I can run 67 mph comfortably with the old Cummins, but I don't have weight bars or a sway bar on my tongue pull two car trailer, and above 62 it likes to shuffle around a bit. Traveling by myself, I'm a grinder, so I just put it on 62 and go until it runs out of fuel. That strategy got me to the Flying J at Sullivan Mo. a tick after 9pm. 331 miles at 13.5mpg, it's hilly Ozark country, so I was happy with that. The 24 ounce coffee was a good 6 ounces of hot chocolate, but that seems to delay the amount of time I can run on a straight coffee diet before it starts tearing up my stomach. The next leg took me through St.Louis and Indianapolis, until I pulled into the Speedway at Knightstown Indiana, 346 miles covered on that tank. We'd lost an hour crossing into the eastern time zone, so it was 4 Am local time. I'd been in constant contact with the brothers, and all of them seemed to be doing OK, they had been within twenty miles of catching me a few times, but they were all stopping more often than I was.
Ten miles later Darren blew around me, then Dale caught and passed me somewhere after we crossed the Ohio border. Rachael had been following Boone at a sane speed while she drove, but with Dale awake and behind the wheel, they were moving along pretty good. It was dawn before I entered Columbus, but on a Sunday morning the traffic was light.

Now, according to Google maps, from the time you exit I-70, onto Ohio 37, and then take a left at the traffic light onto US-40 and arrive at the entrance of National Trails Raceway, you will have covered two miles in roughly three minutes. Google didn't account for the other 350 Drag Weekers intent upon doing the same thing apparently and when I arrived in the small town of Luray, with it's one traffic signal, these outlaws from across the globe had brought the sleepy little town to a stand still. Worshipers seeking to arrive at the Luray Christian Apostolic Church were not thrilled with us.
I decided that sitting in a left hand turn lane while everyone filled the intersection going right on red from the other direction was a bad idea, so I went across the road and did a u-turn to come back the other way. Turned out to be a worse idea because the line was over a 1/2 mile long from that direction. It wasn't all bad, because I was catching cat naps between each time the line moved. An hour and a half later, I finally arrived at the entrance shack to the track. A small car ran up beside me to cut in line, and the driver flashed a card and lanyard at me, then he stuck his head out and explained, "We're the tech officials, and we need to get in there ASAP!"
I waved him by and thought to myself, "If those are the two NHRA track tech officials, how many cars have made it through registration since the gates opened two hours ago?"
I would have my answer soon enough.