I had planned to leave my brother'a house on Saturday morning and drive 3/4 of the way and finish the rest on Sunday. Good plan. Except for one thing. The fall.
See I decided to take a spill on the wet tile in my brothers entryway. And fell. Hard. Hit my right knee on the tile and jammed my right shoulder into the closet in the entry. But that's not the worst part. My left foot. Hit the tile. Or twisted. Or something. But it was not good. And this was Friday afternoon, the day before I was leaving. So the awesome golf ball sized lump on my foot swelled up rather quickly and turned a lovely shade of purple. Nice.
Did the ice thing and hobbled around most of the afternoon. And it did feel a little better. And the I got up Saturday morning to drive. And the plan was to drive about 9 house or so. Yeah. Pain. And discomfort. And pain.
About halfway through New Jersey I was saying a prayer to the New Car Gods for having me buy an automatic. Because the last 10 years or so I had a stick shift. It just would not be happening with this gimpy foot. (Apologies to everyone in every rest stop I visited that had to watch me limping around like I had a stick up my ass. I did not have a stick up my ass. I probably had a broken foot)
Driving home 980 miles with this foot? Probably not the best idea. But I did stop more often and rest and walk around. For what that is worth. So now I am resting at the hotel for the night and to say I'm exhausted is an understatement. I think I frightened the front desk dude.
It didn't help that the trip to the George Washington bridge was a lovely view of what I think was the Bronx. Because it took 1.5 hours to go 10 miles. Yeah. 10 miles. And just so that you know, New Jersey is not much better. Because New Jersey drivers suck. Big. Time
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