Road Trip with yet another friend

Road Trip with Cory

Last Tuesday evening I got a call from my friend Cory about 10:30 P.M. just as I was returning from a concert in Macomb that my daughter had been singing at. She is a third year, almost fourth, honors student at Western Illinois University. She is also a Resident Assistant on an all girls freshman’s honors floor at Thompson Hall. It had been an odd sort of day from the start, and here it was finishing up true to form. I had been stopped for speeding in Colchester on the way home, and was not apparently the sort of person this particular young man was looking for, so he let me go, and he apologized for taking up my valuable time. I had a suit on, but I didn’t think it looked that impressive. Anyway, Cory called to ask if I could come over the next day and help load up the Ryder van they had rented to take their furniture to Phoenix for his new job there. Having nothing better to do with my time, and being forewarned by his wife's friend Mary the previous Sunday evening, I accepted the days work gladly. Cory was leaving town, and it looked like a good chance to get in a last conversation or two. Okey Dokey says I. See you before 8 in the morning, and we can get a good start.

Wednesday morning rolls around, and its off to see what’s up with Cory. He had made some sort of arraignment with the trucking company beforehand, and so it was a fairly painless pickup. We got the 24-foot diesel van, and headed back to the house. Having followed Cory driving this large truck to his house in his Ford Escort it became intuitively obvious that it would be much better for me to back the truck into the narrow driveway. Apparently, or obviously, he had never driven a large truck much, if at all. His idea of hugging the center line was to straddle it and leave about three-foot of truck in the oncoming lane. Tree limbs on the side streets were being thrashed about, and turning corners by driving the back wheels up onto the curb was the order of the day. Things being what they are, the first obstacle popped up first. The tree in the driveway had limbs way too low to allow this huge truck to back down the driveway to where the furniture was already packed and in boxes in the garage. We got an extension ladder from the garage and a back saw from the basement that is supposed to be used for making fine cuts on furniture grade wood, and went to the tree. Since my name is Forrester, it appeared that I would be more qualified to climb the tree and make the cuts. It was a tree after all. The limbs were soon history, and I backed up the truck with several inches to spare between the fence and the side of the house. Cory was standing back in the driveway making motions to keep coming, and I did. (To within about ten inches of an electrical high line over the truck that he failed to notice.) My confidence in his making this cross-country trip safely dwindled by the moment.

Almost as soon as the truck was in place, friends from church, Cory’s relatives, his wife's friend Mary , and a pastor from a Methodist Church who Cory sings with occasionally showed up. Our friend Jim was first, then Doug, then Dr. Greg and kids, relatives, and friends. Mary his wife got there just as the truck was finished being loaded with Ding-Dongs and sodas. Really, it was quite a commentary on what kind of people these people are. Lots of friends, willing to help in any way they could. It had been raining, and the sky held the promise of more. Luckily, the rain held off until we were done. People brought refrigerators, washing machines, boxes galore, and all of the things it takes to live in this society of ours. I stacked each item like a tetras puzzle, to get as much loaded into the truck as possible. It was plain to see that there was going to be more furniture than truck. I stacked it to the truck roof, and packed each corner with smaller items. When we reached the end of the truck, as expected, we had bicycles, grills, patio furniture, antique chairs, and garden tools that did not look like they would go, and still have a safe area around the new electronic piano that Mary Jane had made extremely plain must come to no harm. Lydia, Cory's daughter, at this time, was playing on the truck ramp with a neighbor boy, and doing what little girls do best. Bouncing like Tigger the tiger in a Winnie-the-Pooh book, and laughing and running with her little friend. Suddenly, we all heard the awful thud of a small person landing on the concrete beside me. The breath was knocked out of her at first, but soon it became clear that she had a voice. She had landed face down, with her hands outstretched in front of her. We found out later, after a trip to the emergency, that she had gotten a pretty good cut on her left palm and a fat lip from a tooth. It seemed so unfair for her to be so absolutely happy one moment, and then hurt the next. It happens all the time to kids, and I suppose it is just what it takes to grow up. I think it hurts the adults almost as much to see it, and know that we were right there and helpless to prevent it. My Grandpa Earhart had a saying for such things, as he did for most situations, but this one fits. He said: Kids are like little trees, they just have to lose so much bark to grow into an oak. Not that profound I suppose, but it always brought comfort to me in similar situations.

Well, it started raining about then, and everybody left except for me. I was left to try to get what of the overflow of items still in the garage I could into the truck. Cory and Mary Jane were both aware of the surplus item situation, and each had made concessions of proprietary items. Mary Jane was willing to leave bicycles and a couple of antique chairs. Cory graciously gave his new gas grill and patio chairs to his friend Jim. I took things off, and consolidated even more. Finally, I decided to just start stacking bicycles vertically and tie them in place with ropes. We got most of it in, and loading day was over as far as I was concerned.

Somewhere in this finishing up of the truck, Cory jokingly said it would be nice if I would just come along and help on the trip to Phoenix. I, having nothing better to do anyway, said I would ask my wife and see what her reaction would be. At that point, I don’t think either of us was all that serious about it. But, I do dearly love a road trip. And, I had no excuse to not go. And, it was plain to me that unattended Cory's trip west would turn into an oddesy of unhappy events. After all, what sort of a friend would let this happen if he had the power to smooth things over. When Mary Jane asked me if I would go, it cemented the idea into my mind, and I decided to go. It was suddenly clear to me, that this thought was shared by all of the players.


I went on home, and finished the day out on the Internet searching for work, but my mind was on the upcoming events. My wife came home from her new job full of problems of the day and talked about them for quite some time. I listened attentively, but the possibility of a ride down route 66 was waiting for a break in the conversation. I posed it. Red flags. What about getting back. Did I intend to fly the terrorist skies? No Way! I was not going to be allowed into any airplane that held enough fuel to blow up a road sign. I have always loved trains. In fact I have model trains from my childhood days, and run them around the Christmas tree each season. So I suggested that. This cemented it. I would leave for the surface of the sun first thing in the morning.

Thursday morning rolled around, and the light of day found me packing my clothes for an adventure. Cory was supposed to pick me up at 7:30 A.M., and called just after that to tell me he was on his way. The rig, with the little Escort hooked up to the back on a two wheel trailer, showed up around 8, and we started off down the road back towards town. Yep, that’s what I said. Apparently, his little car had a problem with the air bag and the part had just come in, and they were waiting at the Ford Dealership to make that car just like new. I am not much for omens, so we just drove over and had it done with. While waiting, we went to the nearby Wall-Mart to get some so-called breakfast. An elderly lady served up our biscuits and eggs as well as any diner waitress along Route 66. She literally tossed the tray of food onto the counter, and it slid perfectly up to the edge. Obviously a practiced maneuver. We found ourselves on the highway just after 9 A.M. and began our daily ride as we would for the next four days, with prayer. We were in need of protection, and we prayed that Angels would ride with us. As you will see, they clearly rode on the hood. We spent an hour getting used to our new environment, and then it began to rain. Slowly at first, then steady, and then really steady. We worked our way south on the narrow curvy Missouri highways. We were talking and missed our first important turn off. The only thing to do was to explore county road XX; later to be determined a byway. The road was extremely rough and narrow. Thankfully, it only lasted about 30 miles to the point where we could hook up with our intended route. The last time I had been on our intended route the road was new. Truck traffic and time had had its way with this stretch of road, and it was bumpy at best. The rain started in earnest just as we got to Kingdom City, and since we were having such good luck, we took the first of Cory’s “Shortcuts”. Apparently, this two-lane road would cut an hour off of our journey. Nobody will ever know if the shorter route was shorter in time or not. One thing I know for certain, is that this overloaded truck was under-powered for the task at hand. The hills of Missouri do not compare with what we would encounter in New Mexico, or in Arizona, but we found out early that this truck at full throttle was never going to go up a hill of any size at faster than 35 to 40 mph. Later in Arizona we would climb mountains at the stately speed of 20 to 25 mph. Cory was convinced that he could outrun the truck for a short distance. The shortcut finally ended and we eventually found ourselves on the Oklahoma Toll system. The roads were better, but the rain was still with us, and the state operated protection business collected more than we had planned from Cory’s billfold. Almost eleven hours after we left Quincy we found a little known piece of Route 66 that had been abandoned by time in Tulsa, and a hotel where we could park our Behemoth.

We got a room for the night, and were pointed to “Freddies” for dinner. Apparently, they had authentic Lebanese cuisine, and were close. Not being willing to drive the rig another yard, it appeared to be just fine. We were pleasantly surprised by the fare. Being in Tulsa, it only seemed right to get a steak. How wrong could you go when you are getting meat from the place it comes from. The menu was a little confusing to our mid-western tastes, but we were hungry, and the waitress made it sound appealing. The steaks came with a small group of side dishes that were served as individual entrees. First came a clove smelling rice, wrapped in a cabbage leaf that was interesting if not what we were used to. Then a Tabuli, whatever that is. Humas with the salad, and we were thoroughly confused. The food was good to this point, but nothing compared to the steak with Freddies special smoke sauce. It may have been the best steak I ever put into my mouth. Wonderful only begins to call upon its names. Always order steak if you’re in Tulsa.

As we found out, each of us is an early riser. It is common for me to rise at 5:00 A.M., but I was not aware other people do this. I was pleased to find a kindred spirit in this way, and we got off to a good early start. We had traveled nearly 500 miles the first day, and decided that if we were to get there in three days we would have to outdo our previous day in miles. Albuquerque was the goal, and we would have made it too, if it hadn’t been for the wind. What I know about weather could be put into a small cup, stirred up, and have plenty of room for coffee. Cory explained the front that had passed over us, and that a front of some sort or other was dragging this high wind behind it. He said it would stop soon, and we began the climb to higher elevations. The wind beat the front of the truck like a red headed stepchild. I am not certain, but I believe it actually tore the roof loose from the front of the van a little. The wild Texas winds brought up stories and songs of frontier life. I believe it actually lifted the near rear tire off of the ground a couple of times. All of the semi’s were leaning precariously, and the flatbeds that had loads you could see, often had shifted loads. Always in the direction of the blowing wind. The speed of the truck was severely hindered, and our fuel mileage dropped from 9 mpg, down to less than 6. We never made Albuquerque. We stopped in a town a couple of hours short of there called Santa Rosa something. The Comfort Inn had a hot tub, and I spent a pleasant hour letting my muscles unwind from the strain of pulling the steering wheel to the right all day. I met a couple there that were discussing their upcoming marriage over a glass of wine and a ring, and happy thoughts filled my dreams that night.

Saturday morning found us in one of Gods most spectacular sites on this earth. Early on we passed through the Indian nations and saw the poorest conditions in which I know Americans to live. I have seen inner city ghettos, and I do consider the lifestyle to be worse, but as far as having the means to survive, it is possible that many of these places outrank even the inner city. The high plains gives way to the mountains in the distance, and our first Mesa’s appeared. I do believe God himself planted route 66 in between these red cliffs to let us feel a little closer to him. They are majestic. The truck was running effectively, if slowly. Our intentions were to head straight out highway 40 to Flagstaff AZ. and then turn south down the big hill. First we had to stop in Albuquerque to pick up the train ticket for my return. It seems that getting a train ticket is more complicated than one might think. When I had called the ticket agent, about 5 options had presented themselves. None of which included my being able to get a ticket in my hand before a manned, or as it turned out to be, womaned station, where people are actually there to give you one before now. My next chance would be Flagstaff after 4:20 P.M. and before 10:00 A.M. in the morning. This worked out well, because it turns out Cory had gone to his wives sisters wedding in this town just a couple of years before, and we actually stopped in the hotel where the wedding was held to ask directions to the Amtrak station. After getting the ticket, we decided to stop into a restaurant where the wedding reception had been, and the food was supposed to be excellent. As it turns out, the food was all it was supposed to be, but the advice on shortcuts left something to be desired. We talked with the owner of the establishment about the food, and after some questioning it turns out he knew Corys Brother-in-law. In fact he said he “knew him well” It appeared to be a compliment, but in hindsight I believe he does not like the man. He told us of a shortcut from Holbrook south along a more scenic route than the one through Flagstaff. I told him we were driving a 60-foot rig, and ask if the road was good, and if there were any big hills we would have to climb on two lane roads. I do not know this mans heart, but he said no. It is entirely possible that when you are in your Cadillac on cruise at 75 mph they do not seem so big as they do in a truck like ours.

Now, a thing I have not mentioned to now, is that bonds that develops between people when they are confined in each others presence for days on end. It could be called a foxhole mentality. I suppose how it works out depends on whether you are compatible or not. Luckily, we were. We prayed together. We talked about things we have done and things on our minds and in our hearts. We commented on our surroundings, current past and present. Our hopes and our expectations. I find I like him more than ever, and wish I had spent more time with him in the past. Anyway, nighttime found us in Holbrook AZ with four more hours to Phoenix, and not quite enough willpower to continue as dark approached. A rather large and jovial man behind the counter at the Holiday Inn Express where we stopped for the night described the cuisine of the local eateries with gusto, and because of his girth we took him at his word. Apparently good taste has nothing whatsoever to do with girth. Nuf said.

Sunday morning we left went down to the quiet village of Holbrook determined to videotape a spoof commercial in front of the local Ford dealership. The batteries for the camera had not held a charge for our earlier attempt, and this time they were fresh off of the charger. The camera worked well. However, it took several attempts before we were able to get an acceptable copy. Probably the mountain air. We headed south from there on our promised “shortcut” and found that the half hour of two lane road was actually about two and a half hours, and if it wasn’t downhill at the sharpest decline you ever saw, it was uphill at 20 mph. We pulled off the road to let our “following” pass several times. Eventually, we came to the foothills and the cactus. On into Phoenix, and the splendor of Sun City. It really is beautiful, as was the whole trip across southwestern America. It was an adventure, and a pleasure from start to finish. Their new home is lovely. The neighbors came out to greet us. Neighborhood children joined in unloading the truck to ask questions about what sort of children would follow. A local minister’s wife grew up in Ursa, just north of Quincy, and they know Cory and Mary Jane well it seems. They were some of the first to arrive, and they brought some young men from their church to help unload the truck. We were able to get it all inside in about four hours. We took the rental truck to the stable where they are kept, washed the road grime off of the little car, and headed for the shed. Spent and exhausted, too tired to eat, we set up a couple of beds and jumped in. Cory starts work in the morning. He has held up better than most would have, and this is Monday, October 15, 2001. He left for his new position at the TV station here this morning, and I have been putting together bed frames, and now this computer. Today is a day of recuperation for me, and I do not intend to do too much physical work. Setting here after putting all of the boxes in the right rooms, and putting together the things where there is “Some Assembly Required” has left me ready for a nap. Tomorrow evening I leave Phoenix for a bus ride to Flagstaff, where I will catch a train to Fort Madison IA. My mom is going to pick me up there, and I will spend a couple of pleasant days in their company before I return to Quincy.


Steve Forrester