On the Road Again

            As moves go, this was a big one. According to Google Maps there are 1,025 miles between New Albany and Round Rock. This was going to take some work. The wonders of the internet and fax machines made the transition easier than it used to be. I had an apartment lined up and my utilities arranged. Now all I had to do was get everything I owned down to Texas.

            That would be accomplished with the help of a rented Penske truck and some friends. My buddy Vito was quick to volunteer for packing duty. My mom and stepfather came down as well. Thanks to them and my newfound philosophy of “That’s it, I’m throwing all this shit out,” we were able to cram everything into one truck, a Saturn and a Pontiac.

A couple other friends, Jack and Nick, would help with the driving. My parents decided to come along on the road trip as well, which was both a big help and a comfort through the entire transition. Two days of driving lay ahead of us. Jack and N ick manned the moving truck, my parents were in their Saturn, and I was in my car, accompanied only by my XM/Sirius Radio. The caravan pulled out and made its way South. On day one, the trip wound its way through Nashville, Memphis and ultimately to Little Rock for the night.

The drive went fairly smoothly. The miles rolled by as we drove through Kentucky, Tennessee and Arkansas where – let’s face it – there is very little to look at. You get into a bit of a trance rolling through hours of interstate with nothing but lines of trees on either side of you interrupted by the occasional l small-town exit populated by truck stop gas stations and big-chain fast food joints.

Riding alone in my car was certainly different than flying down for my interview. My departure time was early, and I arrived at the Indianapolis airport while it was still dark. It was then I learned among other things Panda Express food smells even worse at 8 a.m. then it does during the day. Luckily I was able to take a few deep breaths close to a Cinnabon to fix that problem.  

I had a middle seat for the first leg of the trip, which went from Indianapolis to Denver before a connecting flight took me to Austin. I thought I might have rolled a proverbial seven, as the flight was full – except for the aisle seat in my row. I had visions of sliding into the aisle seat and enjoying a free seat between me and window-seat guy. He and I kept exchanging glances, even once muttering to each other, “We’re not this lucky, are we?” No, no we weren’t. Just a minute before the flight attendants closed the door, a disheveled man in a suit with a crooked tie and a laptop came rumbling in and plopped down next to us. He was one of those guys whose sinuses were so congested he snored whether he was asleep or not.

We landed at the Denver airport, which is actually located in Kansas. That’s only a slight exaggeration. It certainly is not anywhere near Denver, which I never even saw out of the windows even when landing or taking off. There I passed the time reading my Nook among the other connectors of America. The guy sitting across from me was reading an issue of Field & Stream. According to the cover, it was the “Close Call” issue. I wanted to ask what kind of close calls there could be in a field or a stream (get a fishhook in the eye? Trip on a creek rock in eight inches of water?), but he didn’t seem interested in taking questions.   

In stark contrast, the drive down during the move was strictly solo for me. I do well on long drives, but two days alone in a car will make you feel pretty restless. At least the food was good. We followed up a Cracker Barrel lunch with dinner at Waffle House. At first we weren’t sure where to eat, but when we found out my mom had never experienced the wonders of Waffle House, the decision was made. Waffle House is one of the great grub places, and Jack and I had eaten at numerous locations over the years in the middle of the night on way back home from wrestling shows, or after a night of Kamikazees and pitchers of beer at the New View. A particular favorite excursion there was highlighted by a friend of ours stating his drunken intention to become the fourth member of the Fat and the Furious team. Jack and I were there, giving the FNF a quorum, so we asked how he intended to do that. He declared he would down a triple order of triple hashbrowns (yes, he intended to eat nine orders of hashbrowns). The giant plate of spuds arrived, ketchup was applied and about three bites were taken before he stated his next intention, which was to pass out.

It was a shame, as Waffle House hashbrowns are a terrible thing to waste. The food is basic, quick and tasty. Mom and Marty are brilliant at finding good places to eat and are used to good food, so Waffle House was a risk, but they seemed to enjoy it. Sometimes the basics are the best.

After a night’s sleep it was back on the road. There is very little between Little Rock and the Texas state line, and this stretch felt like the longest part of the trip. Crossing into Texas perked us up a bit, as the dull tree lines eventually yielded to impressive ranch mansions and the sites of Dallas. We were only a few short hours away.

As the last miles rolled by and the skies grew dark, I reflected on what was happening. My parents and friends would help me move, then either drive for fly back north. I wouldn’t be with them, though. I was staying, over 1,000 miles from where I had been living. I had no friends in Austin, and a few family members I hadn’t seen in 25 years, if at all. Was I making the right decision?  Would all of this work out?   I even said it out loud to myself once or twice, “I live in Texas now,” as if I were trying the words on to see if they fit. It felt pretty good, and I was anxious to see what the future would hold.

But we still had to get to Round Rock. As we passed Waco, then later Georgetown, we neared the hotel we would stay in for the night (the apartment office was closed by the time we made it to town so I couldn’t pick up the key until the next day). Coming around a curve on I-35 I saw ahead of me a police car that had someone pulled over on the right shoulder. I changed lanes to give them some room, as did Jack behind me in the Penske truck. As I did, the pickup truck in front of me checked up hard. Now it’s normal to slow down a bit, but this guy slammed on his brakes like he had just spotted a red light. I jammed on my brakes and the tires squealed. I looked in my rearview mirror and saw the Penske truck rapidly filling the mirror. You have to be kidding me, I thought to myself. We come all this way and wreck with only five miles to go? I braced myself, waiting to feel the crunch of a truck loaded with almost all my possessions hitting my only car. But the crunch never came. Somehow Jack managed to get the big truck stopped before he hit me.

I took a deep breath. I’d had my first close call, and it turned out all right. I decided to take it as a good sign as we rolled into the hotel parking lot. The next day I picked up my key from the apartment office and we moved my things into the new apartment. Mom and Marty would be staying with me for a few days, but the day after the move, I did have to drive Jack and Nick down to the Austin airport. They had to catch a flight back to Louisville. They’d been a great help and doing the move without them would have been a ridiculously tough task. Saying goodbye to them was even more difficult, though. There was no “see you next week,” or “we might be doing (x) this weekend, we’ll call you if we do,” and no more buzzed trips to Waffle House.It was just an open-ended goodbye.

While I am sure we’ll all hang out again in the future, and while we still talk on the phone and stay in touch via Facebook, etc., walking out of the Austin airport that day made me realize just how much I’d miss my friends.  I also felt another corner had been turned as I pulled onto I-35 North. It was time to head to my new home.