Daddy’s Log: Day 10, Sioux Falls, S.D.
Miles:
1,896, Engine hours: 33.2. Clear, 93 degrees (that’s more like it)
How we
managed to see all the different relatives and friends, fit in some golf and a
cookout in five days is still a blur, but it was time to turn back. Parts of
the boy’s first teeth had finally pushed through, the grandparents, aunts and
various cousins had essentially absconded with our tour’s rock star for the length of
the stay, and it was wonderful.
Though
my wife and I were both tired, we were both also finally healthy except for
some minor congestion.
Having
been through the nightmare heading northwest, and knowing we were going to stop
to visit a friend in Columbia for a couple of hours, we hoped to leave again
around 11 a.m.
So, of
course, it was high noon by the time we returned to the life of long-haul dog
and baby trucking, only this time in a scorching, extremely humid day -- a bit
jarring after five or six days of weather more like early fall in the Upper
Midwest.
As I
drove south with the cloudless sky helping send the sun directly onto me, we
had a short discussion of whether or how much I could get sunburned on the
drive heading straight south.
Meanwhile,
the boy seemed to be trying to sing the Alphabet Song using only the letter “A”
at increasingly loud volume.
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| Who's up for an oil and filter change on a picnic table on a 96-degree day? |
This
time, the smaller dog made it all the way south of Sioux City, almost 75
minutes, before sounding the poop alarm. We stopped at the Iowa Welcome Center,
which was quite nice, though not nearly as extravagant as Kentucky’s. Yes, this
is what passes for excitement and interesting topics on tour drives like this.
As the
temperature soared into the upper 90s and we rolled south, it became apparent
the boy needed changing soon. The next exit in west-central Iowa had what
appeared to be some sort of an RV park, which led to my wife changing a
7-month-old on top of a picnic table at a largely empty RV park.
Oh, the
scenery!
And the miles go on and on and on….
Long
road trips can lead to some strange things.
Like
listening all the way through 2 Unlimited’s “Get Ready for This,” which should
never be done.
Or a
42-year-old man gyrating wildly through the entirety of that overplayed Jock
Jams anthem, which should also never be done.
Or
taking an unscheduled “scenic” loop through Council Bluffs because the
straight, boring drive claimed another mental victim and lulled a certain
bad-90s-music-loving man into taking the wrong exit.
Or
trying to find something – anything – to grab attention after seemingly every
song on the satellite radio had been played three or four times during this
massive trip (ooh, Andy Grammer again? Help!) and there’s barely a cell signal.
Fortunately,
the boy was able to entertain himself with just three toys, along with occasional
insanity from one of his parents or dogs.
Even
though my wife was alert and driving, the weather was good and the van running
smoothly, I have to admit, I could feel a pit in my stomach as we headed back
off I-29 toward Nightmare Road. Those two bad experiences had to be just simple
coincidences, right? Could we reverse the curse?
Then we
got a few miles east of Kansas City and found ourselves in nearly stopped
traffic at about 5:30 p.m. on a weekday.
Turns
out we were about a mile behind an accident that had been removed from the main
lanes. You’d think that wouldn’t take long to get through. You’d be wrong. With both of us
realizing we’d soon need to stop for nature’s call, we creeped along at roughly
3 mph the entire mile.
In the
grand scheme of things, an extra 20 minutes or so is no big deal. But when
you’re not moving and you know you can’t get to a bathroom, things take a turn
for the worse.
Once
through that mess, our stop in Columbia was fun, and lasted much longer than
expected, of course. And took much longer to find our way back to Nightmare
Road thanks to the lack of lighting and the ever-increasing force of fatigue.
Which,
of course, meant our boy was about to hit his daily limit of 10 hours or so. (I
mean, seriously, how lucky could we have been? That’s ridiculously good.)
Sure
enough, almost as soon as getting on I-70 and facing intermittent construction,
the wailing began. That first tooth might technically have been through, but it
wasn’t fully out, and the second one was right behind.
At long
last, we got into my wife’s parents’ place at 1 a.m., but at least we were cleared for more days of fun, family and (hopefully) sleep.
 |
| Our tour done, a much less enthusiastic crew sets off for home. |
Daddy’s Log: Day … uh, who knows, man? 15? St.
Louis metro.
Miles: 2,625, Engine hours: Lost the will to even check this.
Mostly clear, 88 degrees, with afternoon rain expected.
Another
stint of several days, and another set of goodbyes that came way, way too soon.
Our little headliner did his job, wowing fans seeing him for the first time and
leaving everyone wanting more.
But it
was time to head back to the studio to work on another project.
So, on
the morning of the final departure, and after two weeks and 2,600 miles of
this, you’d think I’d have mastered Minivan Jenga by this point.
Not so
much.
This
time, I stood back and think I’m finally done, except for the humans and dogs. My
wife thought differently. Item after item kept getting added at the last
minute, which annoyed me -- even more so when I realized almost all of it was simply me forgetting
those things had to go with us.
I was
quickly losing the will to stay awake, let alone the mental acuity needed to
successfully play Minivan Jenga.
That
said, we did seem to have mastered the motions of getting everything packed and
ready to go, and knowing even more rain was looming within a couple of hours,
we took a last sweep and began rolling once again at 11:15 a.m.
The
master plan was to again find a dog-friendly hotel somewhere south of Atlanta,
the farther south, the better. We felt a lot more confident this time, not only
because we had been through this before, but also because my wife and I were fully
healthy, somewhat rested, and our boy’s first tooth was pretty much all the way
through.
Wearily,
we made our way through the St. Louis area and onto the traffic/construction
scrum that was I-64 in Illinois. And, sure enough, like clockwork, 45 minutes
into our trip, the smaller dog sounded his poop alarm.
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| When not sounding a poop alarm, this was often the dogs' default position. |
After a
10-minute stop, we were back, and with traffic free and clear, and the radio
playing songs we hadn’t heard multiple times during the trip, it was about as
close to enjoyable as a long-haul trip can get.
Then
about two hours in came another poop alarm, this time from the boy, who had
turned 8 months old a day earlier.
The
stop turned into a prolonged break to grab food and water for us and the dogs,
a chance to rearrange things in the back seat and switch drivers. Amazingly, we
did all that in less than 20 minutes. Hey, maybe we WERE getting the hang of
this!
We
didn’t realize it then, of course, but it turns out I apparently donated the
changing pad that came with our diaper bag to a bathroom in southeastern
Illinois.
After
hearing the strains of “Honey I’m Good” by Andy Grammer and “Bad Blood” by
Taylor Swift for at least the fourth time that leg before switching over, I was
considering the likely fruitless game of trying to pull in a standard FM
station that wasn’t playing a commercial block or something awful.
But we
really were on a roll, only stopping every couple of hours or so, for gas or a
diaper change.
What’s
more, we were able to tune in to a Cardinals game (my wife’s favorite team) and
listen to the entire extra-inning game while driving through some interesting
scenery through Tennessee that we missed on the westward leg.
Such as
the fact that an inordinate number of places seemed to have some variation of
“Big Daddy’s” in the name, especially fireworks stands, gun shops and other
outdoors stores.
And the
sign for a “Weekend Flea Market” in eastern Tennessee that proudly proclaimed
on its giant sign: ANTIQUES JUNK
Sold!
I wish
I had pictures, but I was in no position to do so while driving, my wife
couldn’t get a good angle, and after all we’d dealt with, there was no way in
hell we were going stop on the side of the road.
At
about 7:45 p.m. EDT, we stopped at a Wendy’s for just short of a half-hour in
Chattanooga, and as best we can tell, I somehow lost the dog-food scoop there. I truly was on top of my game. Surprisingly, I didn’t lose any crucial van parts that day. Or
my shoes.
With
the sun now down, we made another stop at 9:35 in Marietta, Ga., for gas, a nature call and driver switch. We were approaching what we knew was our boy’s
daily limit of patience, and still needed to get through Atlanta and find a
place to sleep.
Optimistically,
we aimed for Macon, which seemed to offer quite a few options. Couldn’t be much
past Atlanta, right?
Oh, how
fatigue clouds one’s geography.
Despite
it being past 10 p.m. on a Sunday, once again, traffic was heavier than
expected through downtown Atlanta. And, once again, the trip was accompanied by
the yelling of a had-it-up-to-here baby boy. If you haven’t tried it, you
really should.
Once
through downtown Atlanta, my wife somehow got the boy to settle down, and the
drive to Macon went smoothly, getting to the hotel at about 11:15 p.m. EDT. The
hotel was affordable and pretty solid – the beds were actually comfortable and
didn’t smell faintly of mold. And once we went through the nearly two hours of
unpacking the van, feeding the boy, dogs and all the other nighttime routines,
the smaller dog hopped up to sleep next to me.
The
dogs stayed quiet – until hearing something outside and barking fairly softly,
but just enough to wake the boy briefly. Dammit.
Daddy’s Log: Day 16. Macon, Ga.
Miles: 3,270,
Engine hours: A lot, man. A lot. Clear, 90 degrees.
Good
grief, does 8:30 a.m. come early.
While
taking the dogs out and figuring out how to begin Minivan Jenga yet again at
about 9:30, holy crap, was it hot. I mean the kind of hot that
requires a heat advisory – in central Georgia.
I was
more concerned about what the weather would hold as we went through Florida mid-afternoon. But first, begin the packing again! Only three-quarters
of a minivan to go for this trip.
We got
rolling close to on time at 11 a.m., and outside of a stop that turned into 35
minutes north of Valdosta thanks to a weird traffic pattern on the exit and a
full bathroom, gas, dog and food refill.
At 2
p.m., we crossed back into Florida.
Many
people traveling to Florida finally reach the state line and think they can’t
be more than an hour or two from their destination. We knew better, figuring
we’d get home by 7 at worst.
Our
state had other ideas.
Throughout
our marathon trip, the unquestioned leader in bad road-trip experience was
Florida. From weather (brutal heat and humidity or torrential rain) to rude and
inconsiderate drivers, and just the simple fact that so many exits require so
much driving to get to a side road and a stop, like a gas station, it wasn’t
even close.
 |
| This is always a fun welcome-home gift. |
As we
approached the traffic nightmare that is Gainesville during the mid-afternoon,
the poop alarm sounded again. And during the stop, so did Mother Nature’s
alarm. Bring on the mid-afternoon heavy thunderstorms.
That
said, Florida also offers a wonderful taste of the weird, such as the “I Heart
Boobies” message painted on a trailer pulled by a car that paced us for a few
miles, leaving my wife and I channeling our inner 12-year-olds, laughing and
even chanting.
By the
time we got through the first 10 miles or so of the Turnpike, we were both
completely loopy, letting loose all manner of noises, making up songs mocking
the traffic, weather, each other, food we wanted to be eating, anything.
Once in
the Orlando area, we figured we were largely past any major traffic issues and
could be home in a little over two hours, maybe even by 7.
But
that would be too easy. An accident south of Kissimmee had shut down the
Turnpike both ways, although at least we learned about it from an overhead
electronic sign before running into it.
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| Home at last! Can't you just see the unbridled joy on my face? |
So it
was onto the Beeline (oh, sorry, I guess they want us to call it the
“Beachline” now), crawling for miles before getting past the Orlando airport,
and then once again, running through small storms as we went.
Though
we did get to see a double-rainbow a few different times in Brevard County.
Finally,
at 8:10 p.m., home sweet home!
All was
well – except for the fact that someone had somehow dented my car on the left
side and left a long scrape up most of the length of the driver-side door. The
way the car was parked and traffic flow means that required a particularly
idiotic brand of driving to pull something like that.
Oh, and
we apparently had picked up some new pets. Tiny cockroaches had invaded parts
of our kitchen!
That’s
quite a welcome home.
All in
all, after driving 3,799 miles with 74-plus hours of total engine running time
over 16 days, all we lost was one baby onesie, anything left of my decency
during Poopapalooza, the changing pad, the dog-food scoop, and the bigger dog’s
appetite for a few days at a time.
And
most of our sanity. Were we completely crazy? Probably.
We did
save a good bit of money, got to bring everything we wanted without extra
charge and managed some fun and even a couple of pretty good pictures along the
way.
That
said, if we ever pull that again, my wife and I both agree it needs to be done
either without the dogs or during a cooler time of year where they could be
left in the van for a half-hour or so without a problem. That’s still a big if.
One if
is an absolute, though. If I never hear Bad Blood or Andy Grammer’s hit on the
radio again, honey, I’m good.
Baby Across America Tour: Behind the scenes
Part 3: Nightmare Road/Poopapalooza
Part 4: We're HOW far away?
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