Mrs. Linklater's Great Adventure Begins

The trunk holds four suitcases' worth of clothes 

and there are no baggage charges, thank you.

When I found out how much it costs to get to a wedding in Sea Island, Georgia, via fixed wing aircraft, I decided to drive. That's because you can't get to Sea Island on a commercial jet. Private jet, sure. Piper Cub, no problem. But otherwise, you fly into Savannah or Jacksonville, then rent a car. So I just rented a car, skipped the plane, and drove 1100 miles from Chicago. Saved a ton of money. And I could have made the trip in a comfortable 15 hours, but. . .
          I left at 4 AM CDT, two days after Mother's Day, in a rented silver Hyundai Sonata. 40 MPG, thank you very much. My SUV maxes out at 20 MPH. The majority of the trip couldn't have been more uneventful. Just an FYI, I had a couple of up close and tasty experiences with Wendy's new flatbread chicken sandwich. Messy as hell, but soooo good. 
          Meanwhile, who needs a GPS for I-294/S from Chicago to 1-80/E to 1-65/S through Indy and Louisville all the way to Nashville, 1-24/E to Chattanooga, I-75/S through Atlanta. 
          About Atlanta. . .
          For some reason Atlanta has no problem with a 70 MPH speed limit. Chicago dropped theirs to 55. Why? Because nobody goes 55, they go 70. So do the math for Atlanta. That's right, everybody is driving 85 MPH. That includes trucks, since Atlanta doesn't seem to see the need for a lower speed limit for trucks.  
          I arrived in Atlanta around 4:30 or 5 PM EDT. Rush hour. It was a beautiful, clear, and sunny day. Regardless, I saw four incidents making my way, bumper to bumper, through the city. One was a Dodge Hemi Huge Honkin' pick up turned upside down on its head. I have never, ever seen anything flipped over during rush hour in Chicago. Especially when it's sunny and clear. Upside down accidents are reserved for drunk drivers at 5 AM on the weekends. I'm just sayin'.
          Up a ways, there was a four car disaster moved off to the side. A little further [farther, I forget], a lone motorcycle lost a battle with a car. Easing on down the road, some lady got pulled over in a tricked out Mustang for something. I thought about taking an alternate route, except the radio said there were accidents all over the place. Did I mention it was clear and sunny? 
          I made it to Macon around 6 EDT, when the traffic had to negotiate a construction zone. In Georgia, the speed limit through construction zones is 60 MPH. In Chicago, it's 45. We kill plenty of people in 45 MPH construction zones in Chicago. So when I saw the amount of traffic, the speed of the traffic, and the narrow traffic lanes, I actually said out loud, "Someone's going to die." 
          Just before the turnoff to Savannah on I-16 out of Macon, traffic came to a halt. The cops had shut down the Interstate and everybody was kicked off the road. 
          Yep. Somebody died. After getting off the highway, I saw several emergency vehicles racing down the road with their lights flashing. 90% of the time it's a motorist, not a worker, by the way, according to Chicago radio ads reminding people to SLOW THE FUCK DOWN IN CONSTRUCTION ZONES. 
          At that point, the only decent alternate route to Sea Island was over back roads, which made me think of the strange banjo player in Deliverance, so I spent the night in a swank Holiday Inn Express that served a free breakfast. Avoiding rush hour, I could have made it to Sea Island by  7 or 8 PM EDT. Instead I drove the last three hours in the morning. I-16/E to Savannah. 1-95/S to Brunswick to the "Golden Isles" and Sea Island. Easy peasy. But still, a disappointment. 
          I did so want to hold the 1100 mile one day driving record for women way over sixty who only stop to eat and pee. And get gas. The kind with octane.  
          NEXT TIME: Sea Island, GA.