It got me thinking though. Normally, there is little else to do on the 3 1/2 hour drive back to Denver. I've spent many many hours on the Interstate. I've used it to traverse this country many a time. I've had a few cars, from a Camaro to a Mazda to a Porsche to my Cherokee today. I've driven many a mile, and I have many a tale to tell...
Middle school, camping with my Dad, his friend, and a buddy of mine. We'd recently discovered metal, and spent much of the trip listening to Metallica and Motley Crue. My Dad's friend was quite taken with our new found musical tastes, grabbing the cassette cases to read the lyrics and mocking them mercilessly. I remember City Boy Blues by the Crue becoming something about magpies in the hands of this guy.
On our way home, we stopped at a Pizza Hut somewhere in the mountains just off of the highway. We were dirty and scraggly; my friend and I were likely wearing some weird middle school stoner outfits to boot. The rest of the patrons at the Pizza Hut were good old boys, cowboy boots and hats, plaid shirts, beards, the whole nine yards. And they weren't shy about staring at us through the whole meal.
As Pizza Huts go, this was a nice one. There was even a jukebox in one corner. As we were wrapping up our meal, my Dad's friend went to the bathroom. When he came back, he plunked a five dollar bill on the table, looking straight at me and my friend. "Take this and go put some music on."
I stared back at him. "But, we're leaving soon".
"That's right. Go and play the most obnoxious stuff you can find".
It took me a couple of minutes before I got it. We took that five bucks and went nuts. Motley Crue, Kiss, Nazareth, Van Halen, probably some Def Leppard filled the Pizza Hut where moments before Alabama had reined. At .25 a song, we had over an hour of music queued up, and we weren't shy about repeating particular favorite tunes. We stayed for maybe two songs, and the stares that we got as we walked out were legendary.
High School, driving my 78 Camaro. I'd made friends with a kid in my gym class that was also friends with another guy I hung out with. He was kind of a jock whereas I was doing my best to be a stoner, but we had an uneasy relationship and I offered to give him a ride home. We jumped in and I took off like a bat out of hell. The passenger door flew open, giving him quite a start, particularly as I laughed maniacally, telling him, "yeah, you gotta really slam it". I'm a bit surprised we're still friends after all these years, actually.
High School, driving my 74 Duster. When I first got it, I had a terrible habit of locking the keys in it. What I learned early on is that if you pulled the door windows away from the door frame you could get an arm in there to pop the lock. My friend in the above story had just the right sized arms for the job, and between us we had it down to a science- I'd pull it back, he'd stick his arm in, off we'd go.
My friend and I went to the DMV to licence the Duster, and yep sure enough I locked the keys in. "No problem", my friend said, "go in and I'll get the keys". I trusted him, so I went in. He was outside for a little while and eventually came in and tossed me the keys. But I could tell by the look in his eyes that something was wrong.
"We need to be careful when we leave here", he said. "I couldn't hold the window and get my arm in, but a guy and girl were walking by so I asked her to stick her arm in." He continued. "I'm sorry dude, but I pulled too hard and the window shattered. The glass went everywhere. I think the guy with the girl was her pimp and he looked pretty pissed."
We made it outside and found a pimp free environment as well as a Duster that had one fewer window than it had had an hour ago. My friend was pretty devastated about breaking the window and offered to steal some plexiglass from his Dad to use as a replacement. But that is a story for another day...
High School, seeing my friend's 68 Mustang for the first time. "I was driving it home and the muffler fell off". As he's talking he pulls out a spark plug and dips his finger in the hole. "Oh cool, oil. Looks pretty clean". I smiled and nodded as inside I smacked my head and felt terrible for him.
High School, pulling out my stereo for some unrecalled reason. I didn't unhook the battery first. Smoke and flames started coming from the dash. I put them out by bashing them with the stereo. It never worked quite right again...
Homecoming night, my senior year of high school. After the dance, I hooked up with a good friend. We had a carton of smokes and no curfew. Also, no girls with us as we'd dropped them off already, which somewhat curtailed our options. The night coincided with the night before the day that my Mom was leaving Colorado to go and live in Iowa with her soon to be new husband. Nicotined to the max, my buddy and I thought it a smashing idea to head out in the general direction of Iowa, find a place to park, and wait for my Mom to pass by and wave at her.
We made it to about Limon before we figured out that this was a bit of a boring way to pass a Saturday night, much less a Homecoming night. We got back around 3 in the morning, slept until 2 the next day, and totally missed my Mom leaving. We also later learned that while you can get to Iowa via Limon on I-70, 76 to I-80 is actually the optimum route and indeed the one that she had taken.
Just after graduation, my two best friends and my on again, off again girlfriend headed out from Colorado to Iowa to
Just inside of Nebraska, maybe York, or Ogallala or some similar town, my buddy was driving the Javelin owned by my other buddy when the engine, well, exploded is perhaps a bit dramatic, so let's say suffered such a complete a utter failure that he had to coast it to the next town where it stopped. And never as far as I can remember moved of it's own volition again. I had to pack my stuff up, load it into my 74 Duster, and head out to pick them up; accelerating my exit from Iowa by a week. I shed no tears over this fact. My Javelin owning friend spent the ride home sitting behind me and playing with the hairs growing out of my shoulders for some reason that I've never been able to discern. I like to think that he was just blowing off steam about his car blowing up.
A couple of years later, the same friend that I spent homecoming with/ had a shoulder hair fetish and I had 2 days off in a row, a rare occasion indeed. We used the time to drive to Iowa and see my Mom.
A 12 hour drive each way, we were left with about 12 hours in Iowa proper, which was just enough time to say hi, sleep a little bit, and get back in the car to head back. Going out was fine. Coming back was misery. I slept very little, and tried to split the driving time equitably with my friend. In the middle of Nebraska, we stopped to switch as I was falling asleep at the wheel. I climbed into the back seat and was half asleep in seconds.
Minutes later, I heard my friend say, "Chris. Chris? Chris! Are we supposed to be going East or West?"
"West"
"Oh. Ok." A few minutes later, I felt us exit the highway, loop over the overpass, and head back the way we had came. I didn't sleep much the rest of the way.
Driving to Vegas is a rite of passage; it must be done at least once in each lifetime. I've been fortunate enough to do it a few times. We took my wife's Eclipse Spyder once and only once, and for good reason.
She drove most of the way, more because like most convertibles, a Spyder is not ideal for a 6'3" 240 something dude to pilot than anything else. As usual, she was going a bit faster than the law would prefer, and in this case, a county sheriff in some podunk county in Utah decided to ask her to stop for a moment so he could discuss the situation with her up close and personally.
He actually was pretty mellow for a Utah redneck sheriff; citing her for 10 over instead of 30 or so over as he could have. Unfortunately, the ticket went into the glove box and stayed there for about 6 months. She called the county clerk, was told that everything's just fine, honey, as long as you pay your fine, and promptly once again forgot to pay the ticket.
As far as I know, there is still a warrant in the state of Utah for my lovely wife, although at this point I'm guessing that the statute of limitations has expired.
Christmas Day, I'm guessing almost 20 years ago. Writing this now, I notice a trend related to driving adventures during the holidays. This probably means something or something.
Driving from BFE Iowa to Omaha to catch a plane, My then girlfriend now wife and I were in a rental car, and for reasons that I can't figure out now (nor can I ask for clarification), my Mom and stepfather were following us in their car to the airport, a 2.5 hour drive on highways and Interstates.
I caught the side of the road and as I jerked the wheel to pull off of it, hit black ice and proceeded to spin out of control. I took my foot completely off of the pedals, not touching the gas nor the brakes, and did with Bill Cosby always suggested- if you go into a skid, turn in the direction of the skid. I can still hear the sound of my hands slapping against the wheel as I spun into one 360 turn after another. My goal was really to keep the car on the road and out of the ditch. Getting into a ditch in Iowa is not good, particularly in a rental car when one has a plane to catch.
I'd guess in all it lasted 30, maybe 60 seconds. We probably did about 5 or 6 360s. At the time, it was like we were stuck in a time warp; it stood still for an eternity as we spun and spun and spun. Eventually, we began to slow, and I so so gently pressed the brake, wincing as I did so in the terror of making things worse. We ended up stopping in our lane. pointed in the direction we were supposed to be headed. When it was finally over, I put the car in park, and looked over at my lady. She was stock still, eyes like dinner plates , staring straight ahead, every muscle tensed. She'd been sound asleep when the skid started and awoke to us spinning out of control. I made sure she was OK, got out of the car, stumbled to the trunk, pulled out a smoke with trembling hands, and was saved by my stepdad who lit it for me while saying, "that is probably the best piece of driving I have ever seen. I have no idea how you were able to keep it on the road".
Once we changed pants, we were on our way again and I kept a wide berth from the side of the road the rest of the way.
Christmas Eve night, perhaps around 12 years ago now. We lived in Grand Junction at the time, and had gone to Denver to celebrate with family, but had to get back in time for my wife to work at the hospital Christmas Day. It was snowing pretty hard, and I was shifting my F150 back and forth between 2 and 4 wheel drive. As we came up Vail Pass, a Pathfinder blew past me, doing probably about 75 or so, which while likely around the speed limit was a bit too fast for conditions. I came around a sharp turn to find the Pathfinder sideways across the road, the woman behind the wheel's eyes the size of dishes as she saw me coming up upon her. We stopped in time, and waited for her to get herself back situated. As we passed her, she mouthed to us, "Merry Christmas", and proceeded to follow behind us the remainder of the way to Grand Junction. I guess she figured that if she followed us she'd be safer, and I hope that that was indeed the case.
Maybe five years ago, again at Christmas time. We were visiting from Minnesota and heading from Denver to Grand Junction to see my Dad for a day or so. We got up through Eisenhower tunnel and came out the West side in the middle of a snowstorm. About halfway down the hill, the snow started to come down so heavily that it was moving horizontally. It looked as though we were piloting the Millennium Falcon after engaging the hyper drive. As calmly as I could, I said, "I can't see either side of the road. I can't see anything behind us; all I can do right now is look straight ahead because if I don't we're going to get lost in this whiteout". I continued, "If we stop now, we will get hit from behind for sure. I need you to make sure that I am in the lines and guide me down."
My wife stayed calm, unrolling her window so she could look out and find the lines of the road, and repeatedly telling me, "we're fine" you're doing good, go left, GO LEFT!"
We made it to Dillon after awhile, found a hotel that had an Old Chicago attached to it, got a room even though we'd planned to drive straight through, went to the restaurant, and got thoroughly plowed. Never again, she swore over and over again, never again...
We made it home safely last night, no thanks to the morons that we shared the road with. I'm sure that there will be many more adventures to be had in this life, on these roads. For now though, I hope you have enjoyed reliving many of the journeys that my friends, my wife, and my family have had.
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