. I promise to write, and I promise not to die.

This blind chronicling, with later transcription, makes perfect sense to me, and I'm reminded again of why she and I get along so well. We're the same kind of crazy.

The dogs pant in the back seat. The cat, amazingly, settles in on the center console and sleeps. The houseplants, for all I know, are planning a rebellion, but at least they are riding quietly. We make it to someplace east of Missoula before drawing the curtains on Road Trip, Day One.