Shortcuts only work if....

Or: The Cannonball Run

I'm heading southwest at the usual dangerous and unsafe rate of speed with most of the usual paraphernalia: tent, sleeping bags, motorcycle gear, a couple computers, plenty of cash, credit cards, clothes for 3 different seasons, a self inflating mattress, a bottle of Coureur De Bois (Quebecois Maple Cream - heaven in a brown bottle!), several cameras, a kite, a hot air corn popper, a stack of books, and dragging the trailer I bought from Nathalie in the divorce, loaded with my baby, my Yamaha FZ1. And, in a surprising last minute twist, my Orthopedic surgeon gave me his blessing to Skydive, "As long as there's no head butting" No problem! Everybody knows Skydiving is a no-body-contact sport, right? I flunked my last x-ray a month ago and delayed my departure to Arizona by 10 days to give the final joint in my neck 4 more weeks to fuse in what even the doctor seemed to think was a futile hope I would be able to jump. This afternoon he examined the x-ray very closely, pronounced me healed, and said it was as strong as it was going to get. I ran straight home and added my gear to the great big stack of crap in the front hall waiting to be loaded in the car.

The Canadian Invasion began on January 5th and runs for 2 weeks. That's when Lyall Waddell brings his entire drop zone down from Edmonton and takes over Skydive Arizona, inviting any other interested Canadian skydivers to join them. When it's over Diane will be returning to work, but I don't have anywhere I need to be, and a friend has invited me come visit them in California for a bit so when the party is over I'll continue further west.

A friend of a friend rents out rooms in a house she bought just off the end of the runway at Skydive Arizona, and I have rented one of the rooms until the end of the month. If you take the shortcut across the cotton field it's only a 10 minute walk to the Bent Prop Saloon.

The last time I left town for this long was a quarter of a century ago. I left Ottawa on a Friday morning, headed to meet a girl in Montreal to spend the weekend. I missed Montreal, and wound up in Florida. Everything probably woulda' bin fine 'cept I ate some Peyote on my way out of town, which is when everything gets kinda fuzzy, and the next thing I saw going by was palm trees. I got home 6 months later. Texas was lovely that time of year. So was Louisiana, Alabama, Oregon, Washington, B.C., the list goes on......

The only part I'm not looking forward to is the drive down. Because of the delay in my departure to attend the appointment for more x-rays, in order to arrive in Eloy the same day that Diane does I'll have 3 1/2 days to cover the entire 4,139 km distance. She had already bought her plane ticket from Winnipeg before I found out about my late departure. 3 1/2 days, 4,139 km. I wasn't kidding about the dangerous and unsafe speed part. And it looks like weather may be a factor. For the last few days I've been closely studying the weather forecasts to make the best decision about my route. There's a huge low coming up from Mexico moving northeast across the US, if I cover enough territory on the first day I may miss the worst of it. But I may wind up at higher altitudes in New Mexico and Arizona passing through the tail end of the system. High altitude and a low pressure area this time of year in that neighborhood usually means snow.

Which brings me to The Cannonball Run. A few years ago my sister and brother-in-law gave me a book for Christmas about a race called the Cannonball Run. I was familiar with the title because of a movie of the same title from 1981 in which  "A wide variety of eccentric competitors participate in a wild and illegal cross country race". Until I read the book, I thought it was just another silly, though entertaining movie. What I discovered when I read the book was that not only was the movie based on actual events, but that the movie didn't even come close to telling the true stories of the race, in this case the truth was so much more entertaining than the fiction. I especially remember the author talking of being in a Ferrari as it slid sideways down a steep, ice covered mountain road, somewhere in Arizona in the middle of the night because they had decided to take a shortcut. As my buddy Michael will be the first to testify, "Shortcuts only work if You Go Like Hell!!!!!!"

Not recommended on an icy mountain road in the dark.

In a sports car.

But in this case the guy at the wheel was a professional race car driver, and it turned out well, though just barely.

I'll try and keep that in mind as I approach the Rockies with my SUV full of computers and camping gear pulling a loaded trailer not equipped with brakes.

I just hope it isn't dark when I get there. Or icy. Or snowing. Maybe I shoulda' brung a race car driver. I definitely won't be taking any shortcuts.

Or any Peyote.