The trek from Oregon to Scranton continues! When we last left off, we were zipping through Iowa and a fuck ton of corn!
Throughout our journey, I’d been in contact with my uncle, whom I refer to as Unca Munky. He’s a truck driver and was driving his truck toward the east coast, so we planned to meet up in Nebraska (Home of Arbor Day!) on Sept. 1. Preceding this reunion was MORE CORN!
We were making good progress, driving-wise, until Honey Bear got a call saying that the ABF truck with all our furniture and shit had arrived at our new apartment, The Landing Pad, and was ready for us (three days ahead of schedule), and we only had three days to unload it. If we weren’t there after the three days, ABF would pick it up anyway and take it to the nearest facility. We also weren’t sure what would happen if we left all our stuff there unattended, and we had no idea how truly big this truck was, so suddenly, our original, leisurely plan of six-point-blah-blah hours of driving a day got shoved out of the car in favor of the new one, which was to drive and drive and drive for insanely long periods of time in an effort to get there Thursday night, so we’d have just enough energy to move all our stuff in Friday morning.
But first, we met up with Unca Munky at the I-80 Petro York Nebraska truck stop, and seeing each other made us both cry. He wiped his eyes with a bandanna hanky. I think he said I reminded him of my mom, which is not surprising; we get that a lot. He reminded me of my grandpa/his dad in some way. We ate inside and regaled him of our adventures, and he told us about his van back home he’d been keeping alive since the ‘80s. I asked him if my mom ever smoked pot but he was amused and evasive about this. Afterward he said that the visit was very meaningful to him and one he’d remember for the rest of his life.
And that was the only thing that happened in Nebraska to break up all the monotonous corn. We listened to Aerosmith’s “Crazy” as we drove because I was reminded of the video where Liv Tyler and Alicia Silverstone steal the farmhand’s clothes and drive away while his tractor tills the word CRAZY in the fields. Actually, I stand corrected: There was one other interesting thing that happened in that godforsaken state, and that was seeing a toad hanging around by a Coke machine at a rest stop.
Honey Bear did the majority of the driving that day because I can’t see great while driving at night. I think we traveled at least thirteen hours that day. We stopped around one in the morning at a La Quinta in Cheyenne the second we arrived in Wyoming and passed out almost immediately. Our alarm clock was confusingly soaking wet on the night table.
The next day, our mission was to arrive in Boise, Idaho, where we’d stay with my cousin Eagle and his family. There was more epic driving, but this time the landscape was far more incredible. Wyoming was astonishingly vast, reaching for miles on either side of the highway with no signs of civilization to be found—just blue sky and dust and dirt and brush, and some hills hiccuping across the flatness here and there. I couldn’t believe I was witnessing such scenery in real life. At one point we stopped to pee at a rest stop that warned us rattlesnakes might be hanging around. (We saw none, which was disappointing. I wanted to run away screaming from them.)
We were on the phone with our respective banks, shuffling funds around so there’d be proper reimbursement for the move, when we drove through Utah, with its jagged, tree-spotted rocks and mountains flanking the winding road. It was very turquoise-and-cowboy-movie. Along this route, we saw armies of the giant wind turbines looming tall. It was like in the movie Jason and the Argonauts, when the ship is floating small past the enormous statue.
Idaho was also beautiful, but not as memorable. I think at that point we were just too exhausted to note much about our surroundings. We did see a for-real-real tumbleweed though. We ate a quick dinner at a Taco Bell-esque fast food place in Boise, then arrived at my cousin’s, where all the grownups looked exhausted from working and children-having. We drank beer in the garage until midnight, and I was drawing with the chalk in the driveway, making mermaids (because that’s how I do) and Eagle’s wife said their six-year-old daughter, Eaglet, was going to love them. Eagle, a staunch Republican in the Air Force, told us of his love for disc golf but his hatred for hippies. Apparently disc golf is the only thing in the center of that Venn diagram.
We slept on an air mattress on the floor of the baby’s room, and in the morning, Honey Bear ran into a topless Eaglet as he went to use the bathroom and she ran away, yelping something about him seeing her boobies. Then I hung out downstairs with Eaglet while we waited for people to wake up and we let the dogs go outside to pee. She’s obsessed with Play-Doh and was explaining to me its greatness. Naturally Show and Tell was involved. She also saw the mermaid chalk drawings and did, indeed, love them.
Honey Bear and I ate a quick breakfast and then we were in Oregon! It was a quick day of driving, only about eight hours, which was like a vacation after the previous days. We drove past the grimly titled town, THE DALLES, which I always say in a creepy, Salad Fingers-y voice. We also drove alongside the gorge, saw more ominously large wind turbines, and stopped beside a lookout point to take some panorama views. We noted the Columbia River, in which my father predicted I’d fling myself. Hi, River!
Then we were in Portland traffic, lost, but eventually we made our way to Vancouver, where our hotel awaited. (‘Twas another La Quinta, one that Honey Bear liked better, but it had so much odd empty space that I felt like furniture had been stolen from the room.) We walked down the road to eat at a Thai place and talked about our hopes and dreams and shit. He was such a good road trip buddy.
And finally, the next day, Sept. 4, we moved into The Landing Pad! We finished shoving stuff inside our new place in about two hours. And we needn’t have stressed about the size of the ABF truck and where it was parked—not only had we later seen a couple people move in with ABF trucks and leave them parked there for eternity, but the ABF driver said it was the easiest park job he’s ever had to do. See, they’re professionals.
There, I’ve finally written about our journey! I feel very accomplished now.
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