You woke up early. No one cares.

 

We're revisiting my man, Dr. Rick, again. 

He's the "parenta-life coach" featured in the Progressive Insurance commercials.

In one spot, featuring the good doctor hosting a seminar, we see a slide projected behind him. Dr. Rick echoes the words on the screen.

"You woke up early," he says. "No one cares."

Except, I did wake up early, and I care.

The alarm greeted me at 3:30. As often as I set an alarm I rarely need it. My father was like that. I was always amazed at how he'd just get up. You never heard an alarm. His internal alarm just got him out of bed.

I've developed that same alarm and it's a blessing. And a curse.

I can only imagine what it would be like for him to have a cell phone or, perhaps more hysterically, Alexa. That's who woke me up today.

I can hear him yelling at her. Oh wait, that's me. But it would be him also and it would be worse.

I'm sitting here, waiting for others to join me for this depo, trying to tell myself that this is just another story to tell. That it's part of the fun.

Alternatively, I'm thinking about how great it would be to get in the car and go...somewhere.

That's my more pressing thought.

Most of my early drives begin at 5:30 but, in truth, I do that for the others traveling with me.

When I left to drive to Charleston, SC by myself in 2012, I was up and ready to walk out the door at 3:50 a.m. But then I argued with myself if I was truly ready and double-checked everything before leaving a half-hour later.

So 5:30 was more of a compromise for Mom and Sean.

And now just Sean.

That early drive is coming. I'm trying to believe it. I keep thinking we can make North Carolina happen this summer when the Renegades are on the road.

Out the door, I'd have the radio on, checking on traffic to get around New York City and New Jersey.

Then the internal debate about tolls would begin. Do I want to be fleeced by the New Jersey Turnpike and, for that matter, how am I crossing the Delaware? 

Those are decisions that I would make with the information presented via traffic reports and how we're moving along. I remember one recent trip -- 2018, as I recall -- in which we were making such good time that I just stayed on the Turnpike, as opposed to opting for Interstate 295, where there are no tolls.

We were out of the house at 5:16 that morning (everyone was ready early) and, three stops later (one in Mahopac), we were in North Carolina. I began unpacking the car at 3:29 that afternoon. We made great time.

Again, I think back to Dad. He'd be blown away by the notion that there was a thing called Waze that could tell him where construction zones and other traffic backups are, given his perpetual paranoia about Washington, D.C. rush hour. Justified, I might add.

I'll always say there's a strategy to traveling. At least in my style of traveling. I've considered where we'll stop but that doesn't mean that's where we'll actually take a break. In fact, unless I'm hellbent on a particular place, it's more likely I'll start thinking about what and where miles down the road. It's more spontaneous than I'm making it sound.

These thoughts are far nicer than sitting here in my office as work rolls along.

The road beckons. I'll be back on it again one day.

Even if no one cares.

(Opening Day is two weeks from today. I'll let you know if there's a plan for anything Gades-related that night.)