That morning seemed to have a new light. It was a new day. After all, we had slept (albeit only a few hours, but still) in a hotel, we weren’t starving, and we had our babies with us. Things weren’t all that bad. Or maybe it was just that I was determined not to let a bunch of negative incidents cloud what this entire trip was really about: Christopher and I making a HUGE move together. There was a lot we were dealing with, but I think we were doing pretty well, all things considered.
In reality and with only a bit of sugar-coating, we had stayed in a not-so-nice place, but to us, it was a welcome break from Big Bertha. Though I was out of it the night before, I did still notice tears (err, by that I do mean ‘rips’ not the salt-water manifestations of days of disappointment) in the carpet, an ironing board with some substance on it I decided not to investigate, and that the plastic shower stall had numerous cracks and breaks. But, I still showered in it; it didn’t leak—much. It was nice to have the opportunity to lie down for a bit instead of sitting, too. The pillows weren’t all that bad, either. We tried not to think about everything else much at all.
We were in a hotel off the highway just a little, surrounded by tons of truckers, which, by purely size standards, I guess we were one of them. (This place certainly didn’t have any ridiculous restrictions on where a truck could park… they were everywhere!) That was something—it was funny to drive by an 18 wheeler and be on the same level. We could look in their eyes (when they didn’t have them down for texting or something), and it was funny to watch them react to Jack or Mau Yin with their faces pressed against the window in curiosity like a dog wanting to let his ears flap in the wind. When I would drive around in Indy, my beetle, I barely reached the top of the huge trucks’ tires. So, riding around in Bertha was an experience, if nothing else.
Honestly, though, it was an experience I was ready to ‘file and come back to later’ when I could see the humor. We were on our way to El Paso to see what would be done about our problems, and I really hoped for a different truck. I was tired of having my entire being vibrate and shake constantly. We had a few more hours before we reached El Paso, and one thing was on my mind: We have to get Whataburger before we leave Texas. As we drove into El Paso, my eyes were pealed for signs with that familiar “W.” Then I remembered our handy GPS had a “points of interest” option.
If the last Texas Whataburger wasn’t a point of interest, I didn’t know what was!
Sure enough, the GPS did not disappoint. We found the Whataburger. It was surrounded by several ethnic restaurants and little shops. We parked behind it near a large dumpster. We left Jack and Mau Yin sleeping under the seats and went to get our food. We ordered our food “to go” and the lady taking our order gave us our total… in Spanish. I took Spanish in high school, only two years, but I got the general idea; she laughed after a second of Christopher looking really confused looking at his wallet and then repeated the total in English. (I don’t think he took Spanish—ever. If she had said it in sign language, though, he probably would have gotten it.) After waiting for a while, I noticed a worker trying to deliver food and not finding the table. I got her attention, found out what was in the order, and let her know it was ours, but we ordered it “to go.” She passed it from the tray to a couple of bags, and we were ready to get out of there. (Whataburger seems to be even more popular in El Paso!) We got our food and headed back to Bertha. Our little monkeys were standing on the bench seat staring out at us. Wish I had taken a picture; it was seriously the cutest thing ever.
We got in and had our meal. It was a beautiful day—blue skies, white clouds, breezy wind. We ate looking out at our surroundings. I wasn’t terribly interested in having the food portion of my meal. The food tasted a little different being that far out in West Texas, but, one thing did taste similar… the chocolate shake. Mmmm. It was good. I took a picture on my phone to remember the moment: my last Texas Whataburger. ::sigh::
When Christopher was finished eating, he turned the key and Big Bertha rumbled to life. We drove a few more miles down the road, following the GPS’ directions to PePe’s truck shop. He managed to maneuver the truck into the parking lot filled with other, familiar yellow trucks. We waited a few minutes in the cab of the truck discussing our next step. We even called the SOS line again to make sure that the shop was, indeed, expecting us that early afternoon. We were assured that they were definitely aware that we were coming. At that point, we jumped the couple of feet down to the ground from the cab and waited to be recognized as the something different in “one of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesn’t belong.” Eventually, an employee sauntered over to us. Christopher explained who we were, what was happening, et cetera.
A few more shop employees came over and they all began the process of figuring out what was going on with this truck. Jack and Mau were under the seat, not liking all the attention or probably the smell that accompanied our new location and new found friends. Christopher and I put their cage together and I struggled to mom-handle them into the cage one at a time while Christopher returned to talking “shop talk.” After we removed the cats from the cab, one of the Penske employees started the engine, and within a few minutes knew the problem. And it wasn’t an easy one to fix. They moved the truck to a better place for them to work on it.
Side Note: Christopher is not here right now to remind me exactly what the problem was. It was a few weeks ago now, so, I certainly don’t remember. For most of you, anyway, you probably wouldn’t know what it meant anyway. (I didn’t!) All I know is, they figured it out in a matter of seconds after turning the truck on, and the emergency dude who delayed us hours outside of Austin obviously had no idea. Frustration.
As I was waiting near where the truck was with the cats, the wind really picked up. Jack and Mau Yin were shaking, and so was I. Christopher had wandered off with one of the guys who diagnosed Bertha’s problem. I was in the shade, by myself, in a flow-y dress (really comfortable for driving long distances, not so comfortable for sitting/standing in the wind surrounded by several male employees, looking like they are trying to ogle your goodies), holding my purse stuffed with any valuables we had in the cab, and trying to pet my terrified cats through the cage. After a bit of this, I called Christopher. He didn’t answer. I called again. He picked up, and I asked where he was. He said he was coming back over. When he reached me, I asked him to help me carry the cats across the parking lot to where the sun was shining. We crossed about 6 huge bays and set the cage down behind where they had moved the truck and car carrier with the Lexus. We were told the truck would not be able to be fixed while we waited, and we’d have the switch to a different truck. Then we waited.
And waited.
Still some more waiting.
An hour or so later, we were told the truck we were switching to was almost ready. 30 minutes after that, maybe, the truck was going to be pulled near the old truck so we could move all of our belongings from one to the other. Crap. Moving everything into the truck once sucks, twice, as you could imagine, sucks double. To make matters worse, out of all the employees, only ONE helped us move our things, ONE out of probably 15 or 20. I found out after that when we stood talking while they filled the gas tank, that he was 70 years old. 70! He didn’t look it, but I was still shocked that he was the only one that helped us. If someone, ANYONE, else had offered their help, it would have cut the time it took in half, probably. Christopher did most of the heavy lifting (no surprise), and I felt awful that he had to do it all over again.
Eventually, though, we were in a smaller truck (thank goodness!) with everything switched over. The delay had been longer than it should have been, but we were determined to make it to Tempe, Arizona to see Erik and be out of the truck once more. Many hours later, that goal was reached.
After driving across Texas, passing New Mexico seemed to happen in a blink. The smaller truck didn’t rattle everything nearly as much as Bertha had, but there was no bench seat for Jack and Mau to hide under. Guess they made it work, though. Driving was easier for Christopher, we could hear each other speak without yelling over the noise, and we could maintain a constant speed—even going up hills!!!
Just before midnight, we pulled up to Erik’s house. We unloaded our cats from the truck, passed his cats hissing in the hall, and got our things settled. We fed the cats and locked them in the room. We weren’t going to be there long enough to try to get our cats to be friends. I expected to be exhausted, and I’m pretty sure I was, but seeing Erik gave me a newfound energy. We got a tour of his great house, including a hot tub room, and his awesome backyard with a pool. Then we sat around his living room talking. I got to hear a lot about what he and his fiancée, Katie, had been up to since we talked last. (They are getting married in June, so this was a visit I was determined to make since I can’t fly out to New York for the wedding.) We laughed and joked and listened to our kids/cats yell at each other through the door barricade. Before we knew it, it was pushing 3 o’clock. We said our “goodnights” and headed to bed.
The next morning, we set off, the three of us, to find somewhere to eat. We decided on IHOP. I suppose people make the decision to go there pretty easily, but this was actually a big step for me. It was my first trip back to the restaurant in over two years… my last visit was with my dad and brother before my dad’s last trip to chemo. I couldn’t return in Houston, but I was able to do it with my husband and an old friend in Arizona. New journeys… I’m happy to say it was a great trip. We got some food and had more great conversation. A few hours later, we were back to the truck and heading on our way.
The last leg of the trip took a little longer than expected. California has this nifty little law that when you have a trailer or are towing anything, the max speed you can attain is 55. Neat, huh? Longer story somewhat shorter: we reached our hotel, parked the truck and trailer in the front, and went to check in to our room. More delays when the room we had reserved (that allowed pets) wasn’t available, but we did eventually get in a room. We reserved a King, but we got two Queens. No worries—the room looked great as far as we were concerned!
So, at this point, we made it. We were in our destination state with a truck filled with our belongings, one car between the two of us, and nowhere to live. Challenge.
Next time on California Dreamin’: Ash and Chris FINALLY in California, they start their search for an apartment that they can inhabit safely for six months to a year, learn a thing or two about “the 10,” fight traffic in California, and discover a whole new level of “bad” driver while struggling with standards and expectations…
Tune in again next time. Promise the “travel log only” blogging is over!
…General bat time… same bat blog.
*”On the Road Again” by the Texas-great, Willie Nelson
In reality and with only a bit of sugar-coating, we had stayed in a not-so-nice place, but to us, it was a welcome break from Big Bertha. Though I was out of it the night before, I did still notice tears (err, by that I do mean ‘rips’ not the salt-water manifestations of days of disappointment) in the carpet, an ironing board with some substance on it I decided not to investigate, and that the plastic shower stall had numerous cracks and breaks. But, I still showered in it; it didn’t leak—much. It was nice to have the opportunity to lie down for a bit instead of sitting, too. The pillows weren’t all that bad, either. We tried not to think about everything else much at all.
We were in a hotel off the highway just a little, surrounded by tons of truckers, which, by purely size standards, I guess we were one of them. (This place certainly didn’t have any ridiculous restrictions on where a truck could park… they were everywhere!) That was something—it was funny to drive by an 18 wheeler and be on the same level. We could look in their eyes (when they didn’t have them down for texting or something), and it was funny to watch them react to Jack or Mau Yin with their faces pressed against the window in curiosity like a dog wanting to let his ears flap in the wind. When I would drive around in Indy, my beetle, I barely reached the top of the huge trucks’ tires. So, riding around in Bertha was an experience, if nothing else.
Honestly, though, it was an experience I was ready to ‘file and come back to later’ when I could see the humor. We were on our way to El Paso to see what would be done about our problems, and I really hoped for a different truck. I was tired of having my entire being vibrate and shake constantly. We had a few more hours before we reached El Paso, and one thing was on my mind: We have to get Whataburger before we leave Texas. As we drove into El Paso, my eyes were pealed for signs with that familiar “W.” Then I remembered our handy GPS had a “points of interest” option.
If the last Texas Whataburger wasn’t a point of interest, I didn’t know what was!
Sure enough, the GPS did not disappoint. We found the Whataburger. It was surrounded by several ethnic restaurants and little shops. We parked behind it near a large dumpster. We left Jack and Mau Yin sleeping under the seats and went to get our food. We ordered our food “to go” and the lady taking our order gave us our total… in Spanish. I took Spanish in high school, only two years, but I got the general idea; she laughed after a second of Christopher looking really confused looking at his wallet and then repeated the total in English. (I don’t think he took Spanish—ever. If she had said it in sign language, though, he probably would have gotten it.) After waiting for a while, I noticed a worker trying to deliver food and not finding the table. I got her attention, found out what was in the order, and let her know it was ours, but we ordered it “to go.” She passed it from the tray to a couple of bags, and we were ready to get out of there. (Whataburger seems to be even more popular in El Paso!) We got our food and headed back to Bertha. Our little monkeys were standing on the bench seat staring out at us. Wish I had taken a picture; it was seriously the cutest thing ever.
We got in and had our meal. It was a beautiful day—blue skies, white clouds, breezy wind. We ate looking out at our surroundings. I wasn’t terribly interested in having the food portion of my meal. The food tasted a little different being that far out in West Texas, but, one thing did taste similar… the chocolate shake. Mmmm. It was good. I took a picture on my phone to remember the moment: my last Texas Whataburger. ::sigh::
When Christopher was finished eating, he turned the key and Big Bertha rumbled to life. We drove a few more miles down the road, following the GPS’ directions to PePe’s truck shop. He managed to maneuver the truck into the parking lot filled with other, familiar yellow trucks. We waited a few minutes in the cab of the truck discussing our next step. We even called the SOS line again to make sure that the shop was, indeed, expecting us that early afternoon. We were assured that they were definitely aware that we were coming. At that point, we jumped the couple of feet down to the ground from the cab and waited to be recognized as the something different in “one of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesn’t belong.” Eventually, an employee sauntered over to us. Christopher explained who we were, what was happening, et cetera.
A few more shop employees came over and they all began the process of figuring out what was going on with this truck. Jack and Mau were under the seat, not liking all the attention or probably the smell that accompanied our new location and new found friends. Christopher and I put their cage together and I struggled to mom-handle them into the cage one at a time while Christopher returned to talking “shop talk.” After we removed the cats from the cab, one of the Penske employees started the engine, and within a few minutes knew the problem. And it wasn’t an easy one to fix. They moved the truck to a better place for them to work on it.
Side Note: Christopher is not here right now to remind me exactly what the problem was. It was a few weeks ago now, so, I certainly don’t remember. For most of you, anyway, you probably wouldn’t know what it meant anyway. (I didn’t!) All I know is, they figured it out in a matter of seconds after turning the truck on, and the emergency dude who delayed us hours outside of Austin obviously had no idea. Frustration.
As I was waiting near where the truck was with the cats, the wind really picked up. Jack and Mau Yin were shaking, and so was I. Christopher had wandered off with one of the guys who diagnosed Bertha’s problem. I was in the shade, by myself, in a flow-y dress (really comfortable for driving long distances, not so comfortable for sitting/standing in the wind surrounded by several male employees, looking like they are trying to ogle your goodies), holding my purse stuffed with any valuables we had in the cab, and trying to pet my terrified cats through the cage. After a bit of this, I called Christopher. He didn’t answer. I called again. He picked up, and I asked where he was. He said he was coming back over. When he reached me, I asked him to help me carry the cats across the parking lot to where the sun was shining. We crossed about 6 huge bays and set the cage down behind where they had moved the truck and car carrier with the Lexus. We were told the truck would not be able to be fixed while we waited, and we’d have the switch to a different truck. Then we waited.
And waited.
Still some more waiting.
An hour or so later, we were told the truck we were switching to was almost ready. 30 minutes after that, maybe, the truck was going to be pulled near the old truck so we could move all of our belongings from one to the other. Crap. Moving everything into the truck once sucks, twice, as you could imagine, sucks double. To make matters worse, out of all the employees, only ONE helped us move our things, ONE out of probably 15 or 20. I found out after that when we stood talking while they filled the gas tank, that he was 70 years old. 70! He didn’t look it, but I was still shocked that he was the only one that helped us. If someone, ANYONE, else had offered their help, it would have cut the time it took in half, probably. Christopher did most of the heavy lifting (no surprise), and I felt awful that he had to do it all over again.
Eventually, though, we were in a smaller truck (thank goodness!) with everything switched over. The delay had been longer than it should have been, but we were determined to make it to Tempe, Arizona to see Erik and be out of the truck once more. Many hours later, that goal was reached.
After driving across Texas, passing New Mexico seemed to happen in a blink. The smaller truck didn’t rattle everything nearly as much as Bertha had, but there was no bench seat for Jack and Mau to hide under. Guess they made it work, though. Driving was easier for Christopher, we could hear each other speak without yelling over the noise, and we could maintain a constant speed—even going up hills!!!
Just before midnight, we pulled up to Erik’s house. We unloaded our cats from the truck, passed his cats hissing in the hall, and got our things settled. We fed the cats and locked them in the room. We weren’t going to be there long enough to try to get our cats to be friends. I expected to be exhausted, and I’m pretty sure I was, but seeing Erik gave me a newfound energy. We got a tour of his great house, including a hot tub room, and his awesome backyard with a pool. Then we sat around his living room talking. I got to hear a lot about what he and his fiancée, Katie, had been up to since we talked last. (They are getting married in June, so this was a visit I was determined to make since I can’t fly out to New York for the wedding.) We laughed and joked and listened to our kids/cats yell at each other through the door barricade. Before we knew it, it was pushing 3 o’clock. We said our “goodnights” and headed to bed.
The next morning, we set off, the three of us, to find somewhere to eat. We decided on IHOP. I suppose people make the decision to go there pretty easily, but this was actually a big step for me. It was my first trip back to the restaurant in over two years… my last visit was with my dad and brother before my dad’s last trip to chemo. I couldn’t return in Houston, but I was able to do it with my husband and an old friend in Arizona. New journeys… I’m happy to say it was a great trip. We got some food and had more great conversation. A few hours later, we were back to the truck and heading on our way.
The last leg of the trip took a little longer than expected. California has this nifty little law that when you have a trailer or are towing anything, the max speed you can attain is 55. Neat, huh? Longer story somewhat shorter: we reached our hotel, parked the truck and trailer in the front, and went to check in to our room. More delays when the room we had reserved (that allowed pets) wasn’t available, but we did eventually get in a room. We reserved a King, but we got two Queens. No worries—the room looked great as far as we were concerned!
So, at this point, we made it. We were in our destination state with a truck filled with our belongings, one car between the two of us, and nowhere to live. Challenge.
Next time on California Dreamin’: Ash and Chris FINALLY in California, they start their search for an apartment that they can inhabit safely for six months to a year, learn a thing or two about “the 10,” fight traffic in California, and discover a whole new level of “bad” driver while struggling with standards and expectations…
Tune in again next time. Promise the “travel log only” blogging is over!
…General bat time… same bat blog.
*”On the Road Again” by the Texas-great, Willie Nelson
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