On the Road Again

I'm posting this posthumously. I actually found a computer with access to the internet. It's Tuesday morning and Jimbob is in class. I'm slumming.

Well it's Sunday morning about 8:00 AM and I'm sitting here waiting for Jimbob to wake up. We got in to Amarillo about 12:30 and by the time we got into our room it was 1:00. Of course we didn't get on the road until nearly 8:00 PM last night.

Jimbob had asked a friend to make reservations for us at a hotel where he gets corporate rates, and of course you know he forgot. We lucked out because some woman had made reservations and her credit card didn't go through, so we got her room; the very last one. We got everything out of the car we needed and Jimbob went to park. As he came back through the lobby, the newlyweds whose card was declined were trying to check in.

I'm not used to traveling with someone who has absolutely no regard for time. I haven't traveled for work in many years, but as anyone who does, knows time is precious. When we were kids and did a lot of traveling with my Dad, we were in the car and on the road before the crack of dawn, drove like hell all day, made camp after dark, and did it all again the next day.

Come to think of it, I'm not sure what the point of all that driving was. It sure wasn't to get someplace and enjoy it. We made pit stops when he was ready or needed gas. Meals were prepared on the bumper of the pickup. He even made a special hook to secure the Coleman stove to the bumper so Mom could cook and we wouldn't have to stop at a cafe to eat and waste time.

Heaven forbid that one of us might take too long in the lady's room. He'd pound on the door and yell for us to hurry up. But that brings to mind the time my ex-hubby and I were driving from Reno, NV to visit my grandmother in Dallas.

We we were between somwhere and nowhere in Arizona and stopped to get gas. It was one of those days when the temperature hit 110 in the shade. The restroom was dirty, hot and no air conditioning. I was sweating buckets just for the privilege to go pee.

My business done, I washed my hands and sluiced warm water over my face and then tried to leave. The doorknob didn't work from the inside. I banged on the door, called out trying to get someone's attention, all to no avail. After about twenty minutes, I heard several Hispanic women approach.

I yelled for them to open the door and let me out but I must have frightened them because they went away. A short time later here they were again and I finally made them understand that the door wouldn't open from the inside. One of them twisted the knob from outside and then ran.

If I'd had a cell phone, I could have called DH (Dickhead) to come let me out, but they hadn't been invented yet. I found him inside the cooled gas station yakking with the pimple faced kid behind the counter. I was pissed to say the least. I asked him how long he planned to wait before he came looking for me. He hadn't even missed me.

Ah, the pleasures of traveling by car.