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May 26, 2001 // 10:17 a.m. // Adios to the AstroVan (part 1)
Note: This is a long entry, so I'm breaking it up into three parts. This is part one. Ever have one of those days where you can remember like every detail? Like it's burned into your mind or something. And even if you wanted to forget, you couldn't? -in the style of an Angela Chase monologue from "My So-Called Life." Saturday...May 25, 2001. Uncle Burke's Lincon Towncar, Scipio, Utah. 84656. Dear Mr. AstroVan, We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday sitting inside you with intermittent A/C, broken sunglasses, no directions, one working cell phone, clanking metal and five quarts of oil all to spend three hours at a mini graduation party for Kellie when the big family reunion is Monday. We didn't inspect you before we left. What we did WAS wrong. But we think you're crazy to break down in the middle of nowhere, where our only landmarks were mile marker 194, and a sign that read Millard County. What do you care? You see us as you want to see us...in the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions. You see us as a a driver, a passenger, messy people, a sleeper, and a burden. Correct? That's the way we saw each other at one o'clock this afternoon. We were brainwashed. -Guess this style, choose your favorite. Both intro's apply. Kellie's graduation was yesterday, so the four of us took time off of work to leave early, took time off of school to leave early, and waited in line ninety minutes for eight gallons of .94 gas. Guess who is the stupid one is that did that? We were finally able to leave at approx. 1:30. I was set. I had about a dozen CD's to cover every possible mood I may be in, and new batteries in my CD player. The only problem I can see is the arm on my second favorite pair of sunglasses broke hours and I still haven't replaced my watch battery. But everything can't go right, can it? Halfway into the trip, the van began to slow. My sister just thought it was my dad driving slow (he does that sometimes) but he knew something else was wrong. We stopped off in a tiny town, bought five quarts of oil, filled 'er up, and got back on the road. But the noises continued. First a clank, then a ticking, then a clank, ticking and clunking all in one. Still, we putted along on the freeway below the minimum speed for close to ten miles, with tons of SUV's and trucks packed with motor boats, rafts and bicycles passing us heading for southern Utah for a weekend of relaxing. It's about this time the van slows down. A lot. So we pull over into the emergency lane, and sit helpless as we watch the van finally come to a complete stop. My sister begins to freak out. She was supposed to be standing on Kellie's porch to meet her boyfriend at 4:00. Without her standing there, he'd likely sit in the car until we arrived, or he'd keep circling until he saw the van. It's now 3:30, and we're at least an hour away. And then it dawns on me and my sister Amelia. Call information, get Kellie's number tell her we're stranded, and that we need someone to pick us up. It dawns on mom a few minutes later. End of part one Jas