The little dots...

Yesterday evening, I drove home from visiting my parents in Orlando. I plugged in my iPod and let my mind wander as I sang along, deep in my dreams of being in an audition for 'American Idol' (while simultaneously knowing that I'd never be poppy enough...or, probably, good enough...but these are daydreams, mind you).

My mind and voice didn't get to wander long as traffic completely stopped right past the Walt Disney World exits on I-4. As I inched forward, bit by bit, for the next hour, I started to feel my clutch foot going numb and worried that my transmission wouldn't last the night.

I called my mom, and then Braden, trying to find out if there was some magical highway that no one else knew about that I could take back to Tampa, some perfect blend of accessibility and speed.

Unfortunately, I had no such luck.

After coming up with a plan with my mom to catch three different highways off of I-4, the traffic cleared and I was driving at 65 again. For one minute. With brake lights flashing in front of me, I made the only decision a man can make in such a situation: take the dark, scary exit to the right, regardless of whether or not it leads anywhere.

The exit deposited me on a road that I just knew was going to lead me right up to a "death by cow" considering how dark and how windy the rural highway was. I had no idea that Florida got so rural so quickly. Mickey Mouse lives just 10 miles north of here! I thought.

I relaxed on that dark road, though. I was going over 50 again and my foot started to come back to life. I wound through the midnight curves handily, finally knowing why german cars can be fun to drive.

That is, until I came to an intersection that didn't mention my highway number anymore. Fifteen signs were piled up on each other, listing numbers that had nothing to do with any road that I've ever head of before. One arrow, on a rusted, twisted sign, pointed skyward, which is where I was leaning to visiting if my quest kept hitting dead ends.

Then I noticed one of the signs. 17. I thought, "Could this possibly be the 17 from the highway 17-92 in Orlando?" Then I noticed that it went south. I needed to go south.

17 it was.

Within minutes, I was in downtown Winter Haven. A city that I've visited once before. This time, they had railroad crossing signals. And, amazingly, a Carrabas next to a standalone Macy's.

And after one more minute, back to the black sky and cows. Cows in fields. Cows that were dangerously close to the road.

I went further and further south, just with the knowledge that I would have to hit Highway 60 (the highway that leads into my part of Tampa) eventually. It crossed the whole state. I had to hit it.

Every once in awhile, I would have to slow down and pass through cities with police stations smaller than post offices. And the combination restaurants! I honestly didn't know that you could have a Taco Bell, Pizza Hut, AND a TCBY in the same location!

As I drove, I could feel myself riding along the thin lines of a map that is usually traversed at the thick ones, the ones that you have to pay money to use, the ones that bypass all of this unseen civilization. Each time the speed limit slowed, I knew I was entering a little dot, the dots without names. These dots had stop signs (rather than traffic lights), unprotected intersections, and, in one, a McDonalds with the freshest fries and the nicest ladies, smiling and making small talk 5 minutes to closing.

I soon found myself on the east side of Tampa. A few minutes later, I called Justin and heard that highway officials had closed part of I-4 and Highway 75 leading into Tampa because someone had been shot in their car.

While the rest of my surrounding world was in terror on the thick line, I got the blessing of enjoying some of the little dots.