The trip home was a bit of a blur. We made a detour or two on the way to New Hampshire, but we wanted to make the long drive home as quick as possible, for Ruger’s sake. She’d be in her crate the whole time, except for quick stops to let water and food in and out.
We left at 4:00 AM once again. Then we looped back to my parents’ place after we were just a few miles out because we’d forgotten to pack Ruger’s bed, which she’d needed the night before. (We’d packed everything else in advance, because we knew our brains wouldn’t quite be there at 4:00 AM before coffee.) I took the first driving shift in the dark because I knew the way. Ruger was confused and whined a bit at the beginning of the drive, but got used to it and calmed down a bit as we went along.
We stopped somewhere near the Vermont border to fill up the gas tank. The pump was extremely slow, pumping only $8 of gas while I ran in to get a cup of coffee (which the nice woman working there gave me for free). We continued down the road to another gas pump that actually worked.
I think Melissa was half asleep, but I pulled over again at Hogback Mountain in Vermont so she could see it while it wasn’t mobbed. The sun was starting to come up, but not quite over the horizon yet. The colors in the sky matched the leaves quite well, and she got a beautiful picture of it.
I drove through the maze of roads around Albany to get through there toll-free. Then Melissa took over somewhere on I-88 in New York, getting us most of the way across the state, that thin sliver of Pennsylvania, and into Ohio. I took over for the last leg, taking the I-271 express lanes around Cleveland to I-71 the rest of the way to our Cracker Barrel stop for the night.
The forecast had predicted rain in Mansfield the following morning after we left. However, it started coming down for the last 15 minutes of today’s drive. This rain was the extreme outer edge of the remnants of Hurricane Isaiah, which had struck Florida a day or two before. It was just rain by the time it hit us, but it shows just how enormous these storms are. Before hunkering down at Cracker Barrel for the night, I hit the Murphy gas station at the Walmart next door for slightly less unreasonably priced gas, the cheapest of the entire trip at $3.77.
There was just one long bus/RV parking space left at Cracker Barrel. People park their cars in them all the time, so the RVs, buses, and long vans towing trailers that these spaces are intended for don’t get a chance to use them. We were pulling my dad’s small utility trailer home behind the van, so I couldn’t just back into a distant single parking space like I did last week when we were here. But one long parking space was all we needed, so we were fine. I ordered Cracker Barrel takeout from the parking lot so we wouldn’t have to leave Ruger alone in the van. Sleep came not too long after that as the rain lightly rang on the roof.
The next morning was our last 4:00 AM start, thank goodness. It was still raining steadily, and visibility was quite poor with the van’s lousy headlights. I had to proceed more slowly than I would’ve liked just because I couldn’t see where I was going at the speed limit. It tapered off as we drove toward Columbus, and we took I-270 to I-70, where we would spend the next several hundred miles. This is where we veered off the route we took to get to New Hampshire through Kentucky, opting for the direct route home instead.
We had plenty of gas, but Melissa saw a Buc-ee’s was coming up, and asked very nicely if we could stop. Normally, I hate driving around Buc-ee’s parking lots because of all the idiots that pull out without looking, particularly in a big van, and especially while towing a trailer. But this time, it was 6:00 AM, and there was practically nobody around, so I said yes. We were rewarded with a prime parking space that I never would’ve been able to get at a reasonable hour. Melissa loaded us up with Beaver Nuggets for the drive home.
Ohio gave way to Indiana as the sun rose, putting us on the absolute worst roads of the entire trip. Indiana doesn’t know how to do bridge transitions. There can be perfectly smooth pavement, then BAM as if you hit a speed bump at 70 mph, rattling the van loudly enough to wake up Melissa and sending the empty utility trailer into the air like the Bandit jumping the Mulberry Bridge. Much of the road between bridges was pretty bad, too.
Our top-off at Murphy the night before easily gave us enough range to reach Terre Haute, Indiana, near the Illinois border for another fill-up. This would let us cross Illinois, with by far the highest gas prices of the entire trip, without having to get gas there. We finally drove out of the clouds as we approached St. Louis, Missouri. Melissa had never seen the Gateway Arch before, so she got to take a great look at it as I took us through the twists and turns to switch from I-70 to I-44. She actually got a better look at it than I did five years ago, dodging low bridges to catch a glimpse during my Route 66 trip.
By pure chance, I pulled over at the same Route 66-themed rest area in Conway, Missouri, that I’d spent a night at during the Route 66 trip. We weren’t spending the night this time, just walking the dog and doing a long overdue driver change. The last several stops required some tight maneuvering to get back on the road. I know the van well, particularly while towing a trailer, so I handled it, but that left me in the driver’s seat much longer than I’d planned. I knew from memory that getting in and out of this unique rest area was easy, and I was happy to let Melissa take it from here.
I-44 gathered some pretty dense traffic as we approached Springfield. There was no reason for it on a Sunday afternoon, but it was the worst traffic we encountered on the way home. Fortunately, it wasn’t nearly as bad as Louisville on the way out. Also, Google Maps actually did something good for once, rerouting us onto Route 66 for a few miles to bypass a standstill on the highway. Several cars followed, probably because they also had Google Maps, and not because we looked like we knew what we were doing, because we certainly did not. It worked out, though.
We were happy to leave I-44 behind in Springfield, hopping on U.S. 65 south. This took us to Branson, where we re-entered familiar territory once again. Even the van had been here, picking up a load of paneling at Menard’s for our tiny house.
I’ve never been so happy to see U.S. 412 as I was here. Usually we avoid it because of the traffic, high speeds, and high accident rate near where we live. But today it was clear and an easy drive. We didn’t need Google to know where to go anymore. The drive down the final dirt roads to our house was long and tedious, crawling at a snail’s pace to minimize Ruger’s anxiety, and to keep the empty utility trailer from bouncing off every bump on the rough road. We were so relieved to pull into our driveway. I detached and stashed the trailer off to the side of the driveway (unlike my enclosed trailer, it’s light enough to push by hand) while Melissa parked the van at the end of a job well done.
Mission accomplished. We brought Ruger to her new home. She’s still adjusting to the huge change, far from the life she’s always known until now. But each day is better than the last. She’s become particularly attached to me. I don’t know if it’s because I resemble my parents, or some other reason, but I don’t mind the attention. Now that Lister’s no longer with us, it’s kind of nice to be a critter’s chosen human again.
This will be the last van trip for a while. We now have two German Shepherds to look after, and one to acclimate to her new home. The van is now due for an oil change, and a new pair of back tires before we put too many more miles on them. We also realize we bit off a bit more than we could chew, doing the 1,600-mile drive in just two days, even with two drivers. Actually, we realized this when we got to New Hampshire, but did it again anyway on the trip home to minimize how much time Ruger would be stuck in the van. I think it was the right choice, but not one that we wish to make again.
It’s not the end of traveling. We plan to rebuild the interior next year, to better suit the needs of a couple rather than a single guy and his cat. Stay tuned to see how that goes, and what adventures follow in Smokey 2.5.
