Cleveland to Chicago

This photo was taken at a rest area somewhere in Ohio. What I remember about this place is that I could smell the grapes in the air. It reminded me of the smell of a grape Jolly Roger. That's lake Erie in the background.

Okay... so where was I? I left Dave the Mechanic's house around noonish. At this point I just want to get out of Ohio. The van seems to be running okay, but it is a bit loud. Dave couldn't get the cowling down tight enough on the engine. So the noise is a dull roar. I can't play the radio loud enough to drown the noise out, so I just drive in silence (so to speak)

The trip through the rest of the state is uneventful. All I have to do is keep the van headed west on I-90 and I'm good. I stop at a rest area on the Ohio turnpike and for 50 cents I get an official Ohio Turnpike squished penny. It is now part of an embarrassingly large squished penny collection. Coin collectors refer to them as elongated coins.

So anyways I get through Ohio. The trip is noisy and I can still smell a hint of gas. The service engine light remains on.

I get through Indiana. Gary is as smelly and industrial as I remember it. It looks like it is on fire at night. Flames from factories light up the city like the torches of the angry mob in the movie Frankenstein. (How's that for a ridiculous visual)

I've mentioned before that I used to drive truck for a living. I knew that Chicago was not fun to drive through from previous experience. It was late and I wanted to get miles behind me. I thought that driving through Chicago at midnight was a good idea. Less traffic... less stress.

Ha! Yeah right. It was a Friday or Saturday night (I can't remember off hand) To keep things simple I stick to I-90 (at least I think I did... it was all a blur). The interstate in the Chicagoland area is always under construction... even in the middle of the night. The traffic was unbelievable. I was in gridlock... a goddamn traffic jam... at midnight. Then when the traffic was actually moving it was going 20mph over the speed limit over lumpy, crappy roads. Everything was being redone so the lanes would shift. Nobody cared. It was dark. I couldn't see the lines on the road. The lanes were narrow. I was doing 60 through a constuction zone and everyone was passing me. I could sense the aggession all around me. "Faster! Faster! Faster," everyone seemed to be saying.

What the hell was the hurry. Sheesh! I felt lucky to be alive when I got out of Chicago.

I will say this... Chicago has the most amazing skyline. It's beautiful.

After I got out of Illinois I stopped somewhere in Wisconsin. I parked the van in a 24 hour Walmart parking lot and slept the sleep of the dead.

To be continued...

Adventures in Cleveland

After my brief trip back through time I blazed a trail out of Buffalo. I gassed up the van in Irving, NY at an Indian reservation. This was Sept 21st.

As you have already seen, I was driving a 1994 Ford Econoline halfback van. My good friend Michael sold it to me with the stipulation that I would pay him for it once I got settled in Oregon. It had many miles on it because it had made a few trips from Buffalo to Florida.

"Will it make it over the Rockies?" I asked.

"Yes it will," Mike replied.

So off I went.

I stopped in Erie, PA to get the oil changed. I had no way of checking the oil on the trip, as the dipstick was rusted into place. I also had the windshield wipers replaced.

Since I had left late, it was evening when I got to Cleveland. Everything was fine till I got to Deadman's Curve. If you live in Cleveland, you know what I'm talking about. The locals call it Deadman's Curve for a good reason. The interstate planners were dong drugs the day they planned this stretch of road. I-90 goes along nicely, then suddenly makes a left hand turn. Oh sure there are flashing yellow lights and warning signs, but so many people ignore them. There are four lanes of madness rounding this corner at the same time. The scrapes on the abutment wall are a testament to how many cars did not safely negotiate it.

I used to drive truck for a living, so I knew this was coming. It's always a bit tense, but I negotiated this stretch of road without incident. The problem started when I hit the gas to speed up again.

"Sputter – sputter," said the van.

***pumps gas pedal***

"Sputter – sputter," the van repeated.

When I pressed on the gas pedal it actually slowed me down. The van idled faster. I put on my flashers and managed to nurse the van onto an off ramp before it died completely.

Now What !!??!

I sat there for a moment and contemplated my situation. When I got out and looked around, there wasn't much to see. At the top of the ramp was some sort of college. It was dark and nobody was around. So I went back to the van, got my purse and locked up. I figured I'd be doing a bit of walking.

The only sign of life in the area was a BP gas station on the other side of the interstate. With all my worldly possessions sitting forlornly in a broken down van, I trekked off to the gas station.

When I got to the station, I found a short black man in a Plexiglas box. His name was Vince.

After explaining my situation to him he said, "You know, I know a guy, but I don't have his number on me. I can tell you where he lives. Do you drive a stick shift?"

"No." (I know that sounds odd… but a truck shifts differently from a car)

"I was going to trust you with my car. Oh well. I hate to send you walkin' in the night, but he's not too far."

After taking care of a couple of customers, he left the safety of his lexan cocoon. He pointed down the road and said, "You go down here to where the road ends. Cross over, you'll see a magazine place. It's right across the street. Then you'll see a little brick road. Go down that…"

I left with a clutter of information floating around my brain. I followed the directions. I found the little brick road, but never saw a magazine place. I found the little white house and a whole bunch of cars parked. I was pretty sure that I was in the right place, but everything was dark. I was 50 feet down the road when I saw a car pull up in front of the white house and a guy gets out. The car leaves and I approach him.

"Hi, I'm looking for a guy named Dave. Does he live around here?"

"Yeah, I'm Dave."

I give him a run down of my problem and he invites me into his home. It's very clean and neat inside. He makes a call to his tow truck guy. The tow truck guy was just getting ready to head home for the night, but agreed to come and get my van. When the tow truck arrives at Dave's house, there are three men inside, the driver and his two sons. I wedge my way in and we're off to find my van. The driver told me, "Dave's a great guy, but I can't work with him. He's a bit of a neat freak. He cleans his tools." After turning around on the interstate a couple of times, we find the right exit and bring the van back to Dave's. He charged me $50.00

It's around 9:30 or 10:00 at night and Dave asks me where I'm staying for the night. I tell him I'm sleeping in the van. "I won't hear of it," he says. He tells me I can stay at his place. "Do you drink beer?" he asks me. So we're off to the local store, where he buys a couple of 40 ouncers. We come back to his place, drink beer, talk and watch TV for a bit.

He told me that he was an ex-Marine, he had just broken up with his girlfriend, he was on probation because of his dog and his pit bull was in jail. His pit bull bit someone twice in a month. He showed me photos of the dog, but not the girlfriend.

He only had chairs… no couches. So when it was time for bed, Dave pulled out some blankets and a sleeping bag from his closet and set it up on the floor. The sleeping bag was one of those military ones that weigh 20 pounds. I think I could have survived a blizzard in this thing. The whole set up was comfortable enough, and I slept well.

Dave's House

Dave's Gate

This is the weird thing. You would think that I would be nervous or scared. Here I was somewhere on the Eastside of Cleveland, sleeping on the floor of some black guy that I just met. I didn't feel that way at all. I felt safe. I don't know, maybe my "danger" button is broken.

We get up early the next morning. Dave fixes me a bowl of Honey Comb cereal and some toast for breakfast. We end up talking a bullshitting for over an hour. He tells me of his world adventures with the Marines. I tell him of Florida and my exodus from Buffalo. Eventually he gets set to go out and look at my van. Before he does that he runs me a bath. Because he had leaks in his plumbing system he turned his water on and off. But still, how weird is it to have a man you barely know, run you a bath. So while he went out to work on the van, I got myself cleaned up.

Dave's Feet

It turned out that the fuel pump was the culprit. The fuel pump was fairly new, but Dave said that whoever installed it was in a hurry. Connections were loose and some ring wasn't tightened down properly. When I slowed down for Deadman's curve it probably shifted stuff enough that it came loose completely. So Dave took care of that. Then we walked down to the parts store and bought a new air filter, breather filter and an EGC valve. Dave charged me $60.00 for everything. I got a Bed and Breakfast along with auto repair. You can't even get a decent room for $60.00 these days.

Dave

I thanked him profusely before I left. I also got his address so I could mail him a postcard. To bad he didn't have internet, so he could see this blog.

The whole trip to Oregon was one blessing after another. Dave was part of a chain of many people who made my move possible. And to all of them I am very grateful.