(chapter one of the never ending saga may be read here.)  

2.  The Camps (or where we stayed & why & how)

The bridges of Cincinnati behind us, we pressed on down the length of the country.  The wonderboy proved to be a good traveler; then again, I had provided him with three new games split between his leapster and my old game boy.   

He reads well, so I turned him into my navigator, telling him when we were coming to a major highway intersection, and once he figured out the green highway signs overhead, he proceeded to read each and every one to me, asking if we needed to take the exit.  I handed him my extra Google maps print out and he proved to be a better map reader than many of the adults with whom I’ve road tripped.

Now, a short digression on my road trip style:   I’ll stop for a sign proclaiming the world’s best milkshake, biscuits or coffee.  I’ll stop for certain scenic overlooks if picturesque enough mountains are involved.  I’m a total sucker for the world’s largest anything, be it frying pans or balls of string or rubber bands.  But this was process, highly goal-oriented driving to beat the moving truck down and so I love nothing better than the steady singing sound of good tires on a highway, eating up the miles between me and my goal.  Better yet if its night and the windows are down and the music is playing as the child sleeps.

But this one wasn’t sleeping.  This one – and understandably so, since he’d just spent three weeks watching his house disappear into a series of cardboard boxes which left on a truck he’d never seen before that morning – this child was consumed with where we were going to spend the night.  I’d explained over and over again that we’d most likely be staying in a hotel – while secretly hoping he’d crash out early and I could drive through the night – this child wanted to know the specifics.

Where are the hotels?  He asked, yet again.

Once more I point out the hotels as we pass them, bright yellow and blue and green lighted signs standing in clumps like sentries at the exits.  Those are the hotels, I say.  When we’ve driven enough for one day, we’ll pull in and choose one.

Yes, but which one?

I don’t know yet, it depends on which hotels are at the exit where we stop.

Mom?

Yes?

I’ve been watching the commercials for a while now, he tells me.  You should let me pick.

What do you mean, I ask – which commercials have you watched?

The hotels, ever since you said we’d be staying at an hotel, I’ve been watching and now I know.

You know?

I know what hotels are the good ones.  I’ll know where we should stay.  You should let me pick.

Ok, wonderboy, you get to pick the hotel.

We’re coming into Nashville when my mother calls my cell.

It’s getting late, she says.

I know, I tell her, loading took forever and we didn’t get away til after two.

You should pull over, I’ve been watching the weather channel and it’s going to rain, soon.

It’s raining now.  It isn’t bad at all.  Wet enough that people are driving pretty sanely, not too heavy to have a problem seeing anything

You should pull over.

I was hoping to get below Memphis.  I don’t think that’s going to happen now, but I at least want to get as far as I can below Nashville.

You should pull over.

(I remember my promise to myself that I will not revert to teenage behaviour if I move next to my parents for the first time since 1984 – don’t know how long I’ll be successful with this, but decide to give it a try).

I can hear that you’re really concerned, I tell her – You should remember that I’m a really good driver and I would never push it to the point where it’s dangerous for us or other people on the highway.  Besides, I remind her.  I’m still on Eastern Time here, so it’s an hour later for you then me.

OK, but you should really pull over.

I know, and I’ll pull over soon and call you when I do – ok?

The rain lets up, and I am driving through the man-cut narrow valley in the hills of Tennessee in the dark.  I’m pretty content, and think that the wonderboy will crash out soon.

No.

Mom?

Yes?

We should stop soon, or I’ll be asleep and I won’t be able to tell you which hotel to pick.  It’s very important that I tell you which hotel to pick.  I’ve never been in an hotel (yes, I am very particular about speech, and if he’s not using his hip preschool vernacular, he sounds like a miniature Anglophile accountant).  I need to see the hotel before I’m asleep.

It’s not as far as I wanted to get, but it’s far enough, I decide.

Ok, I tell the wonderboy, next hotel exit, we’ll stop.

We pull off the exit into the garishly sign-lit access road.  Burgers, tacos and something called e-cigarettes beckon us with their showy wares, but he’s an almost five year old on a mission and is having none of it.

Where are the hotels?  I need to choose –

They’re down here a bit.

My heart sinks as I survey the three offerings.  The Wonderboy doesn't have much from which to choose:  something local and non-chain, a seedy looking Holiday Inn and a Best Western.

(please pick the best western, I beam in pleading thought rays)

There.  That’s it.

????

The Best Western.  They have excellent beds and offer breakfast.  I saw the commercial, I know.

And you know what?  They do.

Next Installment:  The Battle for Ideals Begins  – Wonderboy vs.  Grandma Blue and me versus the evil, lying, hideous moving company.