So I’m heading to Cape Cod tomorrow for my summer vacation and already I’m stressed out. I’ve actually been on a summer vacation since the summer pretty much started, but tomorrow I get to spend 7 relaxing, sun-drenched days, 6 seafood eating nights just dawdling on a nice strip of beach. This is in addition to the week I just spent in Colorado, but not counting four days in Florida, because visiting my mother in Florida in no vacation at all! Oh the stressed out part? I have to DRIVE there.
Here we have a piece of land blessed with white sand and a plethora of restaurants, bars, tschoke stores and pirate themed mini-golf courses. However, this little jewel is not actually attached to the mainland. What? Not actually attached to the mainland you say? Well, that sounds like you need a BRIDGE to get there. Yep! That pretty much sums it up, but to be more specific two bridges. Two old, rusting, creaking bridges separate you from paradise.
What’s more, you are not, I repeat not, the only one doing this! No, you are surrounded by a mob of likeminded people, bent on doing exactly what you are. Oh, and those two bridges I spoke about earlier? Cape traffic is pretty much unlike any traffic I’ve ever driven in. And I’ve driven in a lot. Campers, buses, bike-ladened minivans, SUV’s stuffed with beach toys, you name it. Filled to the brim with kids, pets, and luggage. And we are all vying for our position in line to cross, for lack of a better turn, these two fucking bridges. And it’s madness. Also, there is no “good time” to go on a Saturday. In the best of times Saturday is a busy traffic day. Add in half the East coast population trying all go to Cape Cod at precisely the same time and I’m just not sure how it doesn’t just sink under its own weight.
So, I’m planning my strategy. Its night and I haven’t even packed. That’s my strategy; avoid. I’m steeling myself to face the morning ride. Hours upon hours of yelling at other cars who are too slow, too fast, too rude, too (insert-any anti-social, driving behavior that you despise here), too reckless; you get the point. This year, we are traveling with two dogs. Lucky us you say? Indeed, because what could be more fun than being locked up listening to two dogs kill each other for ten hours? Right?
Geographically speaking, this is the closest, as the crow flies, destination so far. But, it’s takes the longest in time to get there. So the closest spot is actually the farthest spot. Sounds like Common Core math. Anyway, looking forward to it. Charge!
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