DAY 7 & 8: Having Fun Yet?

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There’s simply not a hell of a lot to tell that would interest you regarding day 7 & 8 so I thought I’d take a step back, tell a story relating to the a noteworthy occurrence from day 8 and thank all of you for your warm response to Automobilification. It’s great sharing my experiences out on the road with you. As you might imagine if you’ve never done something like this before….a long road trip offers an opportunity to do a lot of two things….drive and think. Day 7 & 8 of this trip offer a little respite from the standard road trip fare and have been dedicated to spending time with Matt, Schu and Tommy P….partners in crime over the years.

One thing these gentlemen like to do is drink adult beverages…an activity that does not mix well with the aforementioned core road trip functions. On rare occasion they do mix…as was the case on Day 8. Before I get to that….I’d like to answer some questions posed by several readers with regards to the logistics of the trip.

James: “How do you pack for 2 weeks in that car and what’s the story with your weird luggage dude?”

The luggage is specially designed for the R8. Without it….you are simply unable to get anything in this car…or you have to use garbage bags for your clothes.

I don't think I'm too much of a snob…but pulling up to a hotel in this car and walking in carrying all your clothes in a couple garbage bags…well…I’ve done it but it’s not necessary now that I’ve procured the right luggage. I must also offer that it helps to have a cool wife that packs you a bunch of snacks in a nice leather briefcase so you can look real cool while lugging around oreos, jelly bellys, blow pops and other food one only eats during a road trip

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Chris: “How fast are you driving on average?”

As you can see….I’m not always abiding by the posted speed limits. I actually signed up for “pre-paid legal” service before this trip (supposedly they will help erase your speeding tickets if your transgression is not too severe) and I mounted a Valentine radar detector permanently into my R8. I consider myself fairly well armed with these protections….so I would have to say I average about 85MPH on the freeway. I have calculated/rationalized that 10 MPH over the speed limit is what a non-testosterone enhanced cop expects you to do. 15MPH over the speed limit can get you a ticket but it’s minor enough that it can be cleared by pre-paid legal. Over 100MPH is reserved for when there is no one on the road, conditions are optimal and you can see for miles ahead...conditions found on this road from another leg of the trip which compelled me to exceed the posted speed limit by a large margin.

In this car…about 190 MPH is possible in a controlled situation...in other words not a situation which you'd find on a public roadway. As you might imagine I find myself speeding more when there’s nothing to see and I just want to escape the place I’m driving through. I’m conforming more towards the 10MPH over rule when it’s a stimulating drive and I want to experience the place I’m driving through.

Justin: “Are you having fun? This would be torture for me.”

That is a great question and a timely one my friend. I think I’ll answer that with a story about being asked that question at a very transitional/formative time in my life.

For a variety of reasons it was not until I was a freshman in college before I had my first alcoholic beverage. It was not long after that glorious moment that I found myself drunk and in the ultimate of unfortunate scenarios.

Back in 1984 I was home from LSU for my last summer in Schaumburg before I moved to Louisiana full-time. It was during this time that I was experimenting with all the things the propaganda films in high school told me were bad. One morning in a post-experimental state I found myself sprawled out on a carpet in a pool of vomit at my friend Bill’s parent’s house. I came around at the moment his family began making a cheerful racket while decending the stairs for breakfast.

Having only been intoxicated once in my life at this point…I was uncertain what was happening other than I was about to get yelled at or perhaps even killed by Bill’s mean dad. A dad whose liquor we’d been drinking without his permission until the wee hours of the morning. It was an odd sensation ‘cause I could not see my hand in front of my face…nor could I stand up without grasping about with puked-up hands trying to haul myself off the floor. I think I utilized all Bill’s dad’s cream-colored furniture…anything really within my stumbling range was used to get me up and out the door before I got caught. I left a wake of destruction behind as I made a dash for the door and stumbled into my car. My car at this time was a new 1984 Ford Bronco II which my dad bought for me as a reward for getting a scholarship to LSU and for being such a responsible kid.

Somehow I slogged 4 miles across Schaumburg to my dad’s house without killing myself or anyone else…but as I was pulling into the driveway I did manage to drive my new Bronco over the lawnmower which my dad had placed in the driveway for use on this lovely Saturday morning. Still inexplicably blind and trying desperately to attain anything even remotely resembling composure I stumbled out of my Bronco and into the house. I'm sure I was trying to be quiet as I navigated my way to my bedroom…shhhh...stripping off my puke infused clothes en route to my bed leaving them strewn about the house. When I finally arrived at my bedroom I grabbed a garbage can, pulled it to the edge, crashed into my bed, leaned over the edge and continued expelling, sweating, freezing, moaning…you know…you’ve been there.

Anyway….one of the great moments in my life occurred at this point. My dad, who heard the cacophony of my arrival graciously allowed me to get to my bed unimpeded, offered a towel, leaned over to see my face and posed the greatest question he could have possibly asked me at this moment in my life,

“Are you having fun yet?”

This question has been a mantra for me ever since. I recite these words often when I’m doing something of my own choice that’s not at least rewarding in some way. Justin’s question brought my dad’s words to mind….as did this incident with the Missouri Highway Patrol after an afternoon with Schu at this most excellent place of ill repute in St Louis:

As I was explaining myself to Officer King I was certain the "single beer" Schu made me drink a couple hours before was going to come back to haunt me. Was there a way to get him in trouble instead of me?

Was I having fun yet?

This was about as far away from fun as I could imagine. I summoned all of my remaining brain power to negotiate myself out of a ticket and to indulge the officer as she asked questions about my car and what I was doing out there. I was completely drained as I navigated from the crime scene to Matt’s house to crash for the evening. As I was driving away I wondered…

Is it “fun” to do a road trip like this?

In a nutshell….it’s not really “fun” at this point of the trip….it’s more about seeing if I can do it without going to jail or losing my license/mind/car etc. The experience gained by surviving will manifest itself in all kinds of ways I can only speculate upon right now. Just as the experience of the day our lawnmower was killed shaped me today. All I know today is that I can’t wait to get to Baton Rouge where they (used to) have drive through frozen margarita bars for students, the weather is warm and where I’ll get to see some friends from college I’ve not seen in 20 years.

As a footnote to the story…

It turned out that I'd left my glasses in the mess on Bill’s folk’s carpet (I would later wonder how I drove home without glasses when that would not be possible even while sober?) which his parents confiscated until Bill was forced to fess up who it was that destroyed their house. Bill, apparently, told them "a homeless man must have broken in" which never ended up pointing back to me. Bill later went into his dad's drawer and retrieved my glasses.

I’ve not been over to Bill’s dad’s house since.