We decided on Friday.
Saturday: Colorado, Nebraska, Iowa.
Sunday: Indiana, Illinois, Michigan, Upper Peninsula.
Traverse City. Michigan. 1,300 miles from home. 2002 Bounder diesel 39R. Two slides. Mint condition. Only driven 14,000 miles in two years. Our new mobile branch office for the business. It’s perfect. It’s ours.
Did I mention the new business plan? We plan to extend our services outside the Denver Metro Area, to the entire state. A mobile branch office. Judy, Annie, Rags, and I will go anyplace that needs us.
Annie doesn’t like the new motorhome much. Hydraulic levelers that creak and crunch scary noises. Air suspension that huffs and spits suddenly. Air brakes that do the same. Way too many scary noises. She just clings to Judy and won’t leave her lap. On Tuesday, on the way home, she finally relaxed enough to jump up on my lap while I was driving. She looked out my side window for a while, then decided to turn around so she could see Judy better. Problem. Her butt hit the horn button. The new Bounder has a horn. An air horn. I think I got off easy. My lap stayed dry. But it’s a good bet Annie won’t be landing in my lap again anytime soon.
I have a problem with Nebraska. It’s too long. Not the letters in the name. There are eight. That’s OK. Colorado has eight too. It’s the miles. Four hundred fifty to get across it. That’s too many. I don’t think anybody should have more than three hundred fifty. You can start the day anywhere in Colorado and drive to another state in any direction. You could drive all day across Nebraska and still not get to the next state. I think we should break it up.
We drove the Jeep. We stayed in motels in Sterling Colorado and Davenport Iowa. We stayed in a motel in Traverse City. As we pulled the car up facing our room, the family in the room next to us had their door open. They seem to have just gotten back from the pool, as they were in high spirits, running around, in and out of the room, laughing and playing, while Dad was out in the car getting something. The girl had considerable trouble with her towel. We got flashed. More than once. We met them outside the next morning as we were all packing to leave. Dad. Mom. Two boys. Wait! Two boys? Where was the daughter with the loose towel? Mom, Dad, two boys, and an empty twelve pack by the door. Mom was the one with the slippery towel. Who knew?
We towed the Jeep home. A quick drive. A little business in Denver on Thursday, and straight on out to the great motorhome roundup in Utah…..
