We had a few new arrivals today and we are pretty stoked. We ordered extra cards and batteries. We ordered mounts for the car. And we picked up the actual Go Pros for those extra batteries and car mounts. Finally.
We say "finally" because this little checklist item is a larger checklist/ticket item for us. The Go Pros will supplement our Cannon camera. And it feels like one of the last big hurdles to clear before we can hit the magic highway.
Dare I say it? We're almost ready to go. Almost because we still have to nail down the final itinerary. And we still have some smaller items to pick up before we leave. Things like a first aid kit, jumper cables, a clean cooler without all the juice box and ice residue from last summer's trip to the beach. Of course, not all of this stuff needs to be purchased, though.
The cooler needs to be retrieved from the garage and subjected to a high powered pressure washing -and possibly a couple gallons of disinfectant. There's also a Swiss Army knife around here someplace. I can perform an emergency tracheotomy on anyone utilizing that knife with the addition of a Starbucks frappuccino straw. (And possibly a couple shots of Mad Dog 20/20 or some other form of liquid courage. Maybe a nice Pinot. Or Malbec.)
"Hang on, Buddy! I. Just. Have. To. Get. This. Cork. Out."
I have liquid courage memories of the Greyhound bus from the high school days. Young and stupid and bouncing between divorced parents as I made my way to Minneapolis from backwater North Dakota. Christmas break on the Grey Puppy included numbing oneself to the reality of the bus, as well as perceived teenage angst , with a can of 7-Up and a bottle of MD 20/20. Self-medication at a high school level of maturity and availability.
"Ok. So it's $25 and your brother will get me a bottle of Mad Dog and a pack of Marlboros?" Nervous glances all around until an affirmative nod. "Sweet! I'm in! Oh. Wait! I've got $23 and... um... 68, 69... 74 cents. Will that do? Yeah? Cool!"
At any rate, the Mad Dog laced 7-Up still tasted like the world's worst diet cough syrup. You know the drill. The kind of garbage that a parent would give you out of pure spite for getting sick. That'll teach ya. That's my memory. Numb and sleeping by Detroit Lakes as the bus stopped at what seemed like every gas station on old highways that were only somewhat parallel to I-94. Rousing slightly as some other unfortunate stepped on board and, every now and then, on your feet as they made their way past you. Or being bumped, jostled, and borderline assaulted by and with bags stuffed with gifts from K-Mart. Or the local Pamida store, in some cases. The smell of stale urine wafting from the toilet in the back, as one belched a half-awake cloud of Mad Dog cough syrup to add to the stench. And then allowing the bus to rock weary souls back to sleep. Good times!
If there is an emergency trach to do -and there just might be -we will be looking for something other than Mad Dog 20/20.
We also have to get the car fired up and down to the local dealer for some oil, a brake and belt check, a loofah, rinse, and possibly a back rub. Back rubs are important before setting out to cover thousands of miles in a piece of molded aluminum. Like a 7-Up can without (hopefully) the Mad Dog Cough Syrup stench.
22 days to go.