Highlands and Back or Bust

I can’t seem to think ahead, planning-wise, past the end of the current month. So events scheduled for the beginning of the next month are almost always a surprise once I flip a page of the mental calendar in my head. One of my coworkers mentioned to me last week that she was going to be off Tuesday and Wednesday of the next week, but that meant she would miss out on holiday pay for Labor Day. “Oh,” I thought, “Is it time for Labor Day already?”

We can’t take off the day before or the day after a holiday and get holiday pay, otherwise everyone would want to and nothing would get done.

When I got home that night, Berck announced that he was going somewhere for Labor Day weekend, whether I was coming or not. He presented Chicago as a possibility and mentioned that my brother-in-law Nathan (his brother-in-law-in-law) was inviting us to join him and Steph at my family’s mountain house in Highlands, North Carolina. Chicago is twelve hours away, while Highlands is a brutal fifteen.

The more I thought about it at work the next day, the more I got excited about possibly going to Highlands. I needed to be in mountains. And I’d get to see my five-month-old nephew Ian. I heard he’s into giggling.

So after getting off work on Friday afternoon (we’re supposed to get off at one, but frustratingly, for the first time we didn’t finish our inventory counting until one-forty-five), I dashed home, took a shower, and we headed east.

Our trip almost got off to a bad start just outside of OK City. We’d poked behind a super slow truck through a one lane construction zone for miles. When the zone finally ended, we had the road before us completely empty. So we were zipping along, when we crested a hill. The radar detector screamed at instant-on K-band at the same moment Berck spotted the cruiser in the median and slammed on the brakes. We skidded a little as we passed him. Looking back, he had turned on his lights, but he didn’t pursue us. He probably looked at his radar detector reading and couldn’t believe that it didn’t register us as speeding.

Berck was able to get a twenty-five dollar Priceline bid for a “suite” in Nashville, the nicest twenty-five dollar hotel room I’ve ever stayed in. So we drove to Nashville and spent the night. Berck’s dad happened to be in Nashville at the same time, so we had breakfast with him.

We took a detour to be able to include US 129 in our route, and I remembered again that I shouldn’t eat breakfast whenever we’re planning on running Deal’s Gap with Berck at the wheel.

We finally got into Highlands about five-thirty local time. That gave us plenty of time to take a walk to Middle Satulah Falls, then drive up for a cookout on top of Sunset Mountain. The western sky was cloudy, so there wasn’t much of a sunset, though the sky did turn pretty colors. What there was were hordes of people up for Labor Day weekend, with the same idea we had, except replacing the grilled sausages with wine out of plastic cups. I’ve never seen so many people up there, but there is plenty of rock face for everyone. And everyone left soon after the sky show was over, leaving us to roast our s’mores in peace. Mmmm…. s’mores.

We stopped back at Buck’s coffee house in town, where a West Virginian calling himself Wildcat was playing the guitar and singing hillbilly songs. We all got coffee and sat down to listen. Ian had fallen asleep long ago on the mountain, but now he awoke and watched Wildcat intently from his little baby seat. Ian started making noise at during one song, and I thought he might be getting fussy, but when I looked over, Ian was laughing at the singer, grinning and sticking his tongue out at him. Wildcat said he was thrilled to have such a great back-up singer and shook Ian’s hand when it was time for us to go. Ian latched onto his finger and wouldn’t let go.

Back at the house, Berck and Nathan got their computers to share a dial-up Internet connection, and Berck discovered with much glee that everything he had set up to access back at our apartment worked perfectly. He even updated the Linux system on his computer in Norman… from Highlands.

The next morning we got up and ate pancakes and then hiked up Mt. Satulah. That hike is a lot less strenuous than I remember it being as a child. We found our house’s porch and the geocache left up there for GPS enthusiasts. Berck had the easiest hike uphill because he was holding onto Kimber’s leash, and she, in turn, was perfectly happy dragging him uphill. I love sitting on top of Satulah and watching hawks wheel and hover… dozens of feet below me.

Next we took the dirt road over the old iron bridge to Silver Run Falls. It’s a beautiful little waterfall that flows into a swimming hole. It was too cool to swim (the weather was perfect, cool and dry) for any of us except Kimber, who dragged Berck into the water when he tried to throw a stick in while holding onto her leash). We had a picnic lunch and watched the brave souls who arrived in swimming suits but left pretty quickly after testing the water.

Next it was back to town to get some ice cream at Sweet Treats. Then we stopped by Dry Falls so Berck could see it. “I’ve seen bigger.”

That night I stole some apples from our neighbor’s tree, Nathan grilled New York Strips, and Steph made a batch of amazing brownies. And we went to bed “early” in preparation for the drive back home in the morning.

It’s true, Ian is into giggling. If you smile at him, he’ll break into a huge grin, sticking his tongue out wildly, then start laughing, displaying his toothless gums. Steph said he’s been a little scared of strangers holding him, but when she plopped him in my lap, he didn’t get concerned at all. I was sitting on the couch with Steph on one side of me, Berck on the other, and Nathan looking over the back. Ian looked over at Berck, trying to figure out all the hair on his face. Steph told him that Berck was a bear. We all laughed, and Ian started looking at each our faces in turn, pausing at Berck’s each time, as if he were thinking, “Why is his face different from everyone else’s?”

It’s funny to see how crazy Ian is about his daddy. Whenever Nathan would walk into the room and say something, Ian would whip his head over to see where his daddy was, then start kicking his legs excitedly. As soon as Nathan said something to him, he’d start grinning and laughing.

Ian is also into rolling these days. He can roll all which ways, which is useful when the toy you want is just out of reach. He can also sit upright (if you put him in that position) and balance himself for a few minutes.

He’s still the happiest baby I think I’ve ever seen. I don’t think he really cried the whole time we were there.

The drive home has been pretty uneventful. On our way to Highlands we passed van after van decorated with various University of Tennessee paraphernalia, all traveling to Knoxville for the first game of the season. We fit right in with the huge orange T on the rear window of the Solara. Traffic was a lot heavier heading east than west. We saw a bunch of UT cars heading back west today.

We spent more time driving to and from Highlands than we actually spent waking hours there, but it was worth it. Berck needed to get out of the apartment, and I needed mountains. We had lots of audio books and CD’s of This American Life to listen to while driving, so the time flew by. And we got to eat at Krystal in West Memphis, the furthest west they go, both coming and going.

Well, it’s ten o’clock, and we’re just pulling into the apartment complex. It’ll be nice to get a decent night’s sleep before heading back to work in the morning (we’re working from seven-thirty to five-thirty all week to make up for Labor Day).

Lucky Pup

Berck has bungee-corded me to the lawn chair that serves as my desk chair and is forcing me to write about the events last weekend that almost kept us in Chicago much longer than we intended. So, here goes.

I consider myself a lucky person. I am even lucky in my misfortune. When something unlucky happens to me, it usually happens in the most fortuitous circumstances…or even prevents a far greater misfortune. (Like that time Berck and I got locked out of the laundromat; the delay gave our bowels just long enough to realize the bad Mexican food we’d eaten needed to be expelled as quickly as possible…near nice, clean bathrooms instead of along the desolate stretch of highway on which we were about to embark.) I tell people I’m lucky, but really, I think someone is watching out for me. If you think about it, this requires about as much faith as believing that the principles of statistics are somehow cosmically altered for you personally.

The drive to Chicago was great. An overcast sky paced us all the way there, keeping the sun off our skin and the temperature perfect for top-down driving. Still, we were pretty tired when we arrived, having driven for most of13 hours.

Sydney gave us directions on the phone of exactly which side of which street on which to park. We found a Miata-sized space that Berck maneuvered into after several tries. We called Syd back to tell her we had arrived and began exhuming the contents of the trunk onto the sidewalk. I put up the car’s top and stuck my keys in the ignition to put up the windows. Then Syd arrived, and Berck wanted to sanitize the car’s interior, removing not only the attractively stealable items, like the radar detector and stereo faceplate, but every other worthless item not bolted down in the interior. “It can’t look cluttered,” he said. “That’s just asking for someone to break in.” Of course, since we never lock the car (that’s just asking for a thief to slice through the vinyl top), breaking in would actually mean simply pulling on the door handle.

We walked or took the L everywhere while in Chicago, as it’s a lot easier than braving city traffic or over-extending parking karma. When it was time to leave on Sunday morning (or noon by then), we made sure we had collected everything we’d brought and said goodbye to Sydney. I was a little irritated because I couldn’t find my keys in the spot where I’d emptied my pockets, but Berck had his keys, and I figured I must have forgotten stashing my set into one of my bags, or Berck had picked mine up by mistake. I asked Berck if he’d done something with my keys, and he got ticked off that I thought he might have. In any case, I figured they’d turn up later.

Down on the street, the Miata was still there, though the parking space around it had widened a bit over the weekend. I glanced in the passenger window and noticed that most of the contents of the glove box were strewn over the car seat. Someone had broken into the car! There was nothing in the glovebox worth anything to anyone else, so nothing was missing. Nothing except an old credit card of mine that I had presumed lost and canceled; Berck had held onto it, partly as memento and partly ice scraper, I think. The thief, probably not stopping to examine the expiration date too closely, maybed dashed off with his prize as soon as he found it, since nothing else was gone; even the change in the cupholder was undisturbed.

I got into Sydney’s car and waited for Berck to finish reassembling the Miata. A couple of minutes later, Berck came storming toward the Solara. “I found your keys,” he said, disgusted.

“Where were they?”

“IN THE IGNITION!”

“Oops.”

He stormed back to the Miata. Then he stormed right back.

“And you left them ON! The battery is dead!”

I guess no one could steal the car with the battery dead. Even with the keys in the ignition and the doors unlocked.

We couldn’t find any jumper cables in the Solara, and Berck wasn’t crazy about charging the Miata’s special battery that way anyway. So he took the live battery out of the Solara and replaced the dead battery in the Miata. The Miata started right up.

Then Berck unhooked the battery and took it back to the Solara. He was getting grease all over his hands and t-shirt and new shorts. The only thing I could do was sit on the sidewalk and feel useless and stupid. I thought about offering to hook the Solara back up, since I’d watched it being taken apart, but that was probably a bad idea. Instead, I decided to put the Miata’s spare tire back in its trunk, which had to be moved out of the way for the larger Toyota battery. Unfortunately, in the process I knocked the Miata’s positive cable against its body. The Miata’s engine immediately shuttered to a stop.

“Oh, no.”

“WHAT DID YOU DO?” Berck was furious. “You probably mucked the alternator all up! If you’re lucky, all you did was blow the main fuse!”

“We’ll go get another one,” I suggested.

“ON THE FOURTH OF JULY? What auto parts store is going to be open?!”

Berck yanked the main fuse out from under the hood. It looked okay, so he carried the Solara battery back to the Miata and hooked it all up again. The Miata started right up.

This time I let Berck put the Miata battery in first. “Now you can put the spare back in.”

We drove back to Norman without further incident, getting in around 2:30 a.m.

The Windy City

We’re in Chicago.

We drove from Norman Friday morning. It’s pretty easy… you take
Interstate 44 until you get to St. Louis, then I-55 till Chicago. I-44
passes through Springfield, MO, the first house Berck remembers living
in. We got lunch at Arby’s, and with Berck’s description of the
neighborhood to his mom, and his mom’s description of the house, we were
able to find it. We would have taken a picture, if we had a camera.

We got to Sydney’s apartment in Wicker Park after ten p.m. After
walking many blocks in search of food, we settled for a tasty taqueria
(where, unfortunately, I left my hat). Then we bought some beer and
headed back to Sydney’s roof (carrying a case of beer up an extension
ladder is tricky), which had a great view of the moon, the Sears Tower,
and some premature fireworks. Sydney’s roommates returned one by
one and shared our beer and stories. I finally petered out at three in
the morning, but everyone else apparently stayed up until dawn, when
Berck came to bed, happy to have had conversation with people other than
fellow pilots in so long.

Saturday we slept till noon despite the oppressive urban heat. We got
ready to head out to get breakfast (lunch), and the heavens opened,
pouring rain into the street. But a minute later, it had trickled to a
drizzle, and we walked the few blocks to the L station and caught a
train down to the Loop. Then we trekked through the intense humidity in
the general direction of Greek Town and picked a random gyro joint.

Tonight we ventured near the Loop to eat pizza at a place one of Syd’s
roommates works at. It was nice to have Chicago deep dish pizza. We
got a pitcher of beer on the house.

We walked back to and from the L in the rain, getting fairly wet, but
it’s nice and cool

Berck prepared some listening material for us before leaving Norman. He
stole some free stuff (that allows one to rip free RealAudio feeds to
wave files) and burned them to CD’s. We could have just put them on the
MP3 player, but then only one of us would have been able to listen to
them on the way home, since we’ve got two cars going back. We also got
a great deal on some audio books from Audible.com. Both of them are regulars on
This American Life. Sarah Vowell’s Partly Cloudy Patriot and David
Sedaris’ Me Talk Pretty One Day, which we listened to on the way up
here. We were laughing so hard during some of his stories. He’s been
described as a gay Mark Twain. Most of his stories are about his
idiosyncratic family or trying to learn French after moving to France with
his boyfriend. If anyone wants to borrow the CD’s after we’ve listened
to them, maybe we’ll loan them to you. They’re pretty good driving
material. All for driving to the town where WBEZ is located, home of
This American Life.

Chicago

I have tomorrow off. Happy 4th on the 2nd! That meant that we were
supposed to get off every day this week at 4:30. Ha! We did on Monday
and Tuesday. Then we were hit by some humongous orders. Yesterday we
got off at 6. Today we finally got to leave at 6:45…and that was just
us new people. Everyone else had to help fill pink cards (which we
haven’t been trained to do), so I don’t know when they got to go home.

So what are we doing on our three-day weekend? We’re driving to
Chicago! Berck’s sister Sydney just moved there with the AmeriCorps
VISTA program, and she can ride the L around. With a car more of a
liability than an asset, she offered it to us to babysit until she
finishes her term in January. An extra car! Woohoo!

Berck is working on making CD’s of our favorite radio show This American Life
so we can listen to them on the 11 to 12 hour drive.