freaky friday

That is how my Friday began. With a beautiful sunrise as I headed from Orlando at 6 a.m. to Fort Lauderdale for a jet job. It was only a three-hour drive with minimal traffic for a morning commute. Yay! The job, which was supposed to take two days, only took nine hours to finish with five of us working. Super! So instead of grabbing a hotel room for the night I decided to head on to Clearwater at 6 p.m., only a few hours away. No sweat, right?

Well, it took me an hour of bumper-to-bumper traffic to get ON the turnpike headed out of South Florida. I should have taken that as a sign of things to come. I glanced at the map, but once you get on I-75 heading west there really is no other way to go so I figured I was okay. At about mile marker 50, I realized I hadn't seen an exit since I paid a toll at the beginning of Alligator Alley, the lonely road that cuts through the Florida Everglades. It was then that I realized I would need gas relatively soon. At mile marker 90, I started to get panic-y. Did I mention that it had started to rain? And it was dark? And that I should have replaced my windshield wipers a while ago? I started to have visions of calling for a tow truck while stranded on the side of the road by myself ... in the rain ... in the dark. Would I even get cell reception way out here? Maybe that's why there were so many call boxes on the side of the road. Gulp.

I called Tim (phew, the phone still worked!), who after being told of my predicament decided to ratchet up my panicked state by telling me I was in the middle of the Everglades and did I really expect to find a gas station in the middle of a swamp (thanks, honey!) He asked why I didn't notice the big sign at the beginning of 75 that mentioned that there were no gas stations for about 100 miles. I swear I never saw any signs -- and I promise I look for things like that! And anyway, there should be way more than ONE sign, right? I mean it's only seven miles to get over Tampa's Howard Franklin Bridge and there must be four signs reminding you to check your gas levels before crossing. For something considerably longer you'd think they'd remind you at the toll booth or something. Anyway, after looking up my mile-marker placement online, Tim told me that mile marker 101 was the first Naples exit. I calmed down considerably after that, knowing that my car could get that far. I was so thankful for that exit -- I don't think I've ever been so glad to pay $3.11 per gallon of gas.

The rest of the trip was relatively uneventful, if not just plain long and boring. Even the three bridges I crossed that gave me spectacular views of the Bay area couldn't shake the grumpy out of me. I was so happy to coast into Clearwater at 11:30 (but even happier to get into a hot shower to rinse off that lo-ong day.) By the time all was said and done, I drove 470 miles in 17.5 hours with only a nine-hour work break in between. It's taken almost all weekend to recover. Check out that route!