Day 103

Hello, and a great big welcome to the new week!

This past week I ran a total of 9 miles. This may not sound like a whole lot for a 7 day total, however it is far more than I have ever clocked in one week before in my life.

Speaking of high mileages, my trusty transport reached a new milestone this week, as well.

I was driving a couple of my co-workers home on Friday, when I looked down at my odometer and noticed that it was at 149,999. I was suddenly and terribly excited. I dangerously spent more time staring at the dash than I did at where I was going. I hope the world can forgive me, because this was a momentous occasion! Right as I climbed the hill towards campus, the number switched to 150,000. While my friends did a silent cheer, I let out a holler of celebration.

I feel the need to dedicate this blog post to my loyal companion and friend, Bruce.

Near the beginning of autumn in 2008, my first car, a 1997 Pontiac Grand Prix named Nemo, which I had inherited form my parents, began to go into a downward spiral of health problems. I had to make the painful decision to part with my aging friend. I began the search for new candidates to replace him. While I am fascinated by expensive and sexy cars, I am not too keen to spend big money on, well, anything. I was struggling to find something reliable that my friends would proudly accept a ride in. Then my grandpa offered to let me buy his 2001 Chevy Blazer off of him. I saw a few big advantages to this. The Blazer had been owned by my grandpa for the majority of its life. I knew its history and that my grandpa had kept it well maintained. It had a fold down rear seat, which meant that I would be able to move stuff for myself and friends. Combine that with its four wheel drive, and it would make a great camping vehicle. However, it was still pretty small. This meant that the gas mileage was actually relatively close to my previous car. My grandpa offered it to me for $3000, and I was sold.

Bruce on our first dirt road adventure

At the beginning of '09, Bruce moved me and my stuff all the way to Denver. Then, in the summer, he moved me back up to Jackson Hole. He also faithfully drove the two hundred mile trek between there and Logan more times than I can count. He did all of this without incident or complaint.

Then, in the early fall, I decided that it was time to utilize Bruce's camping features. Late one Friday night, Tres and I filled Bruce up with junk food and blankets and drove him up a dark canyon. Once there, we were too scared to actually get out and wander around, so we just locked the doors and settled in. We talked up a storm and the car turned into a sauna. After cracking a window for a minute, it cooled off a bit. Then we rolled the window back up and we fell asleep. It was about 5:30 in the morning, when I awoke to a terrible clanking sound. After a few disoriented moments, I realized the sound was my own teeth chattering. My entire head, as well as one hand that had slipped out from under the blankets, were completely numb. As I lay there, a one woman mosh pit, I also began to experience an over-whelming call of nature. The first rays of sunlight were just sneaking through the fogged up tinted windows, as I turned to look at Tressa. I assumed that she would be staring right back at me, blue lips pleading for help as she sank into a cold abyss. Instead, I discovered her sleeping soundly. Just as I was certain that she had, in fact, died from the cold, she let out a lumberjack worthy snore. I was completely bewildered. This was my friend who was always complaining that it was cold. Her teeth chatter at any temperature below 50. Yet, somehow, she was comfortably sleeping, while I was tortuously conscious. I tried to stay as quiet as possible in my misery, so as not to wake her. I assumed the fetal position under my mountain of blankets and rocked back and forth, hoping that my body heat would accumulate and save me from certain frostbite. What happened instead was that I came close to suffocating before finally creating an air tunnel out from my cave. This undid all of my work. About an hour into my endeavor, my bladder situation could only be described as urgent.  I began to try and imagine a happy place in my mind, where I could go and focus on things that did not involve frigid temperatures and impending bodily functions. The problem was that everywhere I constructed in my mind somehow ended up with a water feature. 

Mountains? Stream. Beach? Ocean. Park? Fountain.

At almost 7:30, I reached my breaking point.

I whispered Tressa's name.

Nothing.

I gently shook her shoulder.

No response.

I spoke her name right out loud.

Nada.

I jabbed her in the kidneys while practically yelling her name.

I began to wonder if the dead could snore.

In desperation, I flopped on top of her and and let out a choked cry.

She showed signs of life in the form of wincing her eyes and muttering, "Huh?"

 I hugged her as my chattering, raspy voice stammered out, "Oh, thank all that is good, you're alive! Please don't hate me, but I've lost all feeling in my extremities, I was sleeping with something about the size of a baseball in the small of my back, I'm absolutely exhausted, there's a kink in my neck, and my bladder is in desperate need of attention. Would you mind too much if we left right this second?"

"Oh. Sure. Why didn't you wake me up?"

"Because I'm a nice person, dangit. Now, hurry up and get in the front seat and buckled up. We're about to set the land speed record out of this forsaken canyon."

The best part is that I kept the bedding in the back of my truck for th rest of the semester. I would go down to the parking lot in between classes and take a nap with Bruce.

He and I have had some really great times.

Happy 150,000 miles, Bruce! Here's hoping that you have that much left in you!