It’s just dawning on me that some of you read this from the WCNC web “blog” page and not from the Carolina Traveler page on this web site. If you’re seeing these journals on the “blog” page and have never been to the CT page, look over on the left column and click “Carolina Traveler.” It might help to have some context for why my journals have nothing to do with news. There you can go back in time and read the other 180 online journals I’ve written over the last four years. And when you get to Entry 78 sometime Thursday and your boss fires you for not working, you can go home and read the rest!

Oh the fun.

Okay… So while you’re reading this journal, Entry 181, I’m driving a U-haul truck that smells like a humongous ashtray on wheels across the Great Smoky Mountains.

No pun intended. Trust me.

I’d like to thank the last renter for having the decency to not litter God’s green earth with his ashes and cigarette butts. They were all over the inside of the cab. Good times.

I’m towing a car carrier that has “45 MPH Limit” painted backward on its fender so every time I look in my driver’s door mirror it reminds me I’m driving too fast and might lose control and die around the next bend.

I’m heading to Nashville to start my country music career.

Wait. That’s not right. My mind is in a blurry daze. Maybe this smoky smell isn’t from cigarettes. Hang on… I have to stop for some Ho-Hos… or pickles maybe. Man I’m hungry.

Okay, I’m rolling again. I’m headed to Nashville to pick up my son and move him into his first apartment. He’s a sophomore in college and living off campus this year.

I said that to you all nonchalantly.

Inside my head it sounded like this: “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!”

His mom is handling all this better than me. I’ve called her several times, expecting her to crumble into tears. Nope. She’s great. I’m the teary-eyed nutcase. In a few hours he’ll be sitting there in the passenger seat next to me all excited and wide-eyed.

He looks like me. Talks like me. Acts like me. Laughs at the same stupid things I do. Thankfully he’s much smarter and more mature. Got that from mom.

But he’s a FREAKIN’ GROWN MAN!

I want to give him so much advice. I’ve made so many mistakes he can learn from. Sooooooo many. You have no idea.

He’s heard it all from me before. The sex talk, the drugs talk, the booze talk, you name it; I’ve got a “talk” for it. Poor kid. I think this trip I’ll just let him do the talking. It is pretty exciting isn’t it? His own place.

What a fantastic long road he’s got ahead of him. He’s just getting started. Lordie I’m an emotional mess.

Well back to driving. I have a long road ahead of me too.

You know, I really should try and get rid of this weird smoky smell before I get to Nashville. How can I explain it away to Trevor’s mom? “It’s not me! It’s the truck! It smelled like that when I rented it! Honest! No… really. Say… got any Cheetos?”

Don’t forget to stop and smell the, um… people,

Mike Redding