Dump Trucks and Dogsleds: I'm on My Way, Mom!

by Henry Winkler

  When the sled pulled up to the van, Cheerio stuck his head out the window and started talking to the pack of dogs, making little howling sounds. It sounded just like he was saying hello. They couldn’t answer him because they were panting so hard. There was enough steam coming out of their mouths to boil an egg. But I could tell they were happy to see him, because their tails were wagging like crazy.

  I shivered. Six tails wagging creates a wind gust, and it was all coming in our direction.

  The driver got off the sled and came over to the window. He was wearing about ten jackets. He looked like he had swallowed a tuba. His arms were so padded, they practically stuck straight out from his body.

  “Are you guys stuck?” he said. “It’s a heck of a day for a drive.”

  As he lowered his eyes to the window and caught sight of Mr. Chin, he stopped talking.

  “Hey, buddy, Halloween was four months ago. What’s with the dragon face?”

  Mr. Chin had no idea what the guy was saying. He just had a smile plastered on his face. I could see the back doors of the van opening, and my dad climbing out to come talk to this guy, but in the meantime, I thought I’d keep up my end of the conversation.

  “These nice folks are a traveling acrobatic group from China,” I said to the sled driver.

  Cheerio yipped in agreement.

  “And this is our dog Cheerio. I’m Hank Zipzer. My sister Emily is in the back with my dad Stanley.”

  The sled driver cut me short.

  “It’s pretty cold standing here,” he said. “How many more in your family?”

  “There’s my mom,” I said. “But she’s not here right now. She’s in New York having a new baby and we have to get there right away.”

  “So Mr. Dragon here is taking you?”

  “That’s the problem,” I said. “Mr. Chin and his troop are staying here in New Haven. Are you heading to New York, by any chance?”

  “I’m going as far as the Bronx. I have to pick up a fuel pump for my snowplow. It broke down just when the storm hit and it’s got to be fixed by morning so I can clear the roads for the supermarket to open.”

  That explained why he was out in a dogsled in the middle of a snowstorm. I didn’t think it was just for a joy ride.

  “Do you have room for three more in your sled?” I asked him.

  Cheerio gave another one of his yips, which, I’m sure, in dog talk meant: “Please say yes.”

  “I don’t know. That’s a lot of weight for the dogs to pull.”

  “Cheerio can help,” I said.

  The driver shot a look at Cheerio. “Looks like he couldn’t pull a box of pencils,” he said. “No offense intended.”

  “None taken. He’s much stronger than he looks,” I told the driver.

  Cheerio yipped again, three times. I’ll bet he was trying to say, “I was born to pull a sled.”

  By this time, my dad had reached the driver. It took him a while because for each step he took, he had to pull his leg out of the thigh-high snow.

  “Dad,” I said. “This man . . . I’m sorry . . . what was your name?”

  “Harley,” he said. “Harley Obama. No relation, unfortunately.”

  “Harley here is going to the Bronx.”

  “That’s still a half an hour away from the hospital,” my dad pointed out.

  “But it’s a lot closer than where we are now,” Emily piped up from the seat behind me.

  “Good thinking, Emily,” my dad said. Emily! What kind of thinking did she do? I’m the one who asked Harley for a ride!

  For my mom’s sake, I decided to ignore that and just keep my mouth shut, which believe me, is not used to being shut.

  “Harley,” my dad said. “If you could give us a lift, I’d be more than happy to buy you a bag of dog food . . . instead of gas.”

  “That’s not necessary, sir,” Harley said. “Just name the baby after me.”

  We all laughed, but I thought, Harley Obama Zipzer. The kid could do worse.

  So it was settled. Emily, my dad, and I would ride on the sled with Harley. And Cheerio would help pull. While Harley was tying Cheerio up to the leash next to the little poodle, I thought how strange the whole day had been. Wow, this was turning out to be the adventure of a lifetime.

  I sure hoped my mom was hanging in there.

  CHAPTER 21

  We said a big thank you and a warm good-bye to Mr. Chin and his traveling troop. As I climbed out of the van, I noticed that all the acrobats in the back were unfolding themselves. The coffee table, the pretzel, and the pyramid turned back into nine separate people. Boy, that must have felt great for them. It was really cool of them to be that uncomfortable for that long, just to help us get to that new baby who was going to poop and spew all over my room.

  We stood there and waved good-bye to the van as it took off toward New Haven. Then we turned our attention to New York.

  “How long do you think it will take us to get to the city?” my dad asked Harley.

  “Well, there’s no traffic because everyone’s off the road in this storm,” he said. “So we should be able to mush along at a good clip. Providing the dogs don’t have to take too many pit stops.”

  “So in mush terms, how long are we talking?” my dad asked.

  “Maybe two hours, give or take.”

  “Two hours!” Emily said. “I’m going to freeze.”

  “Don’t worry, little lady,” Harley said. “I brought along an extra coat, but it wouldn’t fit over the ten I’ve got on already. You can wrap yourself up in it like a blanket.”

  Harley adjusted the leash to make sure Cheerio was comfortable. Cheerio seemed really happy to be in the pack. That’s because he had no idea what was about to happen. Poor little guy, he thought he was at a puppy party. Little did he know that his legs were going to run like they’ve never run before.

  We climbed into the sled, and Harley stood in back of us, holding the leash.

  “Mush,” he yelled.

  All the dogs knew what to do, except Cheerio, and boy did he learn fast. They took off running along the road, with the husky in the lead. Cheerio had no choice but to keep up, running along the tracks made by the two dogs in front of him. If he veered off even a few inches, he would be lost in the deep snow. He was running next to the little poodle, who was named Claude-Pierre. Harley told us that the lead dog was named Linus. The others were Dexter, Raymond, Poopsie (I think you can guess why), and Mr. Winterbottom.

  And I thought Cheerio was a weird name.

  We slid along the road at a pretty good pace. Emily wrapped herself up in Harley’s coat so all you could see were her eyes peeking above the collar. My dad’s pom-poms were flying in the breeze behind him, and they kept hitting Harley in the face, but he was such a nice guy, he didn’t complain. I sat in front, looking out for bumps in the road. Every now and then, I’d call a warning out to Harley.

  “Ice patch up ahead!” or “Stalled car off to the right!”

  I’m pretty sure it was the right, but knowing me, it could have been the left.

  Before we had gone very far, the sled started to slow down. Harley pulled on the leash and yelled, “Whoa, doggies!”

  “Why are we stopping?” my dad asked him.

  “Your little wiener dog isn’t cutting it,” he said. “He’s not pulling his weight.”

  “Hey, he’s trying his best,” I said.

  “Remember,” Emily added, “all four of his legs barely equal one of Linus’s.”

  I had to hand it to her. Her math skills certainly came in handy.

  “Can’t you give him one more chance?” I asked. “It will make him feel so bad about himself to be taken out of the line. It’s embarrassing. Trust me. I really know that feeling.”

  “This is no time for doggy sensitivity training,” Harley told me. “We’ve got to make good time, and he’s holding us back.”

  “He’s right, Hank,” my dad agreed. “Harley’s got to get his fuel pump, and we have to get to the hospit
al as fast as we can.”

  I gave in. “Okay. But let me break the news to Cheerio.”

  I got out of the sled, went up to Cheerio, and kneeled down next to him in the snow. The first thing he did was lick my face. That made matters worse, because now I was going to have to tell him the bad news. Very gently, I untied his leash, and he gave a little whimper as if to say, “Why are you doing that, Hank? I’m having fun.”

  “You’re doing a great job, boy,” I whispered to him. “But it’s time for little dogs to take a rest.”

  I picked him up in my arms, but he wriggled out and went right back to his place in the line, wagging his tail. I scooped him up again.

  “I’m really sorry, Cheerio. But remember, we’re doing this for Mom.”

  He was still whimpering. This was really hard. Then I got a great idea. I carried him to the front of the line where Linus was waiting patiently.

  “Hey, big guy,” I said to him. “Do you mind if Cheerio rides with you?”

  I put Cheerio down on Linus’s back, just to test the idea. Linus didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t bark or try to shake Cheerio off. In fact, he turned his head around and gave him a friendly sniff. Cheerio seemed really happy up there on Linus’s back, looking like a hood ornament on a classic car. He dug his paws into Linus’s thick, white fur, and settled in just like he was on our couch at home.

  “Is this okay with you?” I hollered to Harley.

  “If it’s okay with them, it’s okay with me,” he hollered back. “I just need to get moving.”

  I took Cheerio’s leash and gently wrapped it around Linus’s stomach to make sure Cheerio was nice and secure. Then I ran back to the sled as fast as I could.

  Harley yelled mush, and the dogs tried to take off. But we were stuck in the snow. Maybe the sled had frozen to the ground.

  “I’ll get out and push,” Harley said. “You hold the reins, kid.”

  Wow, that was exciting. Me, Hank Zipzer, Sled Driver of the Great North. I felt so proud that this guy I didn’t even know was giving me such a big responsibility.

  Harley pushed the sled with all his might. We still weren’t moving, so my dad got out and pushed from the other side. The dogs were pulling as hard as they could. All of a sudden, with both men pushing and my dad’s weight off the sled, we took off at full speed. There I was, holding the reins, and when I turned around, I saw my dad and Harley running after the sled.

  What was I supposed to do? I didn’t have much choice except to hang on.

  “Hank!” Emily screamed. “Slow down!”

  “If you have any idea how to do that, let me know NOW!” I shouted back.

  We were careening down the off-ramp of the highway. I couldn’t turn us back onto the road. The dogs were going where they wanted to go. When I looked up, I saw the Dairy Queen at the bottom of the off-ramp getting closer and closer. We were zooming downhill and right into the drive-through lane.

  If there was ever a bad time for ice cream, trust me, this was it!

  CHAPTER 22

  I don’t know what I did or didn’t do, but I must have done something right because, all of a sudden, we came to an abrupt stop in front of the pickup window of the drive-through. Cheerio must have smelled the hamburger meat inside, because he started yipping as if he was ordering a double-double cheeseburger with a side of chili fries.

  “Hank! Emily! Are you okay?” my dad hollered as he came running to the sled.

  Harley followed right behind him.

  “Look at that baby,” he said.

  I looked around to see what he was referring to. Was it Jean-Claude the poodle or Linus the husky?

  It was neither. He was pointing to the sled.

  “She’s a fine ride,” he said. “She can take an off-ramp at top speed and not even tip over.” He looked at me, and put his big hand on my shoulder and squeezed. It was no little squeeze—I thought I was going to have to say good-bye to my shoulder forever. I did all I could not to scream “ouch.”

  “You got some future in dogsled racing, kid,” Harley said.

  “Thanks anyway, Harley, but I don’t think I’m going to do this again for a while.”

  I was pretty relieved when Harley took the reins and I could go sit in the backseat. My heart was pounding so hard that I thought it just might keep up that pace for the next three months.

  I’d like to tell you that the rest of the trip was that exciting, but thank goodness, it wasn’t. The biggest excitement was my dad checking his watch every two seconds and clearing his throat in that nervous way he does. I don’t want it to get on your nerves the way it got on mine, so let me cut this short and just tell you that we arrived at Harley’s mechanic in the Bronx exactly two hours, four minutes, and four hundred and thirty-three glances at the watch later.

  CHAPTER 23

  We said good-bye to Harley as he hurried into the auto parts store to pick up his fuel pump. He shook my hand so hard I thought it was going to go the same place my shoulder went. And once again, I didn’t say “ouch.” All I said was, “You’re the man, Harley. Can I have my hand back now?”

  We tried to unhitch Cheerio from the leash but he was so sad to leave his new friends that we had trouble getting him to let go of Linus’s back. I think he wanted to become a permanent part of the team. I made a mental note to let him watch the Discovery Channel when the big sled race across Alaska was on.

  My dad suggested that we go into the bakery that was right next to the auto parts store. It was called Stein’s and, in gold lettering across the whole front window, it said: “World Famous Butter Cake.” I was so hungry that my mouth started to water just looking at the words. I was ready to eat the sign.

  Inside, we ordered three cups of hot chocolate with marshmallows and three slices of their butter cake, which they served on paper plates. I don’t know what was in that cake, but whatever it was, it sure got our brains working. We all started talking at once with our mouths full.

  “Let’s call a cab,” my dad suggested.

  “Good. We’ll tell him to take us right to the hospital,” I agreed.

  “The cell phone is dead, remember?” Emily reminded us.

  “So we can’t even call your mother,” Dad said.

  “I hope we get there in time. Do you think she’s waiting for us?” I asked.

  “Statistically speaking, third babies arrive more quickly than one and two,” Emily answered.

  Dad and I both stared at her. I mean, it’s not normal for a ten-year-old person to know a thing like that.

  “What?” she said. “I researched it. You should try it sometime, Hank.”

  “Why? So I can turn out like you and grow pigtails and fall in love with an iguana? No thank you.”

  While we were arguing, my dad went to the counter and asked the woman if we could use their phone to call a taxi. He came back to our table with a sad look on his face. Even his pom-poms seemed droopy and depressed.

  “She said not to bother because there are no taxis,” he reported. “Several customers before us have tried to get one, but no luck. The storm has forced all the taxis back to the garage.”

  This news was not good. I could tell my dad was really losing it. He didn’t even come up with another idea. He just starting pacing, and of course, clearing his throat.

  “I got it,” I said. “Let’s call Mom on her cell.”

  “She’s kind of busy right now, genius,” Emily said. “As in she’s having a baby.”

  “Okay, then let’s call Papa Pete. Maybe one of his bowling pals can give us a ride.”

  My dad must have thought this was a good idea, because he raced right over to the phone at the counter and dialed.

  Papa Pete didn’t answer.

  “Okay,” I said. “No need to panic. Let’s call the Wongs. They have a car.”

  We did. They didn’t answer.

  “Okay,” I said. “No problem. Let’s call Frankie’s mom on her cell.”

  We did. She didn’t answer.

&n
bsp; “Okay, let’s call Frankie at home.” I hoped he was there, because I was running out of people to call.

  We dialed his number. And he answered!

  My dad handed the phone to me. “Frankie,” I said. “I’m so glad you’re there. We’re stuck in a bakery in the Bronx and we need a ride into the city.”

  “Dude, your mom’s in the hospital. You got to get there right away.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. Can your dad come pick us up?”

  “He’s at a conference on African masks,” Frankie said. “I’m just here alone, except for Nick McKelty, which is basically like being alone.”

  “McKelty! You let that creep into your house? Does it smell? What’s he doing there?”

  “Science project. We’re partners, remember?”

  “Oh, right. Adolf stuck you with him. I remember now.”

  “Hold on a minute. The big lug is talking to me.”

  Frankie covered the phone and I could hear the muffled voice of Nick McKelty. You recognize it right away because it sounds thick and dull, like someone talking with a mouthful of doughnut holes, which he usually has oozing out between his teeth.

  “Zip,” Frankie said. “McKelty says he can help.”

  “Don’t tell me,” I said. “His father’s got a friend who pilots a private jet that is able to land in the middle of a street in a snowstorm.” That’s the McKelty Factor, truth times a hundred. McKelty claims his dad knows everyone who can do anything at any time anywhere in the world. If that’s the truth, then as Frankie says, my name is Bernice.

  I heard Frankie turn to McKelty and say, “Seriously, dude. This is an emergency. You have got to come through.”

  Before I knew it, McKelty’s voice was on the phone.

  “Listen, Zipperbutt,” he said. “My dad is best friends with the guy who runs transportation for the entire city of New York. I’ll call and ask him to send a vehicle for you. The guy owes my dad plenty.”