Day Zero – Chipotle, Swollen Glands and a Special Kind of Hell: Friday May 24, 2013
Day One – Five Tires Later: Saturday May 25, 2013
Last night my dad told me to set my alarm for 6:00 am. Terry woke up at 3:30 am and had to wake my dad up with his noisy ways. I was then rudely woken up at 4:48 am with the old, “I’ll be out front in ten minutes.” Garbage. I still had some packing to do.
I packed light because my dad and brother pack heavy and we’d have enough shit to last us a month, plus. I took a 30-minute shower just to show him who was in charge.
My dad had recently bought a shiny new Ford F150 Platinum package truck so the ride was sweet. Terry was already on the road, pulling his mini-excavator for farm and fence-line work. We had almost caught up with Terry in Miles City, MT, but dad needed to go wee-wee. We stopped at McDonalds to get a quick eat, and then we’d try and catch up with him. I wasn’t sure if we’d be able to do it with Mr. Turtle as the driver.
I got in line to order me some eats when Dad stepped in front of me, but worse he stepped right in front of a lady with his back almost touching her front. She looked at me and I back at her.
I shrugged and dipped my nodding head when Dad piped in. “Oh, is this your spot?”
The lady kind of smiled, but my dad was in full on blurter mode to see how many people he could talk to in less than one minute. He was talking with the whole line of people; some were totally ignoring him, others were making small one-word, courteous replies. I knew this was going to be a long trip and was super thankful that the farm was remote and far from people.
We didn’t catch up with Terry for almost two hundred miles, but only because my dad drives like he’s seventy-three years old. I swear I told him twenty times that if he wanted to catch up he had to drive faster than Terry. We finally caught up to him, but only because he was on the side of the road with a blown trailer tire.
“Damn it!” was the thought on my mind and methinks Dad and Terry’s too.
This was the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend. Terry was stressed and a bit short with me. How rude.
I stayed and watched the truck and trailer, the worst time of my life. Two hours and one hundred and twenty of Terry’s bucks later they showed up with one new tire.
Here’s the kicker. Dad had already chatted with Terry, I’m just guessing no less than three times, but no more than eleven times (Dad likes to hear himself talk), that he needed some new tires for this here little 1,400 mile trip to the farm in the middle of nowhere. The old tires did look fine, so it was probably just that one bulgy tire that blew.
I jumped in with Terry and we finally made it to North Dakota and fueled up in Beach (the name is misleading). This particular stop has a combo Flying J/Subway joint. I stopped to go, then met up with Dad and Terry to get a bite to eat at the Subway. A pretty lady stepped up behind me and started chatting with me. It was a nice conversation. My dad tried to chime in a few times, but I deflected his weirdness and he got started on his sandwich order. My sandwich was made and I joined Dad and Terry at their table.
“That was a nice lady,” I said.
“She must have been a hooker,” my dad said.
Terry started laughing and so did my dad. Was the old fart just jealous? Did he know that was a hurtful comment? Like only people want to talk with him? His problem is people don’t engage talk with him – he only talks to them, thus the vomiting of his somewhat coherent words. Oh I love my dad, but sometimes… not so much.
Terry and I ate quickly; we fueled up and took off. Dad was nowhere to be found, he probably was spilling his Subway all over himself.
We were driving through the Badlands, it’s kind of pretty scenery.
“What was that?” Terry said.
“I didn’t hear anything.” I was in the middle of telling Terry why these are called the Badlands.
“I think it was something… Ah shit! I blew another one.”
Terry pulled off the road and we both got out. We saw black curly rubber stuff all over Interstate-94 and no tread on another one of his trailer tires. I took out my cell phone and started to call Dad. Terry grabbed my phone out of my hand and told me to dial 411. He didn’t want Dad to know he’d blown another tire.
Yeah, like he isn’t going to find out, I thought.
I’ve never called that number before, the cell coverage was questionable and I got patched through only to drop the call. I called the number back a few more times trying to locate a tire guy. I found out later that my cheap ass, ill-prepared brother had me dial that number with my cell phone because it costs money. You win this round, I thought.
Dad showed up with a big grin on his face. Terry was agitated to say the least.
“Didn’t Dad tell you to buy new tires for your trailer?” I asked.
Terry glared at me and I disengaged with my helpful efforts and let Dad and Terry figure it all out. I was tired anyways.
Another two hours, four new tires (the first one Terry bought earlier today was a different size than these), and we were rolling again. I was back with Dad in his rig and it was black and stormy out. The radio was sending out emergency broadcast warnings of tennis-ball-sized hail and tornado warnings. None of us has ever seen the likes of either so we ignored the warnings and pressed on to our stop in Bismarck.
I used the bathroom first and shared my poor diet of the day.
“Game on, little bro!” Terry was impressed and he overreacted with a gag attack.
An all-you-can-eat Chinese place was next door and we partook so the next morning was going to be just as bad.
Day Two – The Farm: Sunday May 26, 2013
Day Three – No Mo’ Chili: Monday May 27, 2013