YOUR OLD MAN SAYS: THE MUSIC IN MY HEART Chapter 4

A STABBING AND A SWIFFER Saturday 12 January 2008

First things first. Bonehead move of the trip #1.

I had packed my Christmas gift to Toby, a Global chef's knife (get one if you don't have one) in my sports bag.

Kneeling to pack my bag, I pull the flaps together to close the zipper, and the knife, which somehow had shifted from lengthways to sideways in the bag, pokes through the bag, through my trousers, and into my thigh. Not a lot (not enough for stitches), but enough to bleed and still be open two weeks later. Nice move.

Then onto Tobe's house, where once again Oriane, Tobe's girlfriend, demonstrates dedication and hard work by marshalling the packing and throws in humping some heavy bags (lesbian work camp when she was little, she explains).

V. impressive. I insist on cleaning the carcass of Toby's empty room, which was spectacularly dusty.

In fact, to call the sediment dust is like calling the Sahara a sandbox. The only cleaning implement was a (as yet unused) Cherry Swiffer. Whoever the bright spark was who conceived, designed, and then unforgivably produced this sickly sweet smelling "cleaning" tool should be shot. No trial. But on the disgusting scale this abominable household aid was downright pleasant compared to the overall putrescence of this phenomenally grubby house.

The kitchen was up there with some of the slovenly slop heaps of all time. Up there with the Manila dump. And this judgement comes from someone who did not clean up the Halloween pumpkin in the house I lived in as a senior at Duke until April, a house which incidentally was condemned.

Murphy's Law immediately came into play whilst packing the Uhaul (more about the truck later).

Operations were hampered by Toby's neighbour, who thoughtfully had parked her car at the bottom of the steps, making transporting things (including the bed, sofa etc) out of the house a contortionist's nightmare. Parked her car before going away for the weekend,in someone else's car, of course.

Renting the Uhaul had also proven to be problematic, as there was a $33 parking fine outstanding from 2005, the last time I had moved Toby. No pay, no play. And I couldn't pay without a US address on a credit card and a valid zip code. This was discovered only by getting to option 20 on the automated phone payment system for Boston City Hall, closed to human habitation because it was a Saturday. After 20 minutes of increasingly desperate failure, Thomas Engels (my friend with whom I was staying) came to rescue and used his card, bemused by the whole situation. So much for a timetable.

After the gruelling packing we settled down to a delicious lunch at Ana's Taquería in Brookline, where Oriane had a fiery chile verde, belying her supposed aversion to things too spicy.

THE LONG GOODBYE by Tobes and Oriane was moving. They make a tight couple, friends and equals, and very devoted to each other. Tears. Hugs, and Kisses. We sit together, on the steps, and they say goodbye. We squeeze ourselves into our new mobile digs, and then after stopping by the Engels to pick up my bags, we are off on the Mass Pike and our adventure begins.

FISHKILL

Crossing America is a numbers game.

90-84-81-80-28-279-79-70-44-40.

That's it. You're done. From Boston anyway.

With the exception of 28 and 279, both designed to skirt Pittsburgh (I believe), all of the interstate numbers seem to go DOWN as you head west. Isn't that counterintuitive? You would have thought that the roads were built starting in the East and going West, but perhaps that is my easterner's bias.

To make this series of numbers simpler, once you reach the Mississippi, you only need to remember the last two.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

The first task in setting off on a long trip is to acclimate yourself to the truck, to the cab, to each other, and to establishing a modus vivendi.

MODUS VIVENDI

#1 First things first, the truck. There is no rear view mirror when you drive, only two side mirrors which distort things. So you have the sensation of driving blind. There is thus an entirely new head and eye movement to get used to, and what has become ingrained in me after 35 years of driving , eyes darting to the mirror continuously, has to be unlearned. Old dog, new tricks, and all that. No sudden movements or lane changes. Never back up in a parking lot without someone helping you behind.

#2 The UHAUL factor. People see a UHAUL, and their first assumption is : These guys don't know what they are doing. Their second assumption, especially when they see $19.95 emblazoned all over the truck, is: These guys are cheapskates AND they don't know what they are doing. Irrespective of whether there is truth in either of these, most people give us a wide berth, and us them.

The UHAUL is a stripped down version of a van. No cruise control. No electric windows or door locks. Ours has a big painting of a faux Loch Ness monster on the side named Champ (which we change to Chump). Gives us a lot of road cred. Or not.

#3 Shared driving. We quickly get in the rhythm- 2x2. Two hour shifts. This works well psychologically. One hour up, one hour down. Change.We plan on around 500 miles a day.

And we have seven days and 3500 miles ahead of us.

We make it to Fishkill New York on the first night., and plump for a Hampton Inn. Dinner is prime rib and salad at a Charlie's Steakhouse.

At the table next to us Toby observes a fat family with an adopted Asian baby. They dump a portion of macaroni & cheese that would choke an elephant on the poor child's plate. She was fairly slim, but that won't last long, refilling the tank like that. New fact unbeknownst to me before: macaroni & cheese is a vegetable, or so it said on the menu.

Go to Chapter 5