by Bill H Myers
She had two bags with her, a small overnight suitcase and what looked like a doctor's medical bag. When she saw me, she held out her arm with her thumb up, hitchhiker fashion. And she smiled.
Maybe she wasn't as annoyed as she had sounded on the phone. I flashed my headlights and pulled up beside her. After unbuckling my seat belt, I opened the side door and stepped out.
“Doctor Joy?”
She nodded. “Yes, and you must be Walker.”
“At your service. Let me help you with your bags.”
I picked up both and took them into the motorhome. She followed a few steps behind me but stopped upon entering.
“You live in this?”
“Yeah.”
“Just you?”
“No, Bob lives with me.”
“Bob?”
“He's my cat. He's in the back right now. Sooner or later he'll come out.”
She nodded then asked, “You have a fridge in here?”
“Yeah, over there.”
“Good, I've got some things I need to keep cool. Mind if I put them in there?”
“No, go ahead.”
She walked to the fridge and opened it. Inside she saw the four bottles of wine I'd bought at Walmart. She turned and looked at me. “You planning a party?”
“No, that's part of my emergency rations. You never know when a glass of wine might save the day.”
She smiled knowingly. “I know what you mean. But you haven't been drinking today, have you?”
“No, not yet. Too early.”
She turned back to the fridge and slid open the crisper drawer. It was empty. From her medical bag, she pulled out several small bottles and put them in the drawer. When she was done, she closed the drawer, zipped the bag and turned back to me.
She said, “Polly said I could trust you. She said you were one of the good guys. I'm hoping that means I won't have to worry about you getting into my medical supplies?”
I smiled. “Doctor Joy, I'm not interested in your drugs.”
“Yeah, I've heard that before. But just to be sure, I'll be checking. And Walker, please call me Lori.”
I nodded. “Lori it is.”
She smiled. “Now, give me a quick tour so I know where everything is.”
I started in the back, by the bathroom. I pointed at the toilet. “It works like a regular toilet, except instead of having a flush handle, there's a foot pedal. When you need to flush, just step on the pedal and hold it down until the bowl is empty.”
I stepped on the pedal. She nodded when she heard the water flush through the bowl.
Turning around, I pointed to the wall. “That switch is for the vent fan. Run it after you flush, not before. Over there is the sink, works just like the one at home. There are clean towels and wash cloths in the cabinet.
“Any questions?”
She shook her head. “No. I think I know how to use a toilet, but if I run into problems, I'll be sure to let you know.”
Stepping out of the bathroom, I showed her the bedroom. Bob was curled up on the bed, eyes open, watching us.
“That's Bob. The bed is his favorite spot, but if you need to rest, he'll be happy to share it with you.”
She stepped close to Bob and placed her hand near his face. He sniffed it and started purring. Lori smiled and said, “Bob, you're a handsome devil. Does Walker treat you right?”
Bob looked up at me and said, “Murrrph?”
He was wondering who the stranger was, so I told him.
“Bob this is Doctor Joy. She'll be riding with us today. She might even come back here and take a nap with you. Will that be okay?”
He yawned. Napping was one of his favorite things. If he could get someone to nap with him, that made it even better.
Lori reached over and stroked his head and rubbed his ears. You could tell he liked her touch. He leaned into her hand like he wanted more.
It was good that Bob wasn't bothered by Doctor Joy. He's a pretty good judge of character, and if he wasn't worried about her, I wouldn't be either.
On the way back up front, Lori asked, “Is that the only bed?”
“No, the couch folds out into a queen.”
“Good to know. So this thing is fully self-contained, right? If you had to, you could camp out in it for a few days? The fridge and everything will work?”
“Yeah, it's fully self-contained. We can go a week or more off grid.”
She smiled. “Excellent. This will be perfect.”
Chapter Five
After I had stowed Lori's overnight bag in an overhead bin, we were ready to go. I settled into the driver's seat and Lori into the passenger seat beside me. We buckled our seat belts and headed back down Venice Avenue.
When we reached the first stoplight, we took a right and stayed on River Road until we reached I-75 where we took the southbound ramp and headed toward Naples and Alligator Alley.
Like most motorhomes, mine is a little slow when trying to get up to highway speed. To avoid causing problems with fast moving traffic, I kept to the far right lane. Once I got it up to sixty-five, I set the cruise control and settled in for the long drive ahead.
Lori hadn't said much since we'd left and I was wondering if the stomach distress Polly had told me about was bothering her.
“How's your stomach?”
“It's fine. How's yours?”
“I'm doing great. Never felt better.”
She was silent for a moment before asking, “Why did you ask about my stomach?”
I hesitated. I didn't want to embarrass her by mentioning the issue Polly had told me about earlier. But I figured what the heck?
“Polly said you had an upset stomach. She said that's why you wanted me to drive you in the motorhome. So you'd be near a bathroom.”
“She said that? That I had an upset stomach? Is that why you showed me how to use the toilet when I first got in?”
I nodded.
Lori laughed. “That's so funny. I thought you were just being weird, showing me how a toilet worked. But really you were just trying to be helpful. That's sweet of you.
“But just so you know; I don't have any stomach troubles. I feel just fine.”
She pulled out her phone and punched in a number. “I'm calling Polly to find out why she told you I needed to be close to a toilet.”
I could only hear one side of the conversation. It went something like this.
“Hi Polly, this is Lori.”
“Yeah, he picked me up. We're on our way now.”
“Yeah, you were right.”
“No, I haven't told him about that yet.”
“He thinks I have stomach problems.”
Lori held the phone away from her ear. I could hear Polly laughing.
When Polly quieted down, Lori put the phone to her ear and said, “I don't think it's funny. He took it seriously. He took me to the bathroom and showed me how to flush the toilet.”
Again, Lori held the phone away from her ear as Polly roared in the background, laughing so hard she couldn't catch her breath.
When Polly stopped laughing, Lori said, “I'll get you back for this. You'll never see it coming, but it'll happen.”
I could hear Polly laughing in the background, and soon Lori joined in. When she finally caught her breath, she said, “Polly, now you've done it. I laughed so hard I've got to pee. I'll talk to you later.”
She ended the call, looked at me and shook her head. “Stomach problems. I can't believe she told you that.”
She unbuckled her seat belt and made her way back to the bathroom, laughing all the way.
Chapter Six
A few minutes later, Lori rejoined me up front. After buckling herself in, she asked, “So how long before we get to Oasis?”
I pointed at the GPS. “According to that thing, we've still got a hundred and twenty miles to go. Probably another three hours. It depends on how bad traffic is in Fort Myers and Naples.
“You bored? You want to listen to the radio?�
�
She shook her head. “No. Not really. I'd rather just sit here and watch the world go by. I'm starting to like being chauffeured around by you. I usually have to make these trips by myself and that's never fun.”
I nodded. “So you go to Oasis often?”
“Yeah, too often. Whenever they have an injured panther, they call me. There aren't many left, so when one gets hurt, we try our best to save them. More often than not, if they've been hit by a car or truck, by the time we find them it's too late.
“But this time, it looks like we got lucky. The panther survived. A passing ranger saw it on the side of the road and got it back to Oasis. The local vet came in and looked at it. It had a broken femur, which he set. Then he called me to come in and check it for internal injuries.”
I nodded.
We rode in silence for the next ten miles, taking in the lush Florida landscape between Venice and Port Charlotte. As we got close to the twin bridges crossing the Peace River, traffic picked up as drivers jockeyed for position in the three southbound lanes.
I'd driven this road before and knew that at the end of the bridge, the three lanes merged into two and many of the cars in the right lane would slow to take the Punta Gorda exit.
I was already in the right lane and I knew chances were good that cars in the middle lane would speed up to jump in front of me then slam on their brakes to make the exit.
In my left rear view mirror, I saw a fast moving red BMW coming up beside me. I figured this guy was going to pull the swoop and squat. In anticipation of his move, I cut the cruise control and let the motorhome burn off some speed. I'm glad I did because, just as I expected, as he neared the Punta Gorda exit, the BMW driver swooped over in front of me and hit his brakes so he could take the off ramp. Had I not been ready, we would have run right over him.
Lori shook her head. “How'd you know he was going to do that?”
I smiled. “Young guy driving a BMW. They always do things like that.”
On the other side of the Punta Gorda exit, traffic calmed down a bit. I reset the cruise control back to sixty-five.
We'd been on the road for about an hour and had only covered sixty miles. We still had a hundred to go. Half of which would be on the interstate and the rest on Alligator Alley.
Our goal was to get to Oasis Station well before dark and just then it looked like we wouldn't have any problem making it.
Lori asked, “You mind if I get a bottle of water out of the fridge?”
“No, not at all. Help yourself. If you want, you can make a sandwich while you're back there. You'll find everything you need in the fridge.”
She smiled. “I'm starting to like this more and more. Being chauffeured around in a motorhome. Food and drink anytime I want it. And as you so thoughtfully pointed out, a fully operational bathroom. Even a bed if I get sleepy.”
She unbuckled her seat belt and started to get up. “You want anything while I'm back there?”
I nodded, “Yeah, a water would be nice.”
She went back to the kitchen and soon I could hear her humming softly as she made herself a sandwich. A few minutes later, she came back up front and handed me a bottle of water. She was holding a sandwich in her other hand and showed it to me.
“Turkey sandwich. You want one?”
I shook my head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I'm going to need both hands on the wheel when we go through Fort Myers traffic.”
She nodded and took a bite of her sandwich. “I checked on Bob. He's still on the bed sleeping. After I finish this, I may go back and join him.”
I nodded. “He'll like that.”
Lori ate her sandwich. When she was finished, she unbuckled her seat belt. “You need anything up here before I join Bob?”
I didn't.
Chapter Seven
We were making steady progress traveling south on I-75, the north south interstate highway that runs from Michigan to Miami. Our destination was the Oasis Ranger Station on Alligator Alley, about a hundred miles ahead. We weren't breaking any speed records, but we were still on schedule.
Lori was in the back bedroom, napping with Bob. She'd said she was enjoying traveling in the motorhome. That was good. Better to have her happy than not.
As expected, traffic started to pick up as we approached Fort Myers. The heavy influx of snowbirds that time of year along with the normal day-to-day traffic and the seemingly never-ending road construction meant delays and slowdowns were inevitable.
That day was no different. We had just passed the Fort Myers city limits sign when traffic slowed to a crawl. Sitting up high in the motorhome, I could see far enough ahead that I had plenty of time to slow down. From the sound of screeching tires behind me, some drivers had been caught off guard.
After a few minutes of waiting, traffic started moving again. Cars in front and behind began jockeying for position, trying to improve their place in the traffic flow. If I'd been driving a car, I would have probably been doing the same thing. But in a motorhome, you learn to take your time and try to stay out of the way of the other drivers, especially those in a hurry.
After we got back up to speed, traffic was moving nicely until the driver of the car in the far left lane, about sixty feet in front of me, cut across three lanes of traffic, swerved in front of me, and stood on his brakes. Not a smart move considering the amount of sand on the road left by construction crews.
When he hit the sand, the car lost traction and slid toward the concrete divider at the exit ramp. The driver jerked his wheel to the left, trying to miss the divider, but it was too late. He hit it hard, demolishing the right side of his car, and rolled to a stop with pieces of his car trailing behind.
I was close enough to see the driver's side airbag go off when he hit the divider. With fast moving traffic piling up behind me, there was no way to stop and offer assistance. Even if I could, there was little I could do to help. His car was in pieces and he'd need a wrecker, not a motorhome. Hopefully, the airbag saved him from serious injury.
In my rear view mirror, I saw another car had pulled in behind him. They'd be calling 911 and help would soon arrive.
Like most accidents, this one would create a traffic jam as rubberneckers on both sides of the road slowed to take in the view. I was lucky the crash was behind me and happy the driver hadn't clipped me in his mad dash toward the exit ramp.
These collisions and near-misses are one of the few bad things about driving in Florida. The roads themselves are usually in pretty good shape, wide, flat and well-marked. But the drivers are often out of control. Many are tourists with no idea where they are going. Others are seniors, driving slow because they can't see more than fifty feet in front of them. And there's the young and testosterone-addled, driving way too fast with no real destination.
Then there are people like me. Driving a motorhome, going too slow. Holding up traffic and blocking the view ahead. We don't do this on purpose. It's just that motorhomes don't go fast, don't stop fast, and do take up a lot of the road.
And, yes, there are lots of motorhomes on the road in Florida. Everything from million dollar rolling palaces to old converted school buses driven by aging hippies. You'll see them on every highway and every back road. There's no escaping them.
If you're behind one, your view ahead will be blocked and your natural instinct will be to go around. No matter whether the motorhome is holding up traffic or not, most drivers will want to find a way around them.
On the interstate, it's usually pretty easy. Just move over into the fast lane and speed up. But on the back roads, you have to be careful. You have to wait until you can see far enough ahead to know the coast is clear before you try to pass.
Sometimes people do it right. They wait. But other times, they get impatient and take chances. You'll read about them in the paper, usually under a headline that says something like, 'Head-on collision kills two.'
Most of us who drive motorhomes know other drivers don't like being behind us, so we try to st
ay out of their way. But sometimes we can't. Sometimes the road is too narrow to pull over and let them by. Or sometimes we're stuck behind a long line of slowing moving cars just like them. And we can't pass.
When I first started driving a motorhome, I took it personally every time a car passed me. I figured if cars were so desperate to get around me that they'd take a chance of getting in an accident, I probably needed to be going faster. So I'd speed up.
But even when I sped up, cars would crowd my rear bumper, taking risks trying to get around me. So I'd speed up more. And before I knew it, I'd be doing seventy or seventy-five miles per hour—in a big, lumbering, hard to maneuver, hard to stop motorhome.
It only took one driver in front of me to stand on his brakes to realize that driving too fast in a motorhome is a good way to get a lot of people killed. I learned to slow down, take it easy and just let the traffic flow past me.
I was thinking about this after seeing how close the car in Fort Myers had come to crashing into us. Close calls will do that—make you think about how you live your life and maybe what you ought to be doing differently.
At that moment, the only thing I wanted to do differently was to get out of Fort Myers traffic, get past Naples, and get off the interstate. If all went as planned, I'd be doing that thirty miles down the road.
Chapter Eight
After getting through Fort Myers, the next challenge was Naples. Like Fort Myers, driving I-75 through Naples in a motorhome, especially during the almost continual rush hour traffic, could be tricky.
We were lucky that day. It was smooth sailing. At least until we got close to the Golden Gate exit. There, all three southbound lanes slowed and came to a full stop.
Up ahead, over the roofs of the long line of cars, I could see the flashing lights of several emergency vehicles. In front of them, a large crane was trying to lift something off the highway. Whatever it was, it was heavily damaged and looked like it had been on fire. Foam dripped from its carcass as the crane slowly moved pieces onto the back of a flatbed truck parked on the shoulder.
As I watched, I saw a Florida state trooper walking between the stopped cars, coming in our direction. He stopped at each car, spoke a few words to the driver then continued on to the next. I couldn't tell what he was saying, but I'd soon find out.
