2.5 “Who’s a good girl?”

After a “challenging and dynamic” week of driving, Lauren, the small petting zoo, and I finally made it Charlestown, MA.

Day seven was the most dynamic day of driving so far. We experienced snow, hail, driving rain, and fog so thick it looked like someone spilled chocolate milk on our windshield. Mmm…Chocolate milk. We drove from Sandusky to Charlestown in one day. And armed with the knowledge that this is possible, we fully intend to return to Sandusky one weekend soon to enjoy Ryan’s all you can eat steak dinner. Yeah baby.

Things we learned about each other on the road:

• I’ve always secretly wanted to be a truck driver. I’m slow. I’m dangerous behind the wheel. But I’m fearless and can go nearly a day without stopping to use the restroom.
• Lauren will eat anything that’s made out of potato and grease: french fry, hash brown, potato pancake, potato chip, and the holy grail of potato products, the curly fry. Just try to pry a curly fry from this woman, and you’ll lose a finger.

What I learned about the birds. They’re loud. They stay loud. They don’t sleep. Their only purpose on this planet is to be loud. This is why God put birds like this in the rain forest — because it’s just about big enough to hold the loudness. And I am now the proud step father to four loud-@ss, never stopping, always hyper, birds. They whistle, hoot, squeak, make kissy noises, and Linus, the oldest and wisest of the flock … in the highest pitched bird voice ever … says, “Who’s a good girl?!”

For those of you that might ever want to find our new apartment in Charlestown, it’s actually much easier than you’d imagine. What you do is find the grammar school. This is about a block from our apartment. From the grammar school, just follow the high pitched, screaming “Who’s a good girl?!”

Walking home from work today, bopping up the hill towards home … bop bop bop … It’s the end of the day, and I’m ready for some QST – quality sofa time. I reach the grammar school at the top of the hill and hear Linus, in all of her humility, “WHO’S A GOOD GIRL?!”

That’s right Linus. You’re a good girl. Of course you are.

Seven days in a car. A few more days living under the same roof. And none have figured out how to say “Marc’s the boss.” I’ll, of course, keep you posted on their progress.

Peanut seems to be making burping sounds. I think she at least learned *that* from me so far. We’re so close to “Marc’s the boss!”

Below: Lauren was always happy when we’d take breaks from driving to get french fries!

One last break, and photo op, before we trekked across the last few hundred miles of our journey.

Um. Lauren. You can love your pets. Just don’t *love* your pets. Ew…gross!

See that look. That’s hunger. I’ve got “Hung-gree eyes! One look at Peanut and I ..caaan’t deny…. I’ve got hung-gree eyes!”

Bird. The original white meat. “I’m gonna eat ya! Get in my belly!”

1.31 – We bought a map

We finally bought a map today. This is a drastic improvement over the USA Today newspaper weather map that Lauren and I had been using as a travel guide. “See where the light blue turns to dark blue? I think that’s near Sandusky, OH.”

That’s where we are right now. Where the light blue turns to dark blue, in Sandusky. There’s an indoor water park, and a steak restaurant, Ryan’s, that will grille up all of the steaks you can eat for $8. It’s heaven on earth. I heart Sandusky. I’d buy the bumper sticker, but odds are, they’re out. Just like the truck stops were all out of Nebraska truck driver hats.

I was thinking today, in the minivan amongst big rigs, that I deserve the truck driver hat now. I’ve strapped chains to tires. I’ve taken my chances on closed highways. I’ve driven for days, high on two 12 packs of Red Bull, a big box of Goldfish crackers, and piles of fast food. I’ve checked oil on days so cold that icicles formed at the corners of my eyes, and my lips went numb as soon as I stepped out of the car. Yeah, I’m pretty bad-@ss, and I want my truck driver hat. But when I finally decided I was ready for the Nebraska truck driver hat — the shop was all out.

I think I’ll have to settle for the giant re-fillable soda mug instead. You’ve seen these mugs, and likely laughed at them. I know I did. These are the travel mugs that fit entire two-liter bottles of soda. Who uses these? I’ll tell you who. Every truck driver between Sandusky and Seattle. These mugs are great. You can drink out of them. Use them shovel out your truck. Or, if you’re feeling frisky, fill them with hot water, and take a bath. These are big mugs. I’d get one, something cool like a NASCAR displayed on the front of it, but I’m just not sure we have room for it in the minivan.

So yes, today was more of the same. Just a lot of driving. What we noticed is that middle America is just jam packed with museums. I’m not kidding. They’ll open a museum up for just about anything. You’ve got your legitimate museums – The Ronald Regan Museum or the Buffalo Bill Museum. You’ve got some questionable museums – The museum of military vehicles that is actually just a parking lot full of tanks (which is frickin’ AWESOME!). And then you’ve got museums that someone opened up out of sheer boredom like the Museum of Giant Truck Driver Travel Mugs.

My day started with a McGriddle. I saw tanks. And then I got Dairy Queen for dessert. Today was successful, no matter how you measure it

Below: While I drive, it is Lauren’s job to capture trip highlights with my digital camera. For example, Lauren felt her hair was a little poofier today than normal. Yes, I really just used the word poofier.  And yes, this was a highlight of today’s driving.

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Living off of fast food  has not been kind to Marc. Below is a photo of Marc, in desperate need of a haircut and shave, showing Lauren how he can make his two new chins disappear.

Everyone warned us, “This road trip could be the end of your relationship.” This has not been the case. Lauren and I are fine. We sing, we have dance-offs in the car. We play all sorts of travel games to stay occupied. There is, however, a little tension between the Marc and the Kytka. My dinner, a DQ Blizzard becomes Kytka’s snack in the photo below. She knows I’m a germaphobe! She knows that once she licks it, I won’t touch it. She’s just doing it to piss me off.

1.30 883 miles.

Today we started out in Rock Springs, WY and ended up in Des Moines, IA.

Maybe you’re asking, “What about Nebraska?”

Trust me, you’re not the only person asking that. In fact, everyone in Nebraska is asking themselves the same question. For a state that takes so long to drive through, there really isn’t much there — not even people.

Lauren and I, listening to the radio, heard someone win a call-in contest. “Caller number 30 will win… Something.”

We’ll call him Joe. Joe, was lucky caller number 30. He had also been caller 1, 3, 5, 6, 7, 11-15, 23, 27, 28, 29, and LUCKY CALLER 30.

“Joe, you’re caller number 30! Have you been trying long?”

Joe – I had to just keep hitting re-dial to call back.

“Re-dial? That’s a great idea!”

We lost it. We loved Nebraska – a state where re-dial is a “Great idea.”

Today was our most productive driving day. We spent 12 hours in the car. There was hardly anything to take photos of. We listened to every CD that Lauren owns. And none of her birds have yet figured out how to say, “Marc’s the boss.”

Slow learning birds.

The Marc and Lauren … Snow covered highway, surrounded by big trucks, and we’re trying to take photos of ourselves. Do not try this at home kids.

Rare sighting of Kytka and Marc hanging out. Kytka mostly exists on Lauren’s lap … Correction, Kytka exists on Lauren’s lap right up until the split second before I put food in my mouth. Then, WHAM, Kytka in my face. “You going to eat all of that roast beef? Really? All of it?” Kytka has now eaten half of my roast beef sub, most of my curly fries, and has put on six pounds. That’s an entire second cat. Lauren and I are convinced she has a tape worm.

Squeegee.  First, that’s the funniest looking word ever. Squeegee. Second, there is a right way to squeegee, and a wrong way to squeegee. I do it the wrong way, and this can become near fatal in the wrong weather conditions. When one squeegees the way I do, it tends to leave streaks — streaks that freeze almost immediately in -10 degree weather and create wide bands of ice across your windshield. Lauren has instructed me on proper squeegee technique. Going forward, I’m sure that I’ll squeegee better.

Squeegeeing to save lives – Marc

1.29 – 888 WYO ROAD

When you’re sitting around Evanston, WY waiting for the road to open, there’s not a lot you can do. Mostly, you just keep hitting re-dial on 888-WYO-ROAD to find out when i80 is going to open back up. “Thank you for calling the Wyoming Department of Transportation. Please press button 1 for eastbound routes. Please press button 2 for westbound routes.”

Why? Why not just say, “Hi. If you’re in Wyoming, get comfortable. You’re never leaving!”

In fact, i80 was never opened today according to the radio or 888 telephone number. But an interesting piece of advice my father gave me. “Watch the 18 wheelers.”

It turns out that the sheriff might decide to open a road for an hour or so. This opening might not make it onto the WDOT Web site or voice recording. But the 18 wheelers will get word, and like a giant wave of metal and rubber, the tractor trailers will surge towards the onramp. Riding that wave, was our little maroon minivan.

Creeping along the highway, bumper to bumper with the huge lumbering trucks, we crept up the onramp onto i80. There wasn’t much of a view of Wyoming, as we were surrounded on all sides by tires larger than our car. Strange feeling to be secretly sneaking onto a closed road, the only passenger vehicle in a mile-long caravan of trucks.

It was at this point that I gave Lauren her official truck-driver nickname. “Big Red”

She liked one of the big, red, shiny trucks. It just seemed to stick. Now, when we’re at truck stops, drinking ‘Joe, chawing on beef jerky, and re-telling stories of our adventures on the open road, I can page Lauren on the loud speaker to let her know it’s time to go.

“Paging Big Red. Captain Gold Fish is ready to go.”

Lauren likes big red trucks. I like gold fish crackers. It’s the snack that smiles back. — Definitely not as cool a nickname as Big Red.

On truck stops: You really do need a nickname. If you’re doing laundry, taking a shower, or even just ordering a sandwich, the clerk will page you by your “nickname.” Even if you think it’s funny, don’t go with Captain Goldfish. No one else there will appreciate it.

I felt badly for Havier, the gentleman in front of me ordering a sandwich one day. “What’s your nickname?” asked the clerk.

“Havier.”

“No, you need a nickname, I’m not going to announce your real name on the speaker. So what should I page you as?”

“Havier.”

I’m sure he’s still there waiting for his sandwich. Poor Havier.

Well, Big Red and I covered about 60 miles and made it to Rock Creek before we were directed off of i80 once again. We decided we’d waited around long enough for one day, and called it a night.

Below, Lauren and Kytka waiting for the road to open. Kytka is all “Get that camera out of my face!”

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Neat photo that Big Red took of the 18 Wheeler caravan.

“Wyoming was pretty. It was just really really dangerous.”

“Well, I thought it was pretty.”

- Big Red

1.28 Idaho … No, you da’ ho.

I realized today that I only know two lines from the song “On the Road Again”:

On the road again. I can’t wait to be on the road again …

Something something music with my friends …

And I can’t wait to be on the road again.

I also realize that you can break another person’s sanity by singing these two lines, nearly nonstop, for seven hours. Poor Lauren. She never stood a chance today. I’m fairly certain she was ready to get out of the minivan after I asked her if she would wear a bomber’s hat, flight goggles, and refer to me as captain for the rest of the trip. And I, in turn, would refer to her as “co-pilot.”

Lauren is great. She puts up with my rants hoping that, at some point, something insightful will come out of my mouth. It’s been three days. She’s still waiting for that intelligent conversation. I respect her “glass is half full” optimism.

Even as I type this, Lauren is pointing out all of the positive attributes of our $40 hotel room. “Listen, you can hear our neighbors flushing their toilets.” Maybe that’s not a positive attribute. But it sure sounds funny after a day of driving.

Today was the best day so far. I finally got real tire chains – having snapped two cheap sets already. We finally saw the sun. And I finally got to eat at a Sonic. I’ve been watching Sonic commercials on TV for years, but never actually seen one. Today was my big day. Lauren, Kytka, and I got Sonic for lunch. Kytka likes Sonic cheeseburgers much better than Mc Donalds. I’m sorry, that’s not interesting at all. But it is quite amusing to watch a cat eat a cheeseburger. — If a person were to bite into something hot and cheese covered, like a cheeseburger or slice of pizza, they’d make that “OUCH! I just burned the roof of my mouth” face. Cats can make the same face.

On road closings: They happen. It happened to us twice today. Route 84 was closed and we were diverted to route 86. I stopped off to ask directions (SHUT IT! Men ask for directions sometimes … In Idaho). The clerk at the gas station actually refused to give me directions. He looked me up and down, and said, “Directions to 84? That’ll cost you $5.” I’m not lying. So I laughed a nervous laugh and asked if he was serious. “You’re wearing a Patriots jacket. I’m not giving you directions.” Wow, he was serious. I never realized how much people outside of New England hated the Patriots.

The second road closing is why I’m sitting in Evanston, Wyoming right now, in a $40 a night hotel room, listening to the water run in my neighbor’s bathroom.

Brand new tire chains in the minivan don’t mean a thing if the sheriff won’t let you actually get on the road.

Below: Photo of the Kytka perched nicely on top of Linus and Louise’s cage during the drive. Yes, she has no interest in eating either of them. No, neither of these birds has bit Marc yet … Mostly because Lauren will not let him touch either of these birds. He has, however, been bitten four times so far this trip. Three times by Peanut. (Marc and Peanut do not get along). And once by Lauren. Do not try to steal a french fry from Lauren. (Marc and Lauren still get along)

After snapping two pairs of cheap “Cobra” chains, Marc finally got real chains. He’s so happy. To think, two days ago, I didn’t even know what tire chains were, or how to buy them.

Marc got Sonic. Lauren embarassed the b’jezus out of the Sonic employee. “HI! Do you mind if we take your photo?” I’m sure they get that all the time at Sonic. “Hi, I’ll have a cheeseburger, curly fries, and can I take your photo?”

Lauren took this nice photo of Idaho from the minivan as we drove along the first non-snow-covered roads we’ve encountered so far.

We drove through the Rockies today. They were pretty. Cold. But pretty. “On the road again … Do do do On the road again. … Something … Music with my friends … And I can’t wait to get on the road again.”

1.27.08

The day started when I had to walk about a mile to the closest place that sold tire chains. Having blown the first set of chains the day before, the rented minivan was stuck in the frozen pond of a parking lot, and we needed new chains to even get out of our parking space. Lauren is stuck in her walking cast and couldn’t make the snowy trek to Firestone. When I returned with the new chains, Lauren had filled the camera with photos of herself, the Kytka, and her little birds. Here’s one of the photos I found on my camera.

Day two looked a lot like day one, only scarier. There would be more photos from today, except that Lauren was busy praying and didn’t have a free hand to take pictures. We went over the scariest bridge ever. We put on, took off, put on, and took off tire chains. We drove through blizzard conditions. And Lauren called me fat.

“So…do you think we get better traction because the minivan is so heavy?”

What?! A few weeks out of the gym, and all of a sudden, I’m minivan ballast? OOooh…mean. One photo we do have from today’s car trip of doom: Lauren and the Kytka.

Chains. They only sound “cool.” Here’s a photo of Marc celebrating the second set of broken chains.

We finally pulled off the road in Boise, Idaho. I’ve been asking Lauren if we could go to Denny’s for months. Seriously, months. If you’re wondering … and I know you are … Denny’s hashbrowns *do* taste better in Idaho. Yum.

The blog I didn’t post on 1.26.08

Had I posted anything yesterday, here’s what I would’ve written:

1.26

Today, Lauren and I finally started our trek eastward. Having traded in our SUV for the more rugged and cool Chevy minivan, we packed up the last of her belongings (her cat Kytka, and birds, Linus, Louise, Peanut, and Oliver) and hit the open road.

For those who have driven with me, you’ll read that as, I crept onto the open road like an 80 year old man with no depth perception. I’m hazardous behind the wheel, even at the blazing 35 mph that I like to drive.

Luckily, the mountain passes of Washington are made for a patient and methodical driver, such as me. You see, the speed limit in the mountain passes is actually 35 miles per hour.

I’d have felt right at home on these roads, at these speeds, if it weren’t for the blinking neon signs on the side of the road: Mandatory Tire Chains.

I’m sorry, mandatory who now?!

So at the next exit we pulled off of the highway and into a gas station to find these mandatory chains of doom. The attendant, I’ll call him Jose, was kind enough to point to a big pile of boxes on the floor in the corner.

The pile looked something like a stack of black fishing tackle boxes, each with a number on the side. 1038. 1042. So you look through this large, spiral bound notebook with a picture of a cobra on the front, and find the number that corresponds with your tire size – the manliest notebook EVER!

The snow was picking up, and here I stood, outside of our minivan holding what looked like a very small ladder made out of metal cables. The “cobra” book said I had the right size tire chains. Jose had nodded approvingly. And now all I needed to do was figure out how to put them on the car.

“No, no Lauren. You stand back. This is a man’s job.”

Yes, that’s exactly what I would have said if Lauren wasn’t in an air cast and stuck in the car. Unfortunately, Lauren had to stay in the car. So, there was no reason for me to exercise my well thought out speech … re-read the three sentences above.

Tire. Chains. Are. Awesome! And, here, I thought it impossible to make our rental minivan any cooler. Add a pair of bad-ass cobra tire chains, and you’re ready to shred some asphalt.

There was a lot more to write about yesterday

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Lauren and I finally leaving Seattle

Marc’s first experience with tire chains

End of day 1. Exhausted!