The Road Home

Hello Puerto Rico, it’s good to be here.


The journey from New Orleans started out late afternoon. Intending to get at least to Pensacola, I settled in for the drive. Our 1998 Mercedes ML 320 has always been a pleasure to drive. The Gulf Coast is a delight at dusk. The dogs were settled in, Blondie loves to ride. Chi-ping likes it less, but rides well. The cat complains for fifteen minutes, and then falls asleep.

Carl is speeding toward seventy. He nodded off as soon as we drove over the bridge.

Two loads of our stuff had to be taken to the storage locker before we could leave. My bones ached. We did all the moving ourselves. I didn’t think we had it in us. It may be a locker full of crap, but I like my stuff, so I’ll get to go back to the Crescent City to handle it.

Driving into the night with my thoughts, I reviewed my plan for the trip. A nine hour drive to Orlando, drop Carl and the animals at a hotel, drive to Jacksonville, drop the SUV at Crowley, take the bus back to Orlando, ship Blondie with United’s Pet Safe Program, catch our fight with Chi-ping and Smoki, and Puerto Rico here we come.

Yeah, that was the plan. I smiled thinking that, when I sat on my porch, it would have all been worth the effort; oh, how smug.

Before I could get too pleased with myself, we were just outside of Mobile. Chug, chug, the car lost compression. Oh, shit! We barely coasted to the side of the road. How lucky we didn’t roll back down. It’s ten o’clock on Thursday night. We’re on a dark stretch of road, dead. Joy to the world, now, what?

Calm down, take a deep breath, and calm down, take another deep breath. Let “Beni” rest. Beni is what we have always called the ML. Yes, we’re the crazies who name their things. Perhaps Beni needed to cough up a hair ball; it happens to old things. I’m getting ready to write a book on what happens to old things. Smile.

Google map reported a gas station only seven miles back. The gas station in the direction we are going is thirteen miles ahead. Being insanely goal oriented I chose to go ahead. At least I did, when I finally got the car started again. My hands gripped the steering wheel ever so tightly. Beni labored up another steep hill only to die at the bottom. What a fine situational move that was; now, we’re in a completely dark piece of road between two steep hills.

The dogs became aware of our tension, so they were up, and whining. Oh, no, no one is going out now. There could be snakes or anything out in the dark.

In the old days, we would have either waited for help or walked to a service station. I felt blessed to have a smart phone in my pocket. One of these days I should really learn how to use it. Deep in the valley so dark, I feared evil, shit, I became un-nerved. I found our location, tried to find a service station and lost my location. All I could think about was that I needed to have Blondie at the airport for a nine o’clock flight. After gimping to the services station seven miles back, we sat in the light of the station awaiting a tow truck.

Zen masters tell you to get into alignment with your new reality. I sat in shock. Accept my new reality, hell, I was looking for a trap door out of this game.

Perhaps a good sleep in Mobile La Quinta is what we need.