About Me

I feel the wanderlust and the call of the open highway. Which is good, because I drive cars for a living. But I'm a writer, and someday hope to once again make my living using my writing skills.

Saturday, March 27, 2010


An old friend asked me to drive his Mom's car up to West Virginia last week.
It was a nice Lincoln Town car, and I agreed to do it for a reduced rate.
He also agreed to buy me a plane ticket back to Florida, and said that I could spend
the night at his Mom's house up in West Virginia.

As I drove along, I noticed that the car was missing.
Which usually means it needs a Tune up.
I had told my friend to be sure that the car was fully serviced
before I took it on this long trip, and he told me it was all taken care of.

Late in the afternoon, the missing turned into jerking and jumping.
When I drove at 70mph on cruise control, everything was just fine.
But in stop and go traffic, it was like a bucking Bronco.
I called the Mom and told her what was going on.

"Yeah," she said, "It will do that sometimes. Is it smoking yet?"

I looked out the rear view mirror, and sure enough there was white smoke billowing
up from the exhaust pipe.
I told her, and she didn't seem at all suprised.

At 4pm, when I was 99 miles south of her house, the car stopped running completely.
The transmission was completely burned out, and I was stuck on the very narrow shoulder of Interstate 77 in West Virginia, on a steep hill and at a curve in the road.

Lucky for me, Mom called her eldest son, and he jumped into action.
He found a tow truck to come and get me, although it took 7 hours for it to arrive.
In the meantime, I was stuck in the middle of nowhere.
And having an upset stomach, with a strong need to go sit in a bathroom.
After a few hours of holding it in, I decided to climb over the guardrail and climb
precariously down the steep hill so as to be out of sight.
I dug my feet into the dirt, dropped my pants and squatted.

Suddenly, the dirt under my left foot gave way, and I fell flat on my butt and start sliding very fast down the hill.
Crapping all the way down.
I was grabbing onto plants and roots and anything I could to try to stop my rapid descent, and every single thing I grabbed was covered with stickers.
It took me a long time to climb back up, and when I arrived at the top I stood up just as a big semi flew by, and the strong gust of wind made me lose my balance and go sliding down the hill again.

The tow truck driver dropped me off at his wrecker yard at 1am.
Mom's eldest son was there and took me to his house, fed me, and gave me a bed to sleep in.
The next morning, he drove me 30 miles to the airport.
Times can be tough on the road, but its good to know that there are kind and caring people out there.

Friday, March 19, 2010


I was told to pick up a car in Tallahassee over the weekend. I was in Orlando, so
I rented a car to drive up in, then showed up early Saturday at the ladies' house. I saw a huge sign on the front door that stated BARE FEET ONLY IN THIS HOUSE. I looked over my paperwork, then rang the doorbell.

An excitable woman threw open the front door and said impatiently, "Yes? What? What do you need?"

"Hi. I'm your driver, I'm here to pick up your car."

"Oh! Right, right, I remember. We're having a slumber party here. Well not me, but my daughter, and all her friends are here. Do you want some pancakes?"

"Uh, no thank you."

"Are you sure? Its no problem, we have plenty. Let me fix you a big ole plate of pancakes."

"No really."

"But I made these pancakes Jamaican style."

"Sounds tempting, but no."

"You'll have to take your shoes off if you want to come in the house."

"Excuse me?"

"Your shoes, you have to kick them off before you come inside."

"Oh yes, I saw the sign on the door."

"Bare feet only in this house."

"Understood, but I won't need to come in.

"You sure?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"Because you can just kick those shoes right off your feet and come in to eat a nice big plate of pancakes."

"No, I just need the keys to your company car so I can drive it back to Orlando."

"The keys are in the ignition, where they belong."

"OK, good, that's helpful."

"Just one thing, though."

"What's that?"

"You'll have to take your shoes off before you can come into the house. I mean, if you decide you want to come in the house."

I paused to consider this. "Sure."

I did the paperwork, then as I was leaving, she came running out of the house barefooted. "Can I make you a plate of pancakes to go?"

"No, but thank you very much." And I drove off for my four hour journey back to Orlando. Overall, it was a happy Saturday for a driving fool.

Monday, March 8, 2010


Driving jobs have become few and far between.
I am anxious to work so I can save enough to get off the road, but my finances have become a series of peaks and valleys.
I work very hard for what I earn, and I try to hang onto every penny.

Last week, I was driving from Birmingham to Orlando, and I stopped on Sunday
night at a Truck Stop just outside Tallahassee.
I hopped out of the car and started to gas it up, deep in thought about how late
I would be arriving in Orlando.

Suddenly, I heard a voice behind me. "Evening!"
I turned and saw a scraggly-looking man striding towards me, and my
heart sunk.
From my experience, he'd want something, and I just wasn't in the mood.

"Good evening," I replied as politely as possible.

"I have had one hell of a day. My girlfriend Carol drove us here from Panama City Beach, we were on the way to Jacksonville for a little vacation. We stopped here for gas this afternoon, and I went in to use the bathroom. But when I came out, she was driving away! And she had another guy in the car with her! And I think it was my cousin Timmy!"

"What was your cousin doing here?"

"Yes, exactly, that's just what I was wondering. How did it just so happen that Timmy was here at this particular Truck Stop at just the right time? It all smells of a conspiracy to me. But if you could just give me some money to help me get home, I'd surely appreciate it."

I sighed, but then remembered that I had a whole lot of change in my pocket weighing me down. Lots of pennies, dimes, nickels, and a few quarters. So I dug into my pocket and pulled out all the change, then poured it into his cupped hands. He stared down at the money, then looked up at me with disappointment in his eyes. "I don't think this will get me back to Panama City."

I try to help my fellow man, and this is the thanks I get?
Oh well, in my heart I feel I did the right thing... whether his story was true, or another tall tale told to me by a penniless drifter.
Such is the life of a driving fool.