Our driving adventures
Settling ourselves into the comfy car with a big sigh of relief, we felt more stunned than anything. We’d had the week from hell, we were so tired it didn’t bear thinking about, and now we were tucked in a car for at least twelve hours with a perfect stranger.
Getting to know Veronica, I’m happy to report, was very peaceful. Approaching thirty and single, she’s slender, dark-haired, a bit taller than average, and is graceful and willowy. Her manner is low key and soft-spoken. She’s well traveled, and has been to a number of exotic locations with her film industry jobs.
The miles flew by softly as we gradually swapped entertaining stories from our lives. She shared fun, interesting stories about her career in the modeling and film industries, while we shared stories about our bike trips and time in the Czech Republic.
Veronica’s currently in the midst of some major life decisions. Though she’d been headed in a very different direction, she received a call that day about a possible job offer with Warner Brothers in California, a job that could be perfect for her right now. She had a lot to think about.
Chelsea and I talked about our major changes, how we’d gotten to where we are, and where we’re headed.
The conversation was perfect.
Even better, she seemed to want to take food and bathroom breaks about the same time we did, which made life a lot more relaxed. We didn’t have a sense of lingering too long, nor did we have a sense of being rushed, and she was very patient when we ran into a long line at the first stop of the day.
Despite her low-key approach Veronica was very focused on getting to New Orleans as soon as possible, especially since she’d started an hour later than she planned, then we had the hour to get us loaded. She had friends waiting, her boyfriend was waiting, evening plans had been made.
That was fine with us as we were exhausted, and very ready to have the world stop spinning so fast. With the speed limit at seventy, Veronica kept the speedometer at eighty and powered steadily down the road.
We’d agreed to trade off in driving, so I took over in early afternoon. All was peaceful. Eventually we needed a gas stop and rest break, but we made it a short one. Then our world went into a spin half an hour later.
The action started with a funny noise in the car. I was listening carefully, but neither Veronica nor Chelsea said anything, so I listened carefully, still, but relaxed a bit. Suddenly the world exploded.
The car jerked violently and began rocketing back and forth across the freeway, slewing side to side. We’d clearly just had a tire blow out at eighty miles an hour.
The world was quickly reduced to a small frame in my mind. “Steer into the skid. Steer into the skid. Steer into the skid. Steer into the skid. Steer into the skid.” There was no time to be worried about where the other cars around me were. We were on all on our own, and could only pray at that point.
Eyes intently focused on the road, I saw the center embankment approaching at warp speed on my left as I dug hard into the skid. “We’re not going there”, I thought. “We’re not going there!”
In that nano-second I knew I’d beaten the skid. We lurched to a stop facing backward across two lanes of traffic on an interstate freeway, with the engine stalled, facing into an oncoming pickup truck. With time for one breath, I started the engine and steered as we limped slowly off to the shoulder.
Veronica will have a special place in our hearts forever as a result of the next minute or two. The three of us sat in silence for perhaps a minute, with “what-just-happened” filling the silence. Then Veronica opened her door and very matter-of-factly said, “Well, I may as well call Triple A.”
While Veronica calmly called Triple A, Chelsea and I got out on shaky legs to inspect the damage. It was impressive. Nothing was left of that tire but threads. The bike rack was tightly on the car and the bikes hadn’t moved. Unbelievable.
Getting the bike rack on the car that morning was enough of a challenge that we’d made jokes about no one getting anything from the trunk till we reached our destination. Now we were stranded on the side of the interstate with the spare tire under the bikes, under the bike rack, under the boxes and clothes and bags.
We had no choice but to take off the bikes, take off the rack, unpack the trunk, and get out the spare tire.
Thanks to a quick and efficient response from Triple A we were on our way within an hour. The trunk was repacked in record speed, with the bikes and bike rack on just as fast. The driver stayed till he was sure we were driving away, so since we didn’t have Jose, we had the driver tighten up the bike rack straps under our careful direction.
After changing the tire, the driver had told Veronica that her blown tire had dry rot and that the other spare likely did too, the one he was putting on for us. He strongly urged us to stop at a tire place as soon as possible and get at least one new tire.
Our conversation was punctuated with nervous and shaky laughter till we reached Tallahassee, an hour farther down the road. We were replaying the blowout, sharing our individual recollections, when both Chelsea and Veronica told me that I had grabbed the steering wheel in the beginning of that last long skid and calmly said, “Hang on girls. We’re gonna make it through this.”
I have no memory of it.
Chelsea told me later that when I said during the skid that we’d be fine, she thought, “Mom doesn’t seem worried, so I guess we’re fine. I wonder how the bikes are?” She then turned around in the middle of the skid to check on the bikes. They were as tight and still as could be.
In the midst of the nervous chatter Veronica got her call about the possible job for Warner Brothers. Still feeling shaky, she told the caller about our recent harrowing escape, telling the woman “Rosemary was a rock star!” I loved it, but now Chelsea won’t let me forget it.
The tire store in Tallahassee was two minutes from closing by the time we arrived, but hearing our story, seeing that we were three women traveling alone, having come quite a few miles with quite a few miles to go, they very graciously helped us out.
Chelsea and I ran next door for food while Veronica supervised the tire changes and in almost record time we were on our way again, with New Orleans calling to us.
But our adventures still weren’t over. Less than halfway to Pensacola we ran into a truly frightening thunderstorm, complete with severe thunderstorm alerts for flooding, damaging hail, high winds, severe lightning, and tornados.
The rain was really impressive. Though we are veterans of many years of Florida storms and hurricanes, this rain was still really impressive. We crawled carefully along the freeway in pounding rain with visibility no farther than the hood of the car, if that.
Veronica and I leaned forward with our eyeballs glued open, looking for the road. The lightning strikes were huge, way too close, and utterly blinding, often hitting four and five at a time.
It was exhausting. That stretch of freeway to Pensacola took forever, but we escaped unscathed, other than being more tired than even before, and now even later for New Orleans than we’d planned.
By the time we moved out of the storm’s reach Veronica was texting her friend and boyfriend with updated arrival times, as we were texting Kenneth.
At midnight for us, but eleven New Orleans time, we arrived in New Orleans at Veronica’s friends house, stiff and tired. Thanks to texting, Kenneth and Huey met us within minutes. We quickly transferred the bikes and gear into Kenneth’s truck, leaving the amazing bike rack for Veronica to return the following week.
After giving Veronica big hugs, we promised to stay in touch with each other. We’d known her less than a day, but felt like we’d known her a lifetime.
Just getting in the car with Kenneth and Huey was a shot back in time. Seeing Kenneth’s familiar friendly face and hearing the lilt and cadence of Cajun English was a walk down memory lane. Kenneth always was a jokester and he didn’t spare us on the ride back to Huey’s house. Laughter was quick and plentiful and spontaneous.
We knew we were in Louisiana when we made it to Huey’s house, met his family including Kenneth’s girlfriend Krisy, Huey’s sister, and were immediately offered red beans and rice with andouille sausage.
While we ate red beans and rice amidst laughter and chatter, Huey blew up a king-size air mattress. By one o’clock lights were out in the house and we were unwinding for sleep on the blessedly soft air mattress in the middle of the living room floor, tucked between the couches.
It was two o’clock for us. We’d been up since five that morning, survived an eight-hundred-mile drive, a blowout, and a pounding thunderstorm, all on four hours sleep, on top of the week from hell.