When Dark Clouds Rise
In past jobs I have had the opportunity for small adventures here and there. Such was the trip to San Diego during the Americans Cup in ’92. Our company had presented during a marketing event and my job was to pull it off unscathed. After ten days of non-stop running I was glad it came to an end. My co-worker, Brian and I packed the three-quarters of a million dollars worth of computer equipment into a van, filling every inch of storage with boxes. When we crawled in the van to head back to Dallas I can rest my head on the wall of boxes behind us.
Five hours on the road brings us close to Tucson Arizona during mid-day. We had cross into Arizona without the air-conditioner; turning it on would increase the chances of overheating the van, and it remains off during our trek across the desert like area of the state. With the windows rolled down to alleviate the heat, Brian and I are in shorts and t-shirts, him driving, me, with my shoes off, peeling and eating an orange. We are talking about life, family, and work, as do most people while on the road. Finishing the orange, I reach into the cooler for an ice cube and proceed to use it to wash the stickiness from my hands. Sticking my arms out the window, the 70 mph blast of hot air dries them in an instant. I make a comment to Brian and we joke about having such air-dryers in the restrooms would defiantly dry your hands.
We are traveling in the left lane, about a hundred yards or more behind a semi-truck. The truck passes too close to a thick bush on the side of the road; its branches violently sway from the sudden concussion caused by the 60000 lb vehicle. The bush instantly changed colors from green to black, as if a cloud formed around it. Brian sees it first, expels an expletive, and leans toward the middle of the cab yelling “BEES”. I lean as far from the open window as I can as the van covers the remaining yards. We enter the cloud.
If an arms manufactures had a sense of humor they could not have done better. It is as if we are being shot at with a ‘bee machine gun,’ sending those little varmints towards us at 70 mph. Bees and windshields really do not get along and there are hundreds of simultaneous thumps and thwacks as they hit the van, the glass, and the boxes behind us. A moment later and we are through.
The windshield is plastered with what was once the contents of hundreds of bees. Thick gooey splotches smear as Brian hit the windshield wipers. I check to see if anything is moving in the van and note the boxes behind us are covered in minute remnants of insects. Apparently bees do not fare well with boxes moving at 70 mph either. Although I consider it lucky that none survived the collision but us, I start to realize there are bee parts everywhere; everywhere - the boxes, console, and map, our necks, hair, cloths, and legs, even in my shoe there are smatterings of bee parts. The bouncing off boxes has spread the swarm and the heat dried them where they landed.
We travel a bit further and pull over to dust off. Clean the window as best we can and head back on the road, a bit further from the vehicles in front of us.
Such are the adventures.
Five hours on the road brings us close to Tucson Arizona during mid-day. We had cross into Arizona without the air-conditioner; turning it on would increase the chances of overheating the van, and it remains off during our trek across the desert like area of the state. With the windows rolled down to alleviate the heat, Brian and I are in shorts and t-shirts, him driving, me, with my shoes off, peeling and eating an orange. We are talking about life, family, and work, as do most people while on the road. Finishing the orange, I reach into the cooler for an ice cube and proceed to use it to wash the stickiness from my hands. Sticking my arms out the window, the 70 mph blast of hot air dries them in an instant. I make a comment to Brian and we joke about having such air-dryers in the restrooms would defiantly dry your hands.
We are traveling in the left lane, about a hundred yards or more behind a semi-truck. The truck passes too close to a thick bush on the side of the road; its branches violently sway from the sudden concussion caused by the 60000 lb vehicle. The bush instantly changed colors from green to black, as if a cloud formed around it. Brian sees it first, expels an expletive, and leans toward the middle of the cab yelling “BEES”. I lean as far from the open window as I can as the van covers the remaining yards. We enter the cloud.
If an arms manufactures had a sense of humor they could not have done better. It is as if we are being shot at with a ‘bee machine gun,’ sending those little varmints towards us at 70 mph. Bees and windshields really do not get along and there are hundreds of simultaneous thumps and thwacks as they hit the van, the glass, and the boxes behind us. A moment later and we are through.
The windshield is plastered with what was once the contents of hundreds of bees. Thick gooey splotches smear as Brian hit the windshield wipers. I check to see if anything is moving in the van and note the boxes behind us are covered in minute remnants of insects. Apparently bees do not fare well with boxes moving at 70 mph either. Although I consider it lucky that none survived the collision but us, I start to realize there are bee parts everywhere; everywhere - the boxes, console, and map, our necks, hair, cloths, and legs, even in my shoe there are smatterings of bee parts. The bouncing off boxes has spread the swarm and the heat dried them where they landed.
We travel a bit further and pull over to dust off. Clean the window as best we can and head back on the road, a bit further from the vehicles in front of us.
Such are the adventures.
posted by G. Steven Nolte at 10:04 AM
1 Comments:
??? Why does this happen to you?
You know, it seems as if some people are destine to endure the strange things of the world. Do you not wonder why you are one of the chosen ones?
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