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Reporting from El Reno, OK
Nov. 12th, 2008 10:10 pmI was about an hour outside of Chicago, well on my way following the ghost of Route 66, when my nose exploded.
And just as when--three days earlier--I helplessly watched the air pissing out of my front tire, I remembered the words of a fellow solo performer, TJ Dawe: “An adventure's only really an adventure when you a reach a point where you seriously wonder if you're gonna come out alive.”
Now, I knew I’d get out of both of these cases alive, no wondering required. In the tire case, I was smart enough to get AAA two days before I left Cabin John. In the exploding nose case, it happened to me back in mid-September, during the last leg of recovery from deviated septum surgery. The last day before I was to get the splints taken out and the stitches removed, I began hemorrhaging from my right nostril and went to the emergency room, where I waited for two hours because anything less than a vital organ hanging out to the point of floor contact does not warrant immediate attention in the ER.
What’s more, they told me to lie down and wait, which did help relieve the nosebleed by diverting the steady flow down my throat instead. Didn’t they have a whole GI Joe PSA about how you’re not supposed to lean back with a nosebleed? Well this time, now I knew, and knowing was half the battle.
Going down the long straight dead stretch of Route 55 and seeing no signs for hospitals, I grabbed the napkin I’d used to write down Bloo’s directions out of Chicago and squeezed it over my wet nostrils, keeping my head tiled forward as I drove on. I figured I’d hold it there until I got to Springfield, where there would surely be a hospital, but that was an hour and a half drive. Thankfully, it only took an hour of driving and nose-holding for the wound to clot. I blame the dry weather. And really, it didn't so much "explode" as just drip continuously down my face and throat. No biggie, right?
Two potential crises, averted. Neither one all that critical, neither one leading to any life-changing Hefnerian stories. So with the rest of my trip as awesome as it’s been, you might forgive me for being so typically myself and worrying about when the hell the real adventure will begin.
Sadly no pictures, at present. Oh, I've taken tons, and was hoping to spend a few hours writing about the adventures I've had so far. But sadly, I have yet to find a reliable place for Wi-Fi. The cheapie motel I'm at now has--in keeping with the GRAPES OF WRATH theme of Route 66, and the recent SOUTH PARK parody thereof--just a little bit of internet.
Lacking internet aside, the only downside of avoiding the major expressways (aside from, y'know, speed) is that there are no rest areas where I can park the minivan and sleep for the night. I did it once on Monday, and let me tell you, it was awesome. I have my own little snuggy cozy set-up back there, and I far, *far* prefer it to spending $35+ for a large, lonely motel room where my imagination runs wild with images of the Blob, the little girl from the Ring, and even Freddy Kruger.
On the plus side, someone left four bottles of Coors Light in the Fridge. Crappy beer. But FREE crappy beer!
I miss you all. I can do this alone, and happily (and I mean happily, there have been moments like little golden epiphanies of joy as I've been on the road), but I miss my internet social life.
Oh, and the next day, my nose exploded again.
And just as when--three days earlier--I helplessly watched the air pissing out of my front tire, I remembered the words of a fellow solo performer, TJ Dawe: “An adventure's only really an adventure when you a reach a point where you seriously wonder if you're gonna come out alive.”
Now, I knew I’d get out of both of these cases alive, no wondering required. In the tire case, I was smart enough to get AAA two days before I left Cabin John. In the exploding nose case, it happened to me back in mid-September, during the last leg of recovery from deviated septum surgery. The last day before I was to get the splints taken out and the stitches removed, I began hemorrhaging from my right nostril and went to the emergency room, where I waited for two hours because anything less than a vital organ hanging out to the point of floor contact does not warrant immediate attention in the ER.
What’s more, they told me to lie down and wait, which did help relieve the nosebleed by diverting the steady flow down my throat instead. Didn’t they have a whole GI Joe PSA about how you’re not supposed to lean back with a nosebleed? Well this time, now I knew, and knowing was half the battle.
Going down the long straight dead stretch of Route 55 and seeing no signs for hospitals, I grabbed the napkin I’d used to write down Bloo’s directions out of Chicago and squeezed it over my wet nostrils, keeping my head tiled forward as I drove on. I figured I’d hold it there until I got to Springfield, where there would surely be a hospital, but that was an hour and a half drive. Thankfully, it only took an hour of driving and nose-holding for the wound to clot. I blame the dry weather. And really, it didn't so much "explode" as just drip continuously down my face and throat. No biggie, right?
Two potential crises, averted. Neither one all that critical, neither one leading to any life-changing Hefnerian stories. So with the rest of my trip as awesome as it’s been, you might forgive me for being so typically myself and worrying about when the hell the real adventure will begin.
Sadly no pictures, at present. Oh, I've taken tons, and was hoping to spend a few hours writing about the adventures I've had so far. But sadly, I have yet to find a reliable place for Wi-Fi. The cheapie motel I'm at now has--in keeping with the GRAPES OF WRATH theme of Route 66, and the recent SOUTH PARK parody thereof--just a little bit of internet.
Lacking internet aside, the only downside of avoiding the major expressways (aside from, y'know, speed) is that there are no rest areas where I can park the minivan and sleep for the night. I did it once on Monday, and let me tell you, it was awesome. I have my own little snuggy cozy set-up back there, and I far, *far* prefer it to spending $35+ for a large, lonely motel room where my imagination runs wild with images of the Blob, the little girl from the Ring, and even Freddy Kruger.
On the plus side, someone left four bottles of Coors Light in the Fridge. Crappy beer. But FREE crappy beer!
I miss you all. I can do this alone, and happily (and I mean happily, there have been moments like little golden epiphanies of joy as I've been on the road), but I miss my internet social life.
Oh, and the next day, my nose exploded again.
