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38 Miles To Insanity

There is nothing like an early start to a long trip in the car. Travelling east into the rising sun inspires, invigorates and gives you a splitting headache that would kill the entire Turkish army. Balance this with two small children starting choruses of "are we there yet" as you round the corner at the end of your street and you ARE almost there...in a mental institution. In a 1400 mile, two-week quest for sand, surf, sea and sanity, I would find only three of those things after my multi-day drive across Americas heartland to the Eastern Shore of these United States.

I had gleaned my mini van of every piece of junk, every cookie crumb, every scrap of paper. Streamlined and stripped down for the least amount of wind resistance and the maximum amount of space and comfort, we set out armed with coloring books, snacks, kids music CDs, extra underwear and diapers at the ready. My youngest son, Noah, only two at the time, set the mood by asking, in his sweet little voice, "where we going?"

I explained we were going to the beach in Massachusetts to visit Va-va and Guv-guv (Grandma and Grandpa to the lay person with normal parents who settle on being called Grandma and Grandpa). I suppose I didn't make myself clear enough, because he had to repeat the same question 107 times over the first fifty miles. I decided it was time for our first rest stop. My Four year old, Jacob, insisted he didn't have to pee, despite the two quarts of water he had consumed that morning and we set off again...only to have Jacob announce he actually did have to pee, just as we entered the highway. We pulled over on the shoulder and Jacob "marked his territory" and by his smile I surmised that the kid planned to follow the same marking ceremony in every state we crossed.

I had planned the trip so we could visit the oddities of America (my family is high on that list). Driving on the secondary roads, I wanted the children to cherish the time they saw the "biggest wad of chewing gum," or the Museum of two-headed Snakes," all captured on video so one day, with tears in their eyes, they would remember happier times when their father was not hopelessly insane. Our first attraction appeared on a small, buckshot riddled sign to the side of the road. "Visit the historic Lincoln log cabin - 38 miles."

A small, out of the way detour would hardly make a dent into our travel time and so I followed the signs toward a part of our nation's great history. After 22 miles, the signs still

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