“Engage Hyper Drive!”

So there we were driving crawling down interstate-Outer Rim Of The Galaxy when it occurs to me the snail’s pace we’ve devolved to has nothing to do with anything serious, and everything to do with The End Of The Word. Which, in this part of the country (which I’m not going to name for several reasons), has little or no experience with falling snow. Or driving in it.

It’s been about seven years since we’ve taken a trip of this distance in the beloved SUV because, as soon as the kids were of an age where others at the rest area would hear them yelling while we we ran to the car and peeled out before they could catch up, we took to the skies and shortened the chaos of travel considerably. And it was definitely a trade-off. I lost the freedom to get where we were going on our terms and at our pace, but gained the joy of watching Cute Redhead secure herself to the seat she was in, the one next to her, the one in front of her, the overhead bin, the International Space Station and the landing gear of every airplane in the landing pattern, all in one strategic foot-up-on-tray-table move. All while tuning into the available cockpit channel on her headphones so that (I’m not making this up) she could be sure the pilot was in control.

“Hey Jane I was going to ask you if y—”

“Shh!”

“…Um. What are you doing, honey?”

“I’m monitoring the cockpit.”

“A ha. Well. Do be a dear and let me know when they start screaming like little girls and putting us into a nose dive. I don’t want to spill my drink.”

Where is the camera when you need it.

Now, since we’re back on the roads, it’s reduced to her one foot on the dashboard in front of her and one hand on the bar above her (I really don’t know what those things are for unless it’s to secure a rope and a winch and aid not-so-deft people into the passenger seat), all while sucking all the air out of the car in abject horror because the car in front of us has spun out, flipped over, careened into oncoming traffic, burst into flames and incinerated everyone in a five mile radius.

I mean merged left half a mile down the road ahead of us.

So there I am driving the 2006 EarthDestroyer—Now With BattleAction® (and which, as far as I’m concerned, is the Millenium Falcon) (making me Han Solo), while Recalcitrant Teenager is fighting (oh surprise) again with Beta Male, (the very one who Saved. His. Money. And. Got. His. Own. iPodTouch), while The Princess of The Bag of Cheddar Cheese and Sour Cream Ruffles is occupying herself doing who-knows-what (I was distracted by Imperial Forces)…all while I’m watching my wife’s forehead break out in beads of sweat.

“Honey…it’s ‘with Thee’, not ‘swiftly.’

[eyes never leaving Highway to Hell in front of us] “What?”

“I said it’s ‘with Thee.’ Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with Thee. Not Hail Mary, full of grace the Lord is swiftly—”

“Shut up. And do you have to be going so fast?”

“Do I have to be going so fa—. Are you kidding me? I’m going ten miles and hour. I could be carrying all our luggage on my back and cover more ground in an hou—”

*click*

“Um. What did you just—DID YOU JUST PUT ME IN FOUR-WHEEL DRIVE?!?”

And she did. While I was trying with all my might to control several tons of metal and steel and internal combustion and the lives of my family and the baby Jesus and ion canons and R2D2 and puppies and Campbell Soup commercials and April Fresh fabric softener and homemade cookies and OH! MY! GOD! WE’RE! GOING! TO! DIE! during the break-neck jump to lightspeed we all know happens at ten miles an hour…

…she reaches over and flips the switch and engages all four wheels to make sure we live.

Prior to this I was bored completely stone cold out of my mind (the Star Wars stuff was just going on in my head to keep me awake), I’m driving with one hand over the wheel, not even gripping it but doing that thing where it’s really your wrist atop the wheel, while I’m leaning my head against my other hand leaning against the window. I think I was yawning too.

Because, as I said, it was snowing in this part of the country. And that, gentle readers, is Armageddon to the locals.

It. Was. Hilarious.

Now, in their defense, snow is definitely not weather they’re used to. At all. I mean AT ALL. So, naturally, no snow removal equipment meant snow was packing itself on the road ways and creating, if you ask me, helpful little corridors through which your vehicle progressed, not unlike the little guided tracks on kiddie go-cart rides.

I mean there was NOWHERE to go, and we’re not talking about long stretches of highway here, people. We’re talking about the occasional ten feet. Maybe.

And because the world was ending, everyone with license plates different from mine (read: people not from Colorado) was taking their sweet time, slowly, with trepidation, fearfully making their way to the White Throne of Judgement prayin—

Oh, I forgot this one. Right before Cute Redhead decided she needed to take measures into her own hands and initiate evasive maneuvers by reversing thrusters and avoiding distaster, I was looking out my window at the smaller SUV I was passing. Because, I deduced, it was going about eight miles per hour.

With its hazard lights on.

With the driver (I can read lips because of the hearing loss, remember) praying. PRAYING.

You have got to be kidding me, folks lol (and unlike the all-too-often texted ‘lol’ all over our phones, I really did laugh out loud).

But the laughter was cut short as soon as, glancing over to show Cute Redhead how petrified the woman in the other vehicle was, I noticed she chanced coming out of crash position to engage the hyperdrive four-wheel drive.

*Note: did Han Solo ever warm to the idea of Princess Leia reaching past him to punch in the coordinates?

No.

I was now no longer laughing quietly.

Now I was nearly wetting myself laughing hysterically because just when I start questioning whether I ever embellish these stories…

…she reaches over and puts us in 4-wheel drive whle we’re going ten miles an hour. Hilarious.

Hell.

Beautiful.

Happy 2010 everyone.