This is the final installment in my series of posts about moving from Texas to Tennessee.
WARNING: it's not half as exciting as my previous post but it's just as long.
My adventures in Arkansas didn't end when I went over the cliff. There was more to come. Nothing quite as exciting in comparison to the cliff incident - but worthy of rehashing, nevertheless.
I'm sorry to disappoint those of you who were hoping I'd go over another cliff. Don't try to deny it. I know you're out there.
When I and my car were finally extracted from that Arkansas swamp, my problems were not completely over. The rain was still torrential. It was still pitch dark. And I still didn't know were the hell I was.
The patrol car left quickly, as did the tow truck - without even waving bye-bye. Me and my car were covered in mud. My three cats were catatonic (no pun intended). I wasn't really physically hurt, but my ego was shattered and my confidence had dwindled to the size of a pimple on a flea's ass (I just made that one up).
The road was still under construction and a single lane. With no lights and no signs. I still couldn't see a darn thing.
All I kept thinking was
What if I give a repeat performance? What if I go over another cliff?
The possibility was unnervingly probable.
I drove in the company of extreme apprehension - - until I finally saw lights and an exit. The exit took me to Russellville, where I stopped at the first motel I saw. Best Western Inn, in case you really need to know.
Hopelessly disheveled and completely covered in mud, I looked like I had just been unearthed from an archaeological excavation. I attempted to explain my plight to the night clerk, who was only mildly amused.
You're dragging out the story and wasting precious time, Jon.
Yea, but I'm always damn interesting. Admit it.
I started out the next morning with wet boots and shaken cats, but I had clean clothes and an optimistic attitude. Things looked better without the rain.
Little Rock was a blur of frenzied traffic. At this point my only concern was getting to Memphis.
The sign reads Memphis Merge Left
I merge left.
After leaving Little Rock I begin to relax. There is very little traffic. The scenery is lovely. I'm occasionally wondering why the traffic is so sparse on I-40, but it doesn't really concern me.
I'm occasionally wondering why this highway doesn't exactly seem like I-40, but it doesn't concern me.
I get concerned when I see the sign HWY 67 North, St. Louis .
I'm supposed to be heading east. Memphis.
I couldn't possibly have been driving in the wrong direction for the past hour, could I?
I'm not that stupid.
I was that stupid.
I wind up in a little town called Newport. I fill the car with gas, eat at McDonalds, then study the roadmap. Carefully.
I backtrack on HWY 67 but opt not to go all the way back to I-40. Instead I take HWY 64 to Memphis. A very pleasant rural route.
I won't bother to alarm everyone by telling about the VERY close call I had while trying to pass a slow-moving vehicle and almost hitting another car head-on. I'm not that reckless.
Memphis welcomed me with rush hour traffic. I got a glimpse of the mighty Mississippi River (it wasn't my first time). The torrential Arkansas rain followed me through Tennessee and forced me to get a motel in Fairview for the night.
My main goal was to get to Tennessee alive and I did. I'm grateful for that.
This is a continuation of my two previous posts.
The drive from Texas to Tennessee took longer than expected.
"I'll get there in two days," I bragged. "I'll only need to stay in a motel one night."
It in fact took me three and a half days, and I stayed in motels every night.
I opted to travel on I-40. It was the most simple route, even though it forced me to drive through all the big cities. I arrived in Oklahoma City during rush hour and the traffic scared the living jeeters out of me.
Got a motel room in Shawnee. This time my next door neighbors were two lesbians. They had a huge St. Bernard dog that ran into my room as I was bringing in the luggage. If my cats weren't caged there would have been trouble.
All in all, things were going very smoothly and I was in a mellow frame of mind. Until I got to Arkansas.
I have no qualms about Arkansas. Lovely scenery. Nice people. But.....
.........rotten roads and highways. Haven't been repaired since Betsy Ross was sewing the flag. All right. I'll admit I'm being vicious.
In late afternoon the weather takes a turn for the worst. By nightfall it's pouring rain. I want to stop but there are no motels. No rest areas. No signs of life.
And no signs. Not one damn sign to let me know where the heck I am.
I don't like night driving. I have bad eyes. Night blindness. No exaggeration. I've had surgery on my eyes, but I won't go into that.
As if torrential rain and bad eyes aren't enough, major road construction begins. And detours. The highway narrows into one harrowing lane.
The deluge becomes Biblical. I don't need a vehicle. I need an ark. The rain is pounding so hard that my windshield wipers are useless.
No lights along the highway. Pitch blackness ensues. No white dividing line on the pavement. Nothing to guide me. There was a feeble smattering of reflectors along one side of the road, but suddenly they vanish.
Absolute blackness. Relentless rain. Nowhere to pull over or stop. I'm gripping the steering wheel with both hands, riding the breaks, crawling 10 MPH.
Literally driving completely blind.
You'll never make it, Jon, you're never going to make it.....
As I'm breathing these ominous words, my car is suddenly airborne. I'm flying through nothingness, like a NASCAR Peter Pan.
It's a crappy analogy, but what the hell...
It wasn't until I hit bottom that I realize I went over a cliff. Landed in a very thick swamp of mud. And water. And oozing Arkansas goo.
The impact was brutal but the mud saved my ass. And my car. And the cats - who were ruthlessly tossed in their cages. Cat food and used kitty litter is everywhere.
It takes all of my strength to push open the door against the resisting sea of mud.
Let me mention that I'm wearing a brand new pair of leather boots. Brand spanking new and beautiful. Only wore them for three days.
As soon as I squeeze out of the car, I sink up to my hips in mud. I'm immediately drenched with pouring rain.
There are times when reality is so harsh that it abandons us. Everything seems completely unreal. I'm drifting in the outer realms of the Twilight Zone.
How the hell am I gonna get outta here?
I have a cell phone, but who can I call or text? And what will I say? Hello, I just went over a cliff in Arkansas and don't know where I am.
I suddenly look up at the steep embankment and realize that the highway is at least 50 feet above me. Vehicles are zooming by, seemingly in the heavens.
I decide to abandon all sense of dignity. I start waving my arms and shouting. Can it get any worse than this? I've sunk to the lowest rung on the Ladder of Humanity.
My pathetic pleas were eventually seen and/or heard. An Arkansas patrol car is on the scene.
"Are you hurt?" he shouts down to me.
"Only my pride," I yell up at him.
And I'm thinking:
there is a God. He's punishing me for all my past sins.
"Better get back in the car, " the officer suggests. "You'll get wet."
Get wet? Is he joking?? I'm covered in mud. I look like the frickin' tar baby in Uncle Remus.
The tow truck finally arrives. The driver is like a reject from a casting call for Hee Haw.
His southern accent is so thick that I can't understand a word.
My car is soon chained to his truck and he's plying me with instructions as he performs the extraction.
"Torn th' weeel rait!"
Turn the wheel right.
"Ain seen nutin thes baid inna loong taim."
Ain't seen nothing this bad in a long time.
The crystal clarity of his pronunciation astounds me when he finally quotes the fee for the extraction.
"Three hundred dollars."
No accent at all. I understood every word perfectly.
Fortunately I had cash.
Being extracted from the depths of hell and the agony of humiliation was well worth any price.
This isn't the end of my adventures, folks. There's more to come.
