On the road again. With my original traveling partner, Alan.
Years back Alan and I had perfected the art of traveling cross country on the cheap. We’d pile our gear into Al’s 68 VW camper with a few hundred dollars each and disappear for months. Never paid for a campsite. Cooked all our own meals. Gas was 35 cents a gallon and we drank cheap beer. Steal the occasional hot shower from a college dorm or a State Park in the middle of the night. Life was simple.
Now nearly 20 years have passed and we’re on the road again. Driving my truck, Al’s VW having long since become a dim vehicular memory. And the ability to disappear for months on end is a distant memory too; I finagled three weeks off, Alan could only swing two. So we’ll tear up the Rockies for a couple of weeks, I’ll drop Al off with his plane ticket home and then I’ll have a thoughtful week of solo tripping before heading back east.
Towards the end of our expedition I note that Al has become cautious with his expenses. Inquiring why, he tells me that he brought the "usual" amount of money, $200 or so, and it isn’t stretching as far as it did in the old days. No kiddin’ Al ... gas is over a buck a gallon, half of our meals begin with the someone named Bertha asking "Whatcha ya havin’ Hon?" and you wouldn’t use Pabst to scrub between your toes these days. But hey, I’m still pretty flush, I got a wallet full of twenties and some travelers checks left...you can pay me back later.
So we carry on carrying on. Spend some tourista dollars in Nogales, stop to party with an old bud in Tucson, rarely pass by any roadside tavern or diner. We’re livin’ large, but now my bankroll is rapidly diminishing.
Of course, I don’t realize just how low on funds I am until I head to the Phoenix airport to drop Al off for his flight home.
"Christ Al, we went through a ton of money the past few days" I say, "I’m down to a couple of bills and some travelers checks...can you write me a check or something - I don’t think I have enough to even get home".
"Tell ya what, Mike, I’ve got a Shell credit card. Take that for gas expenses and we’ll settle up back home".
Great. Fine. Okey Dokey. Not sure why we haven’t been using the Shell card all along, but that’ll work.
Off goes the great silver bird. And off I go to spend a week solo tripping before heading east on Al’s Shell card. I have myself a fine solo, pack it up and head east on I-40, homeward bound.
Hit the first Shell station I see, fill ‘er up and whip out Al’s credit card.
"Oh, I’m sorry Mr Nathan, this card is expired. Do you have your new card?"
WHAT? Dammit Alan! I get the Shell card back and give them a travelers check.
"Ok, Mr., uhm, McCrea...or is it Mr. Nathan? We’ll need to see some identification. Lots of identification, actually".
Eventually, with great suspicion, they allow me to cash the travelers check.. I drive 300 miles, muttering nasty invective about Alan all the while and fill ‘er up in a Shell station in New Mexico. Whip out Al’s card while trying to distract the cashier with small talk only to hear "Oh, I’m sorry Mr Nathan, this card is expired. Do you have your new card?"
AARRRGGHHH!. Get the card back again. Pull out a travelers check again. Undergo the third degree about the Nathan/McCrea business again. Say rotten things about Alan again.
I retire to the truck to review my finances. I’ve got $60 in travelers checks. Less than $10 in cash. A couple bucks in loose change.
OK, lesse, Albuquerque to Baltimore...call it 1800 miles. With the truck loaded down like this I’m getting 25 mpg at best. Call it 72 gallon of gas. Damn, if I can just pass off that expired credit card one time I’ll make it. If not it’s gonna be mighty close.
Back on the road. Conserving gas. Easing along in 5th gear, drafting semi’s when I can keep up, coasting the long downgrades, cursing the mountains stretches, talking to truckers on the CB to find the cheapest gas...28 mpg last tankful, I can do this.
I can do this provided I don’t spend a penny on anything but petrol. No beer. No chicken-fried-steak-cafe meals. No truck stop coffee. What have I got left in the victuals department in our drybags? Instant oatmeal. Instant coffee. Instant Ramen noodles. Oh boy. Every meal. Pull over into a rest area and boil up a heaping helping of hot water and rehydratable garbage. (I haven’t eaten Ramen noodles since).
And at every Shell station between Albuquerque and Memphis I hear...."Oh, I’m sorry Mr Nathan, this card is expired. Do you have your new card?" I cash my last $20 travelers check in Memphis and face the awful truth. I’m not gonna make it. I fought the good fight, but it’s another 900 miles to Baltimore and all I’ve got is a full tank of gas and a few bucks in loose bills and pocket change.
Out comes the map. Atlanta. 400 miles to Atlanta. I can make it to Atlanta. Ed lives in Atlanta. Good old Ed. Long time no see Ed. To hell with Baltimore, I’m going to visit my old friend Ed in Atlanta.
I arrive at Ed’s place in the wee hours of the morning, riding on fumes. Sit in my truck watching his house and, just like clockwork, at 4:30 am the kitchen light comes on. Ed’s up, right on time. I knock on the kitchen window, Ed’s face appears, smiles broadly and motions towards the kitchen door.
I sit at the kitchen table, Ed pours me a cup of real coffee and we have an "old friends" conversation that goes like this:
"Hey"
"Hey"
"You got $40 you can loan me"
"Sure that’s enough", he asks, throwing two twenties on the table.
"Yup"
"Stay for breakfast?"
"Nope, better hit the road"
"Ok, stop back sometime"
Off I go, feeling like a rich man. Filler ‘er up with Starvin’ Marvin’s cheap Georgia gas. When the attendant asks "Cash or credit?" I can’t help grinning insanely as I slap one of Ed’s twenties on the counter "Cash, baby, cold hard cash".
Don’t leave home without it.