The Big Winter TripTM

Updates: 01.04.2001, or go directly to new narratives.
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The Story
We're driving across country for Christmas. Leaving Oakland, CA December 19, 2002 our turnaround spot is Birmingham, AL. The schedule and route are all worked out. Austin, TX and New Orleans, LA are the hot spots on the way out and back.

I'm so damned excited I can hardly stand it. I've been preparing for the trip. And I don't mean just borrowing gear and making lists.

The terrorist attacks have nothing to do with the driving. I could say that I've always wanted to drive cross-country and that's true. I love the seek-hitting, static-running, radio-station-chasing slow change of long drives. But that's not the whole truth and the web is about nothing if not unnecessary full-disclosure. I'm afraid to fly and have been for as long as I can remember.

So we're all piling into a Jeep Grand Cherokee, decked out with a gate to keep the dogs in the back, a cargo carrier on the top, and a secure way to keep Dumpy in place.

We're staying in KOAs along the way. That's "KOA" as in "Kampgrounds of America." No kidding. Was "Campgrounds" taken? Is COA something? We'll be staying in the Kamping Kabins because the Kozy Kottages were out of our budget range. I hope to get back with my fragile sense of spelling intact.

I was in San Antonio as a child and in Chicago as an adult but other than that I've never been out of the western states. And by western states, I mean California.

And, by I'm so excited, I mean dancing up and down, counting the days, about to pee my pants, can't sleep like a little kid before Christmas trying to catch Santa Claus and afraid too all at the same time. That's the kind of excited I am.

The whole thing is going to be right here. The narrative, the photos. The joy victory, the agony of defeat. The long, long drive we, in the United States, call "Texas."

And, here's the disclaimer, in those instances where I might be called upon to choose between reality and my imagination, I will choose the one which seems to be the most entertaining.

Participants
Marnie
the geek who's doing this. This is too easier than writing postcards even though I'm going to have to write postcards anyway. That or buy my grandmother a computer and teach her about the Internet before I leave. Which, you know, isn't happening. She still doesn't trust dishwashers. But that's just about the best part of my grandma. That and the pickled beets and eggs. But I digress.
Southern Girl
it's her family and friends we are going to see. And I'll get to see the place where she went to college and while we walk around the campus I can mutter under my breath that Auburn really is better. Especially, you know, when it comes to football. But that'll just be to get her riled up.
Bear
at 110 pounds, he official qualifies as the big dog. All he wants out of his life is to sit on the couch and get to put his head in someone's lap. Which, you know, is all of him that will fit in someone's lap. As a friend said, Oh my God. That's like having a lap human.
Fitz
the Aussie in charge. He's Bear's father. The mother was a Great Dane-lab mix. Fitz is nothing if not ambitious. He's twelve and can still jump a six-foot fence if he feels the need.
Josh
A Bearded Collie whose hair never grew. He's a happy, happy dog who bounces and smiles and has the smelliest breath you can imagine. Even the other dogs think his breath stinks.
Katie
Southern Girl says she's a dog but she has a pot belly and keeps her nose close to the ground at all times snort, snort, snorting for food. Frankly, I think she's a pig. Those people at the Tuscaloosa Humane Society lied. Who'd have taken a pig? Katie's fat and she's old and we have to carry her almost every place she goes. The only thing she motivates for is food.
Humpty Dumpty (aka "Dumpy")
it's stuffed and it scares me. It's some damned egg-shaped thing with flat, fabric arms and legs. And it's supposed to be a child's toy, but I don't believe it. I think there's a whole conspiracy and Dumpy is planning to take over the world. I swear this true. There are hundreds of them. If I'm ever found mangled and harmed, tell the police about Dumpy. I'm putting it writing. This is all about protection.
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Preparation back to top
Gear back to top
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Scarf
Southern Girl has spent the last two months (has it been two months, honey? Maybe longer, eh?) knitting me a scarf. I swear to God, knitting. Black cashmere with some stitch that requires frequent counting, swearing and undoing. I don't know what that's called. Except lovely. She brought it to my family's for Thanksgiving and knitted. She knits in the car when we go places. She knits while we watch TV. She knits. She also swears and undoes. But I try not to point that out.

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Marnie Webb, 2001-2002
A crankreport project webb@crankreport.com