The Oregon Trail: Day 1

In the summer of 2005, I set to move to the West Coast, to a part of the country I'd only seen once, and knew very little about. I'd gotten tired of Virginia and was itching for a change. The impulse didn't come so much from being dissatisfied with Northern Virginia, as from an innate wanderlust that I have had all my life. It is this wanderlust that I intend to document in this blog... well, that along with any stupid, impulsive trips I take with my friends, or any other interesting thoughts that come to mind.

Back to the matter at hand.

My worldly possesions in a 4'x4'x8' package.

With all my things packed in a rather small U-haul, and my adieu's bid, I set on my way with my wonderful girlfriend as my navigator and travelling companion.

We had an ambitious trip planned for our first day, as we figured our desire to drive would decrease daily. We would leave Arlington early in the morning, head North to Pennsylvania until we hit Interstate 70 and then start the long drive West, through Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Ohio, Indiana, and finally ending our day in the podunk town of Charleston, Illinois, where Stupor was at the time completing his studies at Eastern Illinois University.

Day one. 754 mi. 14 hrs.

The first few states were unremarkable, as MD, PA and WV usually are, but as we entered OH, I recalled that Mr. Maggiore had relocated himself to Columbus, which we were fast approaching. After a quick phone call and a stop off at White Castle for some Sliders, we had located our jovial friend and stopped off to check his humble abode.

Bipartisanship.

Bellies full of bite-sized burgers, we hit the road again, determined to reach our goal before midnight. Driving at a rate of speed well above what the "Do Not Exceed 45 mph" warning sticker advised, we were able to traverse IN and reach Charleston by 11:30. There we were greeted by Stupor with cold beers and chili. Ewa quickly passed out. My brother and I, determined to make as much as we could of our brief time together, went on an ill-fated catfish fishing trip, until giving up at 3 a.m. to pass out ourselves.

Note: This was quite a bit calmer than my last trip to Charleston. My one night there, a Sunday during their Spring Break, I managed to get in a little tussle with a redneck local which resulted in the banning of my brother and three of his friends from their favorite haunt. Sorry guys.

I hate Illinois nazis!