This is it! I've done it! It's all over! This is the penultimate entry in the 14-part recap of my 2002 Summer Escapade. To relive it in its entirety, go here. Study up. The quiz can be found here.

The worst thing about driving from South Bend to New Jersey in the summertime is not the inevitable construction in Pennsylvania. It is not the seemingly endless and unchanging views off the highway through Ohio. It's not having to deal with trucks barrelling down on you at 80 mph. It's not having to stop twice in one day for gas. It's not even the 12 hours it takes, on average.

It's the time change. In the summertime, from April to October when most of America is on (or off, whatever it is) Daylight Savings Time, South Bend (and most of Indiana, as well as most of Arizona and Hawaii) remains as it was through the winter. Those states do not change their clocks. Indiana, at least, straddles a time zone and sees no need to change the clocks for the benefit of an extra hour of daylight in the summertime for farming. It gets plenty.

So when we wake up at 7 a.m. in South Bend, it's essentially 8 a.m. because we're heading east, and the time there is ultimately what we need to know. We shower -- I certainly seem to feel the need to stress our cleanliness, don't I? -- and pack up the last of our things and wake up Matt at his wishes to join us for breakfast. We eat in the Americana Cafe in the hotel atrium and then we're on the road. We gas up and Casey takes the wheel to get us through Indiana and Ohio and into Pennsylvania.

In the car, I begin a list of things we'll want to remember for our recaps of the trip. I'm only looking at it again now and, predictably, I've forgotten some things I meant to include in previous entries. So I'll take care of them now.

- There was a woman who got on the elevator with us at the Palmer House one night. There was a fourth man there with us, and the two apparently were acquaintances at one of the conferences at the hotel. She gets on the elevator with two big bags full of towels. "There was a big sale on towels, and I just couldn't resist!" she says. "Of course, I don't know how I'll fit them in my suitcase. I save 60 percent but I'm going to have to spend that money to ship them home!" Casey remarks later how the towels weren't that great, and we guess that the sale was at the nearby TJ Maxx. Does she not have TJ Maxxes at home? It's not like they were on sale at Marshall Field's or anything.

- T.C. is normally a quiet kitty. His meows are tiny, high-pitched "mew"s. But the two mornings we wake up in Johnstown, we hear the cat out in the hallway letting out yowls that would hold up to Oreo's. They wouldn't top his, but they'd compete.

- Apparently, the Ohio Turnpike Authority is fighting with the state's parks commission. Through years of driving through the state, I'd always notice the signs approaching each exit that said, "Motels, camping next exit. Get lists at toll plaza." Only now, the camping part has been removed from the signs. So apparently, the turnpike people want you staying at the hotels and motels, no camping hints from them.

- Chad Lowe played John Denver in a TV movie. I now remember what Brad and his mother danced to at the reception: "Sunshine On My Shoulders." While the song played, Jamie explained how it reminded her of the TV movie made after Denver's death in a plane crash. The final scene shows Lowe, playing Denver, in the cockpit of the plane, "Sunshine" playing. Denver is blissful. He's flying high, enjoying himself. Lowe shows this with a dazed look that Jamie imitates, and it's pretty funny.

- On the Indiana Toll Road, signs are posted every mile, maybe half mile, or so that say "Animal near roadway when flashing next mile." It's an ingenious device: a sensor that must be able to reach long distances. There must be a beam that goes from one posted sign to the next, and if something should step between it, the sign up the road where oncoming traffic is coming from will flash to warn drivers. It would obviously go off if a disabled car pulls over as well, but that's a good thing too, especially at night.

I nap for 40 minutes and Indiana goes by in an hour. Into Fulton County, Ohio, near Ottokey I guess, we see CT Transit buses #201, 202 and 203 on delivery to Hartford, Connecticut. It's weird to see Connecticut public transportation on the interstate in Ohio, but as we pass one I notice its manufacturing point: Elkhart, Indiana. They're brand new, with plastic across the front.

Later I spot an Ontario license plate: "Z MOJO" and Casey goes into her French accent: "Ah am zee Frainch MoJo!"

Around 4:30 p.m. on I-80, just past Exit 53 (old Exit 7) for Knox, traffic comes to a halt. Casey, still at the wheel, makes the command decision to pull the u-turn and head back to Knox, where we take 338 to 208 to U.S. 322 and see four semis and a statey apparently all doing the same. We'd come around a bend and saw two police cruisers on the left shoulder, lights flashing, one driving toward us. They were warning motorists to slow down, and we came to a halt just before one of those turn-arounds with the No U-Turn signs that cops always sit in when they nail you. One car in front of us made the turn, and Casey decided to do the same rather than risk potentially several hours' worth of idling.

All but one truck disappears at Clarion, apparently heading back to I-80 at Exit 9 or 120. We continue allong 322 to Exit 11. on the detour, we pass a billboard stating: "Proud to bare arms and everything else -- the Playhouse."

Shortly thereafter, we switch drivers. Our plan -- which I'd pointed out before we even left, just based on my experience in making the drive -- was to be near the Lewisburg exit around dinner time and have the opportunity to eat at one of Casey's old Bucknell haunts if she wanted. She wanted.

Only the travel gods intervened again.

The Pennsylvania Department of Transportation is repairing the I-80 bridge over the Susquehanna River. The problem is, the backup begins way back at Old Exit 29, way too many miles from the work area. We are stuck in the standstill just before Old Exit 29 near Mile Run (called Lick Run on this older map I have). The exit sign says "No services," but that's OK. We have plenty of gas and we're getting food in Lewisburg, at Original Italian Pizza, or OIPs. I exit 80 and turn right, south, to where the map says the road runs parallel to 80 heading east to White Deer. There we'll pick up U.S. 15 and head south to Lewisburg.

The road onto which I exit reaches a T after 200 feet, and the crossroad in either direction looks unpaved. Confused, we turn around (as does the car in front of us) and pass under 80 to see if the road begins north of the interstate and then drops south of it a little further east.

It's worse: The road we're on turns to gravel just a hundred feet from the overpass. I pull over and consult the atlas ("at-a-lass") with Casey. The road south of the highway did head east, just as the map says. The sign only said "loose gravel," not "unpaved road," ahead. We decide to give it a shot. Meanwhile, a couple continues to look over their map spread out on the hood of their Jeep Cheroke. Dude, you're in a Jeep, just take the gravel road!

I turn onto the loose gravel road and proceed slowly. I grip the wheel tightly and cringe at each and every rock that clinks off some part of my car. I drive 20-25 mph, and that speed has never seemed so FAST. Occassionally we'll pass driveways and mailboxes and houses tucked away in the woods. I get the feeling these residents won't be all that welcoming should we break down. I hope our cell phones get reception. Through most of the drive, we look to our left and catch glipses of cars and trucks on 80 through the trees. They'er not moving. We feel better about our choice. One pickup passes us going west. I wonder out loud why they even put the exit there. It's not like these people need access to the interstate right there. Why can't they just drive 20 minutes east to White Deer and get on at Old Exit 30?

Our trailblazing pays off. After maybe only five minutes (it seems longer) of loose gravel, the road becomes a little more solid. Soon we're back on regular asphalt and soon we're seeing more houses. We pass three in succession with old couples sitting out on their front porches watching the traffic go by. "Oh, Martha! There's a lotta traffic out here tonight, I tell ya!" I look in my rearview mirror to see a line of six cars a half a mile back doing the same thing we've done.

Finally we reach White Dear and U.S. 15. Going south, we pass under 80 again and see the traffic merging to cross the bridge over the river.

OIPs is a comfortable pizza parlor/restaurant where you seat yourself and are served quickly by someone from behind the counter. We dive into the warm, wonderful bread (the place is famous among Bucknellians for it) and get salads with our entrees. I go to the bathroom as much to wash my hands as to check the Mets score on the TV showing ESPN (they won) and shortly after I sit down again our dinner's ready.

We leave enough for Monday leftovers, knowing Casey will want hers for lunch and I'll want mine for dinner after covering the BlueClaws' noon game. Getting back into the car, I look at my tires: They're nearly white from all the dust along the loose gravel road. I promise it I'll wash it tomorrow.

We get gas and cruise through Lewisburg, Casey pointing out all the college landmarks along the main street. We head out of town and I enjoy the leisurely ride through the farmland during dusk. We're picking up 80 again further east, at Old Exit 32, I think, to avoid the entire bridge project. Back on the interstate, it's dark and all the fun is gone.

We don't stop the rest of the way. We cruise through eastern Pennsylvania and into New Jersey. I pick up U.S. 46 further west than I'd like, but we make it home and pull up in front of the apartment around 11:30. Even with two detours and a 40-minute sit-down dinner, it's taken us only 13 hours to make the trip. I'm impressed.

Betty is out front talking on her cell phone and smoking a cigarette while we unload the car before I park it across the street. She even offers to carry some things upstairs when she goes, allowing Casey and I to have to make only two trips each -- the first with various bags and accessories, the second for our suitcases. It's the last nice thing Betty does as a member of the household.

Casey and I organize a few things before going to bed, and I even have four minutes to watch Lori's tape of her first skydive. She's hooked and intends to do it again, often, and soon.

We finally fall into bed exhausted but as happy with each other as we were when we left. We made it through the vacation unscathed, not that there was any doubt, but sometimes people make a big deal about that first time two people Go Away Together. It wasn't even our first, really. We went to New Orleans in February.

It doesn't matter. I can't wait for the next trip.