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 3rd 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…
No comments:
Post a Comment