I made it to Lakewood, New Jersey about 3:15 this afternoon. The rest of the drive was uneventful, excluding all 359 miles of the Pennsylvania Turnpike, which need a little work.

I have napped, had my face and hands licked by our excited dogs, and am drinking a Harpoon while I keep my eyes on various cooking things that are starting to smell good.

I talked before about some of the road toys that got me through the trip, but clearly the most important one was my Passat, which just came 3000 miles in four days and didn’t really break a sweat.

Now, dinner. Something not involving hamburgers, French fries, coffee, or carbonation added to soda syrup. (Carbonation in beer, on the other hand, is definitely in order.)

Bruce Springsteen
Nebraska
Columbia, 1982

Well, I had the carburetor, baby, cleaned and checked
with her line blown out she’s hummin’ like a turbojet
Propped her up in the backyard on concrete blocks
for a new clutch plate and a new set of shocks
Took her down to the carwash, check the plugs and points
Well, I’m goin’ out tonight. I’m gonna rock that joint

Early north Jersey industrial skyline
I’m a all-set cobra jet creepin’ through the nighttime
Gotta find a gas station, gotta find a payphone
this turnpike sure is spooky at night when you’re all alone
Gotta hit the gas, baby. I'm running late,
this New Jersey in the mornin’ like a lunar landscape

Now, the boss don’t dig me, so he put me on the nightshift
It’s an all night run to get back to where my baby lives
In the wee wee hours your mind gets hazy
radio relay towers, won’t you lead me to my baby?
Underneath the overpass, trooper hits his party light switch
Goodnight good luck one two power shift

I met Wanda when she was employed
behind the counter at route 60 Bob’s Big Boy
Fried Chicken on the front seat, she’s sittin’ in my lap
We’re wipin’ our fingers on a Texaco roadmap
I remember Wanda up on scrap metal hill
with them big brown eyes that make your heart stand still

Well, at five a.m., oil pressure’s sinkin’ fast
I make a pit stop, wipe the windshield, check the gas
Gotta call my baby on the telephone
Let her know that her daddy’s comin’ on home
Sit tight, little mama, I'm comin’ ’round
I got three more hours, but I’m coverin’ ground

Your eyes get itchy in the wee wee hours
sun’s just a red ball risin’ over them refinery towers
Radio’s jammed up with gospel stations
lost souls callin’ long distance salvation
Hey, mister deejay, woncha hear my last prayer
hey, ho, rock’n’roll, deliver me from nowhere

Cleveland.com: American Idol holding auditions here Wednesday. Apparently about three-quarters of the people staying in this particular Best Western are waiting for the auditions tomorrow at Cleveland Browns stadium. Sure beats karaoke.

One more day’s driving and I get to see Lisa and the dogs again. Today I go from Cleveland through Pennsylvania on 80 and then across New Jersey to her family’s place in Lakewood. With any luck, there won’t be a repeat of yesterday’s traffic snarl around Chicago. Then again, it’s already raining, so who knows.