Close the Door We Live in a Barn

   The pleasures of our driving adventure began with Pete clipping the driveway gate pole with the campers rear corner and my nerves started to simmer as we left our old home site driving toward heaven knows where. Within the first ten miles and shaking hands, I became aware that I couldn't see the lane in my side mirror. I'd forgotten to adjust it before we left and as I reached out of the window, I took my eyes off of the road for just a second and crossed over the line just as someone decided to pass me. Instinct made me jerk the wheel to the right and get back into my lane. Well, no one told me not to do that with an eighteen foot utility trailer hooked to the back of the u-haul. Panicked, I hit the button on the Walkie-talkie and told Pete I needed to pull over and adjust my mirrors, the front seat and that my body was strung like a rubber band.

We had left at 3 in the afternoon hoping that rush hour traffic would be over, on the interstate, as we approached the last big city in Florida, Jacksonville. I had visions of my big truck taking up all of the road or the utility trailer letting loose and all of the stuff dropping in front of cars behnd me. Nice though, when your body is tense and you have a death grip on the steering wheel..

We drove on and after four hours, my lima bean sized bladder gave me the first warning. So much for bottles of water or drinking coffee to keep me awake, I thought as we finally stopped to check on the animals in the camper. Checking them was my excuse to stop and would become a life line to get away from hours of non-stop driving.  Something had to change or our two day drive would take a blooming week. Oh, where was that interstate, I thought and it was about this time that my little radio went off. I heard Pete give his first bit of wisdom.

"Don't make your turns to the left to wide. You'll pull the utility trailer tail light plug out and you won't have brake lights or turn signals on my trailer." He stated calmly.

"WHAT?" I screamed back at the box in my hand and it took me the next 945 miles to forget to worry about if the tail light were working on the utility trailer.

Next a crackling voice asked me if I could see the tire on the driver's side of the truck? "The front one,?" I asked. "I can if I hang my head out of the window."

"Well, does it look ok?" He asked smartly.

AH  DAW! "Ok, as in?" I screamed back into the box.

"Low on air and stop screaming into the walkie-talkie," Was his next demand.

Now, we're still in Florida, with no road signs in sight for the turn onto the interstate we needed and I have to worry about the lights on the utility trailer, mirrors, wide turns, a tire that might go flat and during all of that, I have windows flopping around on the utility trailer, he didn't tied down tight enough so everytime I hit a pot hole or dip in the road, they jumped around. Things were beginning to get tense.

My pack of cigarettes was empty, the carton fell under the seat on the other side of the blooming truck and there was no retrieving them until we stopped and to make matters worse, it was starting to get dark and then, the rain came down. My truck driving instructions didn't include the location of the wiper button nor the fact that the timers on them worked, so we drove fifty more miles before I figured out that the cruse control and wipers were two separate things. This was a really bad Florida thunderstorm with heavy rain pouring straight down. Lightning and thunder so close, I cringed at each flash and tried to remember that as long as I was on rubber tires, I wouldn't fry if it hit my big metal truck. This wasn't the time to test the theory, I thought. 

The road became a river of running water as we slowed, but Pete wouldn't stop. He fully expected me to drive in the dark, pouring rain and be relaxed about it.

 "Are you ok?" I stammered into the box. "Can you see ok in this rain?" I heard a very stern, "I'm fine, no idle chit chat while driving. I have to watch for signs and the batteries will run down if you keep talking."

That was it, my first of many tizzy fits and getting ticked off at him. Where was my praise for what I had endured so far? Where was my congratulation on a job well done? Hey, where was my, Honey I love you words?

All of Florida's little towns and their red lights passed quickly. I learned the big rig, heavy with my furnishings, would not jump a traffic light. It crawled and changed gears with the speed of a snail. As the rain slowed the first Interstate sign popped up. "Stay close," is what he told me to do as a giant semi came between us. I saw the exit sign we were to take and moved over to the right lane. I couldn't see Pete in front of the semi. As I went up onto the exit ramp, there went Pete, right passed it. Good ole camper and Pete missed the turn.

"I have to turn around," came over the little walkie-talkie and then, nothing. He was out of range

OMG, this was my first panic attack in the middle of the night, on the interstate as I drove slowly looking for the rest stop.