For Guys of Girth, Rest Areas are Everywhere
Things began to get stressful about 10 hours into our 15 and a half hour drive from Denver to Kansas City. I was driving but suddenly grew silent; Natalie knew things were looking bleak. I stared straight ahead as I focused on the road and scoured for the next available exit. With years of experience in the “boiling belly” ways of life, I knew it was only a matter of minutes before things got desperate.
Just two hours earlier I fought back a few dinosaurs that were roaring in my innermost parts. Through sheer “gut” and determination (see what I did there?) I had weathered the storm and pulled our van over at a less than desirable rest stop.
That’s when it hit. Hard. I started to sweat and tried clenching every part of my body as the discomfort came in like me jumping into a pool: waves.
“Tell your parents to keep going!” I moaned to Natalie. There was no way I was letting her parents witness what I was about to do. My in-laws had graciously joined us on this long trip to watch me compete in Estes Park.
“What?” Natalie asked. I wasn’t sure if she couldn’t understand what I said or if she was befuddled by my request; I’m guessing both. Her parents were following closely behind us in their vehicle, and I knew that, being good Grandparents, they’d pull off to the side as well.
Like a hawk I searched for a rest stop. None. Gas stations? Nope. Trees? Sparse. Billboards? Yes, and lots of them. We were in the middle of Kansas surrounded by soy bean fields and the ever-present feeling of being in the middle of nowhere; oh, and no bathrooms.
There! A big sign on the side of the road! I swerved to the side of the road and smashed the hazards on. I, again, warned Natalie, “Tell your parents to keep going!”
I grabbed a package of baby wipes and opened my door just in time to see my in-laws pulling over with their hazards on — awesome. It was then that I figured my dear father and mother-in-law were about to see a side of me they’d likely never wipe from their memory (let’s not talk about what I did there).
I raised my hand and the package of wipes into the air and began motioning them to get back on the road. I was yelling something along the lines of, “Get out of here! Go! Don’t stop!” but I’m not quite sure. You see, when you’re in the midst of sheer horror and pain, words don’t come easily. I do know, however, that I looked like a large man directing jets to land on an aircraft carrier … who dances poorly.
They booked it out of there and I took off running (walking briskly) down the hill. I rushed to the base of the billboard and was knee (soon to be cheek) deep in soybeans. And there, in the middle of Kansas, on the interstate, with cars buzzing by, I took care of my business next to an animal’s den. Groundhog? Coyote? Badger? Wolverine? I didn’t know and honestly, I didn’t care. We never met face to face, but I know he can’t be happy with the present I left on his doorstep.
At the next planned stop, my older boys (who were riding with Grandma and Grandpa for a bit) asked me, “Dad, why did you pull over? What were you doing outside the van?”
Before I could muster a response, my father-in-law put his hand on my son’s shoulder and said, “Checking tires.”
Well played, Grandpa. Well played.
