The town of Boardman was the last chance for finding propane before crossing over the Pennsylvania line some 25 miles in front of me. And up until entering Boardman and with the exception of the flat tire, the trip had been going along fairly smoothly. I lean on the opinion God disapproved of all that smoothness and thought it was time to toss in a few bumps. I say that because the event that was about to unfold wouldn't happen without divine intervention and the great assist from a broken water main.

Upon exiting the freeway I spied a vacant truck stop and steered the bus toward it and the closer I got the more the reason for it being so vacant became clear; the place was a dump. Half the pumps had signs on them indicating they were out of service and trash was scattered everywhere. The parking lot was big enough to contain a carnival so at some point during a previous era it bore witness to quite a bit of traffic. On this day, however, the only vehicle on the lot was mine and I went inside to see what I could find out about Boardman, Ohio and it being able to offer any propane. I had déjà vu all over again when the only thing the girl behind the counter could tell me was that one place a bazillion miles down that one road used to have propane but they stopped selling it because no one was buying it and the propane company…

The monotone droned on and I interrupted her to ask for a phone book. She waved me in the direction of some phone booths and out of the eight, only one was so equipped. Sitting down I thought, "Geeze, what type of person would take an entire phone book?" I'd rather watch him rip a page out of it then the next guy would at least have a book to look at, right?" The yellow pages indicated a place called Lewis' Grill and Fireplace Shop had propane. A short call confirmed that fact and the woman who answered the phone gave directions to the place. A whole lot of trouble could have been avoided if I'd only asked her how far away I was before climbing back on the bus…a whole lot of trouble. But, I was in a hurry and I had nearly made it out the door when something useful finally broke through the morning fog in my head, "I'd better write the number down!" Returning to the booth once again I opened the book to the proper page and began jotting down the information. Halfway through I said, "Awww, Hell, what am I doing? And, as I tore the page out of the book, I said, "At least I'm leaving the next guy a book to look at."

I was well into the fourth mile when I began to worry that I had either passed the turn or the woman was funning me because Boardman started to get more city-like and I still hadn't seen any of the landmarks the woman told me about. I'm not squeamish, but the act of driving around a fairly big city drawing attention to me in an obvious over-weight bus wasn't something I relished doing, so I pulled over to make another phone call. You know, it's always exciting to find out just how much of a sense of humor God has and it would come to pass that he had more imaginative ways up his sleeve for me to draw attention to myself.

The wide spot on the side of the road was in front of a Ford dealer and, like the Sirens, it lured me to pull into it. The phone call was placed and she assured me I was only two blocks away. "Hot dog," I thought, "I'll be back on the road in jiffy." Checking the mirrors for traffic, I let out the clutch and turned the wheel. Nothing happened. "Hummm, you big dummy…you didn't shift the axle into low speed, did ya?" I shifted the axle. "There, that'll do it." Checking the mirrors again, I let out the clutch. Nothing happened. "Ahhh," I said, shifting into reverse, "maybe I'm up against a rock or something." I let out the clutch and nothing happened. "The engine is running, isn't it?" I revved it up. "Yep, it's running so that can't be the problem." I opened the door and looked at the ground outside the door. I looked at it without realizing what I was seeing and had to look at it again. This time I cocked my head and thought, "What's wrong with this picture - why is the stinking ground so close to the bottom step?" I had to think…ugh, hadn't that bottom step always been like 18 inches or so off the ground? I got out for a look. It was a real pity no one was there with a camera because I'm certain the look on my face would take the grand prize in a global contest of stupid looks. Even Dr. Watson, with two black eyes and in a drunken stupor would be able to deduce why the steps were so close to the ground! The rear wheels were completely invisible because they were being swallowed up by mud and the front of the bus was sunk up to the axle. I then began the earnest effort of trying to answer the obvious question; from where in the dark blue funk did all this mud come?

I threw my hands up in the air and shouted to whoever was listening, "What asshole left all this mud here on the side of the road?" I sucked in a little air and continued my ranting, "Shhhiitttit! Houdini and David Copperfield working together couldn't hide this much mud!" I balled my fists, shook them at passing motorists and screamed, "Two entire classrooms of 4-year-olds would take all summer to make this much mud!" I took another breath and repeated the first question, "What asshole left all this mud here?" then looked around expectantly as if someone would be running over to answer it. Then I got really excited when a totally bizarre thought flashed a warning…

Hey! Dummy! What if it's sinking?

I searched my memory for ever having read anything on Ohio having quicksand as I watched it closely for any signs of it being sucked further into the mire. I looked around and darted off to the closest place that had a phone - it was the car dealer. I ran into the building and seen six or seven salesman playing grab-ass with the secretary and raised my voice an octave to ask if there was anyone in town with a big ass tow truck and went on to explain why I needed it.

Then…Poof! I was all alone. I looked overhead expecting to see a spaceship - everyone was gone! By the way they ran out the door to gawk at the debacle you'd have thought the Queen Mary had just pulled up and started off-loading fairy tale creatures. "Hey!" I yelled, "Get back in here!" A few whistled, everyone pointed at it. "Don't you think it's plenty obvious without y'all standing out there pointing at it?!" They continued to shake their heads and gesticulate - I could only fathom it was about how anyone could be so stupid as to get themselves in such a bind. A few lit cigarettes and one came back inside to top off his coffee mug then went back outside to continue with their involvement of the event. Finally, with the excitement waning, they all filed back inside and a debate ensued as to whose was the largest tow truck and a phone call was placed.

"Hello!" The sweet little voice said, "You've reached Mumbo's Jumbo Tow Truck Service. How may I direct your call?"

"Is Mumbo around?" I asked hopefully. "I need a really large tow truck." And went on to explain why I needed it. She explained I had called the answering service and that he would call me back. Forty-five minutes later the secretary answered the phone then handed it to me. It was Mumbo.

"I hear you're stuck in the mud." He was out of breath and sounded like he was looking at it from the coffee shop across the street and would've called sooner but he was busy laughing his ass off.

"Yeah," I replied, "I pulled over to make a phone call and…"

He interrupted me. "Expensive phone call." Then I heard the sort of lip smacking sound you'd expect from someone eating cherry pie. Crimony Sakes! He's not even here yet and already he's got a price in mind!

"How big 'a tow truck you gonna need?" He asked.

"I dunno…the biggest you got I reckon." And I went on to explain how the school bus was actually a fully loaded moving bus.

I could see his wheels turning. "What kind of bus is it?"

"You know…a school bus??" I said, leading him on, "Your basic yellow-go-to-school-bus? It weighs a lot," I emphasized, "…a whole lot."

"Ah ha," He said, the concept finally dawning on him. "Ok, I'll be there in about half an hour." I hung up the phone, thanked everyone for their help and returned to the bus. I figured that if it was going to sink any further at least I'd be out there to start tossing things out the door in an effort to lighten the load. Thirty-five minutes later I heard the throaty rattle of a diesel engine and looked up to see Mumbo pulling up behind the bus. It was the largest tow truck I'd ever seen.

I looked through the windshield and watched as he shook his head then smile as he climbed down from the monstrous machine. I stood, and then walked over to meet him in front of his truck. After speaking for a few moments he explained the reason for all the mud being underneath my bus - the day before the city of Boardman, Ohio had dug up the area to repair a broken water main. Of course, all the leaking water had saturated the dirt in the surrounding area and all the heavy rain from the night before and, well…

"Well Shit…" I said, reading the name tag on his shirt, "Steve, Why didn't the city put up some signs or a few hazard cones or something…maybe even hire a clown to stand out here to wave people away from the area!" Of course he couldn't answer for what the city should have done - he was just commenting on how unfortunate it was I pulled onto the only soft spot in town. He repositioned his truck and instructed me on what to do. Fifteen minutes and $75.00 later the bus was out of the muck and as he was putting his cables and little doodads away I answered the question before he asked it.

"A lot." I said and drove off in search of the fabled Lewis' Grill & Fireplace Shop; the only place beyond the neutralized mud zone and within three light days of the freeway that sells propane. Arriving there the woman casually stated, "Ohh, by the way, the propane is $2.49 per gallon." I looked at her aghast and said, "That can't be right…I haven't paid more than $1.50 a gallon during the entire trip. In Toledo, a scant 200 miles behind me, it was only a $1.29. You're using Amerigas for crying out loud - they're the same distributor! How can your price be twice as high? It was pointless. I needed propane but I didn't need a full tank at that price. I instructed her to only dispense 25 gallons and 20 minutes later I was back on the freeway and thirty minutes after that I crossed the Pennsylvania line.

Pennsylvania is a beautiful state. My Father became a displaced Yankee when he moved to Virginia in 1958; he was born in Wilkes-Barre. I don't envy people who live there. Pennsylvania is a state where, besides the Witch Trials, other weird things take place; like not being able to buy beer in a grocery store. I mean, really! What kind of a stupid law is that? Did residents of Pennsylvania actually rear back and idly watch their tax dollars being pissed away on a bunch of do-gooders sitting around in their state capitol making up idiotic laws? As I drove along, I vaguely remembered from my school days that someone by the name of Drake discovered oil in Titusville, Pennsylvania and up until that point oil was unknown of in the entire world. I wondered if that gave Pennsylvanians a false sense of security in that since they have so much oil they can squander it frivolously by making a law where you have to drive 75 blocks between the grocery store and the beer store that's tucked away at the far end of a treacherous mountain road. Did the moron responsible for such a ludicrous rule ever consider the possibility that someone in a school bus can't turn around at the end of that road?

There's another thing they do that makes no sense…Pennsylvania doesn't number the exits to correspond with the mile location of the road you're on. For instance, on the Pennsylvania Turnpike exit #10 is at Somerset while exit #11 is at Bedford, some 36 miles between the two towns! Along the way billboards will mention that some business exists at the 'next exit'. What they should say is, "IF you make it to the next exit you'll find a BP station." The only thing I could figure is that the Pennsylvania Department of Transportation is concerned the drivers on their roads cannot add and subtract without taking their hands off the steering wheels to remove their shoes so they can gain access to their toes to help them calculate the miles between exits. So, to spare the likelihood of having a bunch of barefooted Pennsylvanians showing up at the morgue, they wisely decided to simply number them sequentially. The mere thought of this was cause for a smile and for the remainder of my journey through this mountainous region of our great nation, I couldn't help but wonder if one of the questions on the DMV application for a driver's license reads:

1. Did you make it through the 6th grade? YES/NO
2. Do you have all your fingers? YES/NO
3. Do you have all your toes? YES/NO

If you answered NO to all of the above questions, please answer the following question to the best of your ability.

4. How are your reflexes?

 

I crossed over into the Piedmont region of Virginia at about 5 PM and figured that if everything went smoothly I'd pull into the driveway at about 8 PM. I was pretty close - it was actually 8:48 PM when I turned off the bus and hugged my Father who was standing in the driveway to meet me.

My big adventure started on a driveway in Montana on Monday at 12 Noon and ended on another driveway in Virginia some 81 hours later. It was an experience that can only be properly illuminated by borrowing a line from Lonesome Dove. A particular scene has Augustus McCrea lying on his deathbed. Gus looks at Captain Call and says, "My God, Woodrow, it's been a hell of a party, hadn't it?"

Well, that party was a Southern Baptist Kool-Aid church social compared to the one my Brother-in-law and I would experience in just four months time during the return trip to Montana.

Continue to CHAPTER NINE