Today I got to experience my first ever DUI test!

I often turn off my headlights (leaving only the parking lights) if I'm the first car in line at a stoplight, to keep from blinding the cars waiting on the other side of the intersection (and I wish other people would do the same — especially people in tall SUVs and pickup trucks). Apparently, though, the police are not so impressed with my thoughtfulness. Tonight as the light turned green I turned my headlights on and started driving, only to have the car behind me turn his blue lights on. I pulled over once we were through the intersection, and I saw five other cop cars pull to a stop all around me. I'm always impressed when the police devote those kinds of resources to stopping me. It's kind of flattering.

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Car pulls to the left
Must hold constant right steering
Why don't cars have trim?

I made it back to Covington with no problem. I flew into Miami at 3pm, picked up the car at my grandfather's apartment, and started driving at 5pm. I had originally been planning on staying the night in Miami and setting off in the morning, but I was eager to get back. I figured it was unlikely that I'd manage the full 13-hour drive in one sitting, considering I was starting at 5pm and I had only gotten two hours of sleep the night before, but I decided any progress I could make that day would put me that much closer the next day. I'd just have to find a motel or something to stop at when I got tired.

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The visit in Clemson was perfect. I didn't miss out on any visits, and I got to do all the things I had on my list: I watched Metalocalypse with Meg, ate at Waffle House, took pictures at the abandoned mill in Newry, finally hung out with Katie in person, went to Super Taco, spent a good amount of time with Alia, did an Irish Car Bomb with Jeff and Bobby, hung out with Kells, and even got to see Jenn, which I though would be infeasible.

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Last night I was driving to work when I felt something on my right index finger. I tried to brush it off with my thumb, but it didn't immediately come off. I could feel it moving around, so I realized it must be some sort of insect. I started to do one of those reflexive limb shakes you do when you realize there's an insect crawling on you. The quick motion must have frightened it, though, and I felt a sting. As I realized my visitor was in fact something hostile like a bee or a wasp, my shake evolved into flailing my hand around in a combination of panic and pain.

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This morning when I got out of work I stopped by the photo lab to drop off some film, so on my way home I took Expreso De Diego, a large, four-lane highway. At one point, I found myself in the left lane, and there was a large garbage truck in the right. As I passed by the garbage truck, a rat leapt from the truck and tumbled a few times on the road. Just before he passed out of my view, I saw him find his feet and start scrabbling madly — still sliding, but somewhat in control. Of course, he was sliding across a large, relatively busy highway, so in spite of his impressive landing, I don't think his odds of survival were high. Still, I certainly couldn't have leapt from a speeding truck and fared so well, so I suppose it's possible he got lucky and managed to slide unharmed to the side of the road. I wonder how that turned out.

After spending so many hours driving in Scotland and Ireland, I got completely comfortable with driving on the left side of the road. Now that I'm back in PR, I'm finding myself actually having to apply conscious thought to remember which side to drive on. Most of the roads I drive are very familiar, so habit takes over. But when I'm turning onto a road I haven't been on before, I briefly find myself trying to remember which side I'm supposed to be on. It's surprising; after years of reinforcing certain neural patterns, I wouldn't have thought that just a few days in a new system would be enough to brush the patterns out of the sand.

The trip continues to be an incredible experience. On Thursday evening we flew to Dublin, spent the night at a hotel there, and then in the morning took another short flight across Ireland to Shannon, where we rented a car. From there we visited the nearby Bunratty Castle and then drove southwest to Killarney, the starting point of the road that circles the peninsula, known as the "Ring of Kerry". We stopped along the way and ate at a small, family-owned restaurant named O'Flynn's, which I loved. The people were so nice and friendly, and the food was great. I had my first pint of Guinness in Ireland (on draught, of course).

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This morning I left early for work so I could stop at the panadería and get breakfast. However, when I got close to the San Juan area I ran into a huge traffic jam. Since I knew that traffic equaled no food, I darted off onto a side street to try and find a way around the it.

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OK, I think it's great that Crazy Bird Lady still gets up every morning at 6am to go feed the birds. But I think she needs to think this through a little better. Why would you scatter the birdseed in the middle of the road? You know, the place where all the big, lethal chunks of metal rumble past all the time? That'd be like arranging a big pile of toys alluringly in the middle of the highway in front of a preschool.

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Ugh, the one night I was too lazy to bring food to work, it turns out it's Noche De San Juan and the streets are completely clogged with cars. It took me an hour to get to work, whereas normally it takes about 10 minutes. If I go out to get food, I might be gone for hours.

And dammit do I hate those little scooter motorcycles that have gotten so popular all of a sudden. These people are kind of like the motorcycling equivalent of the "new rich," who suddenly suddenly find themselves on a motorcycle and havent had time to learn how to use one. They just know that when they are in a car they always see motorcycles driving between the stopped cars at stoplights, so they've decided that now that they have a motorcycle they never have to wait in line.

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I don't understand it when people drive faster than me. I drive a sports car with above-average handling and braking ability, and I drive as fast as I feel comfortable. It troubles me when a large SUV passes me going at least 10-15 mph faster.

As I drove up, the bird waited until the last minute before finally taking off in flight, and then pooping on my hood for good measure. At first I was mad, but then I realized it must have been a fear poop. Imagining myself in his situation, I decided it would probably be really uncomfortable to poop while running away from someone who has just scared me. So I felt we were kind of even.

It's wonderful to lose yourself in Sigur Rós as the convoluted mountain road of El Yunque unwinds itself under your tires.

You know those roads that are marked with an unrealistically low speed limit, and everyone sort of ignores? Like the section of Hwy. 76 that passes through Clemson, which is marked 35mph but is basically a highway deserving of something like 55mph. Or Kennedy Expressway in PR, marked 45mph but is a long, straight road with no exits or on-ramps. I usually drive 65mph on Kennedy and it feels completely comfortable.

Tonight on the way home from dropping Liz off at her hotel in San Juan, I was making my way back on Kennedy at 2:30am. The only other car on the road was a cop car with lights blazing, as they always are here. Naturally, I matched his speed, but the lights were pretty much blinding me, so I nudged forward until I was just in front of him. He then got on the loudspeaker and said, "You're going faster than 40, you know."

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Hmm, that was weird. I stopped at the gas station on my way back from getting food around midnight, and as I went in to the store to leave my card, this dark-skinned sketchy guy in a wife-beater crouching by the door tried to ask me for something. He said, "Hey man," and then seeing my apprehension, said, "It's not money that I want. My truck is out of gas." This sounded like he was going to ask for a ride somewhere, which, needless to say, coming from someone on the street at midnight in PR when you drive a sought-after car, is not a request with much hope of being granted. Besides that, I was only out on my "lunch break" and was on my way back to work, and told him so. He pointed to the parking lot and said "I just need some gas, that's all," which normally I'd be happy to help him with, even if it WAS just a dumb cover story. But money is somewhat tight right now, so I apologized and declined and headed inside. I noticed he was gone when I came out.

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It's only 65.4 miles to El Conquistador, and that's going the long, roundabout way and includes getting lost and wandering around a lot. Coming from being in the US, that seems so puny. Going to El Conquistador is this big ordeal, comparable to driving to Atlanta or something, but it's just down the road. As the crow flies, it can't be more than 20 miles or so.

But man, I wish I'd had my GPS receiver on and tracking my path like a real-time version of Snake. I'm willing to bet I'd have lost all four lives many times over.