Hatchomatic

I really, really shouldn’t be awake right now. Although it’s a bit after lunch at home, it’s near 1 a.m. here in Jakarta and I need to be ready in seven hours to give an all-day workshop.

But, what am I going to do? Let down you, my loyal audience? All four of you are dying, I know, to hear about my adventures so far. Luckily for you, I’m awake enough — and stupid enough — to have both the energy and the adventures for this post.

An interesting start

I decided to forgo driving myself to the airport Saturday, and instead hired Washington Flyer to drive me there. My driver, who’s name I failed to get, was Malaysian, and told me that he had just come from a family party to take me to the airport. He was friendly and in good spirits, so I asked him what the party was for. “My brother in law died,” he answered.

Not sure if that was indeed an even worth celebrating, I asked the driver where he was from and other such niceties. That turned into a 45-minute monolog about his arranged marriage, including the four women he turned voted off the island because they weren’t pretty enough. His parents, nearly exasperated, demanded he find a bride before returning to the United States. Apparently he succeeded, because he now has two boys. He said he won’t be picking out their brides for them, but he added that they’d better only marry once. “No divorces!” he shouted, as we pulled up to the United terminal.

Snorers everywhere

The flight from Dulles to L.A. was uneventful, which I think is always a plus when defying the laws of gravity. That’s not to say the 18-hour flight from L.A. to Bangkok was full of surprises. Indeed, it, too, was mostly uneventful. I was, however, startled several times by the gentleman a few seats over with a severe case of sleep apnea and what appeared to be pneumonia. Given his condition, and the copious snoring he emitted, I was surprised to see he was chewing gum — I would think that would be choking concern. Actually, my observation’s not quite correct. The gum was resting precariously on his lower lip, as if trying to decide whether or not to leap for freedom. I did not notice whether or not the gum’s escape was successful.

Real estate deal

The third leg of the trip, from Bangkok to Jakarta, was a 3-hour joy ride compared to the 22 hours I had thus far spent in a giant aluminum tube. I played some Orbital, read some New Yorker, and flipped through the in-flight magazine. It was there I noticed an ad for spacious beach-front property. It looked amazing. And priced at 3 million baht, it had better be, I thought. Then I grabbed my iPhone and did the exchange rate. What? $120,000 for a beach? Holy crap! Honey, sell the house. We’re moving to Thailand.

Traveling with stupid

I’m not used to carrying around a lot of cash. That’s for two reasons. First, I don’t have any. Second, I too often rely on my cards for purchases. It’s a habit I need to break. Especially after today.

Upon arriving in Jakarta, we were steered to the on-arrival visa station. For starters, I didn’t even realize that’s what it was. I thought it was a money-changing station. OK, I thought. I’ll get some rupiah. So, I stand in line. Eventually, I realize I need to pay $10 for an Indonesian visa. No problem, I thought. Then I looked in my wallet.

What kind of moron travels 12,000 miles — to the other side of the planet!! — with $4 in cash? I mean, really? Could I be more of a dumb ass?

Hey, no worries, I think. The luggage carts around here all have MasterCard ads on them. I can just use my card.

So, I go to the  window and show my card. The man shakes his head. “Oh shit,” I thought. Either I need to hit up a fellow passenger for $6, or I’m about to get my ass shipped back stateside. Just as my stomach was about to hit the floor, the man pointed across the hallway. “Over there. Credit card.” I glanced over and saw an identical booth, but that one accepts plastic. Thank God.

Signage

As I waited to clear immigration — and waited, and waited — I began to find incredible amusement in the advertisements adorning the area. The first one that caught my attention was a sign offering billboard advertising space. The image was of an idyllic beach. The text? “We’ve got space.”

I really, really hope the intention was not to erect billboards on the Indonesian beaches.

The next sign I guffawed at was the one declaring “Welcome to Indonesia. DEATH PENALTY FOR DRUG TRAFFICKERS!” In English, of course.

Oh, Indonesia, really know how to make a guest feel comfortable. Actually, the really funny part of the sign were the six guys pictured who had apparently been caught trafficking drugs and put to death. Ok, that’s not funny, but what is funny is that the sign blacked out their eyes.

There was one more sign that cracked me up. Well, not a sign, exactly, but a sticked. On the window of one of the airport security office was a large sticker proclaiming “Y2K Ready!” Yes, and just in time, too.

Traveling with stupid, part II

I was met outside customs by a nice fellow from the hotel. He escorted me to a taxi — a shiny black Mercedes — and off we went. I had taken off my long-sleeve shirt and was sitting there in my white t-shirt as we skimmed the surface roads along ramshackle huts of corrugated metal, wide canals, and your usual assortment of safe and unsafe vehicles. I felt incredibly Western and not in an especially appealing way.

I set my iPhone next to me and thought, “don’t forget it in the taxi.” (This is what’s known as foreshadowing.)

We scurried along the highway and into the city. From a high overpass, I got a view of the incredible, sprawling metropolis that is Jakarta. The air was hazy and the land was a mix of trash heaps, fragile huts and buildings in various stages of construction or decay.

Eventually we made it to the hotel where guards checked the vehicle and raised the entry gate. Oh, right, I thought. Danger lurks here, doesn’t it?

Then I hopped out, handed the driver some rupiah (I had stopped at an ATM at the airport after clearing customs), and marched into the hotel.

After checking in, I made my way to my room only to discover my keys hadn’t been properly programmed. So, I trudged back downstairs to have the problem fixed. As I stood there, my drive came rushing through the lobby. He had discovered my iPhone in the back seat and had brought it back to me. I was stunned. Not only by my stupidity, but by his kindness. I thanked him profusely and he quickly withdrew back to the hot, humid air.

More tomorrow.

Day 23

Mark and I were to continue our tennis marathon this morning, but he overslept and it didn’t happen. Instead, we lounged around until the whole family went horseback riding at a local place that offers trail rides. Unfortunately, the trail rides were severly limited and the hour it was supposed to last really only stretched about 20 minutes. I’m still not sure how they counted the minutes.

One thing I missed out on was the sight of me on the smallest, shortest horse in the barn. For some reason, I was given what by all appearances was a pony, while my nephews, two feet shorter than I, were riding high on tall horses. Soursa, my “horse,” looked like it had six legs  four of its own plus the two of mine. So it goes…

My mom trailered her horse and another for my dad to the location and on the way back, suffered a flat tire. That meant unloading the horses by the side of the road, jacking up the trailer, changing the flat, reloading the horses, and finally, getting back to the barn. In all, it delayed them by at least 2 hours.

In the afternoon, I found time to catch up on sleep and then proceeded to hand Mark a 6-1, 6-1 tennis victory. Even though it looks like it wasn’t even close, nearly every game was won by a single point, and in many cases, I lost game points. I am, no doubt, a choker. I get one more chance for redemption in the morning.

After a celebratory dinner for mom’s birthday tonight, we tried to get a pay-per-view movie (Ocean’s 11) only to fail to get the 9 p.m., 9:30 p.m. and 10 p.m. films. Why? We have no idea. Evidentially, Heather H., who was the kind soul helping us at the cable company, couldn’t figure it out, so we ended up watching the last half of Octopussy, one of Great Britain’s finest moments.

Oh, and at dinner, my nephew Sam informed us that his third leg is named, “Mr. Happy.”

Day 22

Today it is much cooler and much less humid. In fact, it’s quite comfortable. I got my film photos back today and there are a few I liked. I’m thinking that beofre long, I’ll have to get a good SLR digital camera. But, the one I want is about $4,000 and that’s about 10 times more than I want to spend. Maybe in about 5 years…

After a quite day lounging around, helping with some household stuff, my brother Mark and I staged a tennis rematch. My mom and our wives joined us for some doubles before we went mono-a-mono and I exacted a tiny bit of revenge.

Then we stopped to play wiffleball with the boys. That came to an end once I lined the ball off the pitcher’s leg… that is to say, my nephew.

That reminds me, Truman was cracking us up in Las Vegas. Whenever he spotted a surveillance camera (and he spotted plenty), he’d hold up his hand and flash the “loser” sign. I’m sure security personnel throughout Vegas were looking for that 10-year-old.

Another amusing story I forgot to mention is the use of the walkie-talkies along the trip. Nobody could understand me, claiming I was mumbling. Cynthia was having trouble too, as she held the walkie-talkie to her ear when talking and mouth when listening. I think we were both just dead from all of the miles.

Ok, one more amusing story from Vegas that I forgot to tell. One day I was walking down the hallway and someone put out their room service cart to be taken away. On the top of the cart were three delicious-looking dinner rolls. Then there were two, and it was delicious. Cynthia just found out about it today and says she’s disappointed, but the kids thought it was cool.

Anyway, we’re definitely winding this trip down. Tomorrow is my mom’s 60th birthday and we’ll go horseback riding, probably will play more tennis, and just relax.

Day 20

This morning we awoke knowing it would be our last big road day. We’re to drive from Rolla, Oklahoma through St. Louis, Indianapolis, and Columbus, OH.

With the morning sun we noticed that the EconoLodge wasn’t quite as fine as we had previously thought. The first sign was the mouse droppings on the sheets. Sign two was the overly flexible bathtub… I thought I might drop right through the floor. Sign three was the dried doughnuts and thick coffee. So it goes.

We headed out and made it to St. Louis in good time. We hoped to visit another Roadfood spot, but we weren’t able to find the street it’s one very easily, so we just pulled over at a Bob Evans.

The arch in St. Louis is pretty and it’s neat to see another icon of America. I didn’t get to go up it, but according to my brother, it’s something to miss. I’ll take his word for it.

Having crossed the Mississippi, the speed limit is back down to 65 at the most, and having gotten used to 80+ mph, dropping to the 60s feels very slow indeed.

The midwest is definitely the land of symbols. Everywhere you look are flags, “United We Stand” slogans and “Let’s Roll” banners. I don’t see nearly this much stuff back in D.C., where one of the attacks actually happened, and where people are still feeling threatened.

Illinois is also giving Texas a run for its money in terms of the world’s largest cross. It stands about 300 feet tall or so. How many of these things are there? And who makes them? There must be some company out there in the giant cross business. I would think it would be a small market, but apparently not.

We spotted a car from Hawaii today (had Hawaii plates). That accounts for all 50 states. It does bring up the question of how they drove across the Pacific, though. And should there be an Interstate in Hawaii?

While at a rest stop in Indiana, we came across the most bizarre thing yet. It was an all-in-one hand washing station. Often I favor the advance of technology, but it has to be an improvement. This definitely was not. It was a hole in the wall with a soap dispenser, faucet, and hand dryer lined up at the top of the wall with the hand dryer closest to the front. Using infrared sensors, the system detects when hands have been inserted into the hole, dispenses soap, runs water, and then dries your hands.

One of the two systems in the men’s room was broken. The other was so slow… and requires the whole sequence to run before restarting, that a line in the men’s room developed. Guys who had just finished emptying their bladders were standing there waiting for this ridiculous contraption to complete each cycle. Just what was wrong with a normal sink?

I slept past Indianapolis. I don’t think I’m the only one to do that. In fact, I think plenty of people living there are doing the same thing.

As we motored into Columbus, I realized that we failed to do a standard travel activity: making semi-trucks blow their air horns. So Cynthia, my niece Jane, and I got right to work. We managed to get 16 out of 20 truckers to blow their horns, and one out of one Buick, driven by my brother.

I found out today that my beloved Cleveland Indians traded their best pitcher, and possibly one of the best pictures in the American League, Bartolo Colon the other day. For roughly 50 years.. from 1949 to 1994, the Indians were the laughingstock of baseball. Then they got great and nearly won the World Series. But now it looks like a return to past and that sucks. Oh well, baseball is going down the tubes anyway thanks to spoiled millionaires… that is, the owners and the players alike. Bah.

Upon arriving in Columbus, we watched a number of hot air balloons float above the city in preparation for the July 3rd fireworks there. Roughly halg a million people gather along the Olenatangy River to watch the show a day early so that neighborhoods can have their own local shows on the Fourth. Once we got to my brother’s house, we picked up some Thai take out, watched the first half of the Harry Potter movie, caught a few fireworks being shot off in the city, and then hit the sack.

Day 19

Today we fled New Mexico and sped through the Texas panhandle and Oklahoma, stopping for the night in Missouri, a couple hours short of St. Louis.

We’ve mostly driving along I-40 which allows us to bypass the wildfires near I-70, but it also means we have to cut back north if for no other reason than I-40 is stopped at the Mississippi thanks to the barge that knocked out a bridge there. Besides, our destination is north of here, so that’s a good reason too.

Driving along I-40 means that we were frequently coming into contact with the history Route 66, the first highway to the West. Running from Chicago to Los Angeles (I think), Route 66 boasts many diners and motels, and various tourist traps to lure drivers into pulling over for a rest and a laugh.

In north Texas we streaked past the Cadillac Ranch where a series of Cadillacs are partly buried on end so that they appear to be growing from the ground. Shortly past that is the World’s Largest Cross (in the West). And indeed it is a big cross, surrounded by many other smaller crosses. It crossed my mind that the proprieters of the cross might become cross if someone were to write their name on the cross with a Cross pen. Perhaps that’s an issue that could be debated on Crossfire or become a plot point on Crossing Jordan.

Hours later we stopped in Elk City, OK, at another Roadfood eatery: Billie’s. Billy is the owner and cook. His specialty: onion burgers. Although I detest onions with every fiber of my being, I ordered a King Size burger along with fries and shake. After scraping off most of the onions, I quite enjoyed the burger, along with the enormous shake and the fries. Billy, meanwhile, let the phone ring while he made our order and the orders of people who came in after us and pulled up to Billy’s drive-through.

Once things cooled off a bit, we had Billy sign our book and asked him about his business. He said that for 42 years he ran a dry cleaner across the parking lot, but then OSHA cracked down on him, so he started up the burger joint instead. I don’t know what he did to get OSHA on his case, but with double-size shakes and meaty fries, he gets my support.

While we ate, I looked through the Elk City Eagle, the local paper in town. For 50 cents you get 8 pages filled with one or two locally reported stories, plenty of AP news, Family Circus, Marmaduke, the Bible Quote of the day, a page of around-the-town photos, and classified notices, such as “Guinea Pigs, $30 each.”

Once we finished our meals, we bade farewell to Billy and continued east through Oklahoma. The scenery in Oklahoma isn’t anything to sneeze at, but, in all honesty, it just isn’t as interesting as high snow-capped mountains, rippling rocky canyons, or lengthy vistas of natural beauty. No, it’s mostly rolling hills of small trees and bushes dotted with billboards, fast food restaurants, plain houses, and warehouse-style shopping depots.

So, to pass the time we’re playing games, listening to audio books and music, and trying to find amusement in the billboards. For example, at an Oklahoma toll station, the sign warned of a $103 fine. Who comes up with numbers like these? Was this debated in the state legislature? “I propose a fine of $100!” “One hundred dollars, that’s not nearly enough. I demand $103!” “Here here!”

Another good sign announced free 72-ounce steaks. What’s that? A free 72-ounce steak? Absolutely! You just have to eat the whole thing within some time limit and if you don’t finish it, you have to pay for it. By the way, how big is a 72-ounce steak? That’s four and half pounds, baby!

My nephew Truman is again with us today and he’s spent much of the drive planning our evening accommodations. By plotting out our course and our hourly progress, he has figured out where we will be likely to be when we’re ready to stop driving. Then we crosschecks that with a AAA book listing hotels and motels. By reading up on the options and looking at alternative locations he picks out a clean, inexpensive place to bed down for the night and have a free continental breakfast when we awake. He definitely has a future as a travel agent, or a NASA engineer.

I’m particularly enjoying the drive back as we reenter the land of humidity and low altitude, meaning I can breathe again. I had thought the dry air of the West would help me to breathe easy, but that proved to be wrong. How good it is to be able to breathe. Ahhh…

Tonight, as we drove through Missouri, we noticed that the gas gauge was getting a little low. Our goal was to get to Rolla, MO, and when we were about 120 miles away, we had less than 1/4 of a tank. Near midnight, when we got about 80 miles away, the light came on. When we approached the 60-mile barrier, Cyn encouraged me to get gas. Twenty miles later, we pulled into a gas station that was closed. When we were just 25 miles away, I assured Cyn that I was pretty sure we could make it to Rolla. We turned the A/C off. We hoped and prayed. Then a glowing neon sign beckoned us to pull over and gas up. Reluctantly, I did so, and Cynthia sighed a huge sigh of relief. Our tank holds 15 or so gallons and the pump pushed in 14.2 gallons. We had about 20 miles left to Rolla. It would have been close, but now we’ll never know.