Confidently behind the wheel and with only about 30 miles to the border, I planned to get some caffeine once we made the crossing. But there was no traffic at all and there weren't really any places to stop so we kept going. And here we are, just north of Savannah, getting gas, feeding the dog (which sounds like a metaphor for something perverted), and pretending Jeremy isn't fighting a major caffeine headache.
Note to self: pay attention to the gas light. By the time I realized we were low, there was little time to find a place.
This gas station is nice, though. Gulf. I can't remember the last time I was at a Gulf station. And look what they sell inside!
So while the dog chomps away and Jeremy sucks down a Red Bull, I'll ponder the choices for lunch.
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