Road Trip
The last time we drove across the country, we had only one car, which allowed us to split the driving. We made that trip in five days. Now nearly forty years later, we’ve made the trip again, but this time with two cars (and also two cats). As you might imagine, the cats were no help at all in the driving department but they did quickly become experts at exploring every nook and cranny of hotel rooms in six different states. Despite the lack of feline assistance, we made the trip in seven days. During the day, while the cats were hunkered down in their cage, no doubt wondering what in the world was going on, each of us drove all 3000 miles of the trip, which was just as tiring as it sounds. but nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be. Naturally there were some adventures.
Fred & Barney
The adventures started before we even left Connecticut. Our plan was to leave immediately after the moving truck finished loading up our house. The driver, who does this every day, was sure that it would take all day to load up. What does he know? We (who do not do this everyday) had other ideas. We figured the driver wasn’t taking into account just how amazingly organized we were and we’d all be on the road by 3:00. The driver did compliment our packing job, but it still took all day to load the truck. Part of that was because moments after one of the truck loaders arrived, an ambulance arrived too. This is never a good sign. The loader got into the ambulance and we never saw him again. He apparently had a kidney stone problem which left the rest of the crew a man short. Ultimately it was 6:30 before the truck left. Our plan to drive to Syracuse (about 4 hours away) was out the window. Instead we spent our last night in Connecticut in a hotel only a few miles away.
On bit of advice I can give you is this, on a trip like this one, it’s important to keep your gas tank full and your bladder empty. This is not as easy as it sounds. Signs like “Next Rest Stop 76 Miles” are common but unfortunately, 76 miles later, there are also signs reading, “Rest Stop Closed.” This is not helpful. Even on stops to fill the tank, there are no guarantees about rest rooms. Sometimes the only restroom for miles is closed for “cleaning” and no amount of pleading looks, while hopping from one foot to the other will get the underpaid mini-mart clerk to open that bathroom. But you will be allowed to use the phenomenally disgusting porta-potty out behind the mini-mart, and because you are well versed in the necessity of a full tank and an empty bladder, you’ll hold your breath and use it.
The highlight of our trip
happened in Cleveland, where we had a great visit with the eldest boy whom we’d hadn’t seen in over a year. Naturally, it was kind of hard to tell if the cats were as happy to see him as we were. After all this time, we finally got to see his loft apartment and meet his roommate. Then we went to a great tequila/taco bar where we reluctantly eschewed the tequila but enjoyed excellent tacos. Over dinner, the eldest regaled us with stories from his new job as an ER nurse. We couldn’t be prouder and the next morning, with lots of miles left to drive, we were still glowing.
The glow faded when I went to retrieve my truck from the public lot across from our hotel. This lot, like so many these days, was unmanned. I fed my ticket into the evil machine, followed by a credit card, but instead of the gate rising to let me out, the machine displayed a message that it was unable to read the ticket. I tried multiple times with the same result, until finally the machine, which was apparently famished, ate both the ticket and my credit card. Now I had no ticket, no card, and the gate that could free me from the lot had no intention of moving. I pressed the hidden help button (seriously, it was hidden!) on the machine and was connected to a disembodied voice. I explained that I was trapped in the lot. “One moment” replied the voice and then vanished. I repeated the process and a different voice also told me to wait a moment. Clearly the hidden help button has only one response and that’s to wait a moment. But with 500 miles planned for the day, I was out of moments. I spent the next 25 minutes trying a variety of approaches to escape from Cleveland. I tried being nice to the voice. I tried being not so nice. I tried a combination of the two. But no matter how many times I explained my situation to all of the voices, I wasn’t going anywhere. Finally, since it was seeming like a hostage situation, I threatened to call the police. “One moment.” said the voice for the umpteeth time. Suddenly from absolutely nowhere an actual human being appeared. In less than a minute, he retrieved my card, and opened the gate and finally we were on our way.
I wish I could say that I left my troubles with machines in Ohio but it just wasn’t to be. In Oklahoma, the turnpike periodically requires one to briefly exit, pay a $5 toll to a nice toll taker person, and hop right back on the road. All was well until suddenly I passed a sign reading “Exact Change Required.” Sure enough the next toll was only $1.50 but instead of a nice toll taker person, there was a machine eager to accept a handful of coins. Except I had no coins. I’d been handing bills to nice toll taker people. There was no reason to think I'd need even a nickel, never mind six quarters. Fortunately the Oklahoma department of gouging motorists has taken this lack of coins into account, they’ve thoughtfully installed a bill changing machine next to the basket that was expecting a pile of coins. And that would have been great had it been a functioning bill changing machine. But like the machine in Cleveland, no amount of bill smoothing, machine pounding (that’s right, I slammed the shit out of it), or obscenity screaming was going to get me any quarters. With traffic piling up behind me, and not a human toll taker, nice or otherwise, in sight, I had no choice but to blow through the toll. I expect a fine of astronomical proportions to appear in my mailbox any day now. Perhaps the state of Oklahoma could use the money from my fine to hire some more of the afore-mentioned nice toll takers.
There were other adventures. There were endless stretches of road like the one above. And I mean endless. Who lives out there? In Indiana, the “pet friendly” hotel we’d booked turned out to be crack and heroin friendly too. We didn’t bother to check in and instead found a different hotel. At most every place we stopped on our route, people were wearing masks. But at a gas stop in Texas (no surprise there), our masks were the only ones in sight. The hotel bar in Tulsa was also full of non-socially distant maskless people. A lot of them. We skipped the bar. Also in Oklahoma we came across a sign at a gas stop reminding us not to bring our firearms inside. Had it not been for that sign, I might have carried my bazooka in, which of course, would have been awkward. We paid less than $3 for a gallon of gas all the way across the country, until we reached California, where we’re now paying over $4. Lucky us.
We made it through a terrible rain storm in Missouri, endured a series of less than healthy fast food lunches, and most importantly, managed to not let the cats escape. Now that we’re safely ensconced in our California apartment with a great view, I’ve had some time to consider the next road trip.
Where ever it is, you can be sure I’ll be avoiding unmanned machines of any kind. Also, next time I think it would be great if the cats could do some of the driving.
