From the highest mountain

There are some days where I could just let out a from-the-gut-rip-roaring scream from the absolute highest mountain top.

I think that would be cathartic.

Oh, by the way – – we’re home! We got home Sunday night after a semi-eventless drive home from Alabama to Wisconsin. I say semi-eventless because there was something in the universe that just did not want us to get home in a timely manner…

1. First, we stopped at a drive-thru Starbucks somewhere outside of Nashville. I was driving. The drive-thru looked clear enough for me to navigate the boat through. (was driving a Yukon XL with a 19-foot boat attached via trailer – – we were a LONG vehicle). I popped the curb, though – – must have hit it just right with just enough force that the center window of the boat shattered. Oy. We had to stop for a prolonged period of time while Chris rounded up the needed supplies to cover the window for the rest of the ride home (we had stuff packed in the boat and also didn’t want birds and things flying in there). He finally patched it up with a good lot of duct tape and we were on our way.
2. Taking an exit on I-65, about 100 miles north of Indiannapolis. Again, I’m driving. We’re about to make a left off the exit ramp to fill up with gas. The guy ahead of us, driving a 1991 Pontiac Sunbird, has a overheating problem and stalls right at the top of the ramp. No one can get around him, including us and the 3 or 4 semi trucks behind us. Of course, me being me, I felt obligated to help. I offered him my cell phone (he didn’t have one) and then had to proceed to explain how he uses the cell phone (…dial the number..push send…)… then ended up making the phone call for him to call AAA. We then suggest that he move his car to the shoulder of the road before the ever increasing line of traffic starts backing up onto the interstate. He can’t figure out how to get this accomplished – so Chris and Ben get in the car, throw it in neutral and back it down the ramp onto the shoulder of the road – – much to the relief of the line of traffic behind us. He’s on hold with AAA forever – -he doesn’t know where he is… he asks us “Where are we??” Ugh. “Somewhere north of Indiannapolis on I-65… that’s about all I know.” I mean, we’re from Wisconsin, what does he want? He then proceeds to ask us if one of us would walk down the ramp… down the highway until we can see the exit number on the sign so he can tell them. “Umm..no. You are on I-65… about 100 miles north of Indiannapolis. From the sign on this road – looks like you are on CTY Road 231, or something…that’s about all I know. We really have to get gas and get home.” 40 minutes later – we’re finally filling the gas tank.
3. Don’t ever visit the Starbucks at a truckstop called “Stuckey’s” on I-65 somewhere in Indianna. Yuck! That’s all I gotta say!

At any rate, we’re home. We’re settled back in.