Part #1 of Day #1 of 10 Days, 10 States
Chapter 51 – My Journey to Oregon
26 – Feb 2022

After months of packing, it is 6am and the hot Florida sun begins to peek into my darkened windows on James Avenue; my parents’ house for 20 something years, my father’s house for the past 7 months [since Momma passed on 23 July 2021].

The Jeep is packed, over-packed to a fault, with enough clothes, shoes, blankets, and camping supplies to surely get me through this journey. The last thing to be done, is help wrap and pack up the bed I was sleeping in for the past 7 months and strap my bike into my new bike carrier so that Tallulah could travel along with me.

Dad held the gigantic, bright green wrapping plastic, basically saran wrap on steroids and I hold the bed foot and headboards together. As he began to wrap the plastic around them, my hand slips from the foot board and it plummets onto my shin and down to my foot; a hard metal piece of furniture; my gas pedal foot that I would desperately need for the next (what I thought would be) 8 days.

Dad looks down to see the big dent that now lives on the top of my foot and says, “get ice on it now and go sit down.” Ice, I did get that, but sit down, no. I placed the ice pack on top of my foot and continued to stand there to help wrap this furniture so that I could get out of town as scheduled, 11am.

Now, the bed is done, time to get the bike carrier plug into my brand spanking new hitch receiver that I purchased specifically for this reason. As I walk out from the house with the last of my belongings, aside from my cat, my dad looks at me once again, with almost the same look that he had when I dented my foot with the bed post and says, “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” “What imaginary force is trying to stop me from leaving this hellhole now?” I think to myself, as I reply quickly and sternly with, “both, just give me both, fast”. Thinking that I would be overly disappointed, my Dad explained sullenly that although the bike carrier hitch fits perfectly, due to the size of my spare tire on the back of my Jeep.

“I’ll make it fit into the POD, somehow, I will make it fit, I will get your bike to Oregon”, he says before I can even put my words together to make a sentence. [and he did] With that last test to my patience and sanity, I decide to leave, as quick as I can take a single deep breath before anything else tried to stop me.