Chicago
Chicago was fun. Masterchef has a Miata, which was a welcome change from the barge I'd spent a week driving, and we worked on his motorcycle, went karting, ate a ton of good food, all that normal "visiting a friend for the first time" stuff. I think I spent 4 days there? Then it was time for the Maverick to bring me home.
BONUS ROUND
I woke up at 4:30 AM- my alarm was set for 5 but I was anxious to get going and didn't sleep well. The plan for the day was an all out, 750 mile cannonball run back to my house in PA, and I was sure the car would make it, but I knew the lack of a stereo, open windows, and Richard Nixon were going to take their toll on me. Plus, the car didn't like going much over 70 for any sustained period, and there was an annoying steering vibration which came and went as it pleased.
The drive was pretty uneventful until I got to Ohio. Now, I HATE Ohio thanks to previous run-ins with their lovely State Patrol, and I know that, if I'm going to have trouble with the law, it's going to be here.
I pulled into a rest stop to take a piss, and when I came back out, there was definitely some serious Ohio happening. A white Charger had pulled up to block the Maverick, and when I got closer, I could see it said "Customs and Border Protection" on the side. ^Not the actual car, but I realize I have no pictures from this part of the trip.
Apparently he had decided the car warranted a closer look, and after running the plates, decided he needed to have a conversation with me. He explained how the car wasn't legally registered, how not OK that was, and how people like to traffic drugs along I-80- in turn, I explained the trip, how I had bought the car 10 days ago, and asked if I could take a picture of our cars together. He told me that wouldn't be a great idea.
At this point, I was asked if I would consent to a search of the car by their drug sniffing dog (doesn't that sound like a dog that's addicted to coke or something? Always thought it was a silly name). The implied deal was that, if the car was clean, I was free to go, but if I refused, it might be impounded. My concern, of course, was primarily that one of the previous owners might have left something fun in there, but I went with the search- rolling the dice was a better option than the car being impounded.
The car was clean! Suddenly, we were all friends, and as the Customs officer handed my documents back to me, he told me that he'd always wanted to do Route 66, but not in a car like mine. He then informed me that I was the craziest road tripper he's ever met- I took it as a complement, then got the berkeley out of Ohio.
Upon getting the berkeley out of Ohio, I piled on the speed. That Customs debacle had cost me over an hour, I was back in my home state, I was fairly certian I could spot police before getting in front of their radar guns, and running wide open barely had me passing anyone anyway. That lasted for about 45 minutes before I got the car hot enough that I had to pull over.
After the car cooled down, I resumed my 70 mph max pace. I made the exit off 80 onto 476, drove through the Lehigh tunnel, and was almost home. I started to understand how Masterchef was feeling when we hit Chicago: a trip always feels disconnected from reality. Normally, you go on vacation, you return home, and there's a distinct disconnect there- but I was driving this thing back into real life, the cheap car nearly twice my age that I bought 10 days ago on the other side of the country! It's a unique feeling, and one that I think everyone should experience at least once.
Pulling onto my home street I was nearly tearing up- it was actually going to make it! I pushed the car hard around the last few corners to my house, and entered the driveway with the tires squealing, locking them up in front of the garage. I couldn't believe I had made it, but this was my house, with my girlfriend standing at the front door, and this impossible yellow Maverick idling in the driveway.