Kinda, sorta, mostly about driving

My father was 86 years old, and not a healthy 86. He'd had high blood pressure forever, a quadruple bypass, stents, Parkinson's disease, a chronically painful back from an accident with a jackhammer when I was 3 (so, yeah, a loooong time), and various other ailments. Plus, after my mom died, he was miserable and didn't want to live anymore. Our issues aside, I didn't expect to be sad when my father died. And I wasn't. I felt relief, that he and my mother might be reunited (if that sort of thing is actually possible), and his suffering was over.

 

When I got the news I emailed people and called a couple, and worked feverishly to try to finish cleaning the house I was house-sitting. I didn't get the floors done, which was strangely upsetting at the time. I was fine, though. Until I called Panther (totally not her real name, but it's a fun pseudonym) to talk about leaving the house a little early. She asked how I was and suddenly not crying became a Herculean task. This never happened with anyone else, so I blame Panther, or some quality in her voice that must've sounded mom-like, for causing it. She told me to leave extra food for the pets and get on my way, that the floors weren't important. I was going to argue about the floors but was afraid it'd make me sound crazy. So I left.

 

I took off from Ventura the next morning at 5:15. John came outside in his bathrobe, tsking at me for not waking him to say goodbye (I thought I was being considerate), and asked what my plan was for something going wrong. I shook my head and said, "I do not plan for things to go wrong. I plan for things to go right. If something goes wrong, I'll deal with it." He was very unhappy with me when I left. A woman alone, without a plan.

 

I said a prayer of thanks for smooth sailing and protection and I was off. It was o'dark thirty on a Sunday morning, so I didn't expect any traffic. Then I saw an electronic sign warning of an accident ahead. Luckily, for us other drivers, it happened on an overpass. We simply exited and reentered the freeway and it barely slowed us down. The next accident (apparently no one expects others to be out and about on a dark Sunday morning) had traffic stopped when I got to it, but within a minute we were slowly moving. I was behind a truck. He had high clearance. I have a Saturn. One of the lowest of the low cars. He drove over a still burning fusee (or flare, for those not raised by an ex-railroad employee), and I followed him, saying, "Oh! Blue, I'm sorry! Think of Tony Robbins!" I told God that smoother sailing was what I had in mind.

 

As I got near the area where I had to find the 210 freeway, the sun came out in a big way. It was so bright and glaring that I couldn't read any of the signs. I said, "Cloud, please. Some cloud cover would be good right now." And clouds moved over the sun and I saw the 210 sign and got in the correct lane. So I said, "How about a winning lottery ticket, too? That would also make my day." So far, God hasn't gotten back to me on that.

 

I had packed in the most bizarre, haphazard way. The only things I was careful and thoughtful about were the clothes to wear for the funeral. Literally. I had so few tops with me that I had to stop at a thrift shop to avoid doing laundry every other day. And I knew I'd thrown my sunscreen in somewhere, but for two days couldn't find it. So that first day on the road I had on a t-shirt, and a long-sleeved cotton shirt over that to protect my arms from burning. And I drove through the desert. Cali and Arizona. It's hot even without a heat wave. And I had the idiotic, clearly stress-induced idea that I shouldn't use the car's air conditioning -- to save on gas.

 

I stopped at a gas station for the precious elixir, and as I filled the tank I noticed a man with a pickup truck checking me out. He was at the next set of pumps over and he was practically staring at me. Not just at my chest, either. He was making definite eye contact. I actually thought, "Oh yeah, I've still got it." Then I went inside to use the bathroom and saw my reflection in the mirror. My face was nearly purple and I looked like someone about to succumb to heat exhaustion. He was likely just considering whether or not to call 9-1-1. I started driving with the a/c on, gas mileage be damned.

 

As has been previously discussed, I have a heavy foot when I drive. On the open road, with little or no traffic, I fly. The speedometer on the Saturn says it'll do 130. I've never tested that. In fact, 100 mph made me nervous so I didn't go that fast, either. But I would often do 90. I thought of it as interval driving. When traveling that fast you have to be super attentive. A swerve to avoid tire debris is different at 90 than at 70. That kind of attention is tiring. More tiring than driving all freakin' day long is in general. So I'd do it for a while, then rest at the speed limit for a bit, then do it again. Interval driving. And also as I've mentioned before, the speed is rather necessary to make up for how often I stop. Liquid in/liquid out, for both me and my car.

 

I was still in Cali when the two guys in the Arizona car passed me just to pass me. We were both moving at the same speed, around 90 mph, but they clearly didn't want to be the following car. Men. Their license plate read: AZBYCHC. After some consideration I decided it probably meant Arizona By Choice. But my initial thought was, "Ass by chance." I'm sorry, it was. After a few minutes of us doing the tandem fly-bys of other cars on the road, we came over a rise and saw the CHP on the side of the freeway. We both hit our brakes, but the cop pulled out and came after us. That's when I started chanting.

 

"Go after the out-of-state plates, man, go after the out-of-states."

 

He pulled up next to me but I refused to look over and make eye contact. If he could read lips, from the side, he'd know I said, "Not gonna make it easy for ya. Use your lights, dude. Better yet, go after the guys with the stupid plates. Come on, ass by chance?" For whatever reason, he moved up, turned on his lights, and pulled over the Arizona guys. Of course, after I left Cali behind, I had the out-of-state plates. 

 

When I drive long distances there are two things that occupy my mind. Avoiding getting a ticket, and reading the signs. I have a friend who writes novels in his head on long drives, but I find I have to pay more attention to my immediate surroundings in order to stay safe. Gwen used to say that the person with the job naming paint colors had the best job in the world. They're random and idiotic, for the most part, so the namer must have a terrific sense of humor and a lot of autonomy. Well, the person who comes up with what to put on the road signs has the second best job. In Arizona: Dust Storms. That's it. Dust Storms. What about them, huh? Are you simply reminding me that I'm in the desert so they can happen? Are they more likely to happen here than elsewhere? How long should I worry about this, for ten miles or until I hit Louisiana? After about a dozen Dust Storms signs, I decided that they simply wanted to remind out-of-state drivers that they were in the desert. And as soon as I decided that the next sign said, "Dust Storms Next 10 Miles." At that point I understood why so many signs have bullet holes in them.

 

In Florida, on Route 19, I was surprised to see a sign that said, "Bear Habitat 12 Miles." It was the third day, I was only 30 or so miles from my aunt's home, and it was ten at night. I was tired. I couldn't decide if they meant that a bear habitat had been built and we were 12 miles from it, or that for the next 12 miles we'd be in bear country. The latter seemed absurd. Of course, it turned out to be true. I'm gone for two years and bears move in.

 

In northern Arizona there was a sign that said, "Watch for Animals." I said aloud, "Care to be more specific?" Another mile down and the sign said, "Watch for Elk." Okay doke, they're easy to spot. So, naturally, a small coyote ran across the road in front of me. I find my entertainment where I can when I drive.

 

By the way, best county name of all, by far, is in Texas. Deaf Smith County. I don't think you have to be tired and sleep deprived for that to make you laugh, right?

 

Speaking of signs, I did something for John while on this trip. He has a brother in Mississippi, and his brother had something of John's that John wanted back. This something (no one can tell me definitively whether what I carted was legal or not, so I'm not going to publicly blog that I did it) couldn't be shipped. John asked if I'd be willing to pick it up for him and bring it back. I said sure. He said it might be illegal (as if my speeding isn't), and I said, "So? It's not as if I'll have a sign on my car that says, 'Mary is carrying such and such in her trunk', right?" Why do I speak?

 

As truly good luck would have it, I was only doing 74 in a 70 mph zone when I passed a cop who took an interest in my car. I don't know why. I was part of a long line of vehicles in the right lane, not speeding, and not the only out-of-stater in the bunch. But he came out of the median where he'd been sitting and pulled up in my blind spot. He just sat there, pacing me. I glanced back and saw him tapping at his laptop (which should be illegal, if anything is -- how is that safe?). Since I have no outstanding warrants and my car isn't stolen, he obviously found nothing. He moved up a bit, checked out a truck ahead of me, then pulled him over, the poor guy. But the fact that he'd checked me out like that, when I was doing nothing, made me think I was giving out "I've got you know what in my trunk!" vibes. So I came up with another daily prayer.

 

I started each day with, "Thank you for making my speeding invisible to the police." You may laugh or scoff, but I blew by countless cops after that and none of them budged. Yes, it could've been due to laziness and luck. But I like to think I had an invisibility shield around Blue.

 

When I started on this journey I dismissed the comments about how brave I was, how the commenter couldn't possibly do what I was doing. I thought they simply didn't understand, had never driven across the country and thought more of it because it was the unknown. I often say that I've lost count of how many trips I've made across and up and down this land. I say this because I'm too lazy to actually think about it and count them. But, just to give you an idea, I went from Cali to Florida on the southern route, up to New Jersey, and back to Cali on the middle route, and Mastercard never once called to talk about a strange charge pattern. I've done it a lot.

 

What I came to realize, after a particularly bad day on the trip back when a scary thing happened, is that I am brave. And not everyone can do this. Anything can happen, at any point along the way. And you might be hundreds or thousands of miles from home or anyone you know. Bad things can happen at home, too, but they're not quite as bad when a friend is a phone call away. You don't know which exit to pick at night, or which motel is safest, or who might be in the ice machine room when you go to get some. And those are just the small worries. The truly hard part is driving. Starting out each morning even though you got a crappy night's sleep and you're already tired. Driving, paying attention, putting up with the heat and sun and sameness, paying attention, talking your body out of the charley horse that wants to form in your right calf, paying attention, cursing the fact that your butt is nothing like Jennifer Lopez's and died two hours ago when you still have hours left to sit on it, and paying attention. Driving is work. And because motel rooms are so expensive (anything under $60. is something to celebrate, with $70. to $80. being the average "cheap" rate nowadays, once the taxes are added), you can't take a leisurely pace. Camping alone calls for more guts than I possess. So, yes, cross country driving does take bravery and it is dangerous and there are a lot of people who couldn't do it. I'm strong. I always have been. I do what needs to be done and what I say I'll do. You can count on me. Even after you're dead. 

 

So I'm sorry that I was dismissive. Thank you to all who complimented me. Thank you for the prayers and the positive thoughts and the support before, during and after. Some, maybe all, of the friends and family who helped me would prefer to be anonymous. But I'd love to do "more" than just say thank you, if I knew what that more should be. One friend literally made it possible, and safe, for Blue to carry me those six thousand plus miles. Another got a windfall and shared it with me, to take some of Mastercard's fun away in piling up those interest amounts. While one cousin was/is a horror, others were there to offer me food, friendship and support when I needed it. One aunt put me up and put up with me while I scrubbed, sorted and stressed. Another let me know a gift would be waiting for me at home, so I could look forward to it. An old family friend surprised me by being there for me from the time I got into New Jersey, through the funeral, and by treating us all to a very nice lunch afterwards. Another "helped me with the tolls" in an extremely generous way, and would laugh at me complaining about the New Jersey Turnpike's $6.50 fee if he was on Facebook to read that particular post. He more than covered it. Money is practical, yes, but it also lessens the worry. And that's important. Other kindnesses were important in their own ways. 

 

I know there are friends who regretted not coming to the funeral. Don't. You sent your regrets and you know you've been there for me in other ways, at other times and now. My mother and father had gotten to the point in their lives where they found funerals too dangerous to attend, because of how the upset could affect their health, so they'd understand. Spotswood, NJ is a long damn drive from anywhere. And I don't wish a long drive on anyone. :-)