Did I tell you about my road trip to dig for diamonds? No?! Here's the tale....
A friend and I decided to take a road trip from Boston to southwest Arkansas. Sounds insane, I know, but we were off to an adventure at the Crater of Diamonds State Park. Its the only public park in the world where you can dig for diamonds and keep what you find! Cheap, fun, and definitely an uncommon vacation.
My traveling companion was my 30-yr-old friend named A*****. She's very smart, very funny, very petite, and built like Dolly Parton. She also has a rubber duck named Duckie Fuzz . Duckie was given to her a couple of years earlier as a gag gift, but now he travels everywhere with her and gets photographed on his adventures. Duckie even has his own website: DuckieDoesAmerica.com. The three of us set out on this trip with hope of striking it rich in the diamond mine, or at least having fun on the way.
Like most American adults, myself included, A***** has issues. Her history is her business, but suffice it to say that A***** is very attached to the people in her life and doesn't want them to leave her. Me? I have money issues. I'm both cheap and extravagant: I'll spend money on lavish gifts, but I drive a very basic (2-door no frills stickshift), very old (8+ years), economy car.
In fact we were taking my car on the road trip. It gets about 40mpg on the highway and there's a lot of highway between Boston and Murfresboro, AR! But my car had been having problems with the air-conditioning all summer. I was too cheap to fix it earlier, but before the trip I took it to the shop and had it throughly checked/repaired/tweaked. I picked the car up 2 days before the trip, in mid-October, and the shop assured me that everything was A-OK. Which turned out not to be the case as we discovered when the trip started.
The AC would blow cold for a few minutes and then start blowing hot air. Then after some random amount of time it would start to blow cold again. We became masters in the art of leaving the windows down while the blower spewed hot air, but rolling things up tight as soon as cool air appeared. Then luxuriating in the AC until we had to repeat the process. We did this all the way down to Arkansas and back again.
Our trip started on the Friday before the Columbus Day weekend. It was unseasonably hot: I think it reached 100F in Boston that day. We had planned on leaving before noon, but A***** was required to attend an office meeting in the morning. And while there she learned that she had to complete a new type of report by the end of the day. So we didn't start out until after 2PM. Rush hour on Rt128, north of Boston, at the start of a long weekend, with the temperature at 100 degrees, and an air conditioner on the fritz. We got stuck in beep-and-creep traffic north of Boston and finally moved out of it in western New Jersey. 7 hours later.
Because we were traveling so slowly, Duckie Fuzz decided to leave the stifling confines of his silk bag in A*****'s purse and sit on the front dashboard-- so as to better enjoy the view.
By the time we finally broke free of traffic in New Jersey we searched for a McD's to grab a quick bite. After locating one using A*****'s GPS unit, we pulled off the highway and couldn't find the damn place. We drove past where it was supposed to be 3 times. Back and forth we went on this 1/2 mile stretch of road while the sexy British man's voice in the GSP told us "You have arrived at your destination." Except it wasn't there!
On the fourth pass we realized that the McD's was in a strip mall (I'd never seen one in the burbs or boonies that wasn't free standing) where all the lights had been turned off. Not a good sign.
As we pulled closer to the McD's we realized that its lights were on. Wonderful! Bathrooms were needed. Except the door was locked. And the sign said they had closed at 9PM. It was 9:03. What kind of fast food burger joint closes at 9PM on a Friday?!
Back in the car, with legs crossed firmly, we went in search of another burger joint. We found one about 10 miles down the highway. Relief! And dinner. And a Happy Meal toy -- ya' gotta get a Happy Meal toy.
I located a hotel a few miles further down the road and we called it a night.... less than 1/2 a day on the road and we were both completely exhausted.
The story continues...
Friday, April 25, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
No Good Deed Goes Unpunished.
I was driving home from Vermont to Boston last Saturday night. The moon was full and bright, and the sky was clear. The RedSox were on the radio and all was well with the world.
Until I went around a bend on I-89, into a deeply shadowed uphill incline, in New Hampshire and immediately saw a car pulled over on the left with its flashers on. I quickly shifted to the right lane to make sure I wouldn't hit anyone who might be changing a tire.
At that moment the car about 4 car lengths in front of me drove over a dead moose. "Ah," I thought, "the first car hit the moose!" I managed to swerve around the moose bits in the road, with a minimum of tire squealing. Pulling over to the right side and hitting my flashers I was a bit shaky, but totally unhurt. I could see the car in front of me coasting to the top of the hill, pulling over and turning on flashers. "Guess they're OK, too. I'd better check on the folks that took a direct hit."
Just after that thought a couple of cars whizzed around the bend and narrowly missed the moose, the first car and my car. Tires squealing, they drove on into the night. Apparently three cars pulled over in a 1/2 mile stretch of road, next to a dead moose, don't qualify as a reason for stopping. I got out of the car, waited for a couple of more cars to pass through and drive on before I felt safe enough to cross the road to check on the first car. The I trotted down the left shoulder toward the moose-strike car.
I could see the driver's (I assumed) legs against the headlights. I thought, "Great. He's OK. So I can get outahere..." I asked if he was OK and did he call 911. He replied that everyone in his car was OK, but very shook-up and slightly bloody from flying glass. And one of his passengers had called 911. As I was about to say, "Good, I'll be on my way then..." I heard a soft "pop" noise from across the road and in the corner of my eye saw my car rolling down the hill backwards.
Diagonally. Into the road. Where drivers were still squealing by. And there was a dead moose. And a dead car..... Oh. %$#@.
Taking a couple deep breaths and checking to see that I wasn't going to get killed by an on-coming car, I ran toward the car and tried to open the driver's door so that I could reach in and grab the emergency brake. I got the door to open about an inch, while running alongside the car, just as the driver's side rear fender of my car scraped into the passenger side rear fender of the moose struck car. I couldn't pull my car to a stop just by holding it, and if I tried to get between the cars I'd get crushed.... so I let go of my door and watched as my car gently rolled back and in the process severely damaged my driver's side door.
It came to a stop a few feet later, in a ditch. I got in, started the engine, and drove my car to a safer spot on the shoulder. Put the flashers on and called 911.
This moose accident was now a 3 car accident.
When the local volunteer fire department arrived the, at first, didn't believe me when I said I was fine. Because my door was demolished and there was moose blood all over the front (and underside) of my car. But eventually they went off to check on everyone else. I waited for the nice young State Trooper to stop laughing long enough to get my registration and insurance info. Off he went to write up the accident report.
Because I was fine and in no rush to be anywhere, it took them a while to get back to me. But I was given a copy of the report info, and told that if I could get my door to close and lock I could drive my car home to Massachusetts.
Back came the volunteer firemen with their axes, picks and other large metal implements. They banged. They twisted. They tried hard not to laugh. And finally they gave up. But a trooper had some rope in his trunk and we used that to lash the door shut. Funny thing is, the window still rolls down fine, so when I passed through a tollgate later that night I didn't have to stop and climb out of the car to pay the toll.
Until I went around a bend on I-89, into a deeply shadowed uphill incline, in New Hampshire and immediately saw a car pulled over on the left with its flashers on. I quickly shifted to the right lane to make sure I wouldn't hit anyone who might be changing a tire.
At that moment the car about 4 car lengths in front of me drove over a dead moose. "Ah," I thought, "the first car hit the moose!" I managed to swerve around the moose bits in the road, with a minimum of tire squealing. Pulling over to the right side and hitting my flashers I was a bit shaky, but totally unhurt. I could see the car in front of me coasting to the top of the hill, pulling over and turning on flashers. "Guess they're OK, too. I'd better check on the folks that took a direct hit."
Just after that thought a couple of cars whizzed around the bend and narrowly missed the moose, the first car and my car. Tires squealing, they drove on into the night. Apparently three cars pulled over in a 1/2 mile stretch of road, next to a dead moose, don't qualify as a reason for stopping. I got out of the car, waited for a couple of more cars to pass through and drive on before I felt safe enough to cross the road to check on the first car. The I trotted down the left shoulder toward the moose-strike car.
I could see the driver's (I assumed) legs against the headlights. I thought, "Great. He's OK. So I can get outahere..." I asked if he was OK and did he call 911. He replied that everyone in his car was OK, but very shook-up and slightly bloody from flying glass. And one of his passengers had called 911. As I was about to say, "Good, I'll be on my way then..." I heard a soft "pop" noise from across the road and in the corner of my eye saw my car rolling down the hill backwards.
Diagonally. Into the road. Where drivers were still squealing by. And there was a dead moose. And a dead car..... Oh. %$#@.
Taking a couple deep breaths and checking to see that I wasn't going to get killed by an on-coming car, I ran toward the car and tried to open the driver's door so that I could reach in and grab the emergency brake. I got the door to open about an inch, while running alongside the car, just as the driver's side rear fender of my car scraped into the passenger side rear fender of the moose struck car. I couldn't pull my car to a stop just by holding it, and if I tried to get between the cars I'd get crushed.... so I let go of my door and watched as my car gently rolled back and in the process severely damaged my driver's side door.
It came to a stop a few feet later, in a ditch. I got in, started the engine, and drove my car to a safer spot on the shoulder. Put the flashers on and called 911.
This moose accident was now a 3 car accident.
When the local volunteer fire department arrived the, at first, didn't believe me when I said I was fine. Because my door was demolished and there was moose blood all over the front (and underside) of my car. But eventually they went off to check on everyone else. I waited for the nice young State Trooper to stop laughing long enough to get my registration and insurance info. Off he went to write up the accident report.
Because I was fine and in no rush to be anywhere, it took them a while to get back to me. But I was given a copy of the report info, and told that if I could get my door to close and lock I could drive my car home to Massachusetts.
Back came the volunteer firemen with their axes, picks and other large metal implements. They banged. They twisted. They tried hard not to laugh. And finally they gave up. But a trooper had some rope in his trunk and we used that to lash the door shut. Funny thing is, the window still rolls down fine, so when I passed through a tollgate later that night I didn't have to stop and climb out of the car to pay the toll.
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