The joy of departure, the roar of the exhaust and the bugeye and I set out
with just a small suitcase jammed in the boot with the tools and tonneau. A
top?...what are you, some kind of girly-man?? Friends and family wave and
silently thank God they haven't suffered the kind of brain injury that would
have them in the seat next to me. Two long hot 500 mile days later, with two
days of the same left to go, hearing shot, hands numb, right knee locked up
tight, killer sunburn, and a disturbing nervous tick from darting looks at
the oil pressure guage for the last 200 miles, and the romance of the journey
is pretty much shot to do-do. My only joy is the certainty that the return
trip will be just like the trip out, but without all that pesky skin on my
neck.
After a nice long sit with the atlas, I'm beginning to wonder how big a rental
truck I would need to drive a bugeye onto it? A/C, radio, working
wipers........
name witheld to protect the gutless
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