Donnie vs. The Rockies (part 3)

3RD QUARTER

My phone started ringing, but I couldn’t answer it. The two previous rings didn't get answered either. Channeling my driver's education class and gripping the wheel at 10 and 2, I could feel my knuckles stretching the skin on my hands to the limit. Periodically I would have to remember to breathe and blink. Seriously, I have never been so stressed behind the wheel in my entire life.

The wipers had just smeared any clarity I had down the side of the mountain. Before that the snow was already caked on the windshield, but the cheap wipers and the lack of wiper fluid made the situation much worse. I don't know what was more difficult, driving with low visibility or the jerking sliding motion the U-Haul truck made when I tried to apply the brake on the mountain declines. It felt as if someone was physically pushing me from behind. If someone had stopped in front of me for any reason, I would have hit them.

The portion of I-70 we were on wasn’t equipped with a shoulder to pull off on, so stopping to clear the windshield wasn’t an option. I also tried blasting the heat in attempts to melt the snow from the inside, no luck.

I had lost sight of Mickey 30 minutes ago, but I knew she was in front of me somewhere. I guess that’s why she was calling me because she had lost sight of the U-Haul, but I just couldn’t answer.

I'll be honest with you; I was scared.

In moments like this, I tend to think about the immediate past. Have you ever done that before? You're in a tight spot and all you can think about is what you were doing BEFORE you got in the mess? I was saying to myself, “Remember when we were sitting in our hotel room in Sterling, CO just relaxing? Wasn’t that great?” As if that Super 8 was some sort of glorious utopia.

My phone rang again. From my mummified position in the driver’s seat my eyes darted a quick glance at my cell phone vibrating in the cup holder near the dash, which now suddenly seemed far away from my reach. As if I was balancing on a tight rope for Barnum & Bailey, I slowly tilted my body to the right, fumbled my fingers around and got a hold of the phone all while keeping the U-Haul truck balancing on a downward curve at 40 miles per hour.

Mickey didn’t sound any better than me, but her problem was different. The bright lights weren’t helping the migraine headache she was dealing with. She needed us to pull off the road as soon as possible to take a break. At this point we both needed a break. I assured her that everything was going to be OK and that she should slow up and drive behind me.

Many miles later and my eyes were still piercing between my windshield which was looking more like a set of cheap mini blinds. I found a sign that indicated a gas station was approaching 10 miles up. While the conditions continued, my body relaxed a bit knowing there was a possibility for a break. 15 minutes later I almost missed the exit due to the snow caked up on the exit sign. Somehow I maneuvered the U-Haul truck down a slippery ramp and eventually under the protection of a Shell station.

I turned off the engine.

My head buried in the wheel.

Quiet.
Peace.

Donnie vs. The Rockies (part 2)

2ND QUARTER

It was dark. It was almost like suddenly the truck became unstable in the high altitude. Going up hill proved to be a challenge at times, but as long as the gears kept shifting to 2nd I knew I’d be OK. Then, the snow hit. At first it wasn’t a big deal. Ya know, the light fluffy harmless kind of snow. I’d driven in much worse before, so it was no big deal. But the snow kept coming as we continued to climb the mountain.

The snow came down hard and fast, and as I drove it felt like I was pushing the truck up the mountains rather than driving it. There was one point I believe I heard the mountains laughing at me when I switched my lights to high beam. “Are you serious? You think that’s going to help you?” Turns out it was just the wind and my mind playing tricks on me.

Just so you all know, my vision is a bit questionable, but I have faith in what my eyes see behind these specs. I say that because if you were sitting next to me in the truck, you would have seen my face inches from the windshield as if I was legally blind. I don’t know why I thought that would help, but for about 100 miles I was lunged forward in my seat trying to stay in my lane.

Oh that’s another thing. Lanes? They just didn’t exist. The game was now “get in where you fit in”. There were two lanes, but there was no way I was going to attempt to pass anyone way up here. I just wanted to get out of this snow alive. Just when I thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse, I flipped the wipers to clear the windshield.

No windshield wiper fluid.

Donnie vs. The Rockies (part 1)

The Rocky Mountains kicked my ass.

There, I said it. It’s out for the world to see.
If you want to call me a punk, then I’ll be a punk.

Mickey and I just spent the past four hours driving through the mountains of Colorado. I had been gearing myself up for this portion of the trip because, well…I don’t particularly care for mountain driving. For those who may not know, all of Illinois is about as flat as your lap top computer screen. Roads are straight and wide. Signs like the one to the right just don't exist.

1ST QUARTER

We left Sterling, CO around 4:00 in the morning. Now on I-76, we spun our wheels towards the city of Denver. I was very excited about driving through Denver because I was always curious as to what the city looked like. Granted I didn't see much from the expressway at 4:30 in the morning, but it was still interesting. The lanes, while a bit hilly in nature, were wide open. In the distance the mountains stood ominous over us, waiting for our U-Haul truck to tackle its rough terrain.

Sterling, CO / Truck Tipping

Mickey and I continued driving on interstate 76 with the sun slowly making its descent behind the Rocky Mountains in the distance. I marveled at the subtle palette change as we continued towards Colorado. It was very beautiful. The hills that hugged the road were straight out of a landscape painting.

Reds.
Browns.
Oranges.

As tired as I was, it was a wonderful scene to the first day of driving. When we plotted out our route, I was worried we'd taken on too much trying to drive all the way to Colorado, but we made it.

I'm really tired. We've been driving for what seems like an eternity, and I could really use a bed. It doesn't even have to be soft or have any sheets. In fact, just a flat surface would be fine.

We arrived at a Super 8 motel around 8:00 PM. As we pulled in to the drive way I spotted this ominous concrete building sitting next to the hotel. I pointed it out to Mickey joking that that could be our hotel. Upon further inspection, we read:

STERLING CORRECTIONAL FACILITY

Comforting huh?

The evening hotel clerk greeted us with a smile. Patty I think her name was (I'm terrible with names). When she saw where we were from she asked how the drive was going. I mentioned to her how windy it was, and how I thought the U-Haul truck might have moved slightly off the road. Her eyes got big when I mentioned the wind, and she pointed behind us out the window towards the interstate. "Just a few days ago a semi truck tipped over due to the wind." It didn't help that she mentioned that the wind gets stronger.

The Marlboro Man's stern breath welcomed us to room 38A with a hearty hello. Mickey turned on the TV as I sat on the bed with my head in my hands. I had no energy to talk. I had no energy to look. I had no energy to listen. Sitting on the bed, I felt my body slowly flip the switch to the off position. Noticing this, Mickey took off my shoes and socks and pushed my weary body under the sheets.

Russian Thistle? That ain't nothing but Tumbleweed!

It's true. Tumbleweeds exist.

I honestly thought the strolling of tumbleweed was some sort of Hollywood cliche' that film and TV directors used to introduce a desert scene. I really didn't think tumbleweed rolled across streets like that. My ignorance was blasted as I watched two brushes of Salsola (the original name for the 'weed) cross over I-70 while in Kansas. Crazy! My phone instantly lit up:

"Did you see that tumbleweed?!" Mickey was just as excited as I was.

This single moment was my introduction to the western part of the United States. Ha ha. Yes, it sounds insanely goofy, but Mickey and I are from the Eastern and Midwestern parts of the United States where tumbleweed only existed on cartoons and Bonanza. I think it's equivalent to someone traveling to Australia and having a kangaroo physically hand you a boomerang while sipping a Fosters.

Iowa is Black / Exit 93

You didn’t know?

Eerily pitch black. Dark.

The shadows of the the shadows.

Pitch black will make you turn on the lights in your own bedroom. If there's one place I didn't want the U-Haul truck to break down, it was the middle of Iowa. As a kid I never believed in a Boogieman or Boogiemen, but trekking through this countryside at 4AM might sway you. Mickey was driving behind me in her 2001 Mitsubishi Galant and I religiously kept an eye on her as we rode through the corn fields. By the time we hit Iowa, I was pretty good at handling behemoth of vehicular metal behind me. Forget the fact that it felt like I was carrying all of our worldly posessions on tires fit for a bike.

The first gas stop on our trip landed us in the warm Midwest town of Stuart, IA. The sun was slowly coming up and the sights and sounds of Peterbilt day cabs and John Deere farm equipment created a chorus of grunts, rumbles and screeches.

People who live in the city come out here and claim they’re in the middle of nowhere. Have you ever said that before? You see two buildings, one of which is a gas station, and you assume there couldn’t be people let alone LIFE out here.

Speaking of people, I had some interaction with one of the locals of Stuart. What do you call people from Iowa? Iowites? Iowans? I gassed up Mickey’s car first as she went to give the cat a break from being cooped up in the car. After parking her car off to the side, I pulled the U-Haul truck around to the pump and began gassing it up. I swiped my debit card once for her fill up and again for mine. As I’m fueling up, I decide to take a walk around the truck just to make sure everything was OK when I feel someone staring at the back of my neck.

Yes, I could feel it.


I turn around and notice the gas clerk staring me down hard. His wrinkled face had a look of worried concern. A look that said “Is he trying to rip me off?” I consider myself a friendly person, but even more so respectful to my elders. So in order to ease the tension that was quickly forming I carefully coupled my head nod with a smile (ya know just in case he didn’t understand my initial greeting). He just continued to stare.

Fine. I went on with making my walk around the truck.

With a full tank, I pull off and by this time Mickey was back in the car. I rolled down the window so we could talk about grabbing some lunch at the subway down the road (yeah, down the road). As we’re talking I see our gas clerk walking towards the gas pump with a slip of paper in his hand.

I’m asking myself, “What is he looking at?” Then he walks towards me.

“Did you pay for this gas?”

Pause. Let’s just pause for a second. I paid with a debit card. Now I didn’t attend Mobil University like some people, but I assume he was the one that approved my card when I swiped it. And even if this particular station wasn’t that sophisticated, his register should tell him the gas was paid for.

“Is there a problem sir?”

“I just want to make sure the gas you pumped was paid for.”

Under my anger and frustration I showed him my receipt and drove off. Annoying. I was just as annoyed when I asked the young girl at Subway for more napkins and she yelped when I said “Excuse me.” See her back was turned, and the sight of me caused a sound to come out of her that alerted the entire establishment.

It was almost like I was wearing a mask that she had never seen before.

On to Nebraska.

This is it.

This is the last shot before we get on the road.

Can I show y'all something?

When Sunbelt Digital came to me about writing a blog chronicling my move from Chicago to Las Vegas, I had the idea that as this blog progressed I would in a very subtle manner add color to the pictures the closer we got to our destination. It was my way of showing growth and a new start. Kinda cliche' I know, but I thought it cool at the time.

Everything was going well until I came to this post. I am officially abandoning that rule for this post only! This is something I had to post and show because this post is going to discuss one of the main reasons why I'm LEAVING Chicago.

Bear with me.

This is a picture of the fountain in front of my gingerbread house looking building. Nice right? Here's the thing. The fountain doesn't work. I have lived here for almost three years and I've never seen water in the "pool". Ever. No big deal really. I want you to take a close look at this fountain. See that garden hose at the base?

If you look close in this next picture, you can see a white hose going up along the side of the fountain. At a quick glance you might think it's just another hose, or maybe even part of the fountain fixtures. I really wish that was the case. That's actually the same green hose with white paint on it.

*sigh*

It appears the association for my building felt it wasn't important to repair the fountain in the front lawn, but couldn't bear having it sit there not working. So, they rigged a garden hose (Exhibit A) and duct taped it (Exhibit B) to the old fountain spout (Exhibit C). And to "hide" the fact that they were attatching a garden hose to a fountain, they painted the hose white. But as you could tell in the first picture, they didn't paint the entire hose.

I almost want to book a flight back to Chicago to take a picture of it when it's turned on (oh yeah, they turn it on).

This is just one of the reasons we're leaving. Not because of the hose, but because of how poorly our building is run. The main lobby doors to our building have broken locks, our mail gets tossed on the floor instead of in our mailbox, there are rules for the parking area but they aren't enforced, residents are constantly having BBQ's in the alley behind our house when there are signs posted instructing them not to. Sometimes they BBQ UNDER the sign! And worst of all, the association meetings where some of these issues should be worked out consist of 20 senior citizens yelling and cursing at each other about God knows what.

It was time for a change.

Las Vegas represents a new start for both my girlfriend and I in a variety of ways, one of which would mean a new place to live. In fact when the opportunity first came up, one of the the firsts things we talked about was the chance to move from our condo in to something larger. We had simply outgrown our place and the new ideas and scenery of Las Vegas intrigued us.

I did want to add something. I was afraid the very first post of 1,768 would have people thinking I lived in the Compton of Chicago. What happened on that first day of packing was a rarity. If you talk to anyone that knows Chicago, the Hyde Park/Kenwood neighborhood is a ghetto oasis. In some spots it's surrounded by pockets of unwelcome areas, but for the most part it is a very cultured, green and safe community.

The city of Chicago could really replace some of the liquor stores and greasy fast food joints with a clean grocery store, but there are a lot of other areas that need help before Hyde Park.

Packing really sucks.

You never realize how much "stuff" you have until you have to pack it up.

The majority of the stuff in this picture is mine. This is actually early in the packing. There's still the kitchen items, bathroom stuff and my clothes (which will probably get the garbage bag treatment). Funny, I packed my stereo equipment up first and figured I was done.