Not So Happy Trails, Pt. 2

byAJTrimble1

9.1K followers

Updated 5 years ago

Sorry, friends. The new job required an extremely intensive 4-week training program, so I apologize for my sporadic appearances within Wealthy Affiliate.

The good news is I passed my final and was released from training (and am doing quite well, thank you), so I am back in the writing saddle again. Now, on with the show and what you really came here for…

Oklahoma is OK

If you’ll recall, on the great western migration, last time my family and I had just rolled into Oklahoma and spent the night with a thunderstorm looming in the distance.

The next day, we hit the road and took our first break in a small city known as Shawnee. This is where things really fell apart. And I don’t mean the trip; I mean me.

You see, I am actually originally from Shawnee (and its smaller next-door cousin, Tecumseh.) I was only a child when my parents moved us all to Oregon. Now, over 40 years later, I found myself standing inside a grocery store with my own adult children, restocking supplies, and less than two miles from where I attended elementary school. Needless to say, it was a very emotional moment, and yes… my kids got to see dad cry.

By the way, do you know why our license plates all read “Oklahoma is OK”? According to my grandmother (rest her soul) it was because none of us actually knew how to spell “Mediocre” :-)

Moving on, one thing that was quite surprising was the number of industrial windmills there were. Standing guard on what little hilltops Oklahoma does have, as the sun began to fade they looked like something out of Stranger Things or the latest Stephen King movie.

Oh, and before you think I am getting too nostalgic reminiscing my childhood through rose-colored glasses, let me just say this: Dammit, Oklahoma. I truly love ya, but you seriously have to open the darn rest areas back up. There is no rational explanation for every rest stop in the entire state being under construction at the same time! Just sayin’.

Speeding Through Texas

They – whomever “they” are – say that things are always bigger in Texas. Now, I can’t speak for all that, but what I can affirm is just how big the road rules get.

I’m pretty sure there is not actual speed limit in Texas. At least not for semi-trucks. Sheesh! And the lane spacing? One guy passed me so close that I could tell that at one point as a child he had his tonsils removed. And I'm pretty sure he ate sardines and crackers for lunch.

But even if there is an official speed limit, it’s still must be extraordinary. Here’s proof…

The thing that shocked me the most was when we got to several sections of road construction. There she was, her black and white skin gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. The speed limit sign. Wait! Did I read that right? Do my eyes deceive me?

Holy cow… They DO do things bigger in Texas. Posted speed limit in the construction zone: 65 miles per hour. Yikes!

Budget Truck Rental

By the way, before we move on, may I go on a rant for a minute with a healthy word of wisdom? I mean, sure, we’re all laughing about it now, but at the time it was a nightmare.

If you ever require the services of a moving truck, please do NOT rent from Budget. The few hundred you will save over their competitors is just not worth it.

If you read the first part of this series, you saw the issue we had with the lights, forcing us to only drive during daylight hours. Then, after the repairs were unsuccessful, we were told that if we could just get it to our final destination – which, if you recall, was still 3000 freaking miles away – they would put the truck in the shop. Appalling, right? Just file that piece of info away for a bit; we’ll come back to it.

Then, as we drove, we realized that the passenger door was badly warped, so whenever we entered into a windy area (which is pretty much the sum total of Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and California), the wind would force the door to open to the point the dome light came on. My daughter thought she and the cat might be sucked out any minute. And I’m pretty sure the cat thought that, too, but my kitten-ease is a bit rusty, so she may have just be asking for the litter box to be changed.

Anyway, with all the electrical and mechanical issues the truck had, we were forced to be on the road longer than we were expecting or scheduled for. Naturally, we returned the truck late and was subsequently charged for an extra day – a day that wouldn’t have happened and that they were aware of, I remind you, had it not been for their crappy truck to begin with. We had to haggle for nearly three weeks for a refund, and were given a small token, take-it-or-leave-it, refund that didn’t even cover the late fee. And here is the best part…

Remember the information I had you tuck away a minute ago? You know, about the condition of the truck and how it didn’t belong on the road? Yup, you guessed it. One of the reasons they were so ticked off about the late return was because they had already scheduled it to be picked up by another unsuspecting customer. Talk about a company that is clueless.

So, for future reference, if I were you, I would stick to Penske. You’ve been warned.

Giddyap, Gallup

Finally, here we are friends. The moment you have all been waiting for. The infamous New Mexico Police story. Before we begin, just let me say I can sum it up in one word: Megan.

So, after traveling across the barren plains of Oklahoma, and through the Autobahn-inspired speeds of Texas, we finally arrived in Gallup, New Mexico.

9:00

The evening began somewhat uneventful other than us all feeling a bit beat up from the trip, so we got a bite to eat and settled in for the night. At about 9pm we heard a vehicle outside revving its engine honking its horn, so being the nosey neighbors we are, we looked and saw a gentleman inside yelling something towards the hotel. We couldn’t understand what he was saying over the engine and horn, but he was hopping mad about something.

10:00

Around 10pm there came a knock on the door. It was Mr. Honker. “Is Megan here?” he asked. Of course, we had no idea who Megan was and told him so. He left.

12:00

At around midnight, the room phone rang and woke us up. It was the front desk. “Hi. Sorry to bother you so late, but is Megan there?” We again stated that she wasn’t. The clerk apologized and said that some guy was in the lobby claiming we were keeping Megan in our room. I’m sure you can guess who that was.

02:00

At around 2am, a second knock came at the door. This time, after being awakened from a seriously awesome dream that involved chocolate airplanes – don’t ask – I got out of bed ready to give this fella a piece of my mind. I opened the door, good and ready, inhaled deeply to let out a roar, and before I could get a peep in, I was staring at two of New Mexico’s finest.

“We’re terribly sorry to bother you, sir. But we have a report of a missing girl that may be being held against her will in this room. Is Megan here?”

I explained to the officers that this had been going on all night and outlined the events. I gladly offered them the opportunity to search the room (it was a motel, for goodness sake. How many places do they think we had in there to hide someone?) They declined and said it wasn’t necessary, and that they have reason to believe she may not even exist. They apologized and excused themselves and we went back to sleep.

I still don’t know if they ever found “Megan”.

The Rest of the Story

Arizona and California were far less eventful, so I’ll keep it brief. The winds, of course, were a problem with the door warped as it was, but we managed.

The mountains were bloody awful… the gutless wonder would slow down to a snail’s pace any time we hit an incline steeper than grandma's driveway. At one point my son called me from the car and asked if we needed him to get out and push. I hung up on him. He still resents it. So it goes.

Oregon At Last

Well, we made it. We now found ourselves 3000 miles from Graceland, all without jobs and no place to call home. We booked the motel for two weeks. If we don’t find jobs and a house before then, we’re sleeping in the woods. (No worries. We eventually found jobs and a house, but we didn’t know that then.)

Thus, given those facts, we did what any other red-blooded American family that had just driven across eight states in the worst truck ever built would do in the same circumstances… we went to the beach.