I got pulled over on it, Jim threw up on it, and it never ever ends.
The only distraction for miles (aside from a really creepy plastic santa next to a white shack with an arrow spray painted on it directing you to the dark and, in my imagination, blood splattered door on the side of the road) is a gas station that holds two very sad caged tigers behind the checkout and cigarettes.
To be fair to the owners, they are making the tigers at home as much as possible, as I've heard they prefer being near cigarette cartons in the wild as well.
There are signs for this spectacle for miles and when we finally arrived we got our gas, Jim stayed in the car moaning, and Stacy and I dared to go inside, where the man in front of us in line promptly farted long and loud. We declined a chance to pay to touch the sad tigers and booked it out of there.