The alarm sounds at 5:45am. A jumpy bouncy jingle, appropriately labeled “Retro Vibes.”
Chad spent five minutes the night before listening to all the alarm options, before settling.
I knew how this one would sound in the morning: abrupt and jarring.
It was.
A better title would have been, “This won’t make waking up any more fun.”
Neither of us are used to being roused by an alarm anymore. Chad startled into action; his whole body tensed with jerky tightly wound theatrics. Ready to fight.
I rolled out of bed behind him and started the water for my coffee.
Moving day is both stressful and exciting. It means packing everything up so it’s safe to travel. Taking cups and plates off shelves, stowing all the loose items that make up our day to day in a particular way, so that when we reach our destination, it’s quick and easy to set up.
That’s the plan anyway.
While Chad scurries about taking care of the outside like hitching the trailer to the truck, I take the tin mugs off the top shelf and stow them in these cheap black storage baskets we got at Target. I pack about 5 of these baskets with anything that could fall or break. Books from the shelf by the door. Cutlery, knives, and plants; all but one go in the baskets. The big pothos with its struggling vine rides in the sink.
I fill two of Chads big beat-up Nalgene water bottles and make sure we have a water bowl for Elvis. Then root around in our tiny fridge for appropriate snacks.
This journey we get Ritz Crackers, pepper jack cheese, some nuts, and two Perfect Bars.
Electric gets shut off, windows and ceiling fans closed.
We load Elvis into the backseat of the truck, and I slip the harness on Charlie. She squirms a little as I carry her into the front seat, plop a pillow on my lap, and she settles on top of it. Throughout the journey she’ll usually adjust her position multiple times before curling up in a tight ball, her little chin resting on my wrist.
Chad does a final walk around, and then hops into the truck.
We lurch forward, we’re off!
Traveling with everything you own – especially hurtling down an unknown freeway – is terrifying.
As Charlie snoozes on my lap, I’m flinching. A hoard of cars are trying to merge on our right, and we can’t switch lanes because there’s a big rig blocking the lane on the left. They’re all crammed so close together as to form a single line.
Their lane ends; Chad brakes.
My shoulders tense. There’s a mess of concrete and cars all around us.
No escape.
Driving through cities like this is awful.
The smaller two-lane highways are much better.
There, I snack and daydream. Charlie’s shiny black back divulges what I’ve had to eat. Sometimes it’s dusted with the orange powder from a bag of Cheeto’s, and little squares from the sugary glaze of a Cinnabon. I may have been tempted to pick some of the bigger sweet chunks off her furry back– like an orangutan with a penchant for its partner’s fleas – while she slept, none the wiser. I may have also been tempted to use her as a napkin. Neither of which has happened. Yet.
This time, after we’ve made it through Nashville and the lanes drop off, I root around the paper bag of snacks. Sliced pepper jack it is. I open the resealable plastic packet. The cheese is sweating and starting to meld together a bit, so it won’t separate. It’s Dollar General cheese, which means it doesn’t have the thin slip of waxy paper in between each slice.
We fuel up at truck stops, and Charlie tries to hide. She’s spooked by the voices, the hissing brakes and idling engines. It’s a hub of activity, especially when you’re far away from everything.
Chad asks if I want anything, before disappearing behind the tinted glass doors.
It’s amazing to look on the map and see how far we’ve come. The beginning of our trip was through arid desolate mountains and high desert. Since descending down the other side of the Rockies, everything is John Deere green.
We cross state lines, “Welcome to Illinois,” I say to Charlie, and she squeaks.
TRAVEL & ADVENTURE 