My wife and son travelling to Tifton this afternoon was no reason for Ozzy to decide it was the perfect time for a guy trip, but try telling him that. Since he has never been to Atlanta, he nagged until I relented. After all, what harm could come from a quick trip on I-20 West to the Big City? Wrong question to ask.
Since it was his idea, Ozzy "planned" our little trek, chosing to take the back-roads instead of the interstate. He wanted to drive, believing his dog tag license was for him to operate a vehicle. I didn't believe he would actually push the issue, but as I stood in the kitchen I could hear him chanting "Road Trip! Road Trip!" from the driver's seat of the truck. "Okay, Big Boy!", I said. "Give it a shot". He cranked up the vehicle, and in a lame attempt to move the gear lever to reverse, he managed to engage the wash mode on the wind shield wipers. Well, at least we'll have a clear view of the highway. That said, Ozzy switched to the passenger seat, and we were on our way.
Unable to drive, Ozzy volunteered to take charge and issue directions using a large map of the Peach State. Ten minutes later we arrived in Thomson, and when my little canine co-pilot saw the "Dairy Queen" sign, he screamed for ice cream. I should have known better. Ozzy got a huge soft-serve chocolate ice cream cone, two "Snickers" bars and a "Monster" energy drink. When we finally got on the road, it didn't take long for our excursion to unravel.
Ozzy insisted that no real road trip is conducted with the windows up. The wind gusts inside the cab were exagerated by the wind gusts outside. 10 miles out of town we ran into a swarm of bees, half of which rode with us the rest of the way. Added to this was aroma of the fresh road-kill skunk I ran over while trying to avoid getting stung. The wind was making it difficult for Ozzy to hold the map steady, and by now the ice cream was melting. It became crystal clear we needed four lanes if we were going to survive to make it home.
Just outside of Warrenton Ozzy's tasty treat dropped onto the now ragged road map. Unfazed, Ozzy licked the map and tried to give directions at the same time. Things had deteriorated quickly, and we stopped at the first gas station. Truck doors flew open, and freaked-out bees went everywhere. Regrouping at the hood of the truck, we spread out our road map. Between the bugs, hurricane force winds, and Ozzy's ice cream, the city of Atlanta was missing. The entire state of Georgia looked as though General Sherman had come through again. Patrons walked by our truck holding their noses and staring at Ozzy, thanks to the dead skunk parts steaming from the exhaust.
We planned to visit Atlanta... we made it as far as Warren County. Ozzy says the we wouldn't be in the mess were in if I hadn't gotten the bright idea to take a road trip in the first place. By the way, does anyone have any need for a few dozen shell-shocked, skunk-scented, ice cream covered bumble bees?
No comments:
Post a Comment