Jan. 1, 1998: Flaming in Florida

It’s March 21, 2010, a Sunday, a little over 12 years after I emailed the following report to our friends and family members, the first of five installments documenting our move to California. Neither Beth nor I had ever been west of Texas before that time, but we were up for LA and fun new times with the dawn of 1998. So much has happened since then, for us and everyone we’ve met on this journey. Over the days ahead, I’ll be posting the other notes from this trek, followed by the photolog of our 2001 move to the Blue Ridge Mountains. As much as ever, we are especially connected to the original recipients of these emails. Sadly, the cats we fussed over back then have passed on, along with many others near and dear to us. To our friends and loved ones reading this, we still love sharing life and good times with you, and we look forward to making wonderful new memories together. Rock on!

How to Change Neighborhoods in Only Five Days

by Roger Darnell

Day One: Thursday, January 1, 1998: “Flaming in Florida”

We managed to get on the road pretty early, knowing that our goal was to travel 500 miles during the day, which would carry us to Mobile, Alabama, by day’s end. We’d stayed at my mom’s for our last night, the fitting place to begin a long journey, considering how many we’d begun from her mother’s over the years, pulling out so early in the morning it was nearly impossible to see the sad granny, waving her Kleenex in one hand from inside the window, tooting the signature honk as we went. So, without further adieu, we played the honk for my mom on the 15′ Budget truck containing all our stuff, and we pulled away from her cozy little place, watching her wave good-bye over our towed Accord in the rear-view mirrors. After so much preparation and so many sad partings, we were on the road, pursuing our “mission” (in the words of a friend from Houston, Tommy Ewasko) of relocating to Hollywood.

The world most certainly looked brand new as we rolled up the Florida Turnpike we’d traveled so often on our trips, the first or last three-hour leg of each trip northward. With plenty of room to ramp-up, the truck made 65 fairly easily, but lost 15mph on even the subtlest of hills. In north central Florida, we connected with I-10, perhaps 90 or 100 miles west of its eastern termination in Jacksonville. We headed West, which we’ll do all the way to the other end of the 2,600 mile interstate.

The trip meter rolled past 200 miles and I checked the rear-view mirrors; unless I was mistaken, blue-purple smoke was pouring from the left wheels of our car carrier. The question answered itself as I watched flames appear from the wheel well and start shooting out the side. I hit the brakes and started working the vehicle over onto the median as Beth asked, “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

“Well,” I started to answer, trying not to alarm her, “the trailer’s on fire.” By the time I got the load stopped, the flames had gone out. We climbed out and walked back to inspect the trailer, and that left rear wheel was hot, hot, hot. As we stood looking at it, it caught fire again and the flames shot out dramatically.

“Oh-my-god!” Beth yelled as I ran back to the cab for the fire extinguisher. Again, the flames went out, but not before we both imagined the disaster playing out with our kitties in the carrier. Well, it seemed to be cooling off but out of service, so we carefully off-loaded the car and, in language all Trekkies will appreciate, we launched ourselves in the “Accord” shuttle and called in the repair.

Two hours later, the repair man confirmed that the trailer wasn’t going anywhere and offered to take it in for us. Beth helmed the launch and I climbed back behind the truck wheel and we were off. Before the flame-out we’d been discussing visiting Beth’s sister Ann and her husband Chuck in Tallahassee, so we followed-through and paid them a brief visit at their home. Once back on the road, as we realized when we compared notes later that night, it had felt like our last outpost. We wouldn’t know until the next day how comfortable we’d be made to feel in Houston. We drove and stopped, figured and planned, and made our way to Pensacola for the night. In the hotel room, we were too exhausted for showers that night. The kitties found a nook under the bed and we fell asleep quickly.

© Copyright 1998 Roger K. Darnell. All rights reserved.