Thule Trail Adventure

 

(http://www.thuleroadtrip.com/thule_trail/thuleTrail.html)

 

Based on A True story

 

by Thelma Mary Caroline

 

 

 

They told me it was the classic American getaway.  We'll travel over two thousand miles from Chicago to Santa Barbara, California.  We have to do it properly, my car mates say.  Even though going to Chicago was another two thousand two hundred miles out of our way, since we're all from Bellingham, Washington.

 

It's this thing called the Atlantis Music Festival.  I don't know why they call something that's clearly in California "Atlantis."   I'm not terribly excited about it, but it's clear I have no choice.

 

I'm a self described "slacker."   I only chose the title because I am not a student, and I'm definitly no professional.  I don't really think I'm a slacker either, but okay.  Whatever.

 

I wrote up a ledger (what's the word?) of who's all going.  I don't know why.  Because I might forget someone's name, even though I've worked with them for a long time.  (Two years is a long time, right?)

 

I'm driving.  I won't let anyone else drive my car.  My name is Martha.

 

Kiwi, my best friend, is in shotgun.  Joan, Gloria, and Misty are in the backseat.

 

Everyone looks different than I remember.  I'm tall, with long brown hair and sandles.  I look like a guy, but I know it's not true.  Kiwi is a blonde in weird brown pants.  Joan looks like how I remember Gloria, brown hair and round face, but with a large red over jacket that I imagine feels like felt, and bellbottoms.  Gloria looks like a man:  short brown hair and a pink shirt with an unrecognizable logo.  Misty is short and fat, and looks old.  She has on a straw hat and a freaky looking dress covered in flowers.

 

We're taking my hybrid sudan.  I think that's what it is anyway.  I have no idea.  Anyway, it's really great because it gets good gas milage.  At least, I hope it will on the trip.

 

It's gray.  I chose that color because it doesn't show up as much that it's dirty.  So yeah.  But the best part is that it has a C D player.  My old car just had a tape player and it sucked.

 

The five of us pool our money, coming up with a total of 800 dollars.  That doesn't seem too bad for me.  They all wait in the car while I pop into the local Small Mart. 

 

"What's up?  I'm Clem."

 

"Uh ... Martha," I answer, studying the man.  He's short and stocky, with a green apron.

 

"Hear you're headed to the Atlantis Music Festival.  We've got everything you need."

 

"How do you know where I'm going?"

 

"You'll need magazines and games to keep the moral up, and plenty of food and drinks."

 

"Uh, no.  I've got this rule that no food's allowed in my car," I say.  "It all started when my neice was a baby ..."

 

"You'll also need music, for those awkward silences, pellets for your pellet gun, and spare parts for you car."

 

I decide not to mention that I don't have a pellet gun.  I end up buying 5 magazines and games, 15 C D's, 10 bags of food, 1 box of pellets (I think Kiwi might have a pellet gun under the seat), and a spare tire and jumper cable.

 

I only have 173 dollers left.

 

"Looks like you're set!" Clem says.  "Be on the lookout for competitions along the way.  It's a great way to earn some cash.  It's fun too.  Almost as fun as hunting."

 

"What, have you done this before?" I ask, though it sounds more like he's endorsing them.  I wonder if he's getting paid to say that.

 

"Have a safe trip!"

 

I get back in the car, and find that Misty is humming some annoying song.  But everyone is happy with my purchase.  Secretly, I'm relieved.  And we leave on September 13, at 9:30 A M from Chicago, IL.

 

Our morale is escatic, I'm driving the speed limit, no one's hungry ...

 

It's not even an hour later that Gloria gets a small piece of candy stuck up her nose.

 

"Well, you're the one who bought Altoids!"

 

"All right, all right.  I won't buy them again," I vow, and we're back on our way.

 

Further up the freeway, a guy is tailgating me.  I watch him carefully in the rear view mirror to make sure he's not going to rear end me.

 

"Whoa, is that sign language?" Kiwi asks.  She's watching him though the mirror too.

 

I understand sign language, but I can't follow what he's saying while I drive, so I shrug it off.  Maybe he's talking to a passenger.

 

And then, after he passes, we get stuck behind a R V not going the speed limit.  But his bumper stickers are funny.

 

My Child was Immate of the month at County Jail

 

4 out of 3 people have trouble with fractions

 

I'm pink, therefore I SPAM

 

And moments later, I'm pulled over for speeding.

 

"Do you know how fast you were going?" The police cop asks.

 

"Under the speed limit!" I cry.

 

But I still end up with a ticket for forty dollars.

 

We go on our way, and suddenly Kiwi crys out, "I just found forty dollars in my pocket!"

 

"So it's like we didn't get the ticket, then," Gloria says wisely.

 

It seems like there's never a dull moment.  Joan and Kiwi begin fighting about what music should be playing.

 

"Guys!  I'm the driver, I get to pick out the music.  I make the rules!"

 

 

 

At exactly 4:03 P M we reach Des Moines, Iowa.  I've never been to Iowa before, and it's kinda of weird.  The trees are a freaky brown color.

 

The first thing I do is get gas.  It's only 2 dollars a gallon here, way hard for me to believe.  In home sweet Bellingham it's over three dollars in most places.  I wish I had a gas can (or whatever those things are called), but I don't.

 

It's here, in Des Moines, while I check the supplies that I realize I bought 15 magazines and games, not the five I originally thought.  How did that even happen?  How did I not notice at the check out counter?

 

But anyway, we stay here for 13 hours before we're back on the road.

 

 

At the mini mart where I bought gas (I miss Starvin' Sam's) there's a turtle race.

 

"Oh, can we stop?" Kiwi asks.

 

Misty says, "Look at the turtles!  They're so cute!"

 

So we stop.  It's only five dollars to enter the race.  But my turtle lets me down.

 

"Easy come, easy go," Joan says, making me feel foolish.

 

 

Three hours later, there's a sign on the side of the freeway:  The Loess Hills National Scenic Byway.

 

I need a break from driving.  My back hurts so bad.

 

No one says much.  It's nothing spectaular.  Just some water and some hills.  Misty hums an annoying song.

 

We pick up a hitch hiker, too.  He has to squeeze into the backseat.  I hope no cops go by.

 

"Thanks," the guy with wild curly hair says.  "I've been on the road for months now.  I'm totally out of money."

 

"Don't touch me," Joan says.

 

Suddenly it starts to rain.  Although it's hard to see the road, I don't bother slowing down.  I was born and raised in Lacey, where it rains for nine months straight.  I think it's easier to drive when it's raining.

 

"You know what?" the hitch hiker says.  "I think I'll walk."

 

So he gets out.  It's not until a few miles later we realize he stole 62 dollars.  "That's it, no more hitch hikers!"

 

It's not much later that Kiwi gets her hand stuck in a pop bottle.

 

"Madre de Dios," I mutter.  When will this craziness end?

 

Misty's leg falls asleep just before we reach Grand Island, Nebraska.  Looking around as we drive, I realize this is probably the most normal looking town we've driven through.

 

I get gas, and we rest at the mini mart.  When Joan is asleep, I notice another turtle race.  Carefully, I shake Misty, and we go out to bet on a turtle.  Turtle racing must be a popular sport.  I'll have to try setting up my own in B Ham.

 

Misty's face lights up as our turtle crosses the line second.  "Fifty dollars!" she screams.

 

"Shh!  Don't wake Joan, she'll get mad."

 

 

At midnight, we're on the road again.  It makes me want to sing.

 

"On the road again, I don't want to be on the road again ..."

 

"Shut up!" Gloria says. 

 

There's a scenic thing for Sandhills Journey Scenic Byway.  I don't particularly want to stop, but I do anyway.  We don't bother to get out of the car.  It's some river with lots of mud and a couple of trees.  Whatever.

 

But it was so worth it.

 

 

Gloria accidently gets her hand stuck in the window.  She complains and complains, for almost thirty minutes.

 

"It was an accident!"  But that's not enough.

 

 

Back on the road, we see another hitch hiker.  He looks like a hippie.

 

"NO HITCH HIKERS," Joan says, remember the one who stole from us.

 

So we just drive by, but I feel bad.

 

Then the engine starts smoking.  This trip is just way too dramatic for me.

 

But Kiwi decides she can fix it, and she does.  But it takes her an hour, even with Misty helping.

 

As we wait, I realized we were short on food.  I took Kiwi's pellet gun and went hunting.  It was pretty sucessful.  I shot a pizza, some french fries, a drink and some thing that looked like chicken nuggets.  Three bags of food.

 

Two miles out, it starts to snow.  Madre de Dios.  I hate snow, but luckily it doesn't stuck and lets up a few miles later.

 

"Hey, guys, I just found forty dollars in my pocket!" Gloria cries suddenly.

 

"Score!"

 

The road ahead is covered in snow.  I'm not foolish enough to try to drive through it, so I wait for the snow plow, even though it takes an hour.

 

At 11:02 A M, September 15, we reach Boulder, Colorado.  It's even weirder than Des Moines.  It's got pink hills.

 

Just like every other town we go throught, I get gas (at 3 dollars a gallon!).

 

 

The next morning we're on our way.  Again.  It's getting old.  Secretly, I wonder if we're even going to make it to the concert.  I don't know what date it is.

 

There's a snowboarding contest, and after some debate, we decide to enter.  I've won a couple before.

 

But at the last minute, I ran into a bush, causing me to loose to Felipe Gussenhoven but only 2 seconds.  Truelly, I did cry.

 

The others console me, but I pull of to a scenic mountain view to get away from them.  Misty hums her annoying song as we look over the view.

 

Fantastic.

 

Some how, as we speed down the highway, a bird gets stuck in the car.

 

"Roll down all the windows!" someone screams.  I do.  And then I get pulled over for speeding.  This time the ticket is 80 dollars.  But we don't have enough money to pay it, so the car gets impounded.

 

Oh well.

 

Gloria decides to stay behind and join a band of gypsies, but everyone else hitch hikes home.

 

G A M E  O V E R

 

(And Misty hums another annoying song)