Luckily, I haven't been completely idle since my last post, and have cobbled together the following slate of shotgun-sitting, map-reading, radio-switching adventurers who have been brave enough to sign up for a spot in my car for at least one leg of the journey:
New York to Seattle: The one and only Jim Morel, sexagenarian extraordinaire. Father/Son bonding makes you cool.
Seattle to San Francisco: Ali Wiezbowski, my northwest guru and Microsoft homegirl.
Portland to San Francisco: Eric Friedman, whose has found a way to ski in August (Mt. Hood).
San Francisco to LA: Ben Hittman and Aaron Weissman, my lawyer and my stylist, respectively.
LA to Vegas: Dustin Rosen, who is "the guy" to know in LA, or so he claims.
LA to Atlanta: Jeff Salomon, who will definitely do something ridiculous every 4-5 hours, like clockwork. Can't wait.
Vegas to Atlanta: Ravi Balasubramanian, the Thelma to my Louise.
Atlanta to Virginia Beach: Kirk Kirkland and Ryan Kenyon, the UNC grads who will be showing me how the Southern gentlemen do it down in dixie.
DC to New York: Jeremy Lerman aka Spongebob Squarepants aka my campaign manager aka the guy with whom I am going to be belting out Fleetwood Mac lyrics for hours on end.
Thanks to all these riders (and any others who are yet to volunteer) the only leg of the journey on which I am going to actually be alone will be the Virginia Beach to DC portion, which, according to Google Maps, is going to be 3 hours and 31 minutes of the sweetest self-reflection I-95 has ever seen.
More to come as August approaches...
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