The Tale of Haj Impossible/Abu, Dude, Where's My Car?

They said it was impossible.  Hell, I said it was impossible for a dozen different reasons, but through shear determination and marathon surfing, I devised a way to transport three adult sized individuals to NYC for Little Steven's Underground Garage Festival to see The Dictators and enjoy the accoutrements of same.  Bill and I would drive, and Yolanda, at the last minute, was able to catch up with us via Independence Air.  I quickly dubbed the affair Haj Impossible.  Little did I know at the time that the name would require amendment.

Picked up the rental Thursday afternoon without a hitch---the Budget folks, at least in the satellite office on Lavista are great!  And as promised I rolled into Bill's driveway at 6:00 am Friday.  He was packed and ready to go.

Our trip was lot's o fun with music and talking baseball and female anatomy and all kinds of wild and crazy stuff.  Eleven hours to DC/Dulles. We took the scenic route, going up I-81 along the Shenandoah Valley. Traffic was light.  The room was great.  My second dealing with Candlewood Suites was every bit as stellar as the first.

Its 7:00 pm or so and we start talking food.  Bill starts talking Ollie's.  I had forgotten that Ollie's was still in good form at two locations in the District, so we made the appropriate phone calls and got an address and closing time of 8:00. Now for those of you not in the know, Ollie's Trolleys were a big deal BITD.  There may be 10 left scattered around the country, but its still the best damn hamburger in the world.  Ollie beats White Castle like a baby seal.

A quick look at the map, combined with my previous experience living and driving in DC for several years made the trip a piece of cake. But while we were getting close, road closings and other security measures made the trek a bit more onerous.  About 7:30  Bill becomes concerned that they will lock the doors before we get to 12th and F, so I drop him off to walk while I tend to the car.

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There my friends, was the beginning of the end.  The next 60 minutes shall forever be one of the most Homer Simpsonesque hours of my life. I go to the next block, hang a right (I think) and then an immediate left (I think) under the sign that says "Park Here."  It made sense at the time---sense that was compromised by eleven hours of road weariness (its the best excuse I can come up with).  The attendant advises me to turn around in that the garage was closing at 8:30.  It was 7:40 at the time, and I advised Abu not to worry, I'd only be 15-20 minutes tops.  He reluctantly agreed.  Handed me a ticket and took my keys.

It gets much better.  Upon departing the garage, with only two blocks to walk, and within a mile of where I was awarded two Bachelor of Arts degrees (I'm feeling pretty edumacated about now), I become a disoriented pedestrian without first noting the exact location of the garage.  After about ten blocks of hoofing I finally realize the error of my ways  (Prince was sold out at the MCI Center) and I made my way back to the proper intersection. There stood Bill, having fulfilled his mission seamlessly.  It was now 8:15.  I apologized to Bill for the delay and advised him of the ticking clock with regard to the car.  We head off back to Dulles.  Little did we know it would take three hours.

Of course I couldn't find the place, and the fact that the above mentioned parking ticket had no name, address, phone number, etc... didn't exactly brighten my evening.

The following events and/or facts are true or believed to be true to the best of my knowledge:

1)  There was no real big problem.  I could just come back and find the car early Saturday morning.

2)  The trip back to Dulles cost $40 after a 30 minute subway ride.

3)  Yo's cab fare to the hotel was less.

4)  Yo's clothes, makeup, toiletries, etc... were all secured in the trunk of the rental car now secured in the locked DC parking garage.  She had no clothes to end a day that started at 5:00 am and involved driving through a hurricane twice and changing a tire on the side of an interstate highway after getting our niece settled in for college two hundred miles from our home, and then catching a 10:00 pm flight back in Atlanta to meet us in Washington.

5)  I am still married.

6)  I consulted with the hotel staff and found a cheaper way back into the District.  The cab picked me up at 5:00 Saturday morning.

7)  I only waited 90 minutes for a bus to the subway.

8)  I walked 14,726 miles in the next two hours.

9)  About 10:00 I make contact with Yolanda who instructs me to abort the mission and return to Dulles where she has secured another rental.

So I take the Orange Line from Metro Center to Roslyn and transfer there to the A5 express bus to Dulles, and then take the little green shuttle over to the National rental lot.  There stand Yo and Bill ready to hit the road.

And hit the road we did---heading up 95 to Baltimore and beyond along with about 27.6 million of our closet friends.  Traffic was trying to say the least.  We aborted hotel check in plans, eschewing the Ramada for a PATH Station in Jersey City.  Departing the 33rd St train at the 14th St station we made our way to Union Square and boarded an uptown 6 train to 125th St.  There we took the shuttle to Randall's Island, just in time to miss The Dictators.  I am the second coming of Dickie (see Hillbilly Dictators Jihad Spring Haj 2003 Final Report)!  Here Yolanda should get a good measure of credit.  While in my manic state engaged in a fool's errand, my bride had the wherewithal to find solutions.

The part of the show we did see was tons of fun.  Yolanda got her t shirt and we headed out a little early to beat the crowd to Manitoba's.  That effort was successful---about a dozen folks bumping around when we arrived---an hour later and they were turning folks away cause the 25 x 20 room was full---as in elbow to elbow real full.  Again, lot's o fun and story swapping, but precious little face time with Sal and Rob.  Next time guys I promise...  Actually I have a different scheme, but that's for a different day.

Guaranteed late check-in is a good thing, given we rolled into the Ramada about 2:30 Sunday morning.  A few hours of sleep; then a half hour finding another room in DC on the cheap and finally we're on the road around 9:30-:45.

Traffic was much lighter than Saturday and we were making good time until we happened to make the acquaintance of a young woman from Florida.  We got to know one another in Delaware in the toll plaza where, while hunting down the cphone for Yo, I bumped into her fine green Ford SUV.  This could have gotten ugly.  Though it was a ding, she could have quite rightly insisted that we pull to the side and gone through the formalities of a police report and all, but also noting the impossible situation of being surrounded by hundreds of cars waiting to stream across the Delaware River, we agreed to be reasonable folks.  We exchanged phone numbers and I gave her Scout's honor that I would see that she was made whole.  She (I will identify her only as K) has called and regrets to inform the vehicle will require a new bumper.  The good news is that it comes to less than $300.  Sold, and thanks again to this kind woman, cause Yo would have missed her flight at Dulles....

We finally got to Dulles with little time to spare, but Bill and I made sure Yo had her boarding pass and waived good by as she headed towards the gate.  Meanwhile my buddy and I discuss the merits of DH's being in the Hall and such for a half an hour until the same 5A bus returned to take us to our evening's quarters.

The anxiety level by this time had returned to a near normal level, but as we neared the end of the day's travel while standing on a subway platform in Roslyn, VA the great hairy thunderer mixed in an object lesson just to make sure I was paying attention.  About a minute before the train arrived I noticed a young lady on the platform.  She was in her late twenties from my guess and dressed impeccably.  Her hair and nails had recently received very professional attention and from the several bags in her procession, my guess was that she was returning from a day of shopping.  I noticed her not only because of the juxtaposition of my disheveled self as compared to her stunning "look", but I also couldn't help but notice that she was in a fully motorized wheelchair.  From a quick glance, I concluded she had only limited movement in her upper extremities and some above the neck and that she was having a good day.  I was having a good day too.

This part of the trip, while unplanned and unbudgeted, was a good thing.  Courtyard by Marriot in Crystal City (near METRO w/ a shuttle to and from hotel).  Gorgeous, spacious room.  Pizza ordered in and early to bed for the first good night's sleep in about 5 days.

Yep, the rest and hospitality were just what the doctor ordered and we came up with a methodical plan of attack that would find the rental car in no time.  So with charts and graphs in hand, Bill and I check out around 10:00, leave our bags and take their shuttle to METRO.  10 minutes later the search begins.  We worked with the precision of fine Swiss watchmakers on cocaine.  Two hours later and with all but a few blocks to go, we had yet to locate the garage.

It was time for divine intervention and so we went to church at Temple Ollie's.  I told Bill the Ollie gods would bless us and within 15 minutes of finishing the world's greatest burger and fries, we had located the vehicle.

The manager was fairly nice, fully believing I had no intention of leaving the car garaged over the weekend, so we settled on $30.  Bill and I sped away back to the hotel for our bags and then on the road---hardcore---95/85 all the way, baby.

Traffic was very cooperative as was timing.  We never hit a major area during a rush hour.  The ten hour trip ended after dropping off Mr. Bill and pulling into the drive way of Stately Roberts/Suttle Manor at 11:30 pm.

And that's it boys and girls, except to say that I really am sorry for the inconvenience and expense caused by my abject stupidity and that if I had to be an idiot, I couldn't have had better company---good times or bad.  Thanks guys.  Not to mention everyone agreed that overall it was a fun trip, but not one we wish to repeat in the near future.  And as an added bonus, I don't have "Perished at Great White Gig" on my headstone. 

Also, due to the severity of the ordeal, we are taking double Dictators' Frequent Haj Miles for this trek.  That would put me at around 12,000 miles since March 2002.  Now how many more games of skee ball do I have to play to get the goldfish?

Finally, I have been justly admonished by the world's greatest wife, Yolanda, that her proactive input into this ordeal has not been given its proper due.  To the righteous charge I respond: (with few apologies to Harry Chapin---hey I'm sorry dude died, but just one spin of Cat's In The Cradle would have been quite enough, thank you):

Another woman might have pouted, and

Another woman might've been a jerk, but

Another woman wouldn't have married this fool.

I love you---for what its worth.

Suttle World