Time Zone: Eastern
Today's Weather: 84ºF, brilliantly sunny
Length of Tour Stop: 6 days/7 nights
Next move: in 5 days
In an attempt to contain these willful creatures we purchased some effectively advertised screens that attach to the front seats, ostensibly sequestering whatever animals find themselves in the back seat. We stayed up late to test and perfect the containment area with extra zip ties and barriers.
The day of departure arrived. The U-haul was loaded. The kids and their electronics were packed. It was time to board the vehicles. I elected to put Chewbacca in the car first. That accomplished, I bent down to pick up Yoda and by the time I stood up Chewbacca had made it through the reinforced barricade and into the driver's seat. A couple hours of work across days of thinking and planning was defeated in less than 10 seconds. It felt like we were in Jurassic Park: Nature found a way.
For the first 50 miles of the thousands we've since driven, Chewbacca yipped continuously in my ear, wedged in a crevice she had ingeniously fashioned for herself out of the defunct barricade system directly over my left shoulder. My maternal instinct worried for her safety lest I hit the brakes hard. But as the time wore on I started to see the bright side of a smash-up: at least the yipping would stop.
Somewhere between Nevada and New Mexico, long after I had accepted my new life and decided to embrace yip-ful living, it stopped. I stole a furtive glance over my shoulder. Lo! the beast did slumber.
We drove until 2am that night and not another yip was heard.
For the next four days we soared up a learning curve which took us from car hysteria to today's all-but-complete automobile nonchalance. Crossing the United States of America taught my dogs how to enjoy the ride. They now, through some kind of dog mysticism, know when we're getting in the car for a long haul vs a short trip, and they have established consistent behavior patterns for both. There is a strictly enforced no-dogs-on-the-driver policy that is respected, if occasionally tested. On short trips Yoda enjoys the lap of a passenger or else a look out the window, while Chewbacca communes with memories of her youthful driver-dominance by perching on the console and staring intently at the horizon until the driver gets a chance to remove her from that perilous place, at which point she reverts to scheming in the backseat, planning her next console take-over.
The drive to Charlotte started off no differently. We were an hour behind schedule because of setbacks with the slide motor, but once we got on the road it was business as usual. I got absorbed in my audiobook and they got absorbed in their dog thoughts and dreams of world domination. After four and a half hours we stopped, everyone peed. I took them on a ramble through the grass behind the truck stop and we were all somewhat stunned by the beautiful turn in our weather. Gone were the grey skies of Missouri. This was the south, and it was hot. We all drank copious amounts of water before buckling back in and bedding down for the duration.
Four hours is the usual interval between our stops. Seeing as we had only that amount of time left to drive, I didn't expect to stop again. But after about three hours my bladder started to patiently hint that it might not make it that long. I started looking for a rest area and planning to call Jonathan and break the bad news.
I was scanning the upcoming road signs when Yoda burst forward onto the passenger seat like a rag doll shot out of a cannon. It scared me and I jumped and said, "Yoda!" in my angry voice, even though I was really just surprised.
He responded by giving me the saddest angelic look and whimpering one long, pained note, a sound he's never made before, which bypassed verbal language and spoke directly to my heart. It said, "I'VE GOT TO GO AND I'M GOING TO GO AND I KNOW YOU DON'T WANT ME TO GO IN THE CAR SO I NEED YOU TO HELP ME NOT GET IN TROUBLE WITH YOU BY LETTING ME OUT OF THE CAR. RIGHT AWAY. BECAUSE I REALLY REALLY REALLY HAVE TO GO."
His desperation was palpable. Intimately understanding the fear and the pain he was going through (see yesterday's post) and ardently desiring to keep the car urine-free, I switched into emergency mode. There was a turnoff to the right, and if I hesitated even a moment I would miss it. The dogs both jerked as I hit the brakes to exit and, somewhere to my right, Chewey fell off of something (the console?). Yoda began making agonized wailing sounds. It was clear there were only seconds remaining before "evacuation."
Almost immediately off the highway was a small parking area. I pulled into it and leapt out the driver's door, not bothering to turn off the car. I grabbed Yoda and the leash, and as I placed him on the ground he let loose the flood, not even waiting until all four paws were down. He peed for at least 15 full seconds and then stood there over the puddle on the pavement, seemingly in shock.
With the crisis behind us I looked around and saw we were virtually in the wilderness. Besides a little building that said "Farmland Bureau" on it there was only a small patch of grass before a thick wooded area. I figured since we were stopped I'd give them a good airing. I clipped on the leashes, locked the car, and off we went. Chewey took a long pee as soon as she hit the grass. Like I said, we drank copious amounts of water at the last stop. So now, of the drinkers, I was the only one unrelieved.
With empty bladders and full hearts, the dogs scrambled around the trees. With a full bladder and a gradually sinking heart, I realized that in order to alleviate my own burden I was going to have to augment this already-unplanned stop with a second unplanned stop, putting us at least a full hour behind the revised schedule, which was itself a full hour behind the original schedule. Not good.
I looked around for any other buildings that might contain a toilet, but there were none. Through the trees, quite a way off, I could see there was some sort of house or shed, but it was very far away and looked unoccupied. As the dogs grew more jubilant in the late afternoon splendor and I grew more uncomfortable with each step I started to envy them their "pee anywhere outside" dogness. "Why can't I pee outside?" I moaned internally. "Why can't I pee right where I'm standing right now?"
"Why can't you?" another part of myself asked back.
There were no humans in sight, and this far into the woods it would be very difficult to spot us from a vehicle moving on the road. The Farmland Bureau was clearly closed for the day, mine was the only car in the lot, the windows were dark and there were no exterior lights. If witnesses were the only barrier to relief, an apparent green light was shining in my direction.
For a split second I asked myself if I wanted to be the type of person who pees in the woods by the road. Then, before I had any kind of coherent answer to that question, I became the type of person who pees in the woods by the road. Nature found a way.
In my defense I could cite the previous night's bathroom-related trauma, the toll that shoving 12 hours of driving into less than 22 hours takes on a person, the necessity of staying on schedule when the campsite office closing time is quickly approaching. There are plenty of excuses and plenty of people who wouldn't pee in the woods no matter what, and I guess what we've learned is that 1) Yoda is a really good boy for enduring obvious extreme discomfort rather than peeing in the car and 2) the car can be jerky sometimes so sitting on the console might be a bad idea (*cough* Chewey *cough*) and 3) there are circumstances under which Marisa will pee outside with the dogs.
Miles Driven with RV: 4020.5 miles
Days Lived in RV: 64 days
Camps Overnighted in RV: 10 RV parks, 1 Walmart
States Camped in RV: 7 (TX, AL, TN, IN, KY, IL, NC)