12 hours of travel. Yep, 12 hours to get from Boston to Nashville. Yee-flipping-ha. Cathy assures me she spent 9 hours Sunday traveling the same route. Suffice to say that Nashville is not the easiest place to get to.
The hotel is ridiculously large. I believe the hotel shuttle driver threw out some absurd number like 25 acres. The hotel shuttle itself was ridiculously large -- it was the type of bus you normally see transporting rock bands cross country. One of the passengers remarked that the bus was much nicer and possibly larger than the plane she flew earlier in the day. There is also a honky-tonk just nearby that serves excellent BBQ. I just want to go to a honky-tonk, period, don't care what the serve.
Cathy claims that she walked 2 miles to find a coffee kiosk this morning... only to discover that it was closed. She promptly interrogated a hapless hotel employee who directed her to a second kiosk... another 2 miles away. Apparently, Cathy's expression was sufficiently, er, animated to prompt the hapless hotel employee to volunteer to walk her to the second kiosk. Cathy declined the escort. She did manage to score some joe.
My plane seemed to suffer a power failure, as in all lights went out and everything became eerily quiet. Happily, this occurred just as we pulled up to the jetway in Nashville. I thought for a moment that we'd need to use the inflatable emergency slides to deplane, which would have made this, officially, the best. trip. EVER. Sadly, we were forced to deplane using the jetway like regular mortals.
I haven't actually seen Cathy, by the way, because I checked into my room at 9:30 pm and she was no doubt catching up on her television watching. We'll catch up over breakfast tomorrow and Cathy can tell me (again) that I eat as much as a man. Dang, now I'm thinking about the dinner I skipped. Breakfast will be EPIC.
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