NEW YORK, N.Y. — I shouldn’t call this trip cursed. I mean, we’re only about 36 hours into it, and it’s not like we’re miserable.
It started when I picked up Joe the Truck from the garage early last week. I handed the nice man (Joey—no relation to Joe) my $400 and he said, “There’s a note on your file. We replaced one of the power-steering lines, but the others look pretty rusty. It’s just a matter of time. And your wheel bearings—those will last three or four months.”
“Three or four months. But I’m driving about 4,000 kilometres on Friday.”
He sucked in his breath, the way calm Joey rarely does. “Well, you know, driving on the highway will put a lot more pressure on them. But I think you’ll be okay.”
“What do I watch for? Like, a vibration?”
“Oh, you’ll know. It’ll be really loud. So when it gets really loud, you …”
“Get off the road?”
“Yeah, that would be best.”
* * *
And then there are the little things: Melani’s stomach hates America this trip. I’m still getting over bronchitis and finding I’m far more tired than usual. One of our hosts has a sick child and it’s hard to balance really wanting to see her with not being a burden.
And the weather! March is testy no matter what, but snow in Maryland? Rain all week in Myrtle Beach. No, thank you. We could have stayed home for that.
But the thing is that we didn’t stay home. We hit the road anyway and we are having an adventure. We’re having an adventure like in the old days, where we don’t know where we’re going to be three or 24 hours from now, and y’know, those are the trips I love, where we just wing it and hope for the best.
Those are the trips that make stories happen.