Coffee Chronicles…Dang. It’s Almost Over

Whaddup Chroniclers?

I know, I know …you’ve been wondering where the Chronicles were this morning. Today was a travel day, and we were trying to get the band moving early. The HB & I actually saw an early bird getting a worm this morning.

Ninja McRib has a big brother. A pilot. Quiet. Super cerebral. You can hear the gears whirring in his head when you're standing close enough. After he’s said something to you, you have to sit down because first, you have to decipher whether or not he was speaking to you in a different language — you know it was on a different plane. Second, your head hurts because what he said was so logical that Mr. Spock (from Star Trek, you nimrods, not Dr. Spock, the baby genius guy) would do a double take. 

So, Mr. & Mrs. McRib are the proud parents of Ninja and Poindexter McRib, sibs. 

Mr. McRib brought Poindexter over to my motorhome and then walked away because well, his head probably hurt. Anyway, Poindexter took one look at our tire pressure monitor and said. “You need air.” He then presented a portable whiteboard from his pocket, which he unfolded to full size and gave a complicated mathematical hypotenuse on how he came to his theory. 

Forty-five minutes later, he tapped the board impatiently to stir me from my nap.

The point is that Poindexter scared us so badly that we decided to leave thirty minutes earlier than everyone else and go straight to the truck stop to air up our tires. Anyway, while we were there, the HB and I surveyed the location and found that it was a perfect spot for us to gather and secure our tow vehicles, unlike the tiny, little path at the RV park. Thus making room for the folks in the park who were actually on their way to work and not just straggling around and dawdling down I-5 on the way to the next place they would enjoy another day off. 

HEY! I cannot help it that my weeks consist of six Saturdays and a Sunday!

Yup, we all met in the truck stop lot and fastened our tow vehicles to the back of our motorhomes. Afterward, the drivers were all standing in a circle, running through our checklists, strategizing our day’s drive, and calculating our stops for rest and relief. And then we looked around.

“Hey! Has anyone seen the Prof and Yoko?”

“Yeah, where are they?”

The Mayor said, “They’re waiting for us on the freeway. They said they’d meet us later.”

Wait. Stop me if you’ve heard that before.

Ugh. Typical.

— — —  

So, we get on the road, moving like a well-oiled machine down the highway. Eight RVs looking pretty sharp, all in a column, moving in unison, and then — KC gets on the radio.

I thought it was just me, but when I looked at the HB, she had a blank look on her face, too. 

“What’d he say?”

“Geez. I don’t know. I’m just not sure.” 

The whole trip up to Oregon was the same thing. He’d get on the radio and say something mumbled, indistinct, unclear, and slurred. The HB and I would look to one another to see if either could make heads or tails out of it. AND. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. We were clueless about what information he was trying to relay to the group.

At one point, we were at a rest area, and it came up in a conversation between another couple and us. They were just as confused as we were. 

WHEW! We felt better. 

It actually came up twice more with other folks while we were in Oregon. “You know, the radios are a good idea. There’s only one person I can’t understand on it. I have no idea what he’s telling us.  I just follow everyone else, and it seems to work out.

You know how I said that sometimes situations dictate name changes in my stories? Yup.

The time has come for a change. How many of you remember back when Dick Tracy was your favorite comic book? If ya do, you know where I’m headed. 

Congrats KC, you are now “Mumbles.”

Ya know what to do! Drink ‘em if you got ‘em.

#coffeehousechronicles