Travel can be a bit disconcerting. For instance, I started Sunday morning tramping through the pine barrens and cane brakes of Cowpens Battlefield in South Carolina. By lunch time I was sitting in a bar at Terminal B of Dulles Airport only slightly more than an hour from home and by the end of the day I was overlooking Don Shula’s Golf Course in Miami Lakes Florida.
We won’t even discuss how remarkably tired I am.
It’s been fun though. In my dazed state I tried to write a short post Saturday night from Greensboro, North Carolina. The only thing worth quoting is this:
You know you’re in a bad spot when it’s nine o’clock on a Friday night and you’re cruising MLK Jr. Boulevard in a strange southern city while driving a rental with New York plates and without any specific destination. Fortunately for me, my nigh-unerring sense of random direction led me to a shite hotel with an excellent restaurant next door and I finally got to settle in.
Isn’t that the very definition of adventure?