NJTP

As I crossed the Pulaski Skyway bridge this morning and came down the slight decline toward where the road splits into 1/9 local and express, I saw a vast sea of tail lights washed across all 6 lanes and realized the cars in front of me were quickly locking up their brakes.

This rarely happens - usually, it's just one side of the split that is seized up and when that happens, 9 times out of 10 it's on the side I don't travel. So when I saw what was ahead of me this morning, I knew I was screwed.

I sat in a dead standstill for a good 40 minutes until my anxiety got the best of me and I went on autopilot, meaning I directed my car to the berm and drove as far forward as I could. When I could go no farther, I piloted my GTI (with its ridiculous low profile tires) across the medium curb and muttered a prayer that I wouldn't have a blow out.

Once on the other side, I crept along at a snail's pace toward the Wilson Street/Newark exit, my GPS on and ready to navigate me through the streets of Newark to an exit farther south on the TP. Finally, 75 minutes after leaving my house, I entered the TP at exit 13a.

That's when I saw the accident. See the pic above? Well, pin a car by its driver's sides to the bed of that rig and add another few in a pile up behind it. Then, imagine the traffic backed up from Exit 13 to Exit 9 and you may understand the severity of the accident.

It was gruesome. I'm still sick to my stomach and my head hurts: I burst into tears upon first glance, knowing there is no way the driver survived and if by grace he or she did, I can't imagine in what condition.

Two nights ago, one of my favorite people called to tell me that the guy she had been seeing had been killed in a car accident - 20 minutes after dropping her off at her dorm room. Where did the accident take place? Yep, Route 1/9, near the TP, in Elizabeth.

So, What's La Pointe of It All? Well, it's this: NJ has some of the most dangerous roads in the country and frankly, some of the most anxious drivers. Commuting is a game of Russian roulette and I'm tired of feeling a barrel pressed to my head for two hours a day, five days a week, ten months a year. It's just asking for trouble.

Driving Me Crazy

Over the course of the past 3 weeks, I've spent about 30 hours driving.

When I envisioned my walking holiday, wedding week, and honeymoon, never did I think I would be behind the wheel driving on roads barely wider than my arse. The driving began with a torturous yet companionable 7.5 hour drive from Edinburgh to Skye, made possible by a torrential down pour and girl talk with Abbie, Yolandie, and Heather.

It continued the next day when the girls and I embarked on a 3 hour (round trip) schlep to a fantastic 5 star dinner at one of the world's most remote restaurants, the Three Chimneys. The food was to die for, the wine that Yolandie chose was the nectar of the Gods (at least the one glass I allowed myself was; not even wine made from the Fountain of Youth could convince this girl to drink and drive on any of Skye's single tract roads). And yes, it poured the entire way back to our cottage and no, there aren't any lights along the desolate roads to mark the way.

Two days after the wedding, my driving adventure boarded the Skye ferry in the form of a two car caravan: Matt and I, along with his mother and uncle in the first car, and the Vazac family following behind us in their car. We stopped at the spot marked with a statue in tribute to Bonnie Prince Charlie, near the Harry Potter Bridge, to take pics (and to take a break from being in the car) and we stopped again at the Green Welly Stop to say our goodbyes to the Vazacs as they headed toward Glasgow and we split toward Stirling.

When Matt and I arrived in Mallorca, we considered upgrading our car rental to an automatic so that he could take over the driving but the additional 200 Euros wasn't worth him taking the helm (he promises to learn to drive standard asap) so I once again found myself behind the wheel.

Today, we decided to take a scenic drive to Valldemossa, Deia, and Soller - three supposedly lovely, picturesque villages in the mountains of Mallorca. We headed out from our hotel in Puigpunyent and followed the road sign toward Valldemossa.

Holy cannoli. Stop for a minute and take a look at the pic that accompanies this post and you'll get an inkling of what the driving was like. The pic is of a GPS map showing the road down to the Port de Valldemossa (I found it on Flickr); I can't imagine what the roads we drove on today would look like in comparison but I guarantee they would be twice as windy!

It was INSANE! I drove in 1st gear for the first 35 minutes of the trip, I swear, because the road was so steep and twisty. We couldn't even stop in Deia because there was no visible parking and the thought of attempting to make a parking spot on a side street was enough to make me want to eat Xanax by the fistful (don't worry, I didn't but man, was my anxiety at a premium!).

But the best moment was when we entered Soller and tried to find the city centre only to end up driving down a set of train tracks in an attempt to flee what was, to us, a meaningless series of one way streets and potential mirror bashing alley ways!

Needless to say, we fled Soller before ever finding the centre. Luckily, right outside of the town limits was an amazing tunnel that cuts straight through the mountain and turns what would have been a 45 minute drive back to Palma into a 15 minute drive which we, of course, chose to do instead of winding our way back the way we came.

So, what's La Pointe of It All? If you ever want to go abroad and rent a car, especially for your wedding or honeymoon, please learn to drive a standard shift. Your mate will thank you and you'll thank God for sparing you from the wrath of a stressed out mate!