Road Trip
The weather forecast was dismal – blizzard conditions throughout the state – but Carah and I were in high spirits driving south in her Geo Metro. It was New Year’s Eve 1998 and we were traveling from Alpena to Dayton, Ohio, to surprise Carah’s husband who was stationed at Wright Patterson Air Force Base.
The weather forecast was dismal – blizzard conditions throughout the state – but Carah and I were in high spirits driving south in her Geo Metro. It was New Year’s Eve 1998 and we were traveling from Alpena to Dayton, Ohio, to surprise Carah’s husband who was stationed at Wright Patterson Air Force Base.
Our spirits turned to apprehension as visibility became non-existent south of Flint. The little car crawled down I-75, dwarfed on all sides by intimidating semis. Our eight-hour drive turned into 12, but there were no traces of snow when we reached Dayton.
Carah’s husband appeared bewildered and then overjoyed to see us standing on his porch. They had been married three months, but Carah was residing in Alpena until Mike could find a different place for them to live in Dayton.
As the clock struck midnight, many apartment doors opened, and you could hear 1999 by Prince echo through the parking lot. Carah and I clinked our champagne glasses. We outran the storm and were ready to begin the New Year in Ohio.
The storm caught up to us overnight. We woke the next morning to the sight of angry, swirling snowflakes. Carah’s car resembled a snow bank.
Her husband Mike was called in to work to clear runways at the base, so Carah and I were on our own for the day, inside his studio apartment. Mike was still living like a bachelor; the only food in the house was two hot dogs and a can of sardines that he was saving for the next pizza he ordered. He promised to bring groceries home at 2 p.m., but he called around 4 p.m. and said he couldn’t leave for another eight hours.
I looked out the window and saw a dingy-looking country bar about two blocks down the street. The sign in the window flashed “FOOD”. Carah and I looked at each other, donned coats and boots and fought our way through the snow to the building. Once inside, we were unsure of our decision. The smell of greasy bar burgers and French fries was enticing, but the sneers from the three flannel-and-denim-clad thirty-something males sitting at the bar was unnerving.
We decided to eat and shoot a game of pool. At the jukebox, I selected songs by The Black Crowes, Fleetwood Mac and Billy Joel, silently hoping that my music selections were acceptable to the locals. A married couple began chatting with us and offered to buy us dinner after hearing about our eventful trip.
When Mike walked into the bar several hours later, Carah and I were talking and laughing with everyone like we had known them forever.
Mike just shook his head laughing. “And here I was feeling bad for leaving you guys all alone in the apartment,” he said. “I should have known that the two of you would find a way to have fun in all this mess.”
And we did.
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