You drove? Well, yeah, all of the seats on the space shuttle were taken.

You drove? I hear that a lot when I hit the road. I have become allergic to flying. There is so much to dislike about jet-plane travel that I almost wrote a book called, “Why I Hate the Airlines.”

Many family members expressed surprise I drove 1,000 miles from southern Indiana to Rhode Island for a wedding. Surprise was a B-minus word compared to astonishment when I mentioned my 17,000-mile drive back-and-forth to, and all over Alaska, last summer.

Once upon a time I was a very frequent flyer for business and then realized I was permanently jet-lagged. Driving is in my genes anyway. I am a million-mile driver, dating back to when I got my license at 16 like most red-blooded American kids. I figured I hit a million maybe four years ago and have only added miles since.

Things to dislike about flying include booking a trip online with so many twists, stops and options you end up dizzy. Then there is the cost. Not to mention the airline tricks to make you pay for bringing a suitcase with you. Or charging you extra for a window seat. Or charging you for an aisle seat. Then the flight is overbooked.

When you reach the counter they lost your reservation. You get to the destination and they’ve lost your suitcase.

Driving, you don’t have to arrive for takeoff two hours early to negotiate the security line. You can leave when you wish and stop for lunch where and when you want to, even at a restaurant they don’t have in your town! New experience.

Some people remember when airlines provided a meal. Not that it was four-star dining, but that was before budget cuts.

You could also say your life is more or less in your own hands driving instead of at the mercy of a pilot. I drive a compact car and there is still more leg room than there is in an airline seat. I can cram my trunk with many bags for free. This time I also laid out my fancy (the term is used advisedly) outfit, sport coat, tie, non-jeans pants and dress shirt on the back seat to preclude wrinkles.

Also, I could drive to more than one location. This can include places without direct flights from the last place. How novel that freedom is compared to airline travel.

Anyway, on this recent trip for a niece’s wedding, I stopped in upstate New York for a favored restaurant not found in Indianapolis. I then spent time with an old high school friend and purchased tickets to a Boston Red Sox game at Fenway Park.

All of that went swimmingly until it really became swimming weather, with many inches of rain. Puddles as large as lakes prevented attendance at the game.

Occasional rush-hour traffic near a big city was a reminder driving is not a panacea. But hey, life isn’t perfect in any realm.

I departed the wonderful wedding at 10 p.m. after schmoozing and music and eating. Everyone asked where I was going to stop, I drove until my eyes drooped.

My eyes were good to me. There was a stretch of confusion occasioned by Mapquest. At 2 a.m. I pulled into a well-lighted gas station to read an Atlas, but the worker was outside taking a cigarette break. He asked in a thick, Eastern European accent, “Don’t you have navigation?”

Meaning a GPS. Nope. I still own a Brand X phone. He pointed me in the proper direction.

I pulled into a rest area at 4:40 a.m., slept 1 hour and 45 minutes, and was good to go. Later, I slept about another hour. That was much like the old me with that young buck stamina as I was building that million-mile resume.

Hitting the homestead, I set a new, unplanned personal record, driving from Massachusetts, to Rhode Island, through Connecticut, into New York, cutting through New Jersey, across Pennsylvania, slicing into Maryland, picking off a section of West Virginia, then moving across Ohio into Indiana.

Ten states in one haul. Call Guinness records for me. I need a nap.

Lew Freedman is a reporter for The Tribune. He can be reached at [email protected] or 812-523-7065.