Travels with Dempsey

All good things must come to an end, and so ends our winter in Arizona. Which means packing up the car and the dog for the trip home to Wisconsin.

Day one: Picture the southwest in your head. What do you see? Desolate, dusty expanses of sand and cacti stretching across the horizon. All a dull shade that can only be described as brown dry heat and it makes you thirsty just to think about it. Ah and don't forget the lone, signature tumbleweed drifting aimlessly across this vast playground for all things that bite, sting, or poke.

But there are more tumbleweeds than imagery leads one to believe, as I laid witness to traveling on I-40, crossing New Mexico and Texas. I felt like I was in the game Frogger, though instead of being a frog dodging cars, I was a car dodging tumbleweeds. Dempsey was sleeping, so he didn't realize the imminent danger we were in, but I'm thankful we made it out alive.

Day one also presented the opportunity for me to get to know our dog better. I did not realize that he and I had such differing views on what the proper road trip car climate should be. You would think that being a dog, Dempsey would display classic dog-in-car behavior. Sitting up, head out the open window. But oh no. Not our dog. He prefers lying down with the windows up, which presents a problem when dealing with matters of the sun. You know how when you're driving the sun is always beating on one side of the car, depending on which direction you're going? So either the passenger is roasting in the direct sunlight and the driver is shaded and cool, or vice versa. Well the sun happened to be on the passenger side, Dempsey's side, therefore causing him to pant. And being that he is much more susceptible to heat stroke than I am realistically susceptible to hypothermia, Dempsey won and the air-conditioning was turned on.

Being the only human in the car, I falsely assumed I would be cruising in my comfort zone the entire trip, I was not properly layered and therefore unprepared to compete with the arctic chill now blowing from the Mustang's vents. I am usually ready to state my case and face this classic man/woman climate debate when I get in the car with Colin. But woman/dog? How can I reason with the dog. Score: Dempsey 1, Cana, zero.

Day two: Long sleeves and all, I was ready to hit the road, even with the air-conditioning on. However, the car gods were on my side today and it was cloudy and cool. No direct sunlight on the dog meant no direct A/C blast on me. So right off the bat, the climate score was even up.

Day two was a rather uneventful day of driving. Which is a good thing in a road trip. The most noteworthy things happened around St. Louis, around the end of my driving day. First was the dead pit bull in the median, rest his poor puppy soul. Now I don't really want to get into the many different options for how this pit bull came to be in the median on the interstate with no town around for miles, but certainly my first thoughts of owners that made bad decisions over the course of the dogs life. I'm not judging, but I do believe that mean dogs come from mean owners. And that if you find yourself with a mean dog, there are better, more humane ways to handle the situation than disposing of your dog on I-44 as if he's no better than the takeout bag from White Castle your redneck ass had for dinner.

On another note, the second interesting thing I noticed around St. Louis had to do with the traffic. There are five lanes of traffic going in either direction on I-44 through St. Louis. And do you know which lanes a majority of the traffic were driving in? Where you live will influence your answer. If you said the right two lanes, ding ding ding, good for you. That is correct. And that is always where traffic should be. People were using the center lane to pass. And virtually no one was driving in the two far left lanes, or passing lanes as they are known. However, if you're from Illinois or Wisconsin, you probably answered that traffic was driving in the left lanes, as that's where most people in our fine state like to sit. Even when they're not passing. People seem to think that the left lane is the fast lane and meant for going as fast as whatever their speedometer is currently reading. To those people, go to St. Louis and take a driving lesson. And get out of the left lane.

I wish there was a way that when you got off to make a pit stop, when you were finished you could be transported back to where you were in traffic before getting off, so as to not have to re-navigate around all the road hogs you just spent the last hour passing.

Which brings me to day three. A short, sunny (Dempsey 2, Cana 1) five hour driving day. I think I've covered the weakness of most Illinois and Wisconsin drivers so I don't need to spend anymore time on that topic. It's good to be back in Wisconsin just as Spring is hitting it's upswing. I'm just happy we made it, the car made it and after a quick garden inspection upon our arrival it seems most of my tulips made it. Which brings me to another Cana vs. Nature war, and today, it is Cana: 1; tulip-eating deer and rabbits: zero.

Copperstate overview condensed

Colin and I just finished the Copperstate 1000, a 4-day, 1000-mile road rally through Arizona. Each day had its highlights, whether it was the breathtaking scenery (which there was plenty of, Exhibit A: The Painted Desert) an especially drivable stretch of road (both Colin and the Cobra were made for navigating "S" curve after "S" curve), or an extra interesting lunch stop (how many of you can say you've flown in a Ford Tri Motor). But on the final leg of the final day the stars aligned and the car gods smiled upon us as three 427 Cobras found themselves grouped together on the same stretch of road. It's a rare enough occasion that you would see one original Cobra on the road. And if you ever saw two, well that's the makings of an Urban Legend and your friends would never believe it was true. But for three to be together it was simply divine intervention. ,

Soon each driver realized the opportunity of this momentous occasion and they all knew there was only one thing to do. Hit it. And so three 427 Cobras proceeded to make there way down the road cruising between 100 and 120 mph, with a few moments spent above 120 as necessary to trade positions. Very few exhaust notes rival that of a Cobra and these three combined were a melody of car bliss every car enthusiast would wish to experience and record to use as a lullaby to rock themselves to sleep each night as dreams of horsepower and performance dance in their head.

I wish I could say the story ended there, however, I'd be remiss to not mention the fact that this tri-Cobra, high-speed tour did end with one blown engine. No one ever wants to see that happen. Though it was very impressive to see a cloud of smoke, followed by a dumping of oil to rival that of the Exxon Valdez catastrophe and watch the driver keep the car straight. Nicely done Hammer. It surely is an experience for all involved not soon to be matched.