A Little Perspective

As you may have gathered, the driving portion of Propane’s Excellent Adventure has come and gone.  We’ve unpacked our bags, done countless loads of laundry, taken mental notes of all we lost along the way (me:  cough syrup, my dad:  phone charger), and we’ve slowly slipped back into our normal routines of living in only one state per day.

But that doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten what an adventure it was.

Since I’ve been home and reunited with my wonderfully pressurized showerhead, I’ve had the opportunity to reflect on my favorite parts of the trip.  Since its conception this blog has been dedicated to keeping you updated on the amazing feats of propane.  But today I think I’ll write about the amazing (and ridiculous, and frustrating, and ill-conceived) feats of Richard and Abigail Hess.

I’ll start in the most logical place…where our entire adventure began:  New York, New York.  As much as I love the Big Apple, it is impossible to deny that my dad and I are not big city folks.  We flew into LaGuardia and were immediately overwhelmed by the sheer volume of people; there was yelling, and pushing, and honking, and hurrying, and as we weaved our way through the crowd I imagine both our faces started to reflect glassy, fearful, “I DO NOT BELONG HERE” expressions.

Lucky for us we had the assistance of the Armentanos and PARACO Gas who helped us navigate Times Square and even filled up our truck for the first time during our adventure.  We also knew enough ourselves to take in a few Broadway musicals, including “Next to Normal” which was phenomenal.  The night of that show proved to be a rather interesting evening in New York; as we walked out of the theater we were unnerved to see hundreds of police cars, fire trucks and ambulances flooding the streets.  We hurriedly flagged down a cab and began telling the driver the story, convinced he would be as shocked as we were and hang on our every word.  Instead he just shrugged, rolled his eyes and said, “This is New York!”  This is New York. I couldn’t have put it better myself.

Sheer chaos

After we left (ahem, escaped) the hustle and bustle of New York City, we made our second stop in drizzly D.C.  The rainy weather didn’t deter our enthusiasm, however, and we enjoyed our time snapping shots of some of our nation’s trademark buildings and monuments.

We then headed to St. Louis which was our next scheduled stop.  But seeing as my dad and I both suffer from untreated ADD, we ended up stopping several times before then.  On one especially memorable detour, we found our way to a golf course in Maryland (I’ll let you guess which of us chose that particular destination).  There a friendly employee set us off on our next mini-journey.  He told us he lived in a town just 10 miles away on the grounds of a historic Civil War battlefield.    This particular part of the trip appealed to me the most; there was a calm about Sharpsburg, MD that was very peaceful, and it made a person want to find a cozy bed and breakfast and nestle in for a few months.  And of course the Civil War history was incredible; the battlefield was called Antietam, and it was remarkable how much it looked exactly the way I imagined it would.  I remember my dad exclaiming, “This is just like you see in the movies!”  Maybe a little sad that we get our knowledge of historical events from the movies, but it was a worthwhile stop nonetheless.

Antietam battlefield

St. Louis was also an interesting stopping point; we rolled into town at some ungodly hour of the night, and desperate for a place to sleep (and eat) we pulled into the first hotel we could find.  But there was something funny about this hotel…it was completely fenced with an extremely effective security gate preventing unauthorized entrance into the parking lot, and on each hotel room door a brass plaque requested that we “please lock all doors, windows, and patio doors for your safety.” Reading that seemed to set off a silent alarm inside my head, but we were exhausted and decided to buck up and stay in the scary hotel.  Needless to say we survived the night, but upon talking with my dad’s old high school friends (who now live in St. Louis) we were told they “wouldn’t ever stay there.”  Good thing we’re a lucky pair.

After St. Louis we made a quick stop in Oklahoma, where we did laundry and stayed out of each other’s space for about three days.  Then we got back on the road, stopping first in Guymon to say hello to the folks at Perkins Petroleum.  I’m not sure how I spent 26 years in Oklahoma without knowing this, but Guymon is about 10 degrees cooler than the central part of the state.  I’m currently trying to find a way to move out there.

Boise City was another unexpectedly interesting stop; not only were we welcomed enthusiastically by many of the locals, but we also learned something about Oklahoma’s history we’d never before heard.  Apparently during World War II Boise City was one of the only places in the nation to be bombed by friendly fire.  We must’ve heard that story 9 times while we were there, and each time someone added a new little detail.  My favorite factoid was that the only thing harmed in the bombing was an outhouse.  It was unoccupied at the time.

Once we were again out of our home state we began navigating the narrow mountain roads of Colorado.  I was once again pleasantly surprised by the temperatures, and I eagerly took photos as the car thermometer dropped from 70, to 60, to 50 and below.  At one point it got down as far as 44, although by then we were closing in on midnight and I was no longer quite as enthralled with being cold.

That night we happened upon a Marriott and stumbled into our hotel rooms around 11:30.  Although my dad might not share my sentiment, in retrospect I believe this to have been one of the funniest nights of the trip.  At 5:00 in the morning I sleepily checked my texts (because I, like many others, have a horrible addiction to my phone), and I was surprised to see I had one from my dad that he sent at 1:35 AM.  It read:

Took the bus to Vail Village.  Don’t call me.  I’ll call you.  Don’t pack.  We may stay another night.

So I of course decided he was dead.

I frantically kicked back the sheets and ran into the hall (for what purpose I do not know), then went back into my room and called my mother.  I figured if he took a  bus into town because he was dying, he’d probably give her the heads-up prior to kicking the bucket.  Unfortunately, however, she hadn’t heard from him, and after calmly telling me he was probably just having problems with the altitude she urged me to call him.

“But he told me not to call him!!”  I argued, panicked that my poor father was lying cold, blue, dead and alone somewhere in Vail.

“He’s probably back in his room already, and just didn’t want you to worry about him.  Call him,”  she replied smoothly.

So I hung up on her and called his cell, which of course he didn’t answer as cell phones aren’t allowed in hospitals or the afterlife.  So I called his room completely convinced I’d next be calling the city morgue, and lo and behold HE ANSWERED.

And he was not enthused.

Apparently he saw no joy in the simple fact that he was alive at 5 AM, and though I tried valiantly to explain how concerned I was he didn’t seem very impressed.  He told me he had simply gone into town after I went into my room, and he wandered Vail Village for an hour or so reminiscing about old times.  The reason he told me not to call was because he’d gotten in late and therefore planned to sleep in, and he suggested we might stay another night because he thought I needed some downtime as I was then dealing with bronchitis.

Then, as I silently pondered the whole misunderstanding, he suddenly seemed to realize the time and said, “Why are we- – it’s FIVE IN THE MORNING!!  Why did you call me at 5 in the morning???  Siiiigh…let’s talk about this later.”  CLICK.  And he was gone.

Vail wouldn't have been a terrible place to breathe one's last.

After soaking up the incredible beauty of Colorado, we headed into my dad’s new favorite state:  Utah.  Even though I was happily immersed in the book “Mudbound” (which I highly recommend), he kept interrupting me to point at some new mesa or mountain or hill and exclaiming, “Look at that!  How did that happen??!”  He really loved the Utah scenery.

Then we headed into Nevada, which was surprisingly stereotypical in that there were casinos everywhere.  We spent one night in the teeny tiny town of Winnemucca, and even there our Holiday Inn had a casino growing out of its side.  We enjoyed the bright lights and glowing billboards of NV as much as possible, but by then we could smell victory on the horizon and quickly headed on to California.

Our actual entry into CA was not very grand.  We got stopped at a checkpoint and were asked if we had any fruits or vegetables, and when we told the lady we were from Oklahoma she then asked whether we had any firewood.  ???  Clearly the woman has never been to Oklahoma in August.

After that brief stop we hauled tail to San Ramon, where we met my brother-in-law, Blake; my sister, Rachel; and my nephew, Rutherford (who, by the way, is a golden retriever).  It was great to see familiar faces, and it was even greater to see the San Francisco area.  I’ve never been that far north in California, and I was amazed by how cold it was!  (If you’re sensing a recurring theme of cool temperatures in this post, that’s because I HATE BEING HOT.)

During our brief stay in California we saw all that we could see.  We went to the Golden Gate Bridge, walked among the monstrous trees of Muir Woods National Monument, and gazed curiously upon the hippies in Berkeley.  Then last Monday night we said our goodbyes to our family and the truck, and the next morning we were on a plane headed for Oklahoma.

My dad, sister and me at the Golden Gate Bridge

It’s been a week since that last night in California, and since then I feel like my time has been occupied by doing laundry and adjusting to Central Time again.  But even though it took me close to a week to unpack my suitcase, it took me less than an hour to wish the trip had not yet ended.  As I drove home to Tulsa last Tuesday night I began thinking back on all the stories I’ve just told you (and many other that I didn’t have room to include), and I realized how lucky I am to have gone on this adventure.  Not only did we achieve our goal of proving how great propane is as a motor fuel, but we got to do it while seeing a good portion of the USA.  I got to meet great people and visit places I’ve never been, and best of all I got to make unforgettable memories with my dad.  Have you ever heard of a more excellent adventure than that?

Thanks to those of you who followed our trip, and for all your kind words of support.  Knowing we had people rooting for us kept us going when the going got rough (aka, when it was 2 AM and we couldn’t find a hotel).  Even though this may sound like a conclusion, Propane’s Excellent Adventure is nowhere near over; we’re going to keep promoting the industry and telling the story of our trip, so keep checking in!  The adventure of propane has only just begun.

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