mirror ball 36: on the road

This month on the mirror ball, your stories of memorable journeys taken by car, truck, bus or train... or maybe daydreams of the trips you would like to take.

Steven S:

Uhaul To Hell

After ten years in NYC, my partner, Joe, and I decided to move an hour and half away to nearby New Haven, CT where he had already secured a better paying job. We bought a haunted house right on Long Island sound. I don't mean the romantic kind of haunted house. This was a house, that when we bought it, looked like a living crime scene photo. It was a two family home that had a history of family feuding. The man who sold us the house was the youngest and last family member to leave. He took a thousand dollars off the price in exchange for not having to clean up what could only be described as life interrupted. The upstairs unit, complete with a flamingo pink plastic tiled bathroom, looked as though its last occupant was dragged to the nursing home screaming bloody murder. The downstairs unit, where the seller lived, was a garden of soiled take out food containers and pill bottles. Flies hovered over the dried up food that was everywhere. 

For some reason we waited till last minute to reserve a Uhaul, which was stupid because we really had to be out of the NYC apt that day. We called everywhere and nothing turned up. Determined to find a truck, we drove to a Uhaul location we had remembered was not too far from our apartment in Harlem. There in the lucky lot, waited one large truck that was just the size we needed. With our inquiry, the woman in charge said that the vehicle wasn't available, that it was broken down. Then suddenly she changed her mind and said that if we paid cash, we could take it. We were desperate, so we did.  The woman called a mechanic. He came by fairly quickly to fix the truck. He spent some time with it and said that his work wasn't a permanent fix but that "it would hold". We knew that the situation was dicey, that we were renting this truck under the table. But we had to get our old apartment unpacked and all our stuff into the new creepy house right away. 

After hours of stuffing our life's junk into the truck, we relived our best and worst moments from our magical Harlem flat and said goodbye to it. With that particular feeling of closeness you get when you're sitting next to your lover in a vehicle filled with everything you own, we set out North to New Haven.  In a short time, we would be pitching our tent in the attic of our new home. But that's a story for another day. 

Relieved that we had gotten away with finding a "rental" at the last minute, we had an air of victory about us. We pulled through New York's last toll booth on the 95 with the worries of the day behind us. Then "ping!" Did you hear that? The mechanic had said something about a paper clip as part of his temporary fix. And this sure sounded like a paper clip hitting the inside of the thick metal hood at a high velocity. We waited for the truck to stall. But it didn't. It kept going. Ok. Maybe the ping was nothing. So I kept driving. The more I drove, the more the truck seemed to want to drive itself. The engine became more fierce with every mile. Then I realized, I could feel it. The truck was possessed. A possessed truck was driving us to a haunted house. The ping was significant after all. It was the thing that helped control the flow of gas into the carburetor. We were now unhinged. We were a go cart going downhill. We were a rock projected from a slingshot. We were pedal to the metal even when the pedal was not to the metal. 

We needed to get to New Haven so we took the chance. We figured it wouldn't be so bad since we were on a highway at night with few cars and that it was a straight shot up the 95. There was no need to use the gas pedal. It was now hot-wired in the on position under the hood. So it was the brake all the way. I figured there would be a speed that the truck would eventually top out at and maintain. But the farther we drove, the angrier the engine became. I applied the brake when necessary. But as it gained speed again it seemed to want to go even faster with every new acceleration. It was a beast and it was becoming more and more out of control. I don't remember now how we switched drivers but we did somehow along the way. And now Joe was trying to tame the beast. The thing was roaring and we knew that it was time to call it quits - time to kill this wild animal. We were still a few exits away from our destination but we listened to our inner voices saying "What the fuck?" 

It had gotten to the point where it was not possible to apply the brake hard enough for the truck to actually stop. We could slow it down but we couldn't stop it. It was clear that something drastic was in the solution. I immediately flashed back to my Drivers Ed class from high school. Two things popped into my head.  It is better to hit a telephone pole than it is to hit a tree because the tree's roots make it more solid and less pliable. OK. Hit a telephone pole not a tree. I also remembered that if you lose your brakes and you absolutely have to stop the car you're in, like if you're going downhill fast, you can sideswipe other cars in an effort to slow down. Ok. Sideswipe some cars. I don't know why I forgot the part about trying the emergency brake first. It was a truly GREAT thing that I wasn't driving at this crucial moment because these were the options I was coming up with. 

We agreed that it would take the next exit no matter what. So Joe aimed at it, hit the brakes as hard as possible and we hoped for the best. There were a few cars right ahead of us who took the ramp and we prayed that they would drive fast. Shit, there was a red light at the end of the ramp and those cars were now waiting there. We barreled down toward them and the light turned green. Those cars were now in motion. We came within inches of the last in line's bumper before it turned out of our disastrous path. Our top heavy vessel careened down a residential street as we looked for a parking space. A fucking parking space?! It was like - I wonder if I could park my roller coaster here? So with my ass tweaking in fear I blurted out, "We can sideswipe these cars if we have to!" 

Then he did it. Like a real cool headed pro, Joe pulled out the goods. He grabbed the reins of the monster. And as if in a cartoon, he pulled the overstuffed Uhaul to the right, into a large space at what seemed like a hundred miles per hour while simultaneously jamming the automatic clutch into Park. Screech…bang. We jumped out of the truck, flew over a short wall and waited for an explosion that never came. When we got the courage to go near the truck again we noticed that there was something on the underside that was glowing red hot. It was that orangey color of sunset accompanied by a ticking sound. AAA towed us the rest of the way that night. And so began a five year stretch of dire medical diagnoses, depression, homeowner nightmares, financial ruin, family deaths and more. Our harrowing decent into Connecticut that night was certainly the omen of the hell that awaited us there. Though we had no idea at the time. Now we look back at it and we laugh. I didn't think that we would ever rise up again from the hardships we encountered in New Haven. But we did. We really did.

Lori:
In 1989 I was living in England for the year and had the opportunity to travel with a group of students and a trip leader to Moscow. When we arrived at the airport, we were met by our Soviet tour guide, a young woman with a tough-looking face. She took all of our passports as she greeted us and said we would have them back when we returned to the airport at the end of our stay. Hmmm, okay. We were led to an enormous tour bus (we subsequently learned that everything is built to be enormous there - the buildings especially) which we boarded and which we were stuck on for the next 10 days. It certainly was a good way to keep tabs on us, and they could be very deliberate about where they let us off and for how long. It was a long time ago, but three distinct images from that trip have stayed with me.

It was mid-March, and the snow had only half melted, giving the already grey vibe of the place an added depression. The bus let us off to wander around a very small village where there was a "market" going on. The market consisted of about 5 vendors, all lined up against a ramshackle building in between piles of grayish, melting snow. We filed past them, feeling very awkward in our Western clothes, carrying our cameras, and not speaking a word of Russian. I'll never forget the image of one man, standing behind a crate with a small scale on top of it. Inside the bowl of the scale were three worm-eaten apples - that was the extent of his offering. His face was rugged and expressionless, and I remember wondering what he was going to eat for dinner that night.

The next town we visited was slightly larger where we stopped for lunch at a government-run restaurant. We were allowed half an hour to wander around town, which we did in small groups. I was with three other students, and as soon as we rounded the corner out of site of the tour bus, we were approached by 2 men who offered us money in exchange for whatever article of clothing we were willing to give up, but they were especially covetous of our Western blue jeans. When we said no, they asked, "how much for your shoes?" They were very persistent and followed as all the way around town until we came in sight of the bus. Our tour guide told us that Western style clothing fetched amazing prices on the black market.

The final town on our tour was home to the Soviet National Gymnastics Training Center. We were all quite excited to see it, given the world-class reputation of Russian gymnasts. We imagined the facility to have the latest and greatest gymnastics equipment and the crisp, freshness of Olympic greatness. Of course we were utterly stunned as we walked in through the small, dingy foyer that opened out into a large wear house filled with the most bedraggled-looking mats and equipment you can imagine. The wear house was divided into a boy's side and a girl's side by a large partition that had a narrow viewing deck on top. That is where we all filed so we could look down on either side to see the children training (no one was over the age of 11 from what I could tell). The coaches were drill sergeants, and the students were obedient and truly amazing. They were like little rubber bands. At one point, at a signal from their coach, all 10 of these little 5-year old girls turned to us and did the splits with their arms over their heads - ta da! I left there feeling even more in awe of what the Russians have been able to do on the national stage given their outdated equipment and raw facility.

Red Square was a blur after that, then it was back to airport for our passports and flight home. 

Stephanie:

10 years ago, I spent about 9 months on the road with the National Shakespeare Company in a cargo van and 15 passenger van, with 8 strangers, some of whom I treasure with all my heart to this day. We went across the US and back and had some great stops along the way absorb some of the beauty of this country. One brilliant thing that came out of being away from home, family and friends, was living in the present 24 hours a day, not having to dwell on the past or future, but the now. A lesson that I need to remind myself daily, “what is happening right now in this moment.”


Steve H: 
When John and I had been together for about three years we decided to leave Portland and move to Chicago. We rented a U-Haul and packed up all our possessions. Our big cat Carl sat in a carrier between us as we hit the road.

I had made some mix tapes to play along the way. Today, in 2011, I am still self-conscious about singing around other people, but back then I couldn't even do it around John. I enjoyed singing when I was alone, but I clammed up around anyone else. But as we drove along I soon realized that I was not going to make it all the way to Chicago without singing out loud to all the great songs on those tapes. I believe that it was a Red Clay Ramblers song that was playing when I finally summoned up the nerve to sing along... quietly at first, and, as I recall, out of the corner of my mouth that was farther from John. I can even remember the mountain road we were driving on. I got a little more confident as the miles rolled along. It felt pretty good to sing and drive.

Dave:

One journey springs to mind. Back in the 70s, Chris and I spent a good part of that decade hitch hiking and working around Europe, North Africa and the Middle East.

We were hitching back west from Turkey to attend a wedding in the south of France one summer and got picked up in the middle of the night by an Italian driving a closed in van. He seemed very friendly and said he could take us about 50 km into Cannes….jump in the back.

It was very dark in there and despite it being the middle of summer and a very warm Med type of evening, felt distinctly chilly and yes…we weren't imagining it…..seriously smelly.

The longest 50 km we ever travelled. It was a refrigerated fish van! I can only guess that the driver failed Physics (and probably Biology) at school. But we were survivors!

To this day I'm prone to wearing duffle coats in August and surprisingly, still love anchovies.

Tim:

I awoke because of a dream.

I’m driving a car. It’s a 1969 Chevrolet Camaro. It has a dark blue exterior, black bucket seats and sits low to the ground. My Mother is in the passenger seat. We seem to have a destination. We’re on a narrow two-lane road. The right lane lies against a hill. To our left the hillside drops off one hundred feet or more. There is no guardrail. It’s midday, and the light is clean and white. It must be spring or summer, because I can see below us a valley of rolling green. The road has been cut into the mountain along its ridge, and winds steadily higher and higher. We are smiling. Something we have been talking about has amused us. I am driving at a reasonable slow speed. We round a sharp curve, and ahead of us is a severe break in the road. The left lane has broken off, and slid down the hill. A three-foot section of the right lane is also missing. There is snow. It appears to have fallen only in the area of the slide. This is peculiar. I slow down and stop about two feet from the place where the road breaks off. There is silence. I put the car in park, and turn off the engine. I ask Mom to get out of the car. I tell her to walk back down the road and stand against the hill. She does. I get out to assess the situation. We are in a predicament. I glance down the road and see a caravan of vehicles making its way up the incline. The driver of the car in front realizes what has happened, and stops. They all stop. People start walking up the road toward us. They stand back in a group and watch to see what I’m going to do. No one says a word. I look over the edge and down at a deep waterfall of snow. I am sure that underneath it is a very rocky and dangerous terrain. For some unknown reason we can’t turn around and go back to where we came from. I look at Mom. She smiles as if to say, “You know what to do.” I look ahead.

A short distance in front of us is another bend in the road. There the road is bare and dry. A line of trees stands on the edge of the road as it nears the bend. They are casting shade along the roads’ surface, and the sun filtering through their canopy is creating a dappled pattern. Without thinking, I pull an old rug and some boards from the trunk of the car. I dissolve from my mind all the people except my Mother. My instinct is to protect her and continue the journey. I place the boards under the left front wheel, letting them straddle the empty space that was the road, creating a bridge. I cover the boards with the rug so that its front edge lies beyond the break. After the rug is in place, and the boards are secure, I close the trunk and put the car in neutral. I take a deep breath. Bending over, I grasp the bottom edge of the front bumper with both hands. Instantly I start pulling the car. I hear an audible gasp from the crowd, but it does not deter me. I pull with all my might. I keep pulling, never loosing the confidence that tells me I can do this. Slowly the car moves with me and toward me. The left front wheel rolls up and onto the boards. I pull harder. I manage to pull hard enough to pull the front of the car forward and onto solid pavement. I do not stop to rest. I keep pulling, and the left rear wheel does exactly what the front one did. It rolls up onto the boards and waits. I pull even harder. Once I get all four tires on solid ground, I jump in the car, start the engine, and drive forward a few feet to safety. I put the car in park. Without missing a beat, I gather the boards and the rug, returning them to the trunk. I go back and walk with Mom up along the side of the hill. I open the passenger door and she reclaims her spot. Nothing is said. Before I get back in the car, I turn and look over my shoulder to see if there has been a reaction from the other travelers. They are gone. We are alone. I get in the car and we continue the journey. Shade from the line of trees cools my brow, and as I round the bend, the brightness of the sun lights my way. I look over at Mom. She is smiling.