Our story picks up in the city of Cheyenne, Wyoming, 80 miles north of Denver.
We arrived in Cheyenne shortly after 8:00 pm. We drove to the Flying J truck stop where Phil's green machine was parked. Picture a Target parking lot, except every vehicle is an 18-wheeler. I've never seen so many semi-trucks in one place! Phil took a quick shower at the truck stop while I shopped in the toiletry aisle for some essentials. You know, things like deodorant and a toothbrush. Remember, I'm bagless, folks. I have the clothes on my back, a laptop, and a purse. That's it. That in itself is a story. A sad, sad story. I digress.
After I purchased my aforementioned essentials, I waited patiently in the "waiting room" for Phil to emerge from the shower. And people stared. They didn't even try to hide it. What? Like you've never seen a girl in yoga pants, a Nike dri-fit jacket, and Ugg boots at a truck stop before? Sheesh.
A half hour later we were on the road; headed two hours north to Douglass, Wyoming. Come morning, we would load up and head east. And I use "we" very loosely there. The two hours flew by and soon, we were parked at a small truck stop on the outskirts of Douglass. There was a Motel 6 next door, however, due to a recent fire, they were closed. We walked across the highway to a roadside inn, but alas, NO VACANCY. Of course. It was Christmastime. Why would there be room in the inn? We hung our heads, mostly because it was blowing a cold hurricane, and trudged back across the highway to our donkey, err, semi truck.
And that's where things got interesting. For those of you who are absolutely clueless in regards to the interior design of a semi truck, allow me to educate you. There are two seats. Behind the seats is a sleeper. One sleeper. It's approximately the size of 1 1/2 twin beds. Phil grabbed me an extra pillow out of his bedding cabinet and said I could take the side along the wall. He would take the outside. Then he said, "This may be a little awkward at first..." He was right, but you know what, neither of us cared. We were both exhausted. And I've never felt safer. Fifteen minutes later we were both comatose. For the next 7 hours.
I felt like the co-pilot in a cockpit. Except Phil wouldn't let me play with any of the buttons. Or sing Christmas carols over the CB to other truckers on the road.
Load 'em up! Thankfully, Phil had an extra Carhartt jacket in the truck so I was able to withstand the frigid Wyoming air for 7.2 minutes.
And then, all the girls were loaded up and we could hit the open road!
Phil only had to threaten to throw me in the back with the rest of the girls once. That's pretty good, I'd say, since we were on the road for nine hours.
We arrived in Rock Valley around 8:15 p.m. and headed to a local farm to unload. Not wanting to be left out, my other brother, Adam, met us there to pick me up and bring me home. So, Phil rented a car, drove 2 hours to come get me, drove two hours back to his truck, put me up over night in his sleeper, and then drove me nine hours across Nebraska and South Dakota to the home of my youth. BUT Adam, was the hero who actually brought me to my house; to my beloved parents, three minutes away. Three cheers for Adam! Hip Hip Hooray! Hip Hip...NO. He gets one cheer. Phil, my beloved oldest younger brother, get three cheers. Thirty three cheers. What a guy. Thank you, Phil, for coming to my rescue so willingly. Thank you for not making me spend two extra days in Denver. Thank you for not complaining when you had to keep opening my door, because I wasn't strong enough.
It was an adventure of epic proportions. I fear to even think about how this could ever be topped. But, just when I think it can't get any worse....
10-4, Rubber Ducky.
Over and Out.
Needless to say, Phil is truly a saint! :) Merry Christmas to the Kooistra Family.
ReplyDeleteMelinda