What do you get on a road trip with two guys talking 80s pop culture, Saturday morning cartoons and pro wrestling? You get roughly 100 miles in the wrong direction.
After the Bucs crushing defeat Friday night, two journalists pondering their payoff set off for home Saturday morning, but soon would realize that the U.S. Interstates and AAA are the devil.
Traveling back from Greenville, S.C., these two guys were so enthralled in conversation and child-like behavior that they failed to realize that after two hours of driving they had not crossed the North Carolina border.
Now for those readers who believe alcohol was the reason for this, let us assure you it was not.
Therefore, with consumption not being the culprit, we can say our two journalists are idiots.
After realizing this blunder in the vast metropolis of Columbia, S.C., these two guys wondered if they would have realized they were going the wrong direction when their Jeep drove into the Atlantic or crossed the Georgia state line.
Maybe subconsciously the driver was wishing spring break were a week earlier.
For those of you who are going to travel the interstates over spring break, let our friends give you these helpful pointers.
First, on the interstates, east means north and west means south only on the third moon of the planet Mars, on the second Tuesday of the fifth month on odd numbered years only after 1 p.m.
This begs a question: if a western interstate is traveling, north is west really west?
Kind of philosophical, huh?
The second piece of advice: don’t trust maps.
With all the multicolored lines and numerous highway and route numbers that clutter up this wonderful provider of direction so one does not get lost, it more closely resembles a probability and statistics final or a recent demographic of the plummeting NASDAQ stocks.
The third piece of advice: be a trailblazer.
The numeric system that clutters highways is too confining to revolutionary minds. Be a free driver, like a free thinker.
Go in the direction that feels right. Don’t be afraid to close your eyes and be one with the road.
You’ll run across your destination and/or small farm animals eventually.
Finally, don’t ask for directions.
I mean do you really want to trust Zeek the three-toothed, bald, one-eyed gas attendant as he points the direction with his hook at a rest stop where the bathroom more closely resembles the town dump and stinks worse than the 3 a.m. infomercial of Richard Simmons sweating to `Oh My Gosh You’re Overweight.’
So for those of you traveling, heed the advice of these two adventurers. You’re not truly lost until you have 100 miles to show for it. And remember, the North Carolina border is only about 30 minutes from Greenville, S.C.

Author