Home is where the heart is

Day 4 Destination – St. Augustine, FL, 633 miles. We planned well. We’re literally on the home stretch now and even though we have a final time zone hour to lose, we have the “shortest” leg of the trip to go. After one last trip down the stairs for the Ray and Artie, I’m sure they were glad to say “good-bye” to that honky-tonk, we’re leaving Nashville.

Right away we had to make a decision on an alternate route, or so we thought. On the previous night while entering Nashville, we noticed highway construction signs alerting to road closures in and around the city. We tuned the radio to the designated station (amazingly, the only time the radio was turned on during the whole trip), and once again ran into a state agency that seemed to be just going through the motions. The recorded message, declaring which roads and routes were recommended, kept “skipping” during the critical parts of the message. No street or route names could be understood, “such-and-such street at Highway X is closed, please use –static, static, static – as an alternate route…” does anyone care about anything anymore?

We decided to stick with our original plan and successfully made it out of Nashville. We were blessed once again with a picture perfect day. Although there was to be a little bit of scenery left to see, we were pretty excited that, God-willing, we would not be spending another night in a Motel 6. I can’t say it was going to be “home sweet home” for either of us, Don’t forget Phil was ending his 10k mile USA crisscross and hadn’t actually spent a night in his interim home yet. I was very much looking forward to seeing my beautiful bride of nearly 9 years, as she had flown down to St. Augustine to help out with her mother during our Day 2 on the road.

Once we exited the hills of Tennessee, let’s face it the real mountains are out West, lots of memories flooded back to me. Having lived in the South during the 1980’s, Georgia was very familiar. The signage, vegetation, divided highways all were familiar. You want peanuts? Georgia is the place, about every 10 miles. Lots of Southern cooking options, but we were uniquely focused on our destination so we didn’t sample the goods, and oh yeah, we had dogs with us.

About midday we drove through Atlanta and our 3^rd MLB stadium adjacent to a major highway: Turner Field. Inserting a digressive rant here: Having been to nearly 20 MLB stadiums so far in my life, I can’t help but hope that one day someone that matters will realize that Fenway Park IS NOT A GREAT PLACE TO WATCH A BALLGAME…It undoubtedly was when it was built in 1912, and still after being rebuilt post fire damage in 1934, but not now. I’d love to see Larry Lucchino sit in the right field grandstand on a cold April (or September) night wearing a winter coat for 9 innings. I’m guessing we’d see new plans for a more spacious stadium with comfortable fan seating the next morning.

The Earth is flat, for miles and miles south of Atlanta. We kept a good pace, crossed over into Florida and decided to make one more stop for the dogs. Just on the outskirts of Osceola National Forest. OK, I’ll give you the “forest” moniker, there were trees, but really, this is Florida, we’re talking swamp here. And Ray and Artie’s first exposure to their new life - a fenced off pond with signs warning about the dangers of alligators. Welcome to Florida! When I lived here in the 80’s (much further south), I had a dog that “escaped” many times, went swimming in canals but never ran into a gator. I suppose all it takes is one though so I hope Art and Ray obey the signs.

It was a typically balmy Sunday afternoon outside of Jacksonville. We drove along I-10 which cuts through the National Forest and were now actually talking about which local streets to take in St. Augustine which was only little more than an hour away. Not long after we were on I-95, the same one I live only minutes away from about 1200 miles north.

We crossed over one of the many inner bays and were now on Route 1. “Old Route 1” as my mother would say, which is also a road I’m very familiar with back home. Turned left at the tattoo shop and we finally arrived in the carport of Phil’s and Mil’s interim home about 6:30 Sunday evening; our brides busy in the kitchen cooking up the family’s delicious American Chop Suey recipe.

Four days, 3,000 miles, 12 states, 3 Motel 6’s, countless McDonald’s, (a couple of Subways too), and 2 dogs successfully delivered to Mom. They were so happy to be back in a real home, I can’t blame them, so was I.

Next: Let's wrap it up.

Norman Bates, are you there?

Day 3: Destination goal – Nashville, Tennessee, 757 miles.  Driving through the largest number of states today and the bonus of no time zone change so we don’t lose an hour (or so we thought). Leaving Nebraska, entering Iowa (for what seemed like 10 minutes), Missouri, Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee. First observation of the day, Missouri has pelicans. Pretty sure I saw them hanging out in a pond on the Iowa border. Thought they were southern ocean birds but I guess not.

As we entered Missouri we came upon a highway sign stating “Hit a road worker: $10,000 fine and loss of license.” Thought it was a bit odd, especially after driving through roadwork in Nebraska where they seemed to be daring drivers to hit them on I-80. Two lanes and several roadmen on the outside of the cones. Could have taken a bunch of them out with a quick swerve to the right, no idea what the penalty was.

The best scenery was now definitely behind us. Drove past the outfield of the Kansas City Royals stadium, literally the highway runs right against center field. Not long after we made our daily stop at McDonald’s for breakfast. Turns out we were the lucky ones. It was at this McDonald’s, just east of KC where I had the epiphany that it’s not just the food service workers on the east coast that don’t give a sh*t about the customers, it’s pretty safe to say it’s a national standard.

Phil gets in the crowded line to order our breakfast. Moments after ordering, the manager appears below the menu boards with a hand crank and…poof! Breakfast is gone from sight and we’re on to the lunch menu…at 10:30AM on a Saturday. When a customer who had been waiting in line to order breakfast asks if he still can, he is told, “It depends on what you want.” I’m guessing the Eggs Benedict with Truffle Potatoes is out, oh right, it’s friggin’ McDonald’s. He was told he could have something “simple, but otherwise he would have to order lunch.” Reminds me of the time I went into a Dunkin’ Donuts with my son who was about 10 at the time. An employee was mopping the floor, we were the only customers in the store. He gave us one of the dirtiest looks ever before waiting on us. I turned it into a teaching moment for my son who noticed “the look” also. I told my son, “He has an employee mentality, ‘how am I going to get my work done (mopping the floor) if these damn customers keep coming into the store.” My son understood. But I digress.

Phil and I walked the dogs around the McD’s parking lot for a few minutes and then back to the drive.

Missouri was rather uneventful after that, we made good time to St. Louis, drove past the new Busch Stadium - they sure like to squeeze their ballparks right up against the highways in Mizzou - and entered Illinois, barely…That hour we were going to not give up to a time zone? We gave it back to the state of Illinois. Oh, and that stereotype that east coast drivers are a**holes? Welcome to the club Illinois drivers. You suck just like everybody else. Unlike Massachusetts, where the roadwork tends to happen during rush hour Monday-Friday, they prefer to screw the public on weekends in Illinois. Major intersection of highways, 3 lanes down to 1. Lots of road rage on inappropriate merging etc., you’ve all been there…

We made it through but will never get that hour back, however we did come upon another warning sign for hitting a worker. Apparently, Illinois looked at Missouri’s policy and said screw that, why waste time with taking away your license, “Hit a road worker: $10,000 fine and 14 years in jail.” Not sure they’ll collect on the $10 grand if they send you to jail for 14 years, but you’ll probably never hit another road worker.

Illinois turned into Kentucky which turned into Tennessee. Sorry Kentucky, the only thing I recall from my time through was a Hess gas station/convenience store. The two male cashiers were having a conversation about one of their girlfriends and what the Sunday schedule would be. He was not thrilled about having to go eat Sunday dinner at her house after church in the morning. Yup, we’re in the Bible belt. Oh, and you receive the award for the worst potato chips ever produced, “Uncle Ray’s.” Absolutely disgusting. I think Phil, a bit of a chip connoisseur himself, thought they couldn’t be that bad, but even he was appalled. I don’t know who you are Uncle Ray, but don’t quit your day job, and if chip making is your day job, please find a new line of work outside of the food industry.

As night fell, we closed in on our last Motel 6 stay of the trip, Nashville, Tennessee. We found the motel easily, a few miles north of Nashville proper. Phil confirmed the reservation and we headed around the back to the room. We parked directly in front of the room and let the dogs out for a walk along a grassy patch across the lot. I minded the dogs while Phil went to open the room. The key card would not work. After several tries, Phil headed back to the office for a new key. While I was waiting for his return, I started to see a cross section of who would be in the surrounding rooms that night.

First was a couple to our left. They pulled into their parking space. I noticed the man get out of the passenger side with a small bag of take-out food and the woman got out of the driver’s side. He walked over to the door of the room and gave her a stare of disgust which grew the longer he waited for her to retrieve the room key. What, he was obviously hungry. She finally got the key and opened the door, but what was this? She headed back to the car to get something from the back seat. Oh yeah, there was a kid with them in a car seat. (“Open the door so I can eat my food bitch. Then go get the kid out of the car.”) Ah, young love…

Next came a single man on the right side. He checked the room number and started to park in the space outside his room until he saw me standing with two dogs. He was clearly not a dog person. He parked several spaces away in the direction where he could get into his room without going near the dogs. Oh, well, he may be in for a uncomfortable night if Ray decides he’s had it with Motel 6.

Next was a woman walking a golden retriever. She said she had two but could only handle walking one at a time. They were brothers, 2 years old, and fueled my firm belief that they are the greatest breed to have as a pet. I know I just alienated several million dog owners, also with all due respect to Ray and Artie. (And previously Sophie and Zeke, also greyhounds rescued by Phil and Millie. Side note, I loved Zeke. He was a striking black greyhound sleek and muscular that could run like no other dog I’ve ever seen. I only saw him a few times but what a beautiful sight to see.)

Finally Phil returned from the office with a key, the same key. The manager told him that he was the 3^rd customer that night that said their key didn’t work, but the “computer said it did work.” Sure, HAL, whatever. We tried the key several more times and still no entry. We put the dogs back into the car and returned to the office. The manager had no means of correcting the key issue so she looked for another room to give us…there was 1 left. Second floor, middle of the run. Problem: greyhounds are not built to climb stairs and in fact, Art and Ray have never climbed a run of stairs, in their life…

It was rather comical when we approached the flight of stairs. Not your average flight either. They were a pretty long run as flights go, and they had open risers, which is scary for even a human not used to stairs. Ray would have none of it. Phil ended up carrying him up. Artie gave it a shot but got halfway up and froze. I pulled from the front and Phil lifted from the back, one step at a time. We eventually made it up (and repeated the procedure about an hour later after they had eaten...)

Just when we thought we were home free, another little surprise. I would like to say “off in the distance” we heard a train whistle, but the distance was only about 100 feet away. After the whistle, the loudest freight train I’d ever heard sped past the motel for about 5 minutes. Yup, should be a relaxing night.

We finally made it into the room. Interesting progression for this, the third room in three nights. Each night the rooms got a little smaller, this one was tiny. It had a trap door above Phil’s bed which we joked that at some point we might hear a knock on the door for maintenance to gain access to the roof. Ray also was a little uptight again and began barking. We finally lost it and laughed hysterically that we were about to be thrown out of the biggest dive motel in the country since Norman Bates lost his license over that stabbing incident.

I went to go get us something to eat, it was about 9PM. Next door I had seen a BBQ joint and I figured Tennessee BBQ would be pretty good. Unfortunately it had taken us so long to get into a room that the joint was closed. I went across the road to a Krystal burger and got some sliders and fries and brought them back to the room. We devoured everything in about 5 minutes and called it a night. Ray managed to settle down, I think. I’m pretty sure I just passed out. Didn’t hear any freight trains, snoring or barking. One day left…

"And the Middle of Nowhere Award Goes to..."

Day 2: Destination goal – Lincoln, Nebraska, 869 miles. This was rather ambitious but I felt since we would now be driving I-80 East all day it was doable. On one hand we were helped by a 75 mph speed limit through Wyoming and Nebraska, on the other hand, crossing from Mountain Time to Central Time cost us an hour and made the drive feel as long as it was. Not quite the scenery the West offered, but a bit of interesting traffic keeping up with us. My only question is, “Why were there Indian River pure Florida Orange Juice trucks driving east through Wyoming and Nebraska?” Perhaps pure Florida Orange Juice is a hybrid between California and Florida???

Not too far into Wyoming, we left behind the scenery of the Rockies. The view was now living up to what folks had said it would be “lots of nothing.” I don’t totally agree with that assessment but I know what they meant. I’d have to compare central and eastern Wyoming to the surface of Mars. No signs of life for hundreds of miles and mountains were becoming hills. It was here that I determined that the official “middle of nowhere” award should go to Arlington, Wyoming. Not sure why it even has a name really.

There were also lots of windmills (and a few cows). Yes, the modern ones like the residents of Cape Cod are fighting over. I hope those involved with Cape Wind are consulting with whoever put up the thousands of windmills out west.. I'm sure they are... Don't they always do that for every major public works project? 

Being a huge college football fan, it was nice to see some of the “cities” where western colleges are located, but with regard to Laramie, Wyoming, home of the University of Wyoming…WTF?? I can’t even imagine growing up or going to school there. The prairie dogs at the truck stop were interesting to see up close but other than that, not much to see or do I’m guessing. Officially, Laramie is 41.8 miles from Arlington. Not long after, we passed through Cheyenne (don’t blink), and then on into Nebraska.

In Nebraska, the hills became plains, fields and a straight-away that spanned the state. Phil and I pretty much flew down the highway, making great time (until the pesky time zone change). We stopped once in the afternoon (North Platte?), the dogs relieved themselves, another McD’s, and probably the strangest sight we saw on the trip: in the middle of the truck stop-McDonald’s parking lot sat 3 ducks, on the pavement, not concerned with any of the vehicles weaving in and out around them. Never flinched, probably still sitting there. (Sorry no photo.)

  

By 8:30pm we reached Lincoln. We pulled into the parking lot and found that this Motel 6 shared a parking lot with “Doctor John’s Lingerie and Novelty Shop – Open 24 Hours”. 'Nough said, but once again, 2 dogs, blah, blah, blah…This night did not go as smooth as the first. When we came to a stop at the motel office, Phil noticed a problem with the vehicle, the rubber molding was pulling up over the windshield, but after closer inspection, nothing a little duct tape couldn’t fix in the morning. If the nearby convenience store didn’t have any I was sure “Doctor John’s” would be the go to place for duct tape. (The convenience store had some.)

We had driven more than halfway across the USA without incident but Ray had had enough. He did not care for the room arrangement at this Motel 6 and he was not shy about letting everyone know. He was spooked by all of the noises in the hallway outside the room from shutting doors to voices to footsteps.  As the night went on he became less tolerant and barked a little louder. Art on the other hand, reminded me of the older sibling who just sighed and looked at Phil to do something about the racket Ray was causing. Artie was settled in to his dog bed and probably would’ve accepted some earplugs had I offered them to him. At one point Phil offered to get me my own room but it was already 1am and I thought there was no point. I might get a little more sleep but we were due for another 750 miles in the morning and I would need Phil to drive at least part of it. We would have to be in this together.

Eventually with more lights on and the bathroom fan running we got about 5-6 hours sleep. Ray stayed “alert” for the rest of the night; Phil had invited him up onto his bed which seemed to settle him down a bit.