[stylist] A Journey of a thousand mile

[Jacobson, Shawn D]

I don't do memoir much, but thought I'd try one and send it out to folk for their comments.  Not sure if there is a market for this sort of thing, but it was kind of fun to write.

Shawn Jacobson
Mathematical Statistician
Phone# (202)-475-8759
Fax# (202)-485-0275

A Journey of a Thousand Miles
by Shawn Jacobson
According to the ancient Chinese saying "A Journey of a Thousand Miles begins with a single step".  Our most recent journey of a thousand miles began with tooting luggage out of the house.  My wife had called saying that she would be home from work to pick us up in thirty minutes and have our bags out front.  Yet, it was cloudy and might rain, it had sprinkled some earlier, so I tried to wait.  Finally, fifteen minutes later, I chanced it.  "Zebe, Stephen" I said to our children "let's start carrying stuff."
Or maybe the journey began with mowing the yard (we didn't want to return to a jungle), a last check of the trash cans (we didn't want to return to stinky trash), or any of the other last minute things we did to short up the house.
Or maybe it began with speculations about the big Mega Millions jackpot to be decided that evening.  "What would you do with $640 million" my wife asked?  "I don't know" I replied thinking that we should worry about one adventure at a time.
However, the journey began, we were out on the road at about half past three on a cloudy Friday afternoon headed back to Iowa from our house in Maryland.  We were going to visit relatives and attend a baby shower.  "We're eight minutes late" my wife jokes "I told people it would take us five minutes from when I pulled into the driveway to when we left."  I ended up taking thirteen minutes.
"Do you want to go back to Georgia Avenue and then up to the interstate" my wife asks?  "There will be less traffic."  I decline, going up Georgia gets us out of town faster but it will be a little further.  This turns out to be a bad idea.
We hit the I-270 entrance and it's a parking lot.  So we shuffle through traffic grabbing any clear stretch of road we can and ahead is Braddock Mountain, an area which jams up more often than not.
But we catch a break, the road clears up before Fredrick and we're into the mountains with no further traffic troubles.  My wife talks about what we could do if we win the lottery as we climb westward; she has this all figured out.
We run out of radio stations in the mountains.  We agree on the new Josh Groebin CD and, wonder of wonders, he is actually singing in English.  When that runs out, we put on Lady Antebellum; they sing us into Morgantown where we swing north into western Pennsylvania.
Zebe and I walk into the fast food restaurant with complicated orders for Cheryl, my wife, and Stephen.  Upon entering, we see that the line is snacking out of the ropes almost to the door.  "If every stop is this long, we won't get to Disneyworld before it's time to go home" a high-school kid proclaims as he horses around with his buddies.  Yet, we just hit town behind a tour bus, and no one told the good folk at Wendy's to open more than one register.  An interminable time later, we escape with our food and are on the road again.  I keep my sandwich just below the ceiling of the car and just above the dog that is trying to share my meal.  "Oh. No" my wife says, "We didn't get Stephen's apple dippers."  We didn't go back.
Heat lighting flashes on the horizon as we turn back west.  Leaving Wheeling, on the way into Ohio, we see the storm in all its fury.  Lighting fit for the twilight of the gods flares all around us as thunder blasts over the radio and the road noise.  Where's the rain we wonder, and then it starts.  First huge raindrops plop onto the windshield, then it start in earnest with torrents of water coming down.  Back night is broken by blinding white lightning; then it is gone replaced by profound darkness.  Blinded by turns by light and darkness we proceed forward.
At the next gas station, my wife hands the keys to Zebe.  "Zebe" she says"try to drive a while so I can get some rest.  We might be able to drive straight through."  Zebe drives tentatively out onto the highway with my wife guiding her and I worry about her driving.  She does calm down though as we continue west.
The next few hours pass in a surreal weirdness framed by the great dark night and the drone of the road.  Teenager music be-bops out of the car radio and Zebe changes channels in constant search of her favorite songs.  "The stations in Ohio are the worst in the world" she complains searching the dial, but I am reassured; I know she is awake.
"Zanesville is where Zane Grey is from" I say in a lame attempt at conversation.  "Who's Zane Grey" she asks?  I start talking about classic westerns but my mind is too torpid for me to care much.
Landmarks are important at this stage of the trip.  We see the giant arch over I-70 as we cross into Indiana.  Another state line crossed, progress is being made.  I look at my watch, a little past midnight.
My wife wakes up for Indianapolis and I am glad.  I see the green signs, one for each of the four lanes of the road, but I can't tell which sign we want.  Cheryl guides Zebe as we deal lanes and go through interchanges; finally, we're on I-74 headed for the Quad Cities.
The radio station dies into static and I notice that Zebe hasn't changed the channels recently.  "Are you awake?" I ask.  She says yes as I look at the road; at least we're not weaving through lanes like a drunken sailer.  I was in the car with a driver who did that; once was enough.
As we continue, the highway gets empty and downs get fewer and farther between as the night asserts itself.  We slow for road construction, and then it is gone.  We pass rest stops and exits full of trucks resting overnight.  Finally, an hour or so into Illinois, Zebe pulls off the road.  Handing mom the keys she said "I'm tired, can you drive now?"  Cheryl and Zebe switch places as Stephen and I let the dogs out to do their thing.  Then it's back on the road again.
"Why don't you try to rest?" the Mrs. Says.  I lay my seat back and try to catch some sleep.  Nodding in and out of wakefulness, I doze through Peoria and over the covered bridge that crosses the Illinois River.  Then I wake as we pull into the rest area.  "I need a nap" say my wife; looking into the back seats, I notice that the kids are asleep.  My watch says ten till six in the morning, but it's earlier than I think.  Welcome to central time.
As we get out of the car and head for the truck stop, I wonder if we look as rough as I reel.  Five o'clock shadow is supposed to refer to your beard in the evening of a day when you've shaved, not the morning of the day after.  Feeling my hairy face, I wonder if I look like I belong in a zoo.  I also realize that I've been wearing my contacts for way too long.  I duck into the bathroom and take them out.  Oh well, I think to myself, Iowa isn't known for its scenery anyway.
"Would you like cheese and onions in your hash browns?" the waitress asks as she takes our order.  "Sure" I reply as she puts me down for the meat lover's omelet.  I wait for my food as my body wakes to the cloudy morning.  The gray sky seems to mute the colors of the world encouraging sleepiness.  Then my food arrives, the aforementioned omelet, a mountain of potatoes and pancakes.  I bolt my food down hoping to finish my plate before everyone else wants to leave.  I almost succeed.
Back in the car, headed into Iowa, we call the Doggie Dude Ranch to let them know we will be there with the dogs.  No answer, so we leave a message and drive on.  As we approach Des Moines, we decide to stop at my sister-in-law's house and drop off baby shower gifts while we await word from the kennel.
My sister-in-law Deb lets us in as I inadvertently let the dogs get loose.  After we get them corralled, we hang out in the living room.  Bruce, our rat terrier mix, plays dominance games with Leo, Deb's poodle.  "Bad dog!" Zebe yells as Bruce hikes a let where Leo has been; we get the pet spray and decide that the dogs need a walk.  Just then the lady from the Kennel calls; if we can get the dogs to Ames by one, then someone will be there to receive them.  We all hurry back to the car and are one our way.
We hit the gravel road at a quarter to one, looks like we'll make it.  When we get there, Stephen takes the dogs while Cheryl gets the bag with the dog food to the lady at the kennel.  While they chew the fat, I get out of the car.  I need a stretch.  Then it's time to say our farewells to the dogs.  We'll be back to get them on Friday.
We near our final destination, Fort Dodge.  The straight gray road cuts through the featureless brown landscape.  The scene is mirrored by the featureless gray sky.  I nod off and hope my wife is having an easier time staying awake than am I.  Food and rest await if we can avoid putting the car in someone's field before we get there.
Later, I awake from a three-hour nap.  We got there safe and LuAnn and Terry met us at the door helping us with our bags and feeding us hamburgers and pasta salad.  I will still get a good night's sleep tonight.  Indeed, I think, I will need to get all the rest I can.  After all, the return trip is next Saturday.