TheBanyanTree: MY WORST ROAD TRIP

[Monique Colver]

I love road trips. You never know what's going to be at the end, even if you
know where you're going. It's not the destination that provides the
adventure, unless you're going someplace adventurous, which I never do (not
that I don't want to, it just hasn't come up), it's the journey. That's the
fun part.

So you would think, wouldn't you? I would. Then there are those road trips
that don't turn out so well. It happens. My last road trip was short, a few
hours only, but it was an absolutely horrible experience that I'm still
trying to get over. Since then, I've been hesitant to even go down to the
corner grocery for essentials such as Pepsi for fear I could become trapped
in my car for longer than 15 minutes, thereby pushing myself back into the
nightmare of my Worst Road Trip Ever.

October 15, 2007. I was sick. Andrew was sick. The dogs were not sick, but
they were annoyed with all the activity that was going on. I was also
annoyed with all the activity. I don't recommend moving for the well, much
less for people in the condition I was in. The day of the actual move we
still have stuff everywhere. Fortunately there were wonderful people who
came and helped us pack up the day prior to the move date, but there was
still a mess. There was still stuff. There were two flights of stairs in our
townhouse, which coincidentally was exactly two flights of stairs too many.
Still so much to drag down and out, and so much cleaning to be done. I
staggered up and down the stairs, at one point sitting on the floor (there
was nowhere else to sit after all) and yelling, "I can't do it! I can't do
anymore!"

My husband, wonderfully patient as he is and also sick with the disease I'd
managed to pass on to him, paused long enough to point out to me that we
really didn't have a choice at this point, and since most everything we
owned was on the truck out front and the management expected us out within
hours, we really had to keep going.

Several hours after our projected departure date we threw in the towel. And
the tv. And the tv stand. And various other things that we just couldn't be
bothered with anymore. We had to leave, and anything that was left behind,
anything that was still a mess, would have to stay that way. I had no doubt
we'd be charged extensively for all the cleaning I failed to do, but by that
time it was either 1) stay and keep working, or 2) leave it the way it was.
We'd considered hiring someone to come in and clean, but discarded that idea
when management told us they'd have to bring in their own people anyway, and
it would probably just be a waste of our money since they would bill us
also. Since option 1) wasn't even a consideration because I couldn't move
anymore, at least not by walking, we left. We shut the door on the refuse
and debris, and we got into our respective vehicles. He got into the truck,
I got into the car. I left to deliver a missing wheel off the bed we'd given
away to the new owner (the bed had been picked up just that morning, but
somehow the wheel was misplaced), and on my way back I called my husband to
tell him I was going to stop by Mickey D's since we hadn't eaten yet and it
was after 11.

Did I mention that I had my dogs with me? Yes, my dogs were in my back seat.
It was while I was in the car on the phone that Ash decided to drive, and
suddenly there I was, with the car in neutral down as we were on Highway
527.

Yes. I know. Driving while talking on a cell phone is a big no-no, and I
think people who do that should be shot. I have no excuse. A lapse in
judgment, exhaustion, the anticipation of Mickey D's fries, all contributed
to this very stupid mistake.

So there we are on Highway 527, heading back towards our former home, where
Andrew was parked with the truck, which was far too large to go out cruising
for pleasure, when I found myself in neutral. I screamed something
appropriate like, "Oh shit!" dropped the phone, shoved Ash back into the
back seat, put the car back in drive, and continued on my way. I then picked
up the phone. I had to, there was no other way to communicate with Andrew,
other than, well, driving to him, and I wasn't in the mood. Anyway. We
recovered from our first major crisis on the road prior to the official
start of the journey. I picked up food, took it back to Andrew, and we sat
in our respective vehicles eating while the dogs salivated. We had to stay
in separate vehicles -- there was only room for one person in each.

I was looking forward to the 3 hour drive. It would give me time to relax.
Time to sit. Time to not be climbing up and down stairs like a pack animal.
It seemed like a relaxing peaceful thing to do.

It was, of course, raining. Why wouldn't it be?

We set off on our journey, a big giant truck and a little Honda. (We had to
leave one car behind, the one that was still stuck at the auto body shop
recovering from its recent accident.) We set off in the rain on an adventure
to our new home, where my main objective would be to sleep until 2008.

Did I mention I had Ash with me? Well, I had Ash with me. And Honey, but
Honey's such a good passenger. She sits quietly in the back seat, plotting
how to get my fries, but doesn't cause any trouble. (At least not until she
figures out how to get my fries, then she acts.) Ash, on the other hand, is
rather rambunctious, and when there's two people in the car we just tell him
to stay in the back seat and shut up with the occasional elbow to the chest
(our elbow to his chest), but I forgot about what happens when there's only
one person in the car. I forgot because I was delirious with fever, sick
with coughing, and I was tired. When Ash has only one person to deal with he
remembers that he was sent here to kill me. He is an assassin, and it is his
mission to kill me, one way or another.

So he tried. He kept jumping in the front seat. He'd sit on the stuff piled
on the seat, and since he couldn't get comfortable he'd try to lay on me.
He'd move here and there and everywhere, completing overlooking the fact
that I was attempting to drive. He didn't care. He's Ash. I kept up a steady
stream of "Back Ash!" "Move Ash!" "ASH!" Not that it helped, but every time
I said something he'd stop long enough to look at me quizzically as if I
might be saying something important, like, "Ash? Want some fries?" which
would give me at least a moment to elbow him in the chest again.

By the way, the first thing Andrew did after we moved in was get a seatbelt
for Ash. He now is firmly belted in whenever he travels.

Anyway. So we lost the big truck we were following. The dogs and I stopped
to relieve ourselves, and then we stocked up on more food. Water, Pepsi,
chips, and beef jerky, traditional road trip food. For me, anyway. Still we
were okay. Life was good. We had made it out of Seattle. I didn't know what
would happen at the end of our journey because I was certain I was too tired
to do anything other than spill out of the car at the end, but no bother.

The closer we got to Vancouver the more agitated Ash became. We'd stopped
again at a rest stop, but still he was agitated. And my stomach started
cramping. Horrible sensations that usually have me wishing for a quick and
painless death.

And still Ash was agitated, and I was tired of yelling at him. Honey was
quiet. Honey's always quiet in the car, but Ash was bugging her too.

Then there was a moment of silence from Ash, and then the smell . . .

Oh God, the smell. I was hoping, at first, that he'd just farted. He does
that sometimes, being a boy. But no. It was bad. It was really bad. And my
stomach was cramping badly, and the smell from HIM wasn't helping at all.

We pulled off and stopped at a Taco Bell, and there was only enough time for
me to throw a wad of paper towels over the part of the seat that Ash had
despoiled quite effectively before I raced into Taco Bell and locked myself
into the bathroom for what seemed like an eternity.

I emerged from the restroom a diminished person, with suddenly much less
substance than I had when going in, a dried up shell of my former self. I
bought a Sprite and ventured back out to the car of Death. Excuse me, Car of
Death.

I took each dog out of the car and walked them around. I also managed to
step ankle deep into a camouflaged mud puddle. Naturally I was only wearing
my normal exposed shoes. I cleaned up the car as best I could under the
circumstances, and I got back in the car with the dogs. Ash was so disgusted
with his seat that he attempted to climb into the back window and perch
there, like a gigantic bobbing head dog.

When I have these episodes they aren't over quickly, and one event is
certainly not the end of it. I hoped I would be able to make it to my next
stop before disaster struck.

The house people were waiting for me at their office. I called my husband,
yes, ON THE DAMN CELL PHONE WHILE DRIVING, and told him I'd be lucky to get
there in time, but that it wasn't likely. He called them, they called me, my
phone didn't ring, it was a figurative three ring circus. Eventually he
talked our agent into meeting him at the house, since he was going to be
there before me.

My stomach kept cramping. The smell was assaulting all my senses. Even my
eyes were watering. Maybe I was crying. Wouldn't you? Ash, fortunately, had
no more incidences.

We kept driving. We got off the freeway and drove up to the house, my
stomach or my bowels or something screaming at the top of their lungs, if
they had lungs, to please please please find a bathroom, and find one fast.
The truck was at the house. The nice lady with the keys was not at the
house. NOT AT THE HOUSE YET. The dogs were put into the back yard -- we
don't need no steenkin' keys to open a gate.

I considered my options. Should I go knocking on the doors of neighbors i
hadn't met yet, begging them to let me in so I could despoil their
bathrooms? How rude. I didn't know where I was, or where anything was, and
we couldn't both leave because the lady with the KEYS was on her way.

I couldn't wait. I jumped back in my car and took off for . .. who knows
where. I didn't know where. I went down a street then down another street.
So far, nothing but houses. I found a gas station/convenience store. I
rushed in and asked for the restroom.

"We don't have a public restroom." They said this to me with straight faces.
What is wrong with these people?

I ran back out. Behind the gas station was an Ace Hardware/Drugstore. I
drove over, ran inside, and circled the inside of the building without
finding what I was looking for. I asked a nice little old lady who was
working there. She said it was locked, but she would let me in. Except it
wasn't just locked, there was someone in there. SOMEONE WAS IN MY RESTROOM.

I thought I was going to die. Not figuratively either. Literally. I mean,
these episodes are a nightmare when I'm at home, safe, with facilities. Out
in the wild? Worse than a nightmare.

I waited. I stood by the door that held the promise of relief. I waited
patiently. I looked at the display of garden tools around me. I thought
buying a hose. We would need a hose. I begged God to let me have just this
one little thing and I do whatever he wanted, I'd move to Calcutta and care
for lepers, if he would just let me use a bathroom . ..

And at last some little punk who couldn't have had any reason to be using my
bathroom for that long came out. I shoved her aside, ignoring her frightened
screams, and locked myself in.

Minutes or hours later (I can't really keep track of time when I'm in that
much pain) I stepped out. I considered buying something. It's rude to rush
in and commandeer the facilities and not buy anything, but there was a line
of people waiting to check out, and I really just wanted to get to my
cemetery plot and lay in it, so I promised myself I'd come back and buy
something when and if I ever felt human again.

I drove home. The real estate lady had come and gone, and we now had the
keys. I went upstairs and looked at my new master bathroom. It was big.
Spacious even. With a skylight. I shut the door and vowed to never leave it.


Well, obviously I did -- I don't keep a computer in the bathroom. But at the
time, it seemed like a logical thing to do.

If we hadn't had friends to come and unload that damn truck I don't know
what would have happened. By that point I was thinking of just buying the
truck and adding it on to our house. Unfortunately, I think the HOA would
have a complaint about that. At the time, that also seemed like a logical
thing.

Since then, I have thanked God profusely and often for sending me friends to
load and unload my truck.

I should thank the friends, but I don't want them to know how desperate I
was.

The End