Now, we had plans to “do” Colonial Williamsburg for the day. That is, until we saw the prices, and the geriatric masses and the felt the heat of the sun and freaked out over “happy slave” images promoting “Colonial Harmony of Yesteryear.” Yay, bondage.

So we did what lots of Americans do, we went to Busch Gardens to ride rollercoasters. I nearly loaded my pants a couple times on some of those beasts, and even chickened out a couple times in the face of fear. Whitney held strong and enjoyed almost everything the park offered. We burned a lot of miles and loaded up on a winter’s worth of nourishing “theme park grub” to give us energy all day long.

The sun began to set and we were pretty whipped. Busch Gardens definitely gave us a “run for our money.” Phew. Organized/calculated death thrills.

We pitter-pattered up to Charlottesville for the night, and promptly sacked out.