For starters, I'd gotten all of my clothes and shoes into one normal sized suitcase ALONG with clothes and shoes for BOTH of the kids.
"What?!?" you may be wondering. "Why is this a huge deal?!"
Normally, I'd have at least two suitcases -- one for clothes, one for accessories, shoes, etc. When we went to Cancun for Spring Break our junior year, I took three suitcases for a four day trip. I am not a light packer.
Second, I was ready to go on time.
Seriously, at this point, we all should have known that something was going to happen because I am n.e.v.e.r. on time.
Ever.
Anyway, we also had a plan.
Megan and Teri, having young bambinos, were going to head down way early to give them plenty of travel time for stopping, feeding, etc. Kelley and Bess and the kids were to meet at my house. We were set.
Monday morning finally dawns. Once everybody arrived, we finally decide to load the three oldest kids -- PJ (Bess's son), Haley (Kelley's oldest), and Ethan (my son) -- plus Savannah, Bess's daughter, into Bess's MV. Kelley, her youngest daughter Taylor, Laney, and I are going in my MV.
We pack and rearrange and shove stuff everywhere until, finally, we are ready to depart.
We get off to a good start....cruising....radio on.... anticipating fun times ahead with our small colony of people. Kids are quiet (well, at least in our van). No one is hungry or has to go potty or hates the person next to him/her.
Woo-hoo! The travel gods are smiling on us.
Well, they might've been smiling then, but it was only because they knew what was coming. They weren't smiling on us; they were laughing at us.
We'd been on the road about an hour or so when Bess calls to say something is wrong with her tire. Kelley looks into the rearview mirror and announces that the front passenger-side tire is flat as a flitter.
Moment of panic. None of us have ever changed a tire.
We pull off on the next exit and park in an empty field-like spot right at the top of the exit.... and start calling every man we know. I personally called K. and my dad and my brother before my brother finally calls me back. I explain our situation, and being the rational law-enforcement type, he comes up with a plan.
Find the manual and follow the instructions for changing the tire. Meanwhile, he'll send the Highway Patrol out to help.
What? Bess doesn't even know where the spare tire is, much less the manual.
Someone says, "We've all got college degrees and then some. We can change a tire y'all."
The trumpets sound as we square off to meet our challenge.
Deep breaths all around. Kelley and Bess start looking for the spare tire; I start looking for the manual. After a few minutes, we unearth both and start reading instructions between phone calls back and forth to get help/advice/GPS location.
And then the adventure begins.
Kelley successfully manages to get the jack under the car and is about to embark on a second career as a mechanic when this man -- albeit wooly-looking -- shows up. I'm on the phone with the HP dispatcher, trying to explain to her where we are. Bess is trying to corral the kids, who are hyping up on Yogos and juice. (That's my bad. Sorry.)
Nothing like six sugar-wired tots to make changing a tire in 90 degree heat fun.
The man -- as we never got his name but will probably be seeing him on some type of Most Wanted Criminals show -- is very, very nice. He takes over the changing of the tire and seems to be very proficient. Kelley and Bess start showering him with thanks, but me -- I think there's something very strange about this man.
For starters, I'd seen him drive by a few minutes earlier.
Second, he starts suggesting that we follow him to an auto shop that he knows about. Hello?!?! This has serial axe murderer written all over it. We're going to be on the news.
Kelley the mechanic and Bess start loading the kids -- all six of them -- back into the vans. The man/axe murderer loads Bess's tire into the back of his truck because we're following him to this "shop"... or whatever he calls his torture dungeon. I call my brother and Highway Patrol -- which still hasn't shown up, thanks -- to let them know that the tire has been changed... while sending subliminal messages to any area policemen for help.
No luck.
So, I start working on the next line of defense: gathering helpful information. As the others are preparing to leave, I am scribbling furiously on the only thing I can find: clean napkins. Physical description, vehicle description, bumper stickers, odd moles, tattoos... whatever. The only thing I don't get before we pull off is the license plate.
That turns out to be a problem.
"I'll go slow," he says. "You shouldn't drive more than 50 or so on that donut tire. It might blow."
So... this completely explains why, once we're all back on the interstate, he takes off, mach 10, like a bat out of hell.
Yes, that's right, he drives away into the 574 degree heat... with Bess's tire.
I call the girls in the other van to find out if they see him, if they can get his license tag.
"I don't see him, Al," Kelley says. "You're going to have to chase him down. We can't go any faster."
At that moment, my MV knew it's sole purpose in life had been revealed. It was built to chase down hardened, tire-stealing criminals.
I whip into the fast lane and slam the pedal to the floor. Unused to this kind of NASCAR-like finesse, the MV hesitates for a minute and then kicks it.
We sail past mere mortal vehicles.
The scary man's truck comes into sight a few minutes later, and I swerve back into the slow lane.
Those observing shiver with fear. They know this is the end.
Well, maybe not the end, but upon seeing a massive heap of intimidating gray steel fly up on his bumper like it might just suck him under the bug grate, he does slow down... way down.
I almost land the MV in the back of his truck with the tire.
I call back to the other MV to tell them that I have located the perp... wait, he's getting off on an exit... and I'm going too fast to get off behind him.
Scary axe murderer, I am going to whip your.... wait... he didn't get off on the exit completely. He just pulled over... and now he's pulling back out into traffic.
Thanks. I almost became lunch for a mean, massive 18-wheeler so he could stop?!? I'm just filing away details.
So, we toodle along down a few more exits, Kel and Bess racing furiously... well, as furiously as they can with a wittle tire... to catch up.
We pull off on the Clinton exit, and I start getting antsy. This does not feel right.
The feeling gets stronger when we pass Elvis Pressley Boulevard.
Are you kidding me?!?! Jesco White is about to step out of the bushes. I just know it.
We finally pull up at this abandoned garage, and I'm thinking, "This is it. We're either going to to die, or we're going to have to beat this freak to a pulp and escape."
I've already called my dad and K to tell them that if I don't make it to the beach, I just need them to find my van. There's a full physical description of the man and of his vehicle (including license plate number since I almost ate his tailgate when he slowed down to -12 mph) in the secret compartment of my van. I'm just hoping he doesn't torch the MV to hide evidence because I'm thinking those DQ napkins aren't going to hold up long to fire.
As I'm preparing to fight my life's battle, this man walks out of the abandoned garage.
Shut. Up.
This is actually a working garage... and apparently belongs to this man.
Whew.
He wheels the van in and takes a look at the tire. Turns out, it needs to be patched.
Wait a second. It's been patched already. He's going to have to plug it.
We have little-to-no-idea what he's talking about, but it's only going to cost $10, so we're cool.
Once the work starts on the tire, the scary man/axe murderer starts fidgeting.
"I'm going to run on, now that y'all are settled," he says.
Kelley and I thank him profusely, as he won't let us pay him. He begins to walk toward his truck, turns back, looks me in the eye, and says, "Y'all need to be careful who you trust."
Seriously.
That's what he said.
Well, now. That makes me feel safe. I just chased an axe murderer down the interstate to retrieve a tire.
This is my theory: When he drove by the first time, he saw just us girls standing out in the deserted lot, and he thought, "Score! Three helpless lasses in a bind. What better opportunity for an axe murderer!"
So he turned around and came back.
Pulling into the lot, he seems harmless enough (part of his master plan), but he's thinking, "This is going to be too easy! They'll be no match for my axe murderer powers!"
Well, until the six kids come running out from behind the vans. At that moment, he realizes his plan has been shot all to pieces.
He might could take three helpless women, but how is he going to wrangle 6 wild children?
He has no choice but to help. And so, he gets out of his truck, defeated by six crazy kids who think that the abandoned lot is actually the beach.
Part III of the saga tomorrow...
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