The Diary of a Madman: The Introduction

As I mentioned in a previous post, a couple of my buddies and I took a roadtrip last weekend to the strange and amazing lands located to our South. After last year's roadtrip to Chi-town, this year's quick sojourn to the land of the Confederacy for a weekend appeared, atleast on paper, to be a mere trip to the corner store compared to last summer's 18 hour trek out west. For this trip, our numbers decreased from five to three as we cut away some of the proverbial fat in order to become a lean mean roadtripping machine of all-stars. (Actually, I think we were the only one's who could go away last weekend.) Whatever the reasoning, this trip's cast included:

The Faithful Steed-- a Gold 1989 Volvo Wagon that started our voyage with approximately 298,400 miles to its credit as well as several odd noises. (more on that later)...(PICTURE PENDING AT THE TIME OF PUBLICATION, she is sensitive about being photographed.)

The Driver--














One, Mr. Bob Jingle, a fellow Nutmegger and patriot, who during his formative years was no stranger to the wrong side of the law incurring an unmatched portfolio of moving violations while tearing through the streets of little town Connecticut. Thankfully, in recent years, the Bobber has rehabilitated his driving record while still maintaining the same killer instinct that made him fully qualified to lead our trip.

The Navigator--














The Dirty Diz, a former Flanders All-Star and a man with an unmatched sense of direction, cartography, and a lethal ability to find an alternative route around any traffic jam. Some say that the Diz has ice running through his veins as he remains calm in the most stressful of situations on the open road. In truth, the Diz's talents are the direct result of numerous family roadtrips that he endured as a youth during which he promised to himself that when it was his time to hit the open road, he would not make the mistakes that haunted his family's past trips.


The Dude in the Backseat--














And here is where I come in as part trip manager, organizer of the backseat and trunk areas, drink bitch, and the general source of lunacy, unnecessary commentary, and all around non-sensicality (inventing words). While seemingly not as important as the driver or the navigator, who some would argue that without the roadtrip would never occur, I maintain that my position is just as critical to the overall success of any roadtrip as I am the provider, who ensures that the driver and the navigator maintain their mental edge even after hours of driving while still managing to keep the mood light enough to thwart any challenges that threaten to derail the entire trip. Most importantly, I maintained the position of scribe taking down all the adventures that we endured along the way.

The Mascot--














E "Mother Fucken" T, my faithful confidant and friend, who has traveled with me on almost every trip that I have made since I discovered him in the attic of my childhood home many years ago. Throughout this voyage, he remained our faithful icon who sat silently on the dashboard never looking at the road ahead but rather staring silently back at each us analyzing our souls as if to see whether or not we had the internal fortitude and mental strength to complete the quest at hand.

And so on Friday, April 7, 2006 around 6:30 PM, this team of all-stars left to explore the South with no real goal or destination other than the outside hope to see the Faithful Steed pass the 300,000 mile benchmark by journey's end...

Over the next couple of days, I hope to transcribe these adventures here so that you, my faithful readers, can get a flavor for what happens when three young men, a 17 year old car, and a plastic icon stop being polite and start... their roadtrip at 6:30 on a Friday evening in New York City i.e. the height of rush hour traffic...