The Road Less Traveled...
(All future e-news from the road will actually include images from said
road -
Ironically however, none were taken on this my first photographic
journey)
How ironic...in my first enews as a photographer on the road, I have
absolutely no new photographs...that said, the following
Despite the aforementioned title of this my first newsletter from the
road, I promise, my travels shall continue, but if my first full week
on the road is any indication of what lies before me, I’m not sure I am
up to the task.
I arrived to pick up my gallery on wheels up from the dealer in Elkhart
Indiana on Monday April 9th and was immediately impressed (worried)
with its size, girth, length, you name it. It was just darn big.
It was now apparent that in one, not so short trip from Litchfield Park
Arizona, the site of my last show, to Indiana I had left my life as a
photographer behind and unofficially joined the legions of truckers who
ferry supplies across this great nation.
When I arrived in Elk Hart, IN where my trailer was being prepped, the
weather had turned decidedly ugly with rain wind and snow being the
norm, although I was told by every local I broached the subject with
that this was in their opinion...”unusual”. Maybe, but it was certainly
painfully common on this, first trip to the Hoosier state.
As a new hitch was being installed in (or is it on?) my truck, I was
treated to a walk through of my new home that left my head
spinning...in the 45 minutes it took me to be briefed on its ample
capabilities, I now knew I knew less about RVs and life on the road
than I was certain I knew when I arrived...ignorance truly is bliss and
it too was painfully common right about now.
Ignorance aside, I was ready for the road (ironic considering I had
just been on the road for 48 hrs) and after another hour or two the
hitch had been installed, and I was ready for departure.
Under the watchful eye of the service manager, I hitched my truck to
the “Cyclone” behind me on the first attempt with...well, without a
hitch...so to speak. I felt like I was at the reins of a conestoga
wagon on a modern day version of those prairie schooners crossing the
Santa Fe Trail.
Westward ho the voice in my head screamed! But the bravado was short
lived when an identical trailer to mine pulled into the lot and
sideswiped a Ford F250 pick-up leaving a gash in the trailer the size
of compact car...a vehicle which I suddenly wished I was driving.
As I began to reevaluate the wisdom of this grand adventure I had been
so proudly touting at my recent shows, a tap on the window brought me
back reality and I was informed by the service manager that as a result
of the accident, all trailers would be fork lifted off the lot.
In short, if I was going to ruin anything, it wasn’t
going to be their property or on their lot. My prairie schooner was now
under the control of a tug fork.
I was delayed for another hour when it was learned that my welcome kit
did not include a license plate, but since my truck didn’t either, I
wasn’t all that concerned (no sense going to jail for just one
infraction) and in the end it really didn’t matter because when it
arrived, they neglected to put it in a plastic protector which resulted
in it’s falling apart in the “unusual” the weather after just a few
miles.
Anyway, once on the road, it again dawned upon me that everything I
knew about driving had been rendered useless. Now I don’t know about
you, but I never feel comfortable knowing everything I know about
anything has been rendered useless...just one of my pet peeves you
might say.
But before the bulk of my journey back to Arizona to attend a show in
the Oro Valley, the initial drive was to be a short one, just a 150
miles or so to Anderson, Indiana, the home of my new friend, (I'll call
her) Miss Wendy. Wendy is a horse trainer extrordinaire and a horse
whisperer if there ever was one.
But enough about her, this is my nightmare unfolding...as I arrived at
her home, Wendy graciously offered to back the “rig” into her property
as there were some low hanging wires and a rather slim piece of acreage
to actually park the damn thing in...not to mention she had actually
driven a 40ft (horse) trailer before.
She was with some of her students at the time and not wanting to make
her take time from them, I convinced her that driving in head first and
backing out in the morning would be the best approach. She agreed,
albeit reluctantly with a “do what you think is best” response.
Had she known that returning this white elephant to the dealer was what
I thought best, she would have insisted that she take the
controls...anyway, I figured that if she had given me such latitude,
the least I could do was ease it in with out taking her house out with
me...so I did.
After what seemed to be a very short night, I awoke to a very stormy
Monday morning both because of the unusual weather and the fact that I
was leaving on Wendy’s birthday (a tactless move from which I may never
be forgiven).
But leave I did. My first significant road trip in this my only home,
was now being conducted in unusually adverse conditions, the likes of
which the locals had never seen.
Tact and wisdom notwithstanding, on this issue I swear, if I had
delayed my departure by so much as a minute (or so I thought), I would
be late for the show...and as we all know, the show must go on.
 As I bid farewell to Wendy, who was late
for work, she again (despite the downpour) generously offered to guide
me out past the poles and wires...I know in my heart she truly wanted
me to be on my way safely, but I couldn’t help but think, her only wish
was that she had a house to come home to (who could blame her) and I
stood in the way.
As I started to back the trailer out, my wheels began to spin in the
mud leaving nasty tracks in Wendy’s lush Indiana grass...but before I
thought she could possibly notice, like the pro I liked to think I was,
I effortlessly slipped that Dodge into 4-wheel drive... and off I was.
Feeling a bit lost, I looked out to Wendy for guidance and saw her
motion slightly before saying “keep going like you are and you’ll be
fine” so I did, or so I thought.
You see, after backing up a few feet further, I looked over my shoulder
out the driver’s window. In retrospect, I’m not quite sure whether I
was looking for reassurance from a friend (don’t we all) who had
already climbed into her truck, or if I was admiring my quick mastering
of a tractor-trailer trucker’s skills. Either way, that’s when it
happened...
With a loud pop, I had clipped the lowest hanging wire (phone) attached
to Wendy’s house, a brilliant maneuver that left her without land line
communication to the outside world. Her communication to me, which I
won’t repeat was heard loud and clear however.
After a few phone conversations with the phone company (which are
always pleasant) , Wendy left for work with me standing in the rain
awaiting the arrival of the repairman. As I grew wetter and wetter,
soaked and more soaked, in this godforsaken unusual weather, I could
only stare at the single strand of low hanging wire which now held me
prisoner,
I had traveled 1729.3 miles, created a big mess and now alienated
someone I wanted to call a friend...well...at least things were back to
normal.
My spirit began to brighten when (I’ll call him Earl) from the phone
company arrived far before the “sometime today” window the customer
service rep had promised Wendy. And he was a champ...
As “Earl” exited his truck, he immediately complimented me on my
trailer. I thought he was being a wise guy, but when I realized that
wasn’t part of “Earl’s” make-up, I almost asked if he wanted it...I
stopped when I realized the joke WOULD be on me as then I truly would
be homeless.
He then asked if SHE was coming or going, as Wendy had honorably told
the phone company that she had snipped the wire. I sheepishly informed
him that it was I who had perpetrated the foul deed and awaited my
scorn.
Frankly, “Earl” didn’t care...an all in a day’s work, civil service
type thing I surmised or at least it was forgotten when he discovered
that I was heading to Arizona. It seems he spent a hitch (non trailer
variety) in the army. He then proceeded to regale me with a tale or two
from the time he was stationed in Yuma (something about massages in San
Luis, Mexico).
But it came to a quick conclusion and he seemed to sour, when I told
him I despised Yuma ( I could sour on Hawaii if I had a bad show
there), but not enough to keep him from offering to guide me out of
Wendy’s yard.
I quickly accepted his offer and climbed in my truck with a new
confidence...right up to the moment he yelled through the wind and the
rain, “I don’t do directions too good!” Good god I thought...all I
wanted to do was visit my friend, and now I have to die for it?”
Good intentions be damned, “Earl” of Indiana very nearly got me into
another uncomfortable situation (accident) because not only true to his
admonishment, didn’t he give “good directions”, he also doesn’t look at
all sides of a trailer backing up in a rain storm when surrounded by
obstacles that might maim, kill, or destroy the home of a man’s best
friend (no not my dogs, Miss Wendy).
But on this morning, I was smarter than the likes of Earl and managed
to (narrowly) catch myself before being wedged between a telephone pole
and a hard place...I also left, Wendy’s mailbox standing (narrowly) and
I was on my way!
“On my way” is probably an exaggeration, as not long after I left
Anderson, several SOBs refused to allow me to switch lanes and I was
forced to abandon my carefully planned, intended route (actually Wendy
told me to take it) which would take me via the Interstate around
downtown Indianapolis and out into the open highways of Missouri,
Oklahoma, and the panhandle of Texas! Shit howdy!
Instead, I was thrust into the cramped downtown streets of
Indianapolis’ inner city traffic...for the time being, I wasn’t too
concerned though. The main thoroughfare seemed to be a comfortable four
lane road that traveled nicely at 55 mph and the map indicated that
this would funnel me back onto my intended route...all is well...or so
I thought.
See, what it didn’t tell me was that I would eventually be dumped into
a slice of a road with an 11000 pound weight limit... and what it
(fate) must have known, was that I was driving a monster that weighed
in at 11000 lbs. before the truck was factored in...shinola happens I
figured.
Being the conscientious (ok, conscious) driver I am, I immediately
veered onto an unknown side street (I have now been told by a
professional trucker that this move is never a wise one).
In my abandonment of the former route, I can’t say in all honesty that
I actually cared whether the good people of Indianapolis’ roads
crumbled under the weight of my house, and to some degree I really
questioned how the road could tell if my vehicle weighed in at 1100 or
1101...but fate had been tested enough on this journey and it was
really a bad time for me and my house to be engulfed in a massive sink
hole.
So, as I made the turn, I encountered on one side, a much smaller
street and on the other, a bridge that said “LOW CLEARANCE 13’
10”...now I’m every bit a risk taker, but when driving a trailer with a
clearance of 13’ 6” I began to question who actually measured that
clearance...was it an “Earl” type?...one who “doesn’t take good
measurements”. Does he have a brother?
I also thought it looked recently paved...what if an extra 4" of
asphalt had been applied and they forgot to change the sign? What if my
tires were over inflated?
I chose the “much smaller” side street and it was all beginning to
remind me of those dolls within a doll which keep getting smaller until
there is barely a doll left. Much to every woman’s insistence that men
won’t do it, I decided to pull over and ask for directions.
It was now almost 9 am and the local YMCA was just turning over the
closed sign...what could be better, after all, where could one find a
more honest, giving element of society than those helping America’s
youth.
As I entered the “Y” I was greeted by a very friendly, elderly black
man, who wasn’t “real good” on his directions...I asked if his name was
Earl? It wasn’t and only I was amused, but I digress...in both of our
best interests, he called for some help and another man about his age
emerged and then another, together, none of them could agree on which
direction to point me in...either this street was closed, that one was
one way only, or neither lead to where I needed to go. And they call
this a free country.
As I stood there in boots ‘n hat surrounded by these quarreling men, I
could only imagine that the stars and moon were somehow aligned just
right and the movie sets of “Open Range” and “Barber Shop” had collided
to become one somewhere in time.
As the trio grew louder, from the rear office emerged a young man about
6’ 6” and 350 lbs...he asked them what was going on, but without
awaiting a response, he very quietly asked me where I was going. He
then gave me the only thing I needed...a way out.
The next 72 hours were particularly stressful as my damn “house” was
consuming gas (8 miles per gallon) at an amazing rate; toll road rates
had now tripled given I had three new axles behind me that weren’t with
me on the trip out; seemingly the entire I-40 between Texas and New
Mexico is now under construction requiring 45 mph speed limits through
much of them...and a massive storm had engulfed MY entire route... at
least things were back to normal.
With little fanfare except for some white knuckle driving through
Missouri, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico and finally Arizona, not to
mention some equipment breakdowns in my new abode, I did indeed make my
show in Oro Valley, albeit at a much later time than anticipated
however.
After the first night of the show and several more close calls with the
trailer, my friend, Joeseph Robertson, (scratch board artist
extrordinaire) and I reflected upon many things, but the one that
struck us both as obvious was that I, a mere mortal should not have
been allowed to take the controls of a machine of this magnitude with
absolutely no training whatsoever...caveat emptor I suppose, and the
public be damned for sure.
And then in a private moment, I was happy sad, relieved, and more than
a bit embarrassed when Wendy sent me a text message that said she had
survived a tornado that had touched down in her neighborhood, her
horses were fine as well.
This was of course good news, no lives were lost, but I now had to live
with the reality I had done more damage to HER home than a tornado.
Until next time....be well and as always, Save a Horse, Ride a Mustang.
Jim
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