Driving through the remnants of a tropical storm, it takes ten hours to get from Orlando to Asheville. Driving with three dogs, it takes eleven hours.

Launched at 8:30 this morning from the house in "unincorporated Seminole County" with the new city of residence as the target. The little(ish) Toyota was loaded down with a few meager belongings and three pooches artfully spaced apart to minimize territorial sniping that could be, shall we say, disruptive to the driver. Nola and Maxie were on either side of the backseat, held in place by their harnesses and dog seatbelts with a big box in between them. Radley got to ride shotgun. Maxie was ideal, settling down right away. Nola whined and yipped until we hit the interstate. Radley, with an endless capacity to dredge up anxiety in such situations, engaged in frenzied panting until Daytona (54.3 miles) and didn't completely give up and start sleeping until Jacksonville (141 miles).

Nola, while not house-trained, is apparently (and thankfully) car-trained, and proved to be the most reliable at determining when a stop was needed. She also demonstrated that her vaunted escape artist skills are still intact (when she was a wee puppy, it took us two attempts to get a crate she couldn't climb out of) by either chewing through or breaking her seatbelt somewhere around Columbia, SC. Maxie was the beneficiary, riding unrestrained the rest of the way. She settled right down and stayed put, at least until we got to the hotel, when charging into the front seat seemed appropriate to her.

I will say that the iPod was a godsend (or, rather, a greatfriendssend for this trip. As much as I loved it before, driving that far with only barks for conversation immediately propels the device into the echelon of the invaluable. I'm also pleased it managed to find the one Kiss offering nestled in the forest of 5400 songs to shuffle up and play when I crossed into South Carolina, home state to the greatest coffeehouse franchise of all time.

Meanwhile, my usual traveling companion wore herself out today getting our house ready to be scrubbed clean by professionals and put up for sale (with some emergency help from whiskeyson I hear--thanks).

With any luck, I'll sign the papers to close on the new Asheville house tomorrow (we've been beset by stupid little setbacks that put the actual timing of the close in doubt) and be settled in there with my sad little air mattress by this time tomorrow night.

The new gig starts Tuesday.

These here are crazy times.