I was walking around the front yard at Houghton Lake, looking out at the water, thinking about the summer being over. I was feeling a little weary about a certain planet and the freeways that connect me to it and trying to keep a few random little black thoughts at bay down in the deep, dark, depths of my psyche. One purple pinwheel spun and sparkled in the bright sunshine. I didn’t want to leave. Which freeway? I couldn’t decide.

Overall, I like the Lansing route better (US127). It’s a little longer, about 15 miles, but the traffic is less agressive. But nowadays when I drive through Lansing I think of Mouse and some of our yarn store road trips and, when we drove north on Friday, I had a hard time not stopping off at Rae’s in Frandor. But then there’s the Speedway. For quite a few years I’ve been avoiding the I75 SUV Speedway like poison. Agressive traffic, construction, construction, construction. Did I mention construction? How about agressive traffic? And then there are tornados. *That* little incident (1997) just about did me in forever. But in the last year, I’ve been making friends with the old Speedway again. The construction isn’t as bad as it once was. My dirty old green Honda can go toe to toe with most of the aggressive drivers out there (vrrrroooom! Bro’, wherever you are, you steered me to a good car while you were still around on email!) and the cute little blue Honda is pretty darn good too.

At the last minute, I “blinked,” ala Malcolm Gladwell, and chose the Speedway. I remembered that coming up via the Lansing Route on Friday afternoon, construction had the southbound traffic backed up for at least a mile just above East Lansing. That was a dealbreaker. I75 SUV Speedway it was. And it was a champagne flight with me soberly piloting along while my passenger sipped some kind of “premium malt beverage” he cadged from the HL refrigimatator. Smirnoff and black cherry. Yick. Good thing I didn’t get stopped by the cops.

I think I was somewhere south of West Branch when my cell phone rang. It was a call from Berkeley and it kept me occupied until I got to the “Ann Arbor 81 miles” sign, just north of Flint. Thanks, kiddo! My passenger was sleeping off the effects of his Work Weekend at the cabin and the premium malt beverage. I can’t sleep in cars, myself. I have to be at least somewhat aware of what the driver is doing.

Bump Crash etc. Back on the planet. First stop? Well, of course, it was the Westgate Kroger uscan. And I had to wait in line for people with the IQ of a toad and the speed of a turtle to bumble their way through the dern prompts before I could scan my own $5.58 worth of last-minute groceries. Back to school tomorrow, north again on Thursday.

Grok Grok grrrrrrok!!!!! Whaddya mean, insultin’ all those cute li’l toadies ‘n’ turtles ‘n’ things? Grok grok. I’d like t’ see you try t’ survive in th’ worl’ o’ a reptile or amphibian one o’ these days! Frok grok. Eagles? Skunks? Fish? Almos’ anything eats us! ‘n’ don’ start bein’ all travelin’ funeral agin!!!! Frok groook grokkle grok! Grrrrrrrrrrr!

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