On The Road.

On the road.

On. The Road.

It sounds so glamorous doesn’t it? It conjures images of the sun glinting off the highway, the wind sweeping your hair, and retro rock n roll tunes blaring out of your Cadillac.

Well in reality the images are more of: frantically dodging mentalist drivers in SUVs, unsavoury bathroom arrangements, massive fights over what’s being played on the iPod (my Glee soundtrack is banned and I’m not happy about it. Rich’s emo sh*t is also banned and he’s equally unglad), and worrying if the car rental company will notice we’ve broken at least two parts of our Toyota Yarris.

Bloody reality. It always has to ruin everything.

Seriously it’s not been that bad. Well apart from the Glee clampdown from Mr Musical Nazi. The only two bands we agree on are The Smiths and The Beatles, and there’s only so much Eleanor Rigby one person can stand.

Yesterday was all about gobbling up miles. And gobble we did. I was a machine – but it was horrible. I think, in English terms, I drove past Newcastle from Brighton. It’s not so much the driving part that’s hard – more keeping your concentration from dwindling when you don’t even need to steer. The interstates are so very boring and can be quite disorientating because you’re covering such long distances with just the same signs for Wendy’s and Macdonalds every 35 miles. There’s a slight change in landscape. As we tear up tarmac we’ve passed the sunkissed palm trees of Florida, the draped Spanish Moss of Tallahasse, the boggy marshland of Louisiana, and now we’re into the wide open plains of the Four Corners.

Anyway – to cut a long story short. This was my yesterday….
Drive. Drive. Fill up gas. Drive. Drive. Pee. Drive. Eat at Pizza Hut on side of the road and get looked at strangely when I ask for salad. Drive. Drive. Fill up gas. Drive. Drive. Yell at Rich for no apparent reason. Cry a little. Drive. Drive. Find motel and COLLAPSE.

The motel we stayed at last night was another dive. I’m not sure why we’re so good at finding such disgusting places. It’s some sort of depraved and thoroughly un-useful gift. There’s this smell that comes free with any motel room that’s under $70 a night. And it hits you the moment you open the door. A mixture of mould, mildew, dead bodies etc. Ergh! We need to buy some Febreeze if we’re to continue unearthing such hellish dwellings. We stayed in a place called ‘Kilgore’ in Texas which would be very aptly named during the presidential election of 2000. (I had to Google the year so the cleverness of that joke is slightly diminished. Plus, Rich might have made it first). I tried to swim in the pool but it was a dark green sludgy colour with tree branches in it and one lone deflated dolphin with a scratched eye bobbing melancholy on the marshy surface. Not good.

So after a not-very-successful day we decided to DEFY Google Maps and deviate from the interstate. I know. I’m a rebel without a cause. But I’m so so glad we did because the drive today was wonderful. We drove through so many cute hick towns and spotted our very first cowboy. It was like we were finally seeing the real American after 24 hours just blitzing through it. We then took a turnpike through Native American land which was stunningly beautiful. At one point the road looked as though we were driving into the sky and I came over all Pocahontus. Although Rich stubbornly refused to sing ‘Paint With All The Colours Of The Wind’ with me as we glided through the forest. Spoilsport.

Anyhoo we’re now in Oklahoma City baby. Not because we really wanted to see it, but more because it’s a natural stopping point. We’ve defied our no-chains-if-possible rule and splashed out by staying in a Comfort Inn off the Interstate. It may have no soul but it’s got a whirlpool bath in each room, and well as a gym and a spa and a Subway opposite. It’s remarkably easy to sell your soul to the devil here – though we have challenged ourselves to go the whole trip without eating a MacDonalds.

We staying here two nights so I can rest from the drive. There’s not a huge lot to do but we’ve discovered the national Cowboy (!!!!!!) museum is only a ten minute drive away so that’s tomorrow sorted. Then we’re LITERALLY taking the road to Amarillo. Which is another great singing opportunity for me, and another great reason for Rich to contemplate dumping me. But I’m the only who can drive so he’s stuck with me and my screeching and overenthusiastic vocal chords for at least a month. Mwhahahahaha.

I’m going to shut up now.

Love to you all you beautiful English people.

Holly xxx