2 short years ago, I rolled into this very Super 8 parking lot in Elkhart Indiana, and was immediately greeted by some abandoned goats making a bit of a ruckus in a trailer outside what was soon to be my room.
Tonight I rolled in, and where there was once a set of naying goats, there are 4 gentlemen cooking beer can chicken on the tailgate of a rather dilapidated Ford F-150.
I wonder what I missed last year.
I’m ready to join them, as it has been a hell of last couple of days.
I took on WAY to much work, which made last minute packing and planning a real exciting time. My pick-em-up truck witnessed me packing up Kai for our journey and displayed a fit of jealousy in the form of acting up at every stoplight I paused at during the last week, forcing me to throw a spare key and bank check at my mechanic, and to top it all off, I was eliminated from Daisy of Love last night.
What the HELL does 12 Pack have that I don’t?
So, after working my ass to the bone, limping my truck to the garage and getting my heart broke by Daisy Del La Hoya, I decided it was time for a ride.
Excuse me,
THE Ride.
10 a.m. is never my ideal time for a departure, but 10 a.m. it was. Light sprinkles for the first 40 or so miles out of town, so I was happy I bought a Gore-tex rain suit last week.
I once ran into a Wal Mart outside of Indy a few years ago, purchased a bright yellow cheepy to get me home through an Indiana gusher, and 4 bucks and about 12 miles later down the interstate, the wind had its way with it and it looked as if Charlie Brown was put through a shredder.
200 dollars is quite a bit of money to shell out for gear that you go OUT of your way to avoid using, but I got every cent out of it by the time I hit Ohio today.
I got absolutely baptized, some of the heaviest rain I’ve ridden through in years.
I tried yelling FUCK really, REALLY loud, but this storm is a cold mistress, and it seemed unimpressed.
To make things worse, during the heaviest of downpours, I noticed out the corner of my eye, a very old VW Micro Bus coming clear across from the slow lane with gale force ignorance, to immediately acquire MY lane. Due to my cat like reflexes I narrowly avoided becoming a speck of Farfennugan on the interstate dividing wall.
When I recovered, I noticed he not only missed seeing me, he was driving with NO lights on, save for the DOME light, as he was trying to decide if this was indeed the correct Grateful Dead concert bootleg CASSETTE TAPE he needed to listen to while taking out yours truly.
I let him pass me, painfully choosing to keep both hands safely on handlebars instead of showing him my displeasure of his driving skills.
I didn’t want to mess with him in these conditions. Judging by the shape of his vehicle, I would hazard a guess that it didn’t have power steering OR brakes, and that kind of machine rolling down the highway at 60 mph simply cannot be reasoned with.
I’m hoping that when he gets home, he takes the time to look into some of those amazing deals they have on new cars nowadays, ya know, as soon as Dino gets off his chest of course.
I will say this though, and I defy you to disagree with me. My MP-3 player has become self aware, and is quickly becoming my best friend in the whole wide world.
He picked up on how miserable my ride became, and unrelentingly pummeled my eardrums with the heaviest music I added to his music directory. All that headbanging gave me the perfect attitude to get through almost 150 miles of sheer misery, AND, when the sun broke, cleared up and became absolutely STUNNING, he took off all the attitude, and gave me about 30 mins of Allman Brothers to ease back and relax to.
Of course, any Allman Brothers Band fan knows, that amounted to exactly 1 song.
He knows what I should be listening to at all times. In fact, just last week, I got a little drunk, and tried to download some Lady GaGa onto it, and he jumped out of my lap, and hurled himself out the window.
I can’t even begin to guess how he got the window latch unstuck.
I’m telling you, self aware.
I need to give him a name.
Something cool.
Like, Arthur Fonzerelli
Or
Artimus Pyle……
Let me sleep on it.
Speaking of slumber, I should retire here shortly, as I have absolutely NOTHING else to report, no pictures to upload, a few phone calls to make, and need to be getting to sleep instead of watching the History Channel, and picking though the smorgasbord of homemade goodies I have spread out over the Elkhart Indiana Super 8 Double Bed.
Homemade Peanut Butter treats and gummi bear residue now adhering my little round belly to the underside of my NEW Mini Notebook.
Eat your heart out Daisy.
Peace, Grease and Beats.
