(1) After too few hours of sleep, we hit the road again, using the fill-the-radiator-with-water-and-drive-ten-miles-until-needing-to-stop-and-repeat procedure to get us to Belle Fourche.
(2) Along the way, Abigail vomited.
(3) Mechanic Jim met us halfway and drove us to his home/shop in town where we parked the motor home and unhooked the car. Thinking ahead, we realized that we would no longer need a camping hookup for the motor home at the RV park and motel where we had reservations. Instead, we would need one more room (for Dad and Beverly). The person who answered the phone at the motel at first couldn't even find the reservations we had already made for rooms! When he finally had it straightened out and added a room for Dad and Beverly, he mentioned that the motel office would be closed by the time we reached Colorado Springs. Dad phoned my sisters to ask them to get our room keys, too, when they checked in themselves.
(4) No place in Belle Fourche offers car rentals, but Jim found a place in Spearfish, SD and gave Dad the address. Susan and I hopped in Dad's car and drove the 12 miles south to Spearfish. We used Dad's global positioning system navigational device to take us with ease directly to the address that Dad gave us for the car rental place in Spearfish. Unfortunately, no such address exists. So we went to Wal-Mart to buy some tubs for Dad and Beverly to pack their clothes in for the drive to Colorado Springs (with their clothes hanging in their closet in the motor home, they had no luggage along), and we found the correct address in a phone book there.
(5) The car rental deal allowed for 150 miles or so of driving per day . . . not even enough to get us to our destination. We girded our loins for an enormous over-mileage-limit bill when we return the car.
(6) We returned to Belle Fourche; packed our clothes, sleeping bags, food, etc., in the rental car and Dad and Beverly's car; and programmed the GPS device to take us to Colorado Springs. Unfortunately, Dad distrusts the device and refused to take its suggested route, choosing instead a slower, scenic, winding Black Hills National Forest road simply because it headed south rather than the faster interstate highway, which required a half-mile drive north to enter before turning west and then south ("But we don't want to go north! This thing [the GPS device] is wrong!").
(7) Along the way, Abigail vomited again.
(8) Susan bought Pepto-Bismol for Abigail's symptoms. Not only did it come out of Abigail into her lap and onto the rental car back seat when she vomited, but it also came out of the bottle into Susan's purse during our drive.
(9) We encouraged Dad to trust Lady GPS (our anthropomorphized name for the navigational device due to its programmed soothing female voice), and he let her lead them (and us behind Dad and Beverly) through Denver. South of the city, however--around 9:00 P.M., perhaps--he exited the interstate, drove us past a multi-car accident complete with several police cars and under the interstate to the entrance ramp, drove us a couple miles northward on the interstate to another exit ramp, led us over the interstate to an entrance ramp back onto the interstate, drove us the couple miles southward again back to the original exit ramp, which he took once more, and back under the interstate before pulling over and swearing at Lady GPS, who was telling him to turn around and go north. Somehow someone in their car had dropped or bumped Lady GPS, reprogramming its destination to which she was earnestly trying to lead them. Susan and I took Lady GPS in our car, programmed her to take us to our motel, and let her direct us there with Dad and Beverly following.
(10) We were happy to park, find and hug my sisters, and get our room keys from them. We were not so happy to discover that our rooms were dumps. We feared as much, though, weeks ago when we phoned for reservations and were quoted a ridiculously low price without being required to leave a credit card number to hold our reservations. Considering the rest of our journey, the quality of our destinaton is par for the course.
Puking can tire a girl out--and inspire sisters to join in the nap.
South Dakota
South Dakota
Wyoming
Colorado
Because I know that some people who read this wonder:
ReplyDelete1. Breakfast was pancakes. I was quite impressed that Beverly was able to cook while the motor home was lumbering its way along.
2. Lunch was leftovers from Thursday night, eaten in the motor home before we hopped in the cars to head to CO. Because Abigail was still not feeling well, she opted to eat only a little of the whipped red jello......which stained MY yellow t-shirt when Abigail (who was wearing my t-shirt because she'd already thrown-up on the outfit I'd packed for her that day) threw up all over it...and the backseat of the rental car...
My thoughts are with you. I recall a similar motorhome road trip to Mount Rushmore when I was a kid (with my grandparents, aunts and cousins) where we broke down in some small town and had similar puking issues. Ah, part of growing up. Sorry to hear about your purse and shirt!
ReplyDeleteThank you for the sympathy! Not much I can do about the shirt -- but at least the purse was pink, so no harm done there!
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