This is the account of Jer and Carey's cross-country expedition. All names have remained the same. Details are as I remember them.
Monday
Prologue
Monday was an awful mess. This was easily one of the more miserable, stressful days I've spent in a long time. Between breaking my neck to finish up some illustration work before leaving, making countless phone calls to confirm, to register, to activate, to deactivate, to decline, to accept, to ask directions... driving all over the city of Columbus to drop off, to cancel accounts, to pick up, to everything-in-the-world... it was far too much to wedge into one day. Unfortunately, since it was the final day, it all had to be done nonetheless.
Monday night, however, was utterly inspirational. Our church, which meets in a movie theater in Hilliard, recently purchased a building to use as a permanent facility, however the Hilliard zoning commission would much rather have tax dollars than potlucks or youth group car washes, so we were told that we wouldn't be permitted to use that particular building. An raging campaign ensued, which has lasted for many months and many petitions and many local news stories and... you get the idea. Well, it all culminated Monday, as the head honchos of Hilliard met to decide whether or not it would be appropriate to re-zone that land for Hosannas. In a rather dramatic moment, they all voted. The vote was 5 to 2 in favor of rezoning. Life Community Church is good to go.
There was a wonderful celebration afterward at the new building (which, for the time being, is still the empty husk of what used to be a hardware store), and Carey and I took this opportunity to say our last goodbyes to the people we've come to love most in Columbus, Ohio. Finally, the numbers dwindled... and it was time to go home.
Dave and Johanna Matheny came over to help us with the final bits of cleaning our nearly-empty townhome and packing our car for the trip ahead. Tom and Christie Burns arrived with grocery bags full of snacks, drinks, games, puzzles, camera film, and other oddments for the long drive out west. Eventually, we said goodbye to them and, overwhelmed by the kindness of our friends (also the average 2.5 hours a night of sleep we'd gotten over the course of the past few days), we collapsed onto our little air mattress.
...
Tuesday
Act 1, Scene 1: So Leave Already
We woke up to find that our apartment still needed oodles of work before it was time to turn our key in. So, we dove in. I can't lie: it was a grumpy endeavor. Carey was irritated at the mess. I was irritated at the cats for needing so much junk for the trip. In turn, Carey was irritated with me for being irritated at the cats. We found ourselves remembering things that needed to be taken care of Monday, but weren't: packages that needed to be mailed. The change-of-address thingy at the post office. We'd simply have to do them on our way out of town. Our plan was to take off at about 7 AM... but the hours crept by too quickly and it was lunchtime before we knew it. Still in Hilliard.
Kelly Hassenzahl came over to pick up her vacuum and steam cleaner. Seeing that we were in dire trouble, she dove in with us. Finally, it was done. Car packed. Townhome cleaned. Cats caged. Good good good. Time to go. REALLY time to go.
So, at about 12:45... we went.
...
Act 1, Scene 2: Be Careful What You Pray For
Carey decided she wanted to take the first driving shift. I have to say: it was a wonderful feeling to have nothing but open road in front of us. Everything was more or less set and taken care of. Oh, make no mistake, there would be stresses galore when we arrive in Long Beach... but, for now, there was nothing but time. To talk, to read, to enjoy the scenery...
Speaking of scenery...
Carey and I had joked for the past few weeks that we'd hoped that it would be a miserable day in Ohio when we left, almost as a sign that we're doing the right thing. We thought it would be cool to leave behind somewhere cloudy and cold for somewhere sunny and glorious.
We just didn't count on how much of a pain it would be to have to drive through our answered prayer.
Rain came down in absolute buckets, so much that many cars were pulled off the road. We could barely see 10 feet in front of us. Average speed: 18 mph. This did not help our efforts to make up the time we'd lost in the morning. The first day's goal was Tulsa, Oklahoma. Hah. We'd be lucky to make Dayton at this rate.
...
Act 1, Scene 3: How Neil Gaiman Took Us Through the Hoosiers
It wasn't long before the storm became manageable and soon wasn't even there at all. It's the nice thing about driving west I suppose. Instead of following you, bad weather just roars right through you.
I've mentioned my fixation with author Neil Gaiman. His latest book, Coraline, hit the shelves a few weeks ago, and I consciously went out of my way to save the book for this journey. It's easy, spooky reading. Billed as "a scary bedtime story for little girls of all ages and genders." Go out and get it. It's rather good.
In about Indiana, I pulled out the book and read it to my wife as she drove. Usually, it's difficult to read something out loud that one has never read before, but in this case Gaiman's prose flows so naturally that it was all quite enjoyable. Carey remarked that I have a good reading voice. She's always saying terrific things like that.
To be honest, I don't really remember much of Indiana or Illinois. I just remember reading Gaiman and talking with Carey. The time went very quickly. Of course, I wasn't driving.
...
Act 1, Scene 4: Stunt Driving in St. Louis or The Camera Takes Away About 500 ft.
Carey drove all the way to St. Louis, bless her heart. By that time, though, she was absolutely exhausted. Neither of us had ever been to St. Louis before, so we were both anxious to finally see the famous Gateway arch. We were unprepared for how enormous this structure really is. Fortunately, I-70 runs right beside it... practically through the middle of it... so we were as close as could be. To quote my dad, "close enough to hit it with a golf ball." Pictures we've seen haven't done it justice. You really do have to see it to believe it.
Sadly, we forgot that St. Louis was the city where we were meant to jump onto I-44. We realized this about 10 minutes after the exit.
Johanna Matheny, a friend that I've mentioned several times before in this blogger, actually comes from a suburb of St. Louis. A few of us sometimes joke about how aggressively she drives: this woman knows how to get the job done. Though sweet and mild-spirited, she swoops from lane to lane with the unbridled fury of a Wagnerian Valkyrie, leaving devastation and awe in her wake. As it turns out, St. Louis is a town of Johannas. As we attempted to correct our I-44 mistake, we felt as if we somehow understood a bit more about what makes her tick.
...
Act 1, Scene 5: Missouri Spelled Sideways is Misery
After St. Louis, it was my turn to drive, and Carey was happy for the break. We stopped for a bathroom break at a gas station and, on the way in, a group of teenagers hanging out outside (?) attempted to sell me what was obviously a pirated copy the newest Eminem CD. I have to confess I was mystified because, they really weren't making any bones about the fact that they were illegitimate entrepreneurs and the gas station seemed to be okay with it. In fact, I think I saw an employee of the gas station bring them drinks at one point.
Anyhow, Missouri: I've never seen more Jesus billboards in my life. Literally, huge billboards that simply said "Jesus" and that's it. I wasn't sure what to make of it. Is the Son of God taking out ad space?
"If only my life had meaning... if only I had some sort of deity to worship... maybe Mohammed or Buddha or... I just don't know... hey, wait, what's that billboard say?"
The state dragged on and on and on and it became very apparent that Tulsa on day 1 was a pipe dream. It was, by this time, dark. The cats were getting restless. We decided to resign ourselves to getting as far as Springfield and finding a hotel for the night.
Soon my Dad called on the cell and wanted to know how the trip was going. We told him we were destined to stay in Springfield. Dad reminded me that an old middle school teacher of mine, Mr. Spence, was now living in Springfield and maybe I should give him a call for breakfast or something, seeing as how we'll be in the area. Since I count Mr. Spence as one of the most profound influences in my life, and it's been a good 12 years since I've seen him, this sounded like a marvelous idea.
So we got to Springfield at around 1:00 AM, dog tired. It had been a long day and, because of our late start, we knew the following day would be even longer. We tried a few hotels and, believe it or not, all full. No vacancy. Even the little gross motels. The guy at the Motel 6 (I know, I know), after finishing an argument with a woman about the bugs in her room, told me that there was some kind of national Teachers Conference in town and there were pretty much no rooms available anywhere. I gave him a transparently desperate look and he volunteered, "well, they probably have room at the Ozark Inn."
Even upon pulling in, it was immediately apparent that the Ozark Inn was the foulest, grungiest, flea-bitten clod of filth ever to have the word "Inn" mistakenly tacked onto its name. A frantic need for rest got the better of me, though, and I paid for the room. When we walked in, Carey nearly burst into tears. Stains on the carpet. Spiders in the bathtub. Potato chip crumbs. Hair beads. Flies. A dog's chew toy on the floor that appeared to be a plastic banana (you don't want to know what we originally thought it was). Carey even spotted a flea on one of our pillows. There was nothing un-wretched about this awful place. In the end, we gritted our teeth, covered our pillows with t-shirts, and went to sleep.
At least the cats liked playing with the bugs.
...
Wednesday
Act 2, Scene 1: Wait, the Keys are Where?
We woke up with only one thought on our minds: Get. The. Hell. Out. Of. Here.
Since, surprise, the Ozark Inn isn't the type of place that provides travel shampoo in the shower, I went over to the gas station to get some. Since it was a gas station, a bottle of Pantene was over $6. Even the cashier said to me, "this had better be the best shampoo you've ever had, for that price." It's always refreshing when a place of business is up front about having you over a barrel and how badly they're gouging you.
Back at the Ozark, we showered, dressed, packed, emptied the litter, bam bam bam, all in record time. Carey asked, "so, are you going to call Mr. Spence?" Not a chance. No offense, Mr. Spence. But we have to get out of here. Maybe in another 12 years.
Okay, have you ever had an outrageous impulse hit you? The idea of tripping someone at the office who's walking with hot coffee? Suddenly shrieking in a crowded elevator? Karate-kicking the cat? Licking the tongue depressors at the doctor's office? The reason we don't do these things is because we're reasonable adult human beings with the ability to temper our behavior. Most of the time.
For some reason, however devoid of logic, while walking back from the car to the room, I decided to toss my car keys to Carey, who was standing in the doorway. She neither needed nor wanted the keys, but I tossed them anyhow. I must have over estimated the trajectory because, wouldn't you just know it, the keys clunked onto the ROOF OF THE OZARK INN.
After a long and painful process of maneuvering my way up onto the roof without being seen and dragging my hand through the rain gutters (which were possibly the only things filthier than the inside of the actual rooms), I was able to retrieve the keys. Carey was forgiving.
I had a whole speech worked up for whoever was behind the desk when I turned in the room key, but, alas, there was no one behind the desk and no one came when I rang the bell repeatedly. Instead, there was simply a box with a hole in the top. Written on the side of the box in mangled Sharpie letters: KEY DROP OFF.
"Screw it," I said, and we hit the road.
...
Act 2, Scene 2: Insert Clever Musical Quote from "Oklahoma" Here
Carey informed me that she was a good "anchor" on these kinds of trips. Since I'm usually an un-athletic pile of pudge, I had no idea that an "anchor" was the person in Track, the Baton relays specifically, who finishes the race. In hindsight, it might have been a bad idea for her to do the first shift and me the second on the first day, because I'm much stronger starting out and she's stronger finishing up. We think. Maybe.
It was a beautiful day: little cotton ball clouds dotted the deep blue skies as we headed into Oklahoma. Drivers with cowboy hats became more frequent and it seemed as if we were about to have a very pleasant, albeit long drive ahead of us.
Also, we decided to drug the cats with some tranquilizers the vet gave us. This was not a wise decision because, while they were incapacitated, the cats looked like absolute death. In between labored naps, they would yowl miserably, shooting us glares that seemed to say, "look, what do you want from us? We're just two scared cats, man, and we're being forced to spend 4 solid days in a cramped cage in a vibrating car. We hate our lives enough as it is, and now you had to go and introduce nauseating narcotics into this situation. Where's the love?"
It was noon by the time we hit Tulsa (I guess maybe it was 11:00 Oklahoma time) and it just confirmed in our brains that reaching that point on day 1 would have been ridiculous. However, we were determined to make up every bit of the time we'd lost on this day: our original goal for day 2 was Albuquerque and it was going to stay Albuquerque., dagnabbit.
You know, you can be married to someone for years and one day realize how very rare it is that you actually have a good, long talk. In a strange way, it was good to get to know my wife again. We discussed everything from parents to jobs to families to... to whatever. We told stories about our childhoods that both of us were sure we had to have told before to each other... but apparently hadn't. (I was shocked to learn that Carey had never heard the story of the time our family was moving from Georgia to Ohio and a rat fried itself by maneuvering onto the engine of my mom's minivan while we were doing 70 on the interstate... a Bear family classic!) Also, we found ourselves sensibly talking about things that bothered us about the other... bringing them up in love, rather than the heat of anger, the way we promised we would a couple of years ago. And who'd have thought? It really works.
...
Act 2, Scene 3: Oklahoma City Balming (er... Balmy... er...)
The day grew longer and hotter and it wasn't long before the air conditioner had to be turned on full blast, just to keep the car livable. By the time we hit Oklahoma City, the heat was so blistering that it was apparently driving some drivers to insanity and a huge multi-car/truck pileup forced us to detour. We took the opportunity to stop for some lunch at a Burger King. So that Carey wouldn't have to leave the cats or step out into the ridiculously hot weather, I took her order and ran in.
Now, granted, this was a particularly incompetent Burger King, so it indeed took longer than usual to actually get the goods. Knowing that Carey was probably out in the car dying of exposure (even though we kept the engine and air running), I filled a couple cups with ice and ran back out to the car with the food. As I got into the car, something was strange. I couldn't put my finger on what it could have been, though. I handed the ice to Carey, and she said, "thanks... I don't think we'll need it, though."
And it was true. Suddenly, the air wasn't hot and the sun wasn't out. In fact, in the time it took to get our cuisine, the temperature had dropped at least 30 degrees. The wind was blowing to beat the band. The clouds started spinning and twirling above us. I'd never seen a tornado before... was this the start of one?
By the time we started driving, the heavens opened up into a thundering deluge. If it was a twister, I think we missed it, but everything did get awfully wet. It was the quickest, strangest weather change I've ever seen. Usually, I don't remark on the weather, but to a guy from Ohio, this was indeed remarkable.
...
Act 2, Scene 4: Pathos Bill
Okay, so Pathos is a bit strong. It's getting harder and harder to come up with these clever titles.
Anyhow, soon we hit Texas. I'm not sure what to say about Texas. It was big and boring. I'd never been to Texas, outside of its fine airports, so I suppose I should have been impressed with something that's such a world-renowned geographical personality. Give me one-horse towns! Give me ridin' and wranglin' on the old prairie! Give me six-gun justice and sheriffs with no names! Give me 2000 head of steer and whiskey flasks and the Rio Grande!
Give me a break.
There was nothing. Just a gas station every 80 miles or so and I think at one point we drove through Amarillo.
Yeehaw.
...
Act 2, Scene 5: That Southwestern Flavor or Our Just Deserts
About an hour or so into New Mexico, Carey took over the driving. "Albuquerque or Bust" was the motto, and we were feeling pretty good. New Mexico was beautiful. The sunsets were utterly inspired and, while the state itself didn't have much of a human population, it more than made up for it in scenery.
As the sky turned from blue to orange to pink to black, I finished reading Gaiman's Coraline and both the wife and I agreed that it's a deliciously creepy tale that's best read at night, out loud, to impressionable youths.
For some reason, we kept our car's clock on Ohio time, to fit with what time it felt like. We were getting tired, but our exhaustion was nothing like the previous evening. A great deal of New Mexico was driven at night, which is unfortunate, because the desert was absolutely incredible to behold.
...
Act 2, Scene 6: Must've Been that Right Turn at Albuquerque
We'd prayed prayer upon prayer for a place to sleep of higher caliber than the Ozark Inn. We are, however, on a budget... so we took a chance on an Albuquerque Super 8 on the east side of town.
It was absolutely wonderful.
Clean sheets. Polite desk clerk. No crumbs or dog toys. No bugs. Individually wrapped plastic cups with the hotel (or is it motel? And what is the difference anyhow?) logo printed on the side. Fresh carpet. Fresh bathroom. Fresh everything. For one night, Heaven was a New Mexico Super 8.
We ordered a pizza and had it delivered to the room. I suppose Papa John's at midnight isn't the sanest thing we've ever done, but, after two days of eating fast food in the car and a night of sleeping with cockroaches, it seemed positively sensible.
Also, we watched TV. Since we'd been without possessions for the past week and a half, this was the first TV we'd seen in a long time. I don't even remember what we watched. The state we were in, though, even Married With Children reruns would have been welcome.
And, glad to be clean, glad to have met our driving goal, and, mostly, glad to be almost 900 miles from the Ozark Inn, we tumbled into the arms of Morpheus and slept the most peaceful sleep either of us have ever slept.
Or, at least, we would have if that Papa John's hadn't kept me in and out of the bathroom all night.
...
Thursday
Act 3, Scene 1: The Great Feline Heist
Technically, we weren't really sure what the Super 8's policy was on pets in the room, which is why our M.O. was normally to swoop Gilbert and Calliope in and out of the hotel rooms under the radar, praying that they wouldn't be seen or that they wouldn't fuss loudly.
We were almost free and clear when, to our chagrin, the desk clerk passed us by and raised a pronounced eyebrow at the kitty cage in my hand and our two Devon Rexes.
There I was: an adult male professional, smuggling cats out of a hotel, caught like a deer in the headlights. I suppose it's not quite as dramatic as I'm making it sound, but, for some reason, I briefly found myself with absolutely no dignity.
The desk clerk didn't say a word. I stuttered out "Th-thanks, here's yuh-your room key. Everthing was... ah... good. Great, I mean. We really liked our room."
For Heaven's sake, Jer, where's your pride? So he saw you with a couple cats! So what!
...
Act 3, Scene 2: Red Man Makum Big Billboards
Have you ever asked yourself, "NOW where am I? Is this Arizona?" just take the Arizona Acid Test. Don't worry, it has nothing to do with Peyote... just look at the first billboard you come to. If the billboard reads 'INDIAN JEWELRY: Next Exit'... welcome to Arizona, baby. Apparently, 'Indian Jewelry' is the fulcrum of this entire state's economy. Every 50 feet is another sign advertising this jewelry. Oh, and make no mistake: this is not 'Native American Jewelry'... oh, no, brother, check your Political Corectness at the door. It's alllll Indian.
Arizona was lovely, but it's a curious state... nothing but desert as far as the eye can see... Indian Reservations all around... then, whap, suddenly you're in a mountainous forest. Just as suddenly, thwok, back to the desert.
But, I digress. Back to the Indians: I've been told my whole life that I have a certain obligation to feel a dismal "White Man's Guilt" about the total screwing of the Native American culture 200 years ago. While I can't exactly call what I feel 'guilt' necessarily, it does break the heart a little bit to drive through these reservations. The idea that this is the best effort we could come up with to preserve the culture of these deeply spiritual individuals is depressing. Not that I have a ready alternative in mind, but... well, it seems pretty empty.
Then again, maybe it wasn't all that affecting. We never did get any Indian jewelry.
Argh.
...
Act 3, Scene 3: That Bullet Was Meant for Us
It was a short day, and we felt badly about drugging the cats on day 2, so we decided that clean living was best for this leg of the trip, as far as Gilbert and Calliope were concerned. But, there was no escaping it: they were becoming more anxious by the day.
Expense nearly drove us to rent a U-Haul and tow our car out, rather than use North American movers to do the dirty work for us. In western Arizona, however, we came upon an ominous sight: a broken-down U-Haul, towing a car. Stuck in the middle of friggin' nowhere. The driver looked as if he were ready to sob. Fortunately, someone had stopped to help out, but, all Carey and I could say was, "thank God. Thank GOD." That was very nearly us.
...
Act 3, Scene 4: Chinese in Navajo Country
We arrived in Kingman, Arizona, our goal for day 3, in the early evening. We decided to give the Days Inn a try. The place was perfect. Memories of good old Ozark still lingering, it was good to, once again, get the royal treatment we received at the Super 8. The great thing this place had to recommend it, though: cheap cheap cheap. Cheaper than Ozark, even.
With much of the evening still before us, we ordered Chinese takeout and we found ourselves eating at a table provided in the room. A real table. It had been a long time.
We went to sleep. Though less than 6 hours of road lay before us, tomorrow promised to be a big day.
...
Friday
Act 4, Scene 1: Last Leg to Sodom
We allowed ourselves a good sleep-in and soon took off. I have to admit that, in many ways, I found the trip very enjoyable. Long, certainly, but... for 4 days, there were no problems. No bills to worry about. No interviews to set up. No nothing, except road. That said, I was actually dreading arriving in Long Beach. Upon arrival, our lives would immediately be thrown into absolute uproar, stress, and an endless litany of problems to be solved. But, this was day 4. And day 4 meant the end of carefree driving and the beginning of a whole new life.
The Colorado River turned up about an hour after we set out from the Days Inn in Kingman, which meant we were officially in California. We paused for a photo op with the welcome sign and continued on our way.
...
Act 4, Scene 2: God Bless the In-and-Out or Unleaded for Chumps 101
We'd heard horror stories about running out of gas in the middle of the deep West. Gas stations can be few and far between, so, as a rule, we purposed to never let the level drop to a quarter tank. You can't be too safe with the gas situation. We were nearing the 1/4 tank mark when we arrived at Barstow, so I pulled over to a Chevron.
$1.96 a gallon? No way, buddy. There's No Fricken WAY.
As much as it was going against my personal Gas Philosophy, the principal alone of paying 2 bucks a gallon made me cringe. I decided to wait for a few exits. A gamble, I guess, but it turned out to be a good decision. For, barely 15 minutes down the road, we found some reasonably-priced petrol right beside, even better, an In-and-Out Burger.
To West-Coasters, the In-and-Out is no big deal. They're everywhere and Californians tend to take these delicious burgers for granted. It's a staple of this part of the country, though, and we decided to pull in and grab some vittles.
Not to sound pretentious, but... these things just taste like California. The In-and-Out is the embodiment of why we came here in the first place... not for literal burgers, mind you, but for that idea: there's stuff here in the way of experiences and opportunities that, durn it, you just can't find anywhere else.
But, all metaphors aside; that's one fine burger.
...
Act 4, Scene 3: Hiding Out in the Carpool Lane
LA County traffic slammed into us like a freight train as we merged onto the 10 freeway. That's something that'll take awhile to get used to: numbered freeways are "THE" __. THE 10. THE 5. THE 605. Apparently, that's just how it is.
Also, there's the carpool lane. You're permitted to drive in the carpool lane (which is the ultimate passing lane) if there are 2 or more people in your vehicle. It's sort of like having a backstage pass. "Don't hassle me, buddy, I've got two people and two cats in this vehicle." It's a good idea, really. Less pollution, less traffic... an incentive to get to wherever you're going that much faster.
As we drew closer to Long Beach, I felt that weird pressure in my colon. The body thinks it needs to go to the bathroom... the brain knows it's just nerves. Our new home was just miles away and excitement quickly turned to dread. What if the place was a dump? What if there are unexpected costs that we can't afford? What if, when we get there, we discover that we've next to nothing in our bank account?
About 4 blocks from our new place, I announced that, no, I have to find a restroom immediately. Carey, ever patient, graciously allowed me to stop in every place of business we saw: no restrooms.
No more stalling. It was time to head into our new home.
...
Act 4, Scene 4: Yo Queiro Un Money Order
We got lost. The guy who hooked us up with the place, who I assume is the landlord or something, is Nacho. "Like the chip," he told me over the phone several weeks ago. We called Nacho on his cell, told him where we were, and he guided us in. When we arrived, he was there waiting.
Nacho is, naturally, of Latino/Mexican descent, and English is obviously his second language. Not that this is a problem, but, speaking as someone who values the gift of communication, I admit that I become easily frustrated when barriers arise, especially where a complicated transaction is necessary.
He let us in. I wasn't exactly sure what to think. This was the place we'd been dreaming about for weeks... and there it was... right there. The blue carpet that Carey had dreaded was now under our toes. The 1.5 baths we'd been promised were just down the hall. Right there.
So, we signed the lease and... the thing with Nacho is, he's not much for volunteering details.
JER: Okay, well, this looks great.
NACHO: Yeah. You like this, eh, man?
JER: Very nice. Oh, don't we also have a garage included?
NACHO: Yeah.
JER: ...Good. Good. ...So... Ah, where is it?
NACHO: Just downstairs and around the corner, man.
JER: Oh, okay. Well.... Just downstairs and...?
NACHO: Yeah.
JER: I see. And, is it locked? Do we need a key?
[Nacho produces a key]
NACHO: Yeah. Here.
JER: Oh, and there's the key, then. Super.
NACHO: Yeah.
JER: So, I don't really know where these garages are, uh...
NACHO: I guess I could show you, man...
JER: That would be really helpful.
NACHO: Follow me.
JER: Thanks. Anyhow... so, we have our own mailbox here, right?
NACHO: Yeah.
JER: And where are they?
NACHO: 'Round the other corner, man.
---
Essentially, if you don't ask, you just won't find out.
So we signed the lease. Then Nacho springs it on us that he'll need the prorated amount for this month and the entirety of next month's rent TODAY. Not only that, but they'll only accept money orders. No checks. Unfortunately, that amount comes out to well over a thousand dollars and we don't have that kind of cash on us. What's more, our ATM has a withdrawal limit of $1000, so we really don't have a way of getting a money order today. It was a real pickle and it would have been nice to know this stuff ahead of time. But, consistent with Nacho's policy with renters... if you don't ask, you just won't find out.
In the end, Carey called the owner of the building and persuaded him to take a check.
Phew.
...
Act 4, Scene 5: Our First Night or The Safest Pizza Hut Ever
I spent the first hour sitting in the middle of the living room, scared to death. We don't have much money. Cost of living out here is out-friggin-rageous. We barely know a soul. We couldn't find our way to even a gas station or a grocery store without help. "Dear God, did I just pull us into the biggest mistake of our lives?"
Carey, on the other hand, was elated. She bounced from room to room, making plans for the place. Looking outside at the genuine palm trees. Exploring every nook and cranny of our apartment (which, by the way, is slightly bigger than our place back in Columbus). Nothing puts me in a good mood quite like a smile from Carey, so it was truly encouraging to have her there. I say this now with absolute certainty, no bones about it: without her, I would not have been able to do this. I'm a very very lucky fellow.
We were, however, hungry for something familiar, so after a few phone calls to our family to let them know that we made it in safely, we ordered a pizza from the Pizza Hut around the corner that I happened to spot on my way in. I drove over there to pick it up.
I'd never seen such a thing. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Bars and bullet-proof glass sealed off this pick-up-only Pizza Hut so that there was absolutely no way in heck to rob it. They took your money through an iron trough that dipped below the glass and your order was then slid out to you on this kind-of automated metal dumbwaiter. The people both behind the glass and customers beside me looked... well, now, I can't lie: they looked surly. This was our neighborhood, apparently.
I brought back the pizza and, scared and hopeful, we ate our first meal in our new place. Although we finished it, I don't remember tasting a bite of it.
I brought the stuff in, Carey organized what little possessions we had with us.
And, feeling a weightier exhaustion than either of us have felt in a long time, we went to sleep.
...
Epilogue
I guess this really isn't much of an epilogue, because the whole adventure is just beginning. It's now Sunday as I type this and the past couple of days have been a symphony of highs and lows.
Fortunately, friends of ours have been helping us settle in and adjust, specifically Kelly Larned. Kelly was kind enough to drive us around town yesterday and buy us lunch and use his place to do silly little things like look for a job and post to this blogger.
Others have been encouraging and helpful: Nate Brown, Dan Harney, Amanda Wolfert. They're all friends from our Grace College days.
We're looking for jobs. Money is easily the biggest stresser right now. Some definite income would do absolute miracles for the knots in our respective stomachs. If you're looking for a way to pray for the Bears, that's the biggest one.
Also, the movers (who were supposed to deliver our stuff yesterday) are nowhere to be found. We're more than a little upset. Customer service doesn't know what to tell us because they can't locate our driver (who was supposed to be here over a week ago). We're not sure what to do. Still living in a place with no furniture or, well, anything.
The cats are pretty freaked out. Calliope is starting to enjoy the new place, but Gilbert is a nervous wreck. Give it time, I guess.
We went to Grace Church of Long Beach this morning, which was lovely. Not sure where we'll end up, as far as churches go, but we thoroughly enjoyed the fellowship and teaching there.
And that's it. In case you were mistakenly left off of the email list, here's our contact info (ignore the contact page for the time being):
Jeremy & Carey Bear
1425 Appleton St., Apt. 12
Long Beach, CA 90802
562-432-7639
Cell: 562-221-8171
jeremybear@usa.com (personal) or art@jeremybear.com (professional)
Drop us a line, if you think of it. Thanks for reading and stay tuned for future updates.
Prologue
Monday was an awful mess. This was easily one of the more miserable, stressful days I've spent in a long time. Between breaking my neck to finish up some illustration work before leaving, making countless phone calls to confirm, to register, to activate, to deactivate, to decline, to accept, to ask directions... driving all over the city of Columbus to drop off, to cancel accounts, to pick up, to everything-in-the-world... it was far too much to wedge into one day. Unfortunately, since it was the final day, it all had to be done nonetheless.
Monday night, however, was utterly inspirational. Our church, which meets in a movie theater in Hilliard, recently purchased a building to use as a permanent facility, however the Hilliard zoning commission would much rather have tax dollars than potlucks or youth group car washes, so we were told that we wouldn't be permitted to use that particular building. An raging campaign ensued, which has lasted for many months and many petitions and many local news stories and... you get the idea. Well, it all culminated Monday, as the head honchos of Hilliard met to decide whether or not it would be appropriate to re-zone that land for Hosannas. In a rather dramatic moment, they all voted. The vote was 5 to 2 in favor of rezoning. Life Community Church is good to go.
There was a wonderful celebration afterward at the new building (which, for the time being, is still the empty husk of what used to be a hardware store), and Carey and I took this opportunity to say our last goodbyes to the people we've come to love most in Columbus, Ohio. Finally, the numbers dwindled... and it was time to go home.
Dave and Johanna Matheny came over to help us with the final bits of cleaning our nearly-empty townhome and packing our car for the trip ahead. Tom and Christie Burns arrived with grocery bags full of snacks, drinks, games, puzzles, camera film, and other oddments for the long drive out west. Eventually, we said goodbye to them and, overwhelmed by the kindness of our friends (also the average 2.5 hours a night of sleep we'd gotten over the course of the past few days), we collapsed onto our little air mattress.
...
Act 1, Scene 1: So Leave Already
We woke up to find that our apartment still needed oodles of work before it was time to turn our key in. So, we dove in. I can't lie: it was a grumpy endeavor. Carey was irritated at the mess. I was irritated at the cats for needing so much junk for the trip. In turn, Carey was irritated with me for being irritated at the cats. We found ourselves remembering things that needed to be taken care of Monday, but weren't: packages that needed to be mailed. The change-of-address thingy at the post office. We'd simply have to do them on our way out of town. Our plan was to take off at about 7 AM... but the hours crept by too quickly and it was lunchtime before we knew it. Still in Hilliard.
Kelly Hassenzahl came over to pick up her vacuum and steam cleaner. Seeing that we were in dire trouble, she dove in with us. Finally, it was done. Car packed. Townhome cleaned. Cats caged. Good good good. Time to go. REALLY time to go.
So, at about 12:45... we went.
...
Act 1, Scene 2: Be Careful What You Pray For
Carey decided she wanted to take the first driving shift. I have to say: it was a wonderful feeling to have nothing but open road in front of us. Everything was more or less set and taken care of. Oh, make no mistake, there would be stresses galore when we arrive in Long Beach... but, for now, there was nothing but time. To talk, to read, to enjoy the scenery...
Speaking of scenery...
Carey and I had joked for the past few weeks that we'd hoped that it would be a miserable day in Ohio when we left, almost as a sign that we're doing the right thing. We thought it would be cool to leave behind somewhere cloudy and cold for somewhere sunny and glorious.
We just didn't count on how much of a pain it would be to have to drive through our answered prayer.
Rain came down in absolute buckets, so much that many cars were pulled off the road. We could barely see 10 feet in front of us. Average speed: 18 mph. This did not help our efforts to make up the time we'd lost in the morning. The first day's goal was Tulsa, Oklahoma. Hah. We'd be lucky to make Dayton at this rate.
...
Act 1, Scene 3: How Neil Gaiman Took Us Through the Hoosiers
It wasn't long before the storm became manageable and soon wasn't even there at all. It's the nice thing about driving west I suppose. Instead of following you, bad weather just roars right through you.
I've mentioned my fixation with author Neil Gaiman. His latest book, Coraline, hit the shelves a few weeks ago, and I consciously went out of my way to save the book for this journey. It's easy, spooky reading. Billed as "a scary bedtime story for little girls of all ages and genders." Go out and get it. It's rather good.
In about Indiana, I pulled out the book and read it to my wife as she drove. Usually, it's difficult to read something out loud that one has never read before, but in this case Gaiman's prose flows so naturally that it was all quite enjoyable. Carey remarked that I have a good reading voice. She's always saying terrific things like that.
To be honest, I don't really remember much of Indiana or Illinois. I just remember reading Gaiman and talking with Carey. The time went very quickly. Of course, I wasn't driving.
...
Act 1, Scene 4: Stunt Driving in St. Louis or The Camera Takes Away About 500 ft.
Carey drove all the way to St. Louis, bless her heart. By that time, though, she was absolutely exhausted. Neither of us had ever been to St. Louis before, so we were both anxious to finally see the famous Gateway arch. We were unprepared for how enormous this structure really is. Fortunately, I-70 runs right beside it... practically through the middle of it... so we were as close as could be. To quote my dad, "close enough to hit it with a golf ball." Pictures we've seen haven't done it justice. You really do have to see it to believe it.
Sadly, we forgot that St. Louis was the city where we were meant to jump onto I-44. We realized this about 10 minutes after the exit.
Johanna Matheny, a friend that I've mentioned several times before in this blogger, actually comes from a suburb of St. Louis. A few of us sometimes joke about how aggressively she drives: this woman knows how to get the job done. Though sweet and mild-spirited, she swoops from lane to lane with the unbridled fury of a Wagnerian Valkyrie, leaving devastation and awe in her wake. As it turns out, St. Louis is a town of Johannas. As we attempted to correct our I-44 mistake, we felt as if we somehow understood a bit more about what makes her tick.
...
Act 1, Scene 5: Missouri Spelled Sideways is Misery
After St. Louis, it was my turn to drive, and Carey was happy for the break. We stopped for a bathroom break at a gas station and, on the way in, a group of teenagers hanging out outside (?) attempted to sell me what was obviously a pirated copy the newest Eminem CD. I have to confess I was mystified because, they really weren't making any bones about the fact that they were illegitimate entrepreneurs and the gas station seemed to be okay with it. In fact, I think I saw an employee of the gas station bring them drinks at one point.
Anyhow, Missouri: I've never seen more Jesus billboards in my life. Literally, huge billboards that simply said "Jesus" and that's it. I wasn't sure what to make of it. Is the Son of God taking out ad space?
"If only my life had meaning... if only I had some sort of deity to worship... maybe Mohammed or Buddha or... I just don't know... hey, wait, what's that billboard say?"
The state dragged on and on and on and it became very apparent that Tulsa on day 1 was a pipe dream. It was, by this time, dark. The cats were getting restless. We decided to resign ourselves to getting as far as Springfield and finding a hotel for the night.
Soon my Dad called on the cell and wanted to know how the trip was going. We told him we were destined to stay in Springfield. Dad reminded me that an old middle school teacher of mine, Mr. Spence, was now living in Springfield and maybe I should give him a call for breakfast or something, seeing as how we'll be in the area. Since I count Mr. Spence as one of the most profound influences in my life, and it's been a good 12 years since I've seen him, this sounded like a marvelous idea.
So we got to Springfield at around 1:00 AM, dog tired. It had been a long day and, because of our late start, we knew the following day would be even longer. We tried a few hotels and, believe it or not, all full. No vacancy. Even the little gross motels. The guy at the Motel 6 (I know, I know), after finishing an argument with a woman about the bugs in her room, told me that there was some kind of national Teachers Conference in town and there were pretty much no rooms available anywhere. I gave him a transparently desperate look and he volunteered, "well, they probably have room at the Ozark Inn."
Even upon pulling in, it was immediately apparent that the Ozark Inn was the foulest, grungiest, flea-bitten clod of filth ever to have the word "Inn" mistakenly tacked onto its name. A frantic need for rest got the better of me, though, and I paid for the room. When we walked in, Carey nearly burst into tears. Stains on the carpet. Spiders in the bathtub. Potato chip crumbs. Hair beads. Flies. A dog's chew toy on the floor that appeared to be a plastic banana (you don't want to know what we originally thought it was). Carey even spotted a flea on one of our pillows. There was nothing un-wretched about this awful place. In the end, we gritted our teeth, covered our pillows with t-shirts, and went to sleep.
At least the cats liked playing with the bugs.
...
Act 2, Scene 1: Wait, the Keys are Where?
We woke up with only one thought on our minds: Get. The. Hell. Out. Of. Here.
Since, surprise, the Ozark Inn isn't the type of place that provides travel shampoo in the shower, I went over to the gas station to get some. Since it was a gas station, a bottle of Pantene was over $6. Even the cashier said to me, "this had better be the best shampoo you've ever had, for that price." It's always refreshing when a place of business is up front about having you over a barrel and how badly they're gouging you.
Back at the Ozark, we showered, dressed, packed, emptied the litter, bam bam bam, all in record time. Carey asked, "so, are you going to call Mr. Spence?" Not a chance. No offense, Mr. Spence. But we have to get out of here. Maybe in another 12 years.
Okay, have you ever had an outrageous impulse hit you? The idea of tripping someone at the office who's walking with hot coffee? Suddenly shrieking in a crowded elevator? Karate-kicking the cat? Licking the tongue depressors at the doctor's office? The reason we don't do these things is because we're reasonable adult human beings with the ability to temper our behavior. Most of the time.
For some reason, however devoid of logic, while walking back from the car to the room, I decided to toss my car keys to Carey, who was standing in the doorway. She neither needed nor wanted the keys, but I tossed them anyhow. I must have over estimated the trajectory because, wouldn't you just know it, the keys clunked onto the ROOF OF THE OZARK INN.
After a long and painful process of maneuvering my way up onto the roof without being seen and dragging my hand through the rain gutters (which were possibly the only things filthier than the inside of the actual rooms), I was able to retrieve the keys. Carey was forgiving.
I had a whole speech worked up for whoever was behind the desk when I turned in the room key, but, alas, there was no one behind the desk and no one came when I rang the bell repeatedly. Instead, there was simply a box with a hole in the top. Written on the side of the box in mangled Sharpie letters: KEY DROP OFF.
"Screw it," I said, and we hit the road.
...
Act 2, Scene 2: Insert Clever Musical Quote from "Oklahoma" Here
Carey informed me that she was a good "anchor" on these kinds of trips. Since I'm usually an un-athletic pile of pudge, I had no idea that an "anchor" was the person in Track, the Baton relays specifically, who finishes the race. In hindsight, it might have been a bad idea for her to do the first shift and me the second on the first day, because I'm much stronger starting out and she's stronger finishing up. We think. Maybe.
It was a beautiful day: little cotton ball clouds dotted the deep blue skies as we headed into Oklahoma. Drivers with cowboy hats became more frequent and it seemed as if we were about to have a very pleasant, albeit long drive ahead of us.
Also, we decided to drug the cats with some tranquilizers the vet gave us. This was not a wise decision because, while they were incapacitated, the cats looked like absolute death. In between labored naps, they would yowl miserably, shooting us glares that seemed to say, "look, what do you want from us? We're just two scared cats, man, and we're being forced to spend 4 solid days in a cramped cage in a vibrating car. We hate our lives enough as it is, and now you had to go and introduce nauseating narcotics into this situation. Where's the love?"
It was noon by the time we hit Tulsa (I guess maybe it was 11:00 Oklahoma time) and it just confirmed in our brains that reaching that point on day 1 would have been ridiculous. However, we were determined to make up every bit of the time we'd lost on this day: our original goal for day 2 was Albuquerque and it was going to stay Albuquerque., dagnabbit.
You know, you can be married to someone for years and one day realize how very rare it is that you actually have a good, long talk. In a strange way, it was good to get to know my wife again. We discussed everything from parents to jobs to families to... to whatever. We told stories about our childhoods that both of us were sure we had to have told before to each other... but apparently hadn't. (I was shocked to learn that Carey had never heard the story of the time our family was moving from Georgia to Ohio and a rat fried itself by maneuvering onto the engine of my mom's minivan while we were doing 70 on the interstate... a Bear family classic!) Also, we found ourselves sensibly talking about things that bothered us about the other... bringing them up in love, rather than the heat of anger, the way we promised we would a couple of years ago. And who'd have thought? It really works.
...
Act 2, Scene 3: Oklahoma City Balming (er... Balmy... er...)
The day grew longer and hotter and it wasn't long before the air conditioner had to be turned on full blast, just to keep the car livable. By the time we hit Oklahoma City, the heat was so blistering that it was apparently driving some drivers to insanity and a huge multi-car/truck pileup forced us to detour. We took the opportunity to stop for some lunch at a Burger King. So that Carey wouldn't have to leave the cats or step out into the ridiculously hot weather, I took her order and ran in.
Now, granted, this was a particularly incompetent Burger King, so it indeed took longer than usual to actually get the goods. Knowing that Carey was probably out in the car dying of exposure (even though we kept the engine and air running), I filled a couple cups with ice and ran back out to the car with the food. As I got into the car, something was strange. I couldn't put my finger on what it could have been, though. I handed the ice to Carey, and she said, "thanks... I don't think we'll need it, though."
And it was true. Suddenly, the air wasn't hot and the sun wasn't out. In fact, in the time it took to get our cuisine, the temperature had dropped at least 30 degrees. The wind was blowing to beat the band. The clouds started spinning and twirling above us. I'd never seen a tornado before... was this the start of one?
By the time we started driving, the heavens opened up into a thundering deluge. If it was a twister, I think we missed it, but everything did get awfully wet. It was the quickest, strangest weather change I've ever seen. Usually, I don't remark on the weather, but to a guy from Ohio, this was indeed remarkable.
...
Act 2, Scene 4: Pathos Bill
Okay, so Pathos is a bit strong. It's getting harder and harder to come up with these clever titles.
Anyhow, soon we hit Texas. I'm not sure what to say about Texas. It was big and boring. I'd never been to Texas, outside of its fine airports, so I suppose I should have been impressed with something that's such a world-renowned geographical personality. Give me one-horse towns! Give me ridin' and wranglin' on the old prairie! Give me six-gun justice and sheriffs with no names! Give me 2000 head of steer and whiskey flasks and the Rio Grande!
Give me a break.
There was nothing. Just a gas station every 80 miles or so and I think at one point we drove through Amarillo.
Yeehaw.
...
Act 2, Scene 5: That Southwestern Flavor or Our Just Deserts
About an hour or so into New Mexico, Carey took over the driving. "Albuquerque or Bust" was the motto, and we were feeling pretty good. New Mexico was beautiful. The sunsets were utterly inspired and, while the state itself didn't have much of a human population, it more than made up for it in scenery.
As the sky turned from blue to orange to pink to black, I finished reading Gaiman's Coraline and both the wife and I agreed that it's a deliciously creepy tale that's best read at night, out loud, to impressionable youths.
For some reason, we kept our car's clock on Ohio time, to fit with what time it felt like. We were getting tired, but our exhaustion was nothing like the previous evening. A great deal of New Mexico was driven at night, which is unfortunate, because the desert was absolutely incredible to behold.
...
Act 2, Scene 6: Must've Been that Right Turn at Albuquerque
We'd prayed prayer upon prayer for a place to sleep of higher caliber than the Ozark Inn. We are, however, on a budget... so we took a chance on an Albuquerque Super 8 on the east side of town.
It was absolutely wonderful.
Clean sheets. Polite desk clerk. No crumbs or dog toys. No bugs. Individually wrapped plastic cups with the hotel (or is it motel? And what is the difference anyhow?) logo printed on the side. Fresh carpet. Fresh bathroom. Fresh everything. For one night, Heaven was a New Mexico Super 8.
We ordered a pizza and had it delivered to the room. I suppose Papa John's at midnight isn't the sanest thing we've ever done, but, after two days of eating fast food in the car and a night of sleeping with cockroaches, it seemed positively sensible.
Also, we watched TV. Since we'd been without possessions for the past week and a half, this was the first TV we'd seen in a long time. I don't even remember what we watched. The state we were in, though, even Married With Children reruns would have been welcome.
And, glad to be clean, glad to have met our driving goal, and, mostly, glad to be almost 900 miles from the Ozark Inn, we tumbled into the arms of Morpheus and slept the most peaceful sleep either of us have ever slept.
Or, at least, we would have if that Papa John's hadn't kept me in and out of the bathroom all night.
...
Act 3, Scene 1: The Great Feline Heist
Technically, we weren't really sure what the Super 8's policy was on pets in the room, which is why our M.O. was normally to swoop Gilbert and Calliope in and out of the hotel rooms under the radar, praying that they wouldn't be seen or that they wouldn't fuss loudly.
We were almost free and clear when, to our chagrin, the desk clerk passed us by and raised a pronounced eyebrow at the kitty cage in my hand and our two Devon Rexes.
There I was: an adult male professional, smuggling cats out of a hotel, caught like a deer in the headlights. I suppose it's not quite as dramatic as I'm making it sound, but, for some reason, I briefly found myself with absolutely no dignity.
The desk clerk didn't say a word. I stuttered out "Th-thanks, here's yuh-your room key. Everthing was... ah... good. Great, I mean. We really liked our room."
For Heaven's sake, Jer, where's your pride? So he saw you with a couple cats! So what!
...
Act 3, Scene 2: Red Man Makum Big Billboards
Have you ever asked yourself, "NOW where am I? Is this Arizona?" just take the Arizona Acid Test. Don't worry, it has nothing to do with Peyote... just look at the first billboard you come to. If the billboard reads 'INDIAN JEWELRY: Next Exit'... welcome to Arizona, baby. Apparently, 'Indian Jewelry' is the fulcrum of this entire state's economy. Every 50 feet is another sign advertising this jewelry. Oh, and make no mistake: this is not 'Native American Jewelry'... oh, no, brother, check your Political Corectness at the door. It's alllll Indian.
Arizona was lovely, but it's a curious state... nothing but desert as far as the eye can see... Indian Reservations all around... then, whap, suddenly you're in a mountainous forest. Just as suddenly, thwok, back to the desert.
But, I digress. Back to the Indians: I've been told my whole life that I have a certain obligation to feel a dismal "White Man's Guilt" about the total screwing of the Native American culture 200 years ago. While I can't exactly call what I feel 'guilt' necessarily, it does break the heart a little bit to drive through these reservations. The idea that this is the best effort we could come up with to preserve the culture of these deeply spiritual individuals is depressing. Not that I have a ready alternative in mind, but... well, it seems pretty empty.
Then again, maybe it wasn't all that affecting. We never did get any Indian jewelry.
Argh.
...
Act 3, Scene 3: That Bullet Was Meant for Us
It was a short day, and we felt badly about drugging the cats on day 2, so we decided that clean living was best for this leg of the trip, as far as Gilbert and Calliope were concerned. But, there was no escaping it: they were becoming more anxious by the day.
Expense nearly drove us to rent a U-Haul and tow our car out, rather than use North American movers to do the dirty work for us. In western Arizona, however, we came upon an ominous sight: a broken-down U-Haul, towing a car. Stuck in the middle of friggin' nowhere. The driver looked as if he were ready to sob. Fortunately, someone had stopped to help out, but, all Carey and I could say was, "thank God. Thank GOD." That was very nearly us.
...
Act 3, Scene 4: Chinese in Navajo Country
We arrived in Kingman, Arizona, our goal for day 3, in the early evening. We decided to give the Days Inn a try. The place was perfect. Memories of good old Ozark still lingering, it was good to, once again, get the royal treatment we received at the Super 8. The great thing this place had to recommend it, though: cheap cheap cheap. Cheaper than Ozark, even.
With much of the evening still before us, we ordered Chinese takeout and we found ourselves eating at a table provided in the room. A real table. It had been a long time.
We went to sleep. Though less than 6 hours of road lay before us, tomorrow promised to be a big day.
...
Act 4, Scene 1: Last Leg to Sodom
We allowed ourselves a good sleep-in and soon took off. I have to admit that, in many ways, I found the trip very enjoyable. Long, certainly, but... for 4 days, there were no problems. No bills to worry about. No interviews to set up. No nothing, except road. That said, I was actually dreading arriving in Long Beach. Upon arrival, our lives would immediately be thrown into absolute uproar, stress, and an endless litany of problems to be solved. But, this was day 4. And day 4 meant the end of carefree driving and the beginning of a whole new life.
The Colorado River turned up about an hour after we set out from the Days Inn in Kingman, which meant we were officially in California. We paused for a photo op with the welcome sign and continued on our way.
...
Act 4, Scene 2: God Bless the In-and-Out or Unleaded for Chumps 101
We'd heard horror stories about running out of gas in the middle of the deep West. Gas stations can be few and far between, so, as a rule, we purposed to never let the level drop to a quarter tank. You can't be too safe with the gas situation. We were nearing the 1/4 tank mark when we arrived at Barstow, so I pulled over to a Chevron.
$1.96 a gallon? No way, buddy. There's No Fricken WAY.
As much as it was going against my personal Gas Philosophy, the principal alone of paying 2 bucks a gallon made me cringe. I decided to wait for a few exits. A gamble, I guess, but it turned out to be a good decision. For, barely 15 minutes down the road, we found some reasonably-priced petrol right beside, even better, an In-and-Out Burger.
To West-Coasters, the In-and-Out is no big deal. They're everywhere and Californians tend to take these delicious burgers for granted. It's a staple of this part of the country, though, and we decided to pull in and grab some vittles.
Not to sound pretentious, but... these things just taste like California. The In-and-Out is the embodiment of why we came here in the first place... not for literal burgers, mind you, but for that idea: there's stuff here in the way of experiences and opportunities that, durn it, you just can't find anywhere else.
But, all metaphors aside; that's one fine burger.
...
Act 4, Scene 3: Hiding Out in the Carpool Lane
LA County traffic slammed into us like a freight train as we merged onto the 10 freeway. That's something that'll take awhile to get used to: numbered freeways are "THE" __. THE 10. THE 5. THE 605. Apparently, that's just how it is.
Also, there's the carpool lane. You're permitted to drive in the carpool lane (which is the ultimate passing lane) if there are 2 or more people in your vehicle. It's sort of like having a backstage pass. "Don't hassle me, buddy, I've got two people and two cats in this vehicle." It's a good idea, really. Less pollution, less traffic... an incentive to get to wherever you're going that much faster.
As we drew closer to Long Beach, I felt that weird pressure in my colon. The body thinks it needs to go to the bathroom... the brain knows it's just nerves. Our new home was just miles away and excitement quickly turned to dread. What if the place was a dump? What if there are unexpected costs that we can't afford? What if, when we get there, we discover that we've next to nothing in our bank account?
About 4 blocks from our new place, I announced that, no, I have to find a restroom immediately. Carey, ever patient, graciously allowed me to stop in every place of business we saw: no restrooms.
No more stalling. It was time to head into our new home.
...
Act 4, Scene 4: Yo Queiro Un Money Order
We got lost. The guy who hooked us up with the place, who I assume is the landlord or something, is Nacho. "Like the chip," he told me over the phone several weeks ago. We called Nacho on his cell, told him where we were, and he guided us in. When we arrived, he was there waiting.
Nacho is, naturally, of Latino/Mexican descent, and English is obviously his second language. Not that this is a problem, but, speaking as someone who values the gift of communication, I admit that I become easily frustrated when barriers arise, especially where a complicated transaction is necessary.
He let us in. I wasn't exactly sure what to think. This was the place we'd been dreaming about for weeks... and there it was... right there. The blue carpet that Carey had dreaded was now under our toes. The 1.5 baths we'd been promised were just down the hall. Right there.
So, we signed the lease and... the thing with Nacho is, he's not much for volunteering details.
JER: Okay, well, this looks great.
NACHO: Yeah. You like this, eh, man?
JER: Very nice. Oh, don't we also have a garage included?
NACHO: Yeah.
JER: ...Good. Good. ...So... Ah, where is it?
NACHO: Just downstairs and around the corner, man.
JER: Oh, okay. Well.... Just downstairs and...?
NACHO: Yeah.
JER: I see. And, is it locked? Do we need a key?
[Nacho produces a key]
NACHO: Yeah. Here.
JER: Oh, and there's the key, then. Super.
NACHO: Yeah.
JER: So, I don't really know where these garages are, uh...
NACHO: I guess I could show you, man...
JER: That would be really helpful.
NACHO: Follow me.
JER: Thanks. Anyhow... so, we have our own mailbox here, right?
NACHO: Yeah.
JER: And where are they?
NACHO: 'Round the other corner, man.
---
Essentially, if you don't ask, you just won't find out.
So we signed the lease. Then Nacho springs it on us that he'll need the prorated amount for this month and the entirety of next month's rent TODAY. Not only that, but they'll only accept money orders. No checks. Unfortunately, that amount comes out to well over a thousand dollars and we don't have that kind of cash on us. What's more, our ATM has a withdrawal limit of $1000, so we really don't have a way of getting a money order today. It was a real pickle and it would have been nice to know this stuff ahead of time. But, consistent with Nacho's policy with renters... if you don't ask, you just won't find out.
In the end, Carey called the owner of the building and persuaded him to take a check.
Phew.
...
Act 4, Scene 5: Our First Night or The Safest Pizza Hut Ever
I spent the first hour sitting in the middle of the living room, scared to death. We don't have much money. Cost of living out here is out-friggin-rageous. We barely know a soul. We couldn't find our way to even a gas station or a grocery store without help. "Dear God, did I just pull us into the biggest mistake of our lives?"
Carey, on the other hand, was elated. She bounced from room to room, making plans for the place. Looking outside at the genuine palm trees. Exploring every nook and cranny of our apartment (which, by the way, is slightly bigger than our place back in Columbus). Nothing puts me in a good mood quite like a smile from Carey, so it was truly encouraging to have her there. I say this now with absolute certainty, no bones about it: without her, I would not have been able to do this. I'm a very very lucky fellow.
We were, however, hungry for something familiar, so after a few phone calls to our family to let them know that we made it in safely, we ordered a pizza from the Pizza Hut around the corner that I happened to spot on my way in. I drove over there to pick it up.
I'd never seen such a thing. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Bars and bullet-proof glass sealed off this pick-up-only Pizza Hut so that there was absolutely no way in heck to rob it. They took your money through an iron trough that dipped below the glass and your order was then slid out to you on this kind-of automated metal dumbwaiter. The people both behind the glass and customers beside me looked... well, now, I can't lie: they looked surly. This was our neighborhood, apparently.
I brought back the pizza and, scared and hopeful, we ate our first meal in our new place. Although we finished it, I don't remember tasting a bite of it.
I brought the stuff in, Carey organized what little possessions we had with us.
And, feeling a weightier exhaustion than either of us have felt in a long time, we went to sleep.
...
I guess this really isn't much of an epilogue, because the whole adventure is just beginning. It's now Sunday as I type this and the past couple of days have been a symphony of highs and lows.
Fortunately, friends of ours have been helping us settle in and adjust, specifically Kelly Larned. Kelly was kind enough to drive us around town yesterday and buy us lunch and use his place to do silly little things like look for a job and post to this blogger.
Others have been encouraging and helpful: Nate Brown, Dan Harney, Amanda Wolfert. They're all friends from our Grace College days.
We're looking for jobs. Money is easily the biggest stresser right now. Some definite income would do absolute miracles for the knots in our respective stomachs. If you're looking for a way to pray for the Bears, that's the biggest one.
Also, the movers (who were supposed to deliver our stuff yesterday) are nowhere to be found. We're more than a little upset. Customer service doesn't know what to tell us because they can't locate our driver (who was supposed to be here over a week ago). We're not sure what to do. Still living in a place with no furniture or, well, anything.
The cats are pretty freaked out. Calliope is starting to enjoy the new place, but Gilbert is a nervous wreck. Give it time, I guess.
We went to Grace Church of Long Beach this morning, which was lovely. Not sure where we'll end up, as far as churches go, but we thoroughly enjoyed the fellowship and teaching there.
And that's it. In case you were mistakenly left off of the email list, here's our contact info (ignore the contact page for the time being):
Jeremy & Carey Bear
1425 Appleton St., Apt. 12
Long Beach, CA 90802
562-432-7639
Cell: 562-221-8171
jeremybear@usa.com (personal) or art@jeremybear.com (professional)
Drop us a line, if you think of it. Thanks for reading and stay tuned for future updates.
posted by Jeremy Bear at
10:42 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home