Our trip to Mississippi began at 4:00 a.m. last Wednesday. For me. Because I have to get up first and goad everyone else into action. Driver H packed part of T-Hoe the night before, so we just had a few odds and ends (like The Pony) to toss in before we hit the road. Being old folks, Driver H and I put off taking our meds until we arrived in Mississippi, because we had a feeling that we couldn't stop every 20 minutes for a potty break. That's for Driver H. I, myself, can hold it for a couple of hours.
We had to drive around our elbow to get to the thumb of Newmentia, where the convoy was forming. We were the first ones there at 5:45, right after the coach. Plans were to leave at 6:00, but of course it wasn't until 6:20 that we pulled out. It was right after Coach said, "We need to get going," and a bunch of kids jumped into his LSUV, leaving one coach and three freshmen open-mouthed. One of the kids dared to say, "But I don't even know who I'm riding with." Welcome to the way we do things here, son. #1 had forsaken us to ride in a Caravan (hopefully one with a speedometer) with another dad and three cronies. I tried to call him back and make him ride with us, so one of those kids would have a place, but that Caravan was the first vehicle out of the parking lot.
I assumed they all found a ride, because we peeled out of there at warp speed, not stopping until we neared the Arkansas state line. Of course it was at McDonalds, a McDonalds with a tour bus of old ladies parked out of sight on the other side. That breakfast stop ate up 40 minutes of valuable speeding time. T-Hoe was running hard down that constructionally-challenged I-55 two-way-traffic Highway to H*ll. According to Driver H, it was a steady 80-85 mph. Of course we all ran out of gas before we got to Oxford MS.
Our convoy was broken up at the refueling station. Who knew that Mississippi was so thrifty with its road signs? We were not even sure we were on the right track. However, that didn't stop us from flying along at 85 mph. Apparently, Mississippi is also thrifty with its highway patrol cars. I don't recall seeing more than one, and I think that was in Arkansas, not Mississippi. The #1 son texted me that he had arrived at the stadium, but he didn't remember how he got there. That Caravan had a good 30 minutes on us, even though we had passed them somewhere in Arkansas, them having slowed, most likely due to the chassis of that Caravan rebelling at the 85 mph pace. They smartly grabbed their McDonald's breakfast and hit the road, not waiting on the rest of us.
By the time we arrived at Ole Miss and promptly got lost for 15 minutes, I had worked up quite a headache, due in no small part to Driver H's habit of sweaving. You know what sweaving is, don't you? It's when the driver swerves back and forth from the shoulder to the center line, weaving his way forward like an Olympic slalom skier.
More on our little adventure tomorrow.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
Sweaving. I will no doubt be using that term. My dad does that, along with his habit of speeding up and slowing down creating a rocking motion. As a child it put me to sleep, as an adult, it annoys the hell out of me and causes me to yell, "Use the cruise control, Daddy!" Have to yell, cause he leaves the hearing aid behind and insists on driving.
Kathy,
I despise cruise control. It is just an excuse to not use the brake and tailgate people.
That said, I will see your rocking motion, and raise you a stomper. A stomper. That's when the driver is waiting in line, like at a light or McDonalds, and instead of letting the car idle forward toward the vehicle in front of him, he stomps/pumps/jabs the brake pedal so that you inch forward in minute increments, your head bobbing like one of those drinking bird doodads.
Post a Comment