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Anatomy of a Road Trip
by Baby Huey
So, imagine a 21 year old Baby Huey. If you need help, imagine me with more hair on top of my head, less hair on the sides of my head, tack on about 50 lbs, and make me way drunker. Got it? There, I knew you could.
Now, time to blow your mind again. I was a frat boy in college. I'll let you wrap your brain around that. ... Ok, back to the story. My junior year of college, I didn't go anywhere for spring break. Just stuck around the house and got hella drunk nightly. The Thursday of break, four of us were sitting in the study room of the house. It was about 5:00pm, raining like a bitch, and cold as a motherfucker. All of a sudden, the power went out. We're all bitching when all of a sudden, Dominic's head popped up with a glint in his eye that I knew meant trouble.
"I'm hungry. Let's go to Canada." he blurted out.
The other three of us -- me, Hank, and John -- looked at each other like he just shat a pristine white bunny. Almost in unison, we said "We're in." I hopped in the shower and we walked out to the parking lot to choose our chariot.
We had two choices, as John and Hank were both wheels-less. We had my Ford Taurus, which ran great, had a full tank, and had plenty of leg room for the four of us, and Dominic's Chevy Celebrity. Built like a shit brickhouse. I swear to god that thing was made of wrought iron. It was still raining like a motherfucker and it was getting colder. We were afraid that the weather would get first, so we hopped into the hoopty, and we were off.
As an aside, we were all so hungry, we ate before we left Cleveland. But goddammit, we were on a road trip, and we were not to be deterred.
A lot of people are making a big hullaballoo about the Cleveland Indians games being snowed out last week, but snow in Cleveland in March and April isn't really unheard of. It's not even that uncommon. As we headed for Windsor, the rain slowly changed to sleet, and then to snow. By the time we got to Toledo, it was a full-on snowstorm. Giddy up.
We get through Detroit and to the border. The customs agent takes our IDs, and ohmygod, he was SO CANADIAN. "So, why youse guys comin to Canada, eh?" I'm driving and I'm honest, so I looked right at him and shrugged and said "we were bored?" Hank, the dumbass, chimed in "well we were hungry too." Joe Canuck looks at us and says "so you guys drove all the way from Cleveland because you were bored?" ... "yup" ... "I'm gonna have to ask you to pull over there and wait for the next available agent."
Fuck. We just wanted a beer. As we pull over Dominic's riding shotgun chanting "please tell me I took my weed out of the car please tell me I took my weed out of the car please tell me I took my weed out of the car please tell me I took my weed out of the car." Fortunately for us, he did.
At this point, it's midnight. We're in Windsor. We're in an Irish pub, drinking beer and singing Irish drinking songs in an irritatingly loud fashion. After about 90 minutes, we hopped back into the car and headed back.
1:30 am. Gridlock. In Detroit. Yee-fucking-haw. After about an hour, we're a bit south on I-75 and we see a place offering hotel rooms for $39.99. We pull off and find out that they're sold out of those single rooms, and the only thing they have left are $79.99 a night. $20 a person. Fuck that, that's not worth it. Remember that part, it's important later.
Next thing I know, I wake up with a bright light in my eyes. We're stopped. We have a spot in the parking lot of the house, since we lived in the ghetto, so I figured we were home. But no, we weren't. We were pulled over by a helpful Ohio State Highway Patrolman, who thought we should know that we were going 84 mph in a 65 mph zone. $120 ticket. That's $30 a person. Motherfucker.
At 3:45 am, we finally get to our exit on the Ohio Turnpike. "$3.55, please" says the nice old tollbooth attendant. Nobody's got any cash on 'em. You have GOT to be fucking kidding me. I fish around in my pocket and hand them a $5 Canadian bill. "That's about $3.50" ... see, currency jokes are funny AND useful. The toll booth attendant saw four road-weary dumbasses and said "fuck it, go ahead."
We got home around 4:30 am and I slept till 3:00 that afternoon. All in all, the trip was pretty mundane, but I'll be goddamned if it didn't end up being a great story.
At least Baby Huey wasn't involved in the road trip where two guys tried to drive from Cleveland to South Padre Island in a Dodge Omni.