As you may recall in the previous episode I elected not to drive thru downtown Chicago after rush hour. If I knew my way around, I probably would. But it was cold that morning so our tops were on. Driving the Elise with the top on is akin to driving a go-kart while wearing one of those Spartan helmets from the movie/comic 300: it makes me feel a little claustrophobic. Particularly in strange urban landscapes. So Doug and I parted ways... and I thought I’d be taking the safer route.

 

Ten minutes later, I had my first cracked windshield in over 15,000 miles of ownership for the car. I somehow managed to catch a rock while more than two seconds behind a truck in a 35 mph zone. Fortunately it’s cracked in a spot that won’t obstruct vision and can probably be patched instead of replacing the windshield. Still it’s one of those things that makes you cringe when it happens, particularly as time slows down as that tumbling bolder approaches.

 

Chicago has more tolls than in any other town we had encountered during the journey. I think I hit at least 4 just to leave town. 30 cents to drive 5 miles. Now 80 cents please. Oh joy, $1.60. I would have been happier to have paid 5 bucks once and not be hassled to dig thru coin bags and wallets. Actually my first toll cost me 60 cents despite it being labeled as 30... asking an engineer to throw thirty cents backhanded with my non-mouse arm from a go-kart to a coin catcher can be an expensive proposition. I’m surprised there aren’t opportunists who hang around the unmanned toll stations to pick the coins off of the road.

 

At first I thought I was going to stay in Columbus Ohio, but I decided to press on to Cambridge. (Ohio not Mass) In the morning I got onto I-77 for a straight shot to Charlotte.

 

West Virginia would have about as many tolls as Chicago, but those were spread out over the breadth of the state. I was surprised that there were toll roads in WV; I would have thought that Sen. Byrd would have the whole state paved by now.

 

The drive home was pretty much uneventful. It was odd being grateful to see Charlotte rush hour traffic. I made a pit stop to work to let them see my bug accumulation (at least one from each state). Even though I had cleaned the car in Pasadena, the nose looked about as well populated with bug splats as Doug’s car.

 

When I got home I had to move my daily driver out of the driveway to pull the Lotus into the garage. After nearly a month on the road with the Lotus, my normal car felt completely alien: the seat was up too high, power steering, numb feel. It was a strange sensation. It was also strange walking into a house that had been empty and quiet that long. But as they say south of Nebraska, there’s no place like home.