Some trips are so bad, they’re good

Think back on your most memorable road trip.

Oh… I have road trip stories.

Like the time I got to drive my friend’s Porsche Carrera from Tampa to Detroit. That was fun! I’ll save that story for another time, though.

The one I’m thinking of was one of my many trips from Detroit to Daytona Beach.  Now, you’d think I was doing the spring break thing, but like a lot of my life – everything is backward. I went to school in Daytona Beach and spent spring break in Michigan.  😜

I attended Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University from 1995-1997. In that two year span, I traversed I-75 at least a dozen times. I could make it from my apartment to my childhood home in about 20 hours. More often than not, I would pull over and get a few hours of sleep. If I had the money, I’d get a hotel room. There was a place, roughly midpoint in London, KY, where I would stay.

On this one particular trip, I was heading back to school for the start of the winter semester.  I had spent a couple of weeks with the family, had a nice Christmas holiday, and was ready to start in on a fresh batch of classes.

There was also a winter storm brewing.

Mom was worried, but I didn’t have much choice. I had to make it back down to FLA by January 4. I had a good car with a manual tranny, front wheel drive, and fresh tires. I also spent most of my life in Michigan, so I was an experienced bad-weather driver. I knew it was still going to be a daunting task. Driving through the Kentucky and Tennessee mountains can be treacherous even on a decent day.

Off I went. The sky hung in a heavy overcast, but the snow didn’t start until I reached Dayton, OH. It was still alright(ish) through the rest of the state until I hit Cincinnati.

Visibility dropped to twenty feet. Everyone slowed to a crawl. Cars were sliding into ditches. Then it started getting dark.

As much as I wanted to keep driving just to get out of those madness as fast as possible,  I didn’t have the mental fortitude.  London, KY, my regular stopping point, was just another 30 miles down the road.

What seemed like a lifetime later, the exit loomed ahead. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the sign. But now I remember another thing…

The hotel was at the top of a hill.

Another concern as I drew near – the parking lot was looking pretty full. The icing on the cake: There were a couple of cars trying to make it up the steep driveway.

This was going to be interesting…

Rule number one about driving up snow-covered hills.

DON’T SLOW DOWN!

You don’t want to gun the engine either.  Just a nice steady pressure on the accelerator. My old homestead was on a hill, too. This was something I mastered before I even graduated high school. To my horror, the car ahead of me started to brake.

Oh no, you don’t!

No one was coming down the driveway, so I kept my speed up, passed the car, and another one that was halfway up and spinning its wheels.

I pulled up to the front doors and launched myself out of the car, hoping that I wouldn’t have to plead with the hotel staff to let me crash in the lobby.

When I got to the front desk, the clerk handed me my room key.

“Today is your lucky day. You got the last room.”

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or cry. I may have done both.

The next morning, the sky was a beautiful blue, and there was two feet of snow on my car. The roads were still crap. Atlanta was the worst. It was all ice.

But, through the ice and snow, I made it to Daytona Beach on time. Icesicles were still hanging from my car as I rolled down International Speedway Blvd.