To See or Not to See

It only took 34 years. To need a new front windshield for my car.

Blame four rocks smashing into my windshield. A trio in the past month alone. Could that be a record in America’s fourth largest city?

Years? Rocks? Days? All smacking into a single pane of auto glass?

It’s repaired now but I wonder how long this perfection will last. I considered not replacing the windshield at all. With my recent track record, was it worth it?

Consider another factor.

It’s been a spring, summer, and fall for endless car repairs. New tires. New brakes. New shocks. New struts. Restored air conditioning.

Traveling nearly three thousand miles across three states, plus mountain driving in summer heat, would impact anything and anyone. Add to that 60K miles acquired across seven years in Houston’s humidity atop her pothole‐laced freeways.

Besides, every car needs routine maintenance. Even more results from the adventures of a committed RoadBroad who must venture out weekly to gather her blog posts.

But this kind of cash makes for a hard swallow. These repairs exceed 16 months of car payments. What I completed four years ago.

I wanted to leave the windshield as it was. Ugly, yes. But it’s only glass. Ugly, ugly glass.

Look for yourself.

See the jagged crack on the lower left? Swing your eyes to the far right. Spy the dot of pebbled glass? That’s the Hillcroft rock.

Out of range are the remaining pair of cracks. The worst split the windshield’s top quadrant like a boxer’s uppercut.

I felt confident of my do‐nothing approach. Then the heavy rains came.

Caught in a blinding downpour, the freeway’s dotted lines vanished before my eyes. I white‐knuckled the steering wheel and glued my eyes to the roadway, bird‐dogging for other blinded drivers. The windshield began to mock me. Its four cracks widened, expanding, before my terrified eyes.

It’s expensive to be a RoadBroad, I decided. New windshield got fitted two days later.

Meaning‐Me decided to reframe the issue.

Maybe now you’re free. To see clear and clean the road that lies before you.

Then my eyes whispered, reminding me of July’s summer laser surgery. A sudden onslaught racked them, too. It was a bout with spider vision, aka PVD. That’s short for Posterior Vitreous Detachment, a common, surprise malady afflicting the post‐60 crowd. A second whisper chimed.

New glass. New eyes. New view.

When I hear my inner voice(s) whisper like this, I listen. Even if it’s woo‐woo. Or simply mental. Who cares?

Now I can see.

I’m ready for the road.

Allergy, Auto, Aspergas, and Art

Call it an “A” day.

Allergy: Welcome to the yellow pollen and white wispys now attacking Boulder. Even my car has taken on new hues.

A new ‘do for old wheels: yellow highlights orange. Or does it?

I call them “white whispys” because they don’t stay still for photos. Instead, these feathery bits float around in the air like ephemeral angels (devils?), unnoticed until the sneezing and red eye begin. I thought they were pretty. Until Thursday morning.

It was my fifth morning of four mile walks. A speedwalk on Elmer’s 2 Mile Path devolved into sudden paroxysms of sneezing. Why am I sneezing? Then the teary gushers with itchy red eye began. On my return to the townhouse, I noticed the yellow pollen blanketing my orange car. When I caught me in the bathroom mirror, even I was afraid.

The delightful millenial barista at the Pekoe Sip House proclaimed similar agonies when I explained my junkie eyes. She said blame the oaks for the yellow pollen then curse the dogwoods for the white whispys.

The why of the what matters less than the cure. First, it’s load up on tissues, nose sprays, and eye drops. Second, it’s leave town to head south where after 34 years, my body is well‐acclimated to Houston’s tree floaties.

Auto: My Subaru Forrester died in traffic only hours after the allergy attack. It took Magic Max of our Summer Writing Retreat fame only minutes to get the car (and its two women travelers) safely out of rush hour traffic and parked back at the townhouse.

I met my two BNF’s, as in Best New Friends, this morning: Eric from Triple A who linked with Phil of Hoshi Motors, Yes, that’s two bald commercial endorsements. How many mechanics have you met who will build a list of best gas stations in town to help you avoid another misadventure?

Phil in the Hood, triple‐checking battery connections.

Everything checked out: battery, starter, alternator, transmission, blah‐blah‐blah. Even my homeboy mechanic was perplexed, and he did a thorough car check pre‐road‐trip. Best guess of these three mechanics? Bad gas from an off‐brand service station and a quirky car unused to mountain driving in summer temperatures.

Two learnings emerged from today’s RoadBroad misadventure. If you’re a woman, both can help you.

  1. Don’t buy gasoline from off‐brand stations, especially when you’re on the road. Brand means the major oil companies such as Conoco, Exxon, Shell, etc. What’s four cents a gallon saved today when the engine quits tomorrow?
  2. If you’re stuck in traffic with a malfunctioning car engine, try these Magic Max tricks, in this order:

1. Turn off the engine.

2. Pump the gas pedal twice (or more, but don’t flood the engine).

3. Turn on the engine until it “catches.”

4. Rev the engine for several minutes.

5. Your car should be drivable now. If not, your car has a different problem.

Thank you, Max Regan!

Aspergas: The morning’s car drama preceded our regular two‐hour small group writing class. Only at 12 noon did I realized I had not eaten since consuming a mango popsicle at our Thursday night salon. At a quirky Pearl Street restaurant, I ordered an egg white fritatta.

Arugula tops green squash and egg whites — with a surprise veggie hidden in between.

What you don’t see is the surprise vegetable sandwiched amid the gorgeous arugula that tops the crepe‐style egg white underneath.

You know this vegetable as asparagus.

I call it Aspergas. It should be regulated by the E.P.A. as a toxic substance. It is the most awful vegetable known to sentient beings. This truth has something to do with my mother’s inability to undercook it, causing aspergas fumes to permeate our entire house. For days. As a result: I. Do. Not. Eat. Aspergas. Or Asparagus.

Only after I bit into a thick wad of arugula on my fork did I taste the Aspergas. But it tasted different, and it was OMG good. I left nothing on the plate.

I reported the experience to DH. He was stunned. A first. After 34 years.

Art: Whlle eating my Aspergas surprise, I made art.

When I had entered the restaurant, I noticed a crayon basket on the table behind the restaurant hostess. I asked for two crayons, plus a puzzle page. She did a double‐take. Not many 61‐year‐olds request art time while dining?

When Crayon Art meets a hungry RoadBroad.

I thought of Pat Clark, my dear writer friend who taught me about how art can heal during rough times. I needed ease after my allergy/auto misadventure. Pat’s clever Kindergarten Art morphed into my Crayon Art today.

I felt so much better when I finished.

Thank you, Pat!

Aspergas and Art.

A healing combination after Allergies and Autos.

P.S. My longest post as a RoadBroad. Forgive the windy! I hope you’ve enjoyed this read, even as you’ve learned something. That’s our goal. 

Priming, Preparing and Packing

Once upon a time I used to think that I knew how to pack a suitcase and prepare myself for a vacation. I have done it before. I have gone places and returned home quite successfully. Then I began planning a road trip to Boulder with Melanie.

Who can forget anything with a list like this?

One of the first documents that Melanie gave me while discussing our road trip was a simple piece of paper that said, “PACK THIS!” On this simple piece of paper were lists of things to take with you when packing for any conceivable travels. I glanced down at all of the 17 sub‐lists and immediately wondered how I ever made it anywhere by myself.

I can remember when I used to work full time in an office setting, there were days when I surprised both myself and my co‐workers with the ability to dress myself in the morning and have all articles of clothing land in the right places. However, I blamed this little quirk on the fact that I have never been a morning person and really cannot function without at least one cup of coffee.

Now I have a list that I can look at any time of the day or night fully caffeinated and wonder how many more suit cases I am going to need. It is truly daunting.

To begin with, do I really need a list to remind me to pack underwear? The list also specifies to pack a tuxedo. I’ve never owned a tuxedo. Great, now I have to go shopping before I leave town. Guess I’ll pick up some more underwear while I’m at the store.

There is also a line item for anxiety medications. Really? What does this list know about my road trip that I don’t? I am hoping for a couple of relaxing days while driving and seeing parts of the Southwest that I have not seen before. Yet, apparently now I have to worry about anxiety and what to do about it. That makes me feel quite anxious!

The good news is that I only have to prepare and pack for myself. Melanie is in charge of the automobile. Normally when traveling with others, I will ask if the tires have been checked, have all the fluids been topped off, etc. I did not have to do that this time. As you just read, Melanie is the official keeper of all particular detailed lists. I know she has this handled. Then, as if I had asked, she told me about some minor car repairs to make sure the air conditioning was working. Good. Air conditioning is good. Especially since day time temperatures are already reaching into the high 90’s. It’s not like we will be driving through deserts and mountains and such. I am glad Melanie is in charge of the automobile.

We are taking Melanie’s SUV because it is bigger than my Prius. With two of us traveling we need the extra space to pack all of the things on the “PACK THIS!” list. We may pick up a friend at the Denver airport on the way to the writing retreat. Friend may have to lie in the back on top of the luggage. What fun!

Now I am off for more priming, preparing and packing.

About this Blog

This blog came to life, courtesy Ellen, who prefers road travel to soaring skyward. She suggested driving to a Colorado‐based writing retreat in June, 2018.

Melanie answered with two words, one of which can be repeated in mixed company. Young children, however, would probably be confused. C’est le vie — it wouldn’t be the first time either of us has been misunderstood.

Post‐writing retreat, we contemplated life sans RoadBroads. Should we continue this blog? We both proclaimed a loud two‐word answer, identical to Melanie’s reply to Ellen’s initial query. Amazing what happens when two women writers get to know each other on the road.

We’ve dialed back the blogging to one post each per week. Periodically, we’ll post a guest blogger — another woman writer, on the road — reporting some kind of trip and what she’s learned.

We can all learn from each other.

Looking forward to the lessons offered via observations, discoveries, and experiences. The good. The bad. The ugly. Adventure is all this, most especially the ugly. 

It’s only roadtrips. With two broads and some special guests.

Join us?