The final stretch is always the roughest. Each miles feels like two. Yer butt hurts from sitting too long. You need to move. You itch. You squirm. You sigh. Pain. Mother Nature always saves a couple curveballs for the last couple hundred miles, for whatever pagan reason.
This morning, out of Nampa, Ida., all the way to Portland, we battled the following environmental/countrified/urban hurdles:
Nature did whatever it could all day long to mess with us. And this is always the way it seems to go. We had smooth sailing for 2000+ miles. What would a roadtrip with yer mom be without a couple moments of blinding, paralyzing fear? Just wouldn’t be the same, big road.
And, just to add insult to injury, as we were rolling into Portland, things were bumper-to-bumper dead on I-84. Turns out some turkey shot a guy on 122nd, so they closed the whole city down or something. (“Gang-related.” is what the news said.) Luckily, we got off on 181st, sensing the stopped traffic up ahead, and took the small streets in to 67th, which, was bumper-to-bumper, too. Real awesome.
Just glad to be home, and safe, and transported. Leah, you little mother-to-be, you better love the mountain of baby shit Mom and I trucked out here for you!
AND TO DAD: I told you I’d get mom out here in one piece! Precious cargo.
