"Better late than never" seems to be the motto for our odyssey to cover the Democratic National Convention in Denver, Colorado. We thought we'd be in Denver Sunday, but stuff happens...
Never having been to Denver before, it was like driving into postcard. It was seeing the pot of gold at the of a modern day version of the Grapes of Wrath gone sour.
We got an early start last Saturday morning and all went well. We decided to avoid the freeways and angle our way from New Richmond, Wisconsin to Grand Island, Nebraska to see some of the scenery and avoid getting trapped in the 18-wheeler NASCAR race that makes up today's driving on the freeway. As designated navigator on the trip, I poured over the complimentary road atlas I get from my State Farm agent. I picked a route that look as direct route as possible and discussed the route with the wife. I prefaced my route pitch to my wife by tell her the my Dad always told me that "if you really want to see the countryside stay off the freeways." After reviewing the route, she agree it was drivable. Later on the trip near Howells, Nebraska she said, "if we don't get back on the freeway pretty fast, you are going to lunch meat in the ditch for the Corn husker state crows." And she added, "Give me another Red Bull," as she swerved down in the right hand ditch to avoid a Nebraska highway patrol speed trap.
Howells, Nebraska was our first indication of what an important mission we were on. It was here that we realized the DNC in Denver was a truly huge thing that would be attracting people from everywhere in the US of A. It was just luck that we stopped in scenic Howells...maybe it was the wife's inability to hold a half gallon of Red Bull in her bladder and a her stubborn refusal to squat beside the passenger side of the car to relieve herself. When I pointed out to her the Freud said male superiority comes from man's ability to control fire via urination, she casually asked if it remember her packing her .45 caliber pistol, she said, "Good," and added "so shut up potential crow bait."
Anyway, we drove into Howells on a hot, August Saturday afternoon in search of a place for the wife to pee. There were no convenience stores. The library was closed. The only place open on Main Street was the Crimson Crock Bar and Cafe. So we went in, grab a table and the wife went to use the bathroom. She open the door and I guy shouted "Hey lady, what's you hurry? Let me get the overalls buttoned up."
He finally came out and she went in. While I waited, I noticed to the two guys sitting at the table next to me. They didn't look like they belong in a one-uni-sex bathroom town with a dirt road Main Street in Nebraska. One had a "Live Liberal" t-shirt on, the other a big Obama button pinned to his shirt and both with earrings in each ear. They were engaged in a heated discussion that I could easily overhear.
"I never thought it would be like this. When we left Chicago to drive to Denver, I never dreamed we wouldn't be able to just pull over on any Main Street in America and get a double, latte grandee at the local Starbucks. This is just freaking me out," said the Live Liberal shirt kid.
Obama-button kid said, "Call you believe that waitress? We I asked her where the nearest sushi bar was, she said it was too late. The fish fries are all on Friday night around here."
"I couldn't believe she said 'you mean a hi-fi,' when I asked her if there was a wifi connection around here," whispered Live Liberal boy.
"Man, this trip to Denver is turning out to be a ride down the highway to hell," groaned Obama Button boy.
"Denver," I said and joined their conversation. "Are you guys going to Denver?"
"We are and we can't wait to get out of this cow pasture called Nebraska and get to a semi-civilized place like Denver," said Live Liberal guy quite exasperated.
"At least the have Starbucks in Denver," added Obama Button boy.
Just then the front door open and a big, fat redneck wearing 4XXXX a Cobly Teeth concert came in an said, "Did ya all see the Subaru out here with with the homo bumper stickers on its rear end?"
One of the guys at the bar said, "Subaru? Ain't that the favorite car of lesbians?" He slowly turned and addressed his question to Live Liberal and Obama Button how were quickly heading out the door. See in this, he ambled to his feet and step right in front of the wife who was finally returning from the bathroom.
"Get out of my way fat boy," she barked at him and pushed him back on his stool. He started to say something to the 350 tub of ignorant lard, but she shut him up by saying, "Your right, nobody talks to you like that...till now. If I lived around here, you'd be a 150 pound man in a jogging suit saying 'Yes dear, what can I get for you.' And since your tongue is too hot tied to speak, buy me a beer and get one for my chauffeur over there." She pointed at me.
"You heard the lady," he said to the bar tender.
The sun was nearly starting to set, by the time the wife was back in the driver's seat with the pedal to the metal. We left after we'd finally drank up all of fat boy's money...after all, we are Democrats on a mission. As we headed West into the Saturday night sunset, fat boy was resting easily on Main Street in Howells, Nebraska.
As the speedometer hit 110, I knew we were way behind schedule and the wife would do whatever it took to make up lost time. The last thing I remember about that part of the trip was crouching down behind the front seat, trying to remember how to pray the rosary and hearing the wife shout "Give me another Red Bull Friar Tuck!"
More to follow...
