Second in a four-part series of taking a 7-month-old baby and two dogs halfway across America in a minivan. Read Part 1 here.
Daddy’s Log: Day 2, East Ridge, Tenn.
Miles: 705,
Engine hours: 12.8. 11 a.m. EDT, 82, partly sunny, humid
 |
| Sorry, Mr. Springsteen, but this bib speaks the truth. |
The
start of a new day on the road fully brought home the realization of the things
we forgot to bring. Fortunately, none were essential, but would need to be
replaced along the way.
After
reloading the cooler with ice and spending – seriously – a full half-hour
playing Minivan Jenga trying to put everything back in place while corralling
the dogs, grabbing something to eat and seeing that the kid’s first
tooth STILL hadn’t broken through, it was time to roll westward again.
Despite
the lack of sleep, I was starting to slowly emerge from the head cold, but my
wife was getting hit far harder than I ever was. We both knew she’d be lucky to
drive for more than an hour that day. At least the weather wasn’t too bad quite
yet.
Once
again, about 45 minutes into the journey, Kirby sounded the poop alarm again.
He is nothing if not consistent.
Shortly
afterward, we almost had our first diaper blowout. With my wife stuck pumping,
I found a convenience store … which, of course, had no changing station or room
to even put him down on a pad on the floor.
The
store did, however, have a small spare one-seat bathroom with a lid on the
toilet seat. Desperate times and all that, right? The drama was high as my smiling, slightly
wiggling boy laid on the too-small seat with both his legs dangling off the
front.
How we
both managed to make the change without either of us slipping or getting poop
on anything outside the diaper remains a mystery. It was a sign things had to
go better that day, right?
Despite
slogging through midday Nashville construction, we made decent time through
Tennessee and rolled into Kentucky after about four hours. Needing to stop, we
pulled over at the Kentucky Welcome Center off I-24.
I’m not
one for hyperbole, and maybe it was the cold meds, all the time commanding the
tour bus and lack of sleep, but that was easily the most elegant welcome center
I’d ever walked into. I’m not sure even Donald Trump could improve it. It was
yyyuge, luxuriously appointed, quiet and clean.
 |
| The most elegant, luxurious interstate welcome center we'd ever seen. (Except for the bathroom noises.) |
All of
which made the bathroom stop even better, when I got stuck next to a stall
containing a guy giving low, strained “Oooh, yeah!” grunts. Seriously. Like,
every five seconds.
After a
brief time to just sit still and grab a snack, my wife took the wheel because
even with the sunshine and decent driving conditions, I was wiped out.
Caffeine
or not, I’ve never been able to sleep longer than a half-hour or so while in
moving vehicles, so between a cranky, teething 7-month-old who wanted food and
attention every 10-15 minutes, there was little time to recharge even mentally.
It didn’t help that we kept landing on “Honey I’m Good” by Andy Grammer and
“Bad Blood” by Taylor Swift way too often when switching radio stations.
That’s
not to say we didn’t have fun in the back. Hey, Daddy can almost always come up
with a three-minute playtime burst.
 |
| Nothing like an impromptu car concert to keep our headliner happy. |
As we
invaded the Commonwealth, which makes no small note of being the BIRTHPLACE of
our 16th Commander in Chief (take that, “Land of Lincoln,” right?), we somehow
turned down the opportunity to check out the National Quilt Museum near Exit 4,
and entered southern Illinois. St. Louis, here we come.
The
drive through most of Illinois on 24, 57 and 64 went fairly well, until we
started seeing signs of giant, severe storms over the St. Louis metro area.
The stretch of I-64 is not a whole lot different than the stretches of interstate I
regularly drove through the Dakotas growing up: Several miles between exits,
most of which were either roads that required a few more miles to reach a small
town or a small store that likely has limited amenities.
We were
still at least 40 miles east of St. Louis, and my belly made it quite clear we
had to stop before running into any bad weather that would add time to the rest
of the day’s trip.
Seeing
a few buildings near I-64, I pulled off in what turned out to be a small town
that consisted of maybe 8 houses, a co-op feed place and a gas
station/convenience store.
Walking
into the store, I knew this wouldn’t be ideal, but options were limited.
The
stall did have a door, but no lock and no latch. It also had some sweet
razor-blade carvings of “Metallica,” “Penis” a curse word with way too many U's a swastika and, of
course, “Obama is a muslim communist!”
In
essence, like most any rural men’s bathroom I had ever had the misfortune to
spend time in, though this one did have The Gentlemen’s Fragrance Center and also offered something called "Genuine Horny Goat Weed." While the dispenser clearly exuded elegance, I felt compelled to pass up my chance at
spraying “Polo” on myself.
 |
| Elegant, no? |
 |
| Uh, I'll pass, but thanks for offering. |
Outside
of a bizarre, poorly signed construction detour that forced us into downtown
St. Louis on a route doubled back upon itself, the rest of the day’s drive went
without incident, thankfully, and we pulled into our destination about 8-1/2 hours after we started, only about 90 minutes longer than we
had hoped.
Looking
back now, even the toilet-seat diaper change was nothing compared with what
loomed ahead.
Daddy’s Log: Day 3, St. Louis metro
Miles: 1,165, Engine hours: 21.3.
Miles: 1,165, Engine hours: 21.3.
A
planned full day of rest before heading to South Dakota to see my family on our
tour’s first leg. A day of sweet, sweet
sleep while the grandparents got to spend plenty of time with the boy, even
though the head cold kept my wife in bed nearly the entire day, which wasn’t
great. It WAS nice not to have to play Minivan Jenga for a day.
Daddy’s Log: Day 4, St. Louis metro
Miles: 1,165. 10:30 a.m. Rain, 68 degrees. (Remember, this is
early July)
With a
600-plus-mile trip to South Dakota ahead of us, and a rainy day ahead
along our route on I-70, we had hoped to get rolling by 10:30 or 11 a.m. so we
could deal with slower traffic and still likely reach my parents’ place near
sunset, which would hopefully avoid the boy’s nighttime extended solos.
As
Minivan Jenga began again, rain began falling. We didn’t think anything of it.
After all, in Florida, even a 15-minute deluge doesn’t mean much. Just wait for
the heavy stuff to pass and you’re good to go.
Yeah,
well …
 |
| Trust me: Playing Minivan Jenga in the pouring rain is no sweet dream. |
The
rain picked up in a hurry, and within 10 minutes, had equaled the heavy downpours
we get at home. Only problem was it didn’t appear ready to stop, and, unlike in
Florida, the already-soaked ground can’t hold as much rain.
Thinking
all the good-byes had been said, and the last of what we’d need was ready for
takeoff, I rounded up the dogs and the cooler and headed inside to get our headliner and tour manager.
It was
just before 11 and despite the rain, things seemed to be on track.
Except
they weren’t quite ready. No problem. It’d only be 5-10 minutes and we’d be
ready to roll.
Then, a
few minutes later, I looked outside.
The end
of this driveway sits a few feet lower than the street, and literally within a
couple of minutes, torrents of rainwater had turned the 10-15 feet behind our
back tires into a small river. We might have been able to get through had we
left at that instant – maybe.
But
after just a few more minutes, the pool of water was so deep that had we tried
to back out, the bottom of the van’s body almost certainly would have been in
the water.
We
weren’t going anywhere just yet. Everything we had packed, including both dogs,
would have to wait out the rain delay in the van.
By this
point, my shirt, shoes and parts of my shorts were unleashing trickles of
water. As the clock dragged on, any hope of us reaching our destination by
sundown, or even within an hour of it, was gone. Hell, getting there by
midnight seemed like a prize.
With
neither my wife or I completely over our colds and nowhere near fully rested,
it had clearly sunk in why touring bands either hire a driver or have more than
one adult who can take the wheel for a while.
But the
tour had to continue. We had concert dates and adoring fans to meet.
Finally,
at about 11:20, the rain let up, and with assurances the new river usually
recedes fairly quickly, now it was a tired time watching Mother Nature pit two
of her forces against each other: Gravity vs. weather: Who would win? Exciting,
right?
Yet
another 20 minutes later, the lake/river had dropped some, and though it didn’t
seem low enough to back through yet, a quick look at the radar showed another
large, heavy cell bearing down on the area. Time to go outside and measure just
how deep that water was.
After a
quick check and briefly considering just how much an escape across the front
lawn would tear up the overly soaked grass, the choice was either go then and
risk bottoming out or begin another round of Minivan Jenga and wait for what
might be hours.
Baby Across America Tour: Behind the scenes
Part 3: Nightmare Road/Poopapalooza
Part 4: We're HOW far away?
No comments:
Post a Comment