IN WHICH We Spend Some Time in Binghamton, Visit my Great-Aunt in the Hospital, Leave A Little Behind Schedule, AND - in the Meantime - Bad, Bad Things Happen on Route 81.

We got to Binghamton in the early afternoon, and right away, I hit my head on the low clearance over my great-uncle's side door.  Once I finally did get in the house, I was greeted by his adult daughter Laurie, my dad's cousin, and her two large, friendly dogs.  My great-uncle came out a little later.  I sat on the couch with one of the dogs, reading back issues of Golf magazine, while I learned that the part of the house we were in was actually an addition my great-uncle had built.  My great-aunt was not back to her hospital room yet - she had been getting tests that morning - so Laurie (quite a talented recording artist) pulled out her guitar and played a few songs for Grandma.  She even let me play the guitar.  It was a *really* nice guitar.  After a few hours, we decided to just go to the hospital, and if she wasn't back yet, we'd wait.  We said goodbye to Uncle Don, I hit my head *again* coming out of the house, and Grandma rode with Laurie, while I followed them in the steaming, shaking, powerless chariot of death.

We turned out to have excellent timing, for when we arrived, my great-aunt had just gotten back to her room.  It was a good visit, more than worth the trip and minor inconvenience.  She was so happy to see my grandmother, I can't describe it.  It was an emotional time, and in a lot of ways the most important part of this whole trip, but there just isn't much I can say about it.  Finally it got to be nearly five, and some other relatives arrived, so we said our goodbyes and left.  I called home to tell my mom I wouldn't be back until worship practice had already started, and we got out to the car, ready to leave.  Until I had to go back up to get my grandmother's purse.  I did the O.J. Simpson thing (not *that* O.J. Simpson thing, Jere) running out of the hospital and jumping over things with the purse tucked under my arm like a football - which, after all, is the only appropriate way for a man to ever carry a purse.

So we had less than two hours until my meeting started, but I only really needed to be there for the second half, which meant that it looked like we were going to be okay.  The hills on 81 are nothing when compared to the hills on 17, and I had figured out the best way to get past the accelerator problem.  We were even passing people again, since I didn't want to waste any of our precious speed by braking at curves or down hills.

We were halfway between Binghamton and Syracuse, at almost dusk, making pretty good time, when a big truck started to pass us on the left.  It had a car in its cargo area, sitting on top, and the car had something that appeared to be sticking out of it.  "What is that?," asked my grandmother.  I thought it looked sort of like a couch cushion, but I knew it wasn't - it looked big, and metal, like a gas tank or something.  She said something about it as the truck continued to pull away, about how dangerous it was for the thing to just be sitting up there, without any restraint.  The truck had moved back into our lane, a good hundred feet in front of us.

And then, a gasp from my grandmother.  The gas tank (?) came flying off the back of the truck, suddenly airborne, and headed straight at us.  It smashed into the pavement in front of us, with an audible thud, throwing up orange and white sparks from the pavement.  I swerved hard to the left to avoid it, aided by the bounce, which had pushed it toward the shoulder.  We were by the thing in what seemed like a second, and I watched the car behind me swerve as the driver spotted the missile.  We were shocked.

I started flashing my lights at the truck driver, who continued to pull away, seemingly unaware.  It was the single most frightening thing that I've ever had happen to me in a car - and I routinely have to brake suddenly for suicidal deer, AND almost hit a mentally ill cow just tonight.  My grandmother was very angry at the driver, and wanted to call his company to complain.  We really should have.  He very easily could have killed us.

The rest of the trip north to Syracuse was pretty uneventful, but entertaining.  Grandma talked about her childhood some, and how she met my grandfather, and the good times they always had with my great-aunt and great-uncle.  Great stories, things you never find out unless you get the chance to just sit, and talk, and ask.  That's why I love long drives with people, and recommend them to you - next time you get the chance, drive 800 miles with your grandmother, or your father, or your son, or your friend.  It's worth the leg cramps.

TO BE CONTINUED . . . just one more time . . .

The FINAL BELL

NHS Speech

"My View" Editorial

The October Surprise
|  Round 1 |  2  |  3  |  4  |  5  |
|   6  |  7  |  8  |  9  |  10  |
|  11  |  12  |  Final Bell  |

Journey to Jersey II
|  Intro  |  1  |  2  |  3  |  4  |  5  |
|   6  |  7  |  8  |  9  |  10  |  11  |
|  12  |  13  |  14  |  15  |

Journey to Jersey I
|  1  |  2  |  3  |  4  |  5  |   6  |  7  |  8  |
|  9  |  10  |  11  |  12  |  13  |  14  |
|  15  |  16  |  17  |  18  |  19  |  20  |

An Epic Saga
|  Act  1  |  2  |  3  |  4  |  5  |
|   6  |  7  |  8  |  9  |  10  |  11  |
|  12  |  13  |  14  |  15  |  16  |

Christian Rock Email

Freshman Room Draw
|  Part One  |  Two  |
|  Three  |  Four  |  Five  |