To The Valley of the KIngs

The realities of the modern day KIngs of the Roads an the Valley of the KIngs they are riding against.

Day 14:  This day is not like any of the previous thirteen days of travel.  For this day, is the last day of my journey from Portland Oregon and back home to Hamilton, Tennessee?  This day will see the last revolution of the Crimson Red Metallic painted Chevrolet Malibu tires, the last of the turns, the last roads, the last hills and mountains and rivers and bridges to cross over.  The Last Miles will be traveled today, and although it will be nice to get home and back to normal, the absence of all the road sounds, the hotel and motel rooms, and the excitement of the journey will be over by the end of this day.  Shakespeare said: “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”  Well, in this case, Mikespeare shall be quoted as saying: “Joining is such sad joy.”  By this it can be said that getting back together with family should be joyous but wasn’t entirely because of the sadness of being in one place day after day after getting used to being out on the road.  I cannot say if I will ever do this trip again.  But, I can say that I will require another person be my travel companion instead of the navigator, Robin.

This last day on the road should have been easy, for as they say it was all downhill from where I started.  It should have been a breeze.  But alas, I must say that it was anything but easy.  I had left my motel in Saint Louis, Missouri suburb of Jefferson at 6:30 am, CST for an eight hour trip home:  To the Valley of the Kings, in the Chattanooga, Tennessee area.  Well, one King anyway, that being me, the “King” of the Road.  You see, I learned that being out on the road every day for a long period of time, you start to believe that you are a king.  You tell people what you want, or what you expect and most time I would get it. 

A classic case of this being a ‘king’ is when you learn that you can influence those you come in contact with.  It’s like the clerk behind the counter when I would check in at hotels or motels.  I would say: “how much for a room with a standard or queen size bed, non-smoking.  And, the clerk would tell you and then you hit him with a curve ball.  So, I learned what to say to the clerks.  I would tell them that I thought they were advertising a much lower rate, and I had already passed up a rate at another hotel or motel for some lower amount.  For instance, at the Andrew Jackson in Missouri, the clerk told me their rate was $99 per night.  So, I said: “Really, I thought I saw on the internet when I planned my route yesterday that you were saying your rate was $69 per night because it was a Tuesday night, or a Wednesday night, et cetera.”  Then the clerk would say: “No, I don’t know of any discount like that.”  Then I’d come back and say: “I’ve already passed up an $80 rate at the Holiday a few miles up the road because of what I saw on the internet last night.”  Then, I would follow up that and say: “well, if you aren’t going to honor what your website was showing last night, then I am going to go back to the Holiday for the $80 rate.” Then, I would turn around and head for the door.  Then, the clerk would say something like: “well, I can give you the AAA or AARP rate of $89 and …..”  And, I would cut him off and say:  “I just have to drive back up the road a few miles and get $80.” Then start out the door. 

Usually, I’d get a much lower rate than the clerk had originally offered to me, generally as much as a third off, or at least 25%.  Why, because the clerk knows that every room that stays empty, is a room that produced no contribution to making a profit for the motel/hotel?   The clerk knows that his job is to fill the rooms up to 100% each night, especially during the summer travel season.  Now that is true up to a point.  One other point is that when you are looking for a room for the night, you never go looking before 11:00 pm local time, and midnight or later is even better.  The only way this does not work is if the hotel is within ten percent of being full for the night.  Then the clerk isn’t likely to go down at all beyond the AAA or AARP rates.  But, you, as a traveler can usually tell if the motel is close to being full for the night simply by looking at the parking lot to see if there are many spaces left or if there are a lot of spaces.  If there are a lot of empty parking places left, then go inside and see how deep a discount you can get. 

Being able to get what you want in motels and hotels at check in is a large part of that kingly or queenly feeling you get.  If you wanted to be unethical, you can look in the local paper the day you arrive and look for wedding receptions and open houses at certain types of businesses.  At least you won’t starve.  I have never done this sort of thing, but if your back is to the wall, then all bets are off.

Over the two weeks I was on the road, I probably saved upwards of $300 on overnight stays at motels and hotels.  That is enough to pay for meals.  It is all part of the travel game that hotels and motels play with the traveling public.  If you don’t ask for the discounts they won’t give them to you.  So, by all means ask.

Which brings me to the events of my last day on the road.  After leaving the Gateway City of St. Louis, I piloted my Crimson Red Metallic painted Chevrolet Malibu and headed toward the interstates.  No problem with Robin (or the navigation system) on this leg of the journey.  And, I had not had any problems with it since I had departed St. Louis on the way to the west coast.  That is one less thing to worry about. 

But, getting to be a ‘King of the Road’ is an entirely different matter.  For a King of the Road bears no responsibility for anything that happens out on the road.  He is above the laws, and in fact he created the laws for the general population of driving plebes to follow.  He doesn’t follow the laws of the road because he created them, he doesn’t follow the laws of the road because he is ahead of the laws.  What that means is that he is one with the laws and he obeys them through an innate understanding and by nature avoids any conflicts with others on the road or with their vehicles.  A King of the Road is never in conflict with the laws of the road.  In achieving such a station in life, a driver is a professional representative of all drivers.  When he is present on the road, every other driver on the road with him will accede to him the inside lane for as long as he wants it.  They will slow down so that his passage beyond them is assured.  They recognize his eminence out on any highway in the nation.  And, they give him an exalted position because they realize that he is deserving of his position.  Yes, the King of the Road will never be challenged.  Not even by the drivers of the big rigs or Eighteen Wheelers, and that is saying something!  That is the life of the King of the Road.  Oh, and should he experience a flat tire, people passing by will stop and offer to assist him so that he can get back on the road.  And, if he doesn’t have a spare tire, they will go and get him one.  In fact, they will go and get anything that he needs in order to get him back on the road. 

So, this King of the Road began the last leg of his journey home without a care in the world.  And, he felt assured that he would arrive on time.  Wish that this would have been true, but alas it was not to be.  Of all the things that could have happen to any driver on the road:  running out of gas, having a flat tire, having the highway patrol pull you over for speeding.  All of these could have been easily taken care of, but what happened to me on this trip home could not have been anticipated and neither could it have been easily remediated.  In fact, what happened to him and his Crimson Red Metallic painted Chevrolet Malibu was as unlikely as winning the lottery, or as unlikely as getting hit by a meteorite, or getting struck by lightning.  It was as much the opposite of a miracle as any incident could have been.  It was totally out of the blue.  Papa Mike had driven out of St. Louis, and had easily located Interstate 24 heading toward Paducah, Kentucky and Nashville, Tennessee, and ultimately home to the Valley of the Kings.  Somewhere between Paducah and Nashville is where it happened.  It was where all hope of maintaining his King of the Road status came to an abrupt end. 

Now if you are thinking that he was hit head on by a driver coming from the East bound side of the Interstate, you would be wrong.  If you thought that an eighteen wheeler had jackknifed right in front of him and caused him and his Malibu to be crushed underneath the mammoth vehicle, you would be wrong also.  What happened next was a series of events that resulted in a final event.  That final event couldn’t have happened if it weren’t for the series of events that happened before it. 

It began with a contrail streaking across the mid-morning sky.  It was not a bird or a plane and neither was it superman.  It wasn’t even a meteor.  Instead it was a piece of a comet that had broken off from the main body of the comet as it neared the sun nearly a month before it found the earth’s atmosphere.  As it streaked across the sky it continually got closer to the surface of the Earth.  It had entered the Earth’s atmosphere over County Limerick in Ireland and more than four thousand miles later was descending close to the surface just east of Paducah, Kentucky. 

Five miles above the surface, the comet remnant passed within five hundred feet of a Boeing 787 Dreamliner whose passengers were on the first cross-country flight of that aircraft heading toward Seattle, Washington.  It approached the Dreamliner from its starboard forward quarter and because of the brilliance of the meteor, it temporarily blinded the flight crew as it passed across the nose of the Boeing Dreamliner.  The 787 was on autopilot, but the plane was severely affected by the wake of the comet.  The flow of air over the wings ceased abruptly and the 787 lost lift.  The nose of the 787 pitched up violently, and the aircraft stalled within seconds of the meteors passage across its flight path.  For the next three minutes and twenty seconds, the blinded crew fought with the controls and the thrust levers in an attempt to regain control of the aircraft.  The 787 continued its downward path, and only began pulling out of the dive at about 3000 feet.  The aircraft finally gained level flight at only 110 feet above the ground.  The first potential tragedy was avoided, and over 500 lives, on board the Dreamliner, were saved.

Three miles down the freeway from my Malibu’s current location, the driver of a Taggert Trucking Company eighteen wheeler, passing over a bridge twenty seven feet above Interstate 24 with only seconds to spare, saw the 787 heading right for his truck.  Thinking that the cosmic interloper was about to crash into him and his 18-wheeler, began to steer his vehicle erratically as it entered the bridge.  By the time it got over the East Bound lane of Interstate 24, it was totally out of control; and breached the concrete side rail to the bridge.  The force of the contact with the bridge, sent the big truck over the edge.  The cab of the truck with the driver on board, went completely over the side of the bridge; but before it could begin to fall off the bridge, 2 inch diameter cable built into the side railing of the bridge caught the back wheels of the truck’s cab.  For about two minutes the cable held the truck in place as the cab dangled over the East Bound lanes of the freeway below.  But, as the cab of the truck dangled over the lanes below, the sheer weight of the vehicle and its momentum when it broke through the rail caused the cable to snap.  The cable end caught between the axle and the frame of the cab, but the trailer continued to move to the North.  As it passed the point where the cab was overhanging the bridge, it broke loose from the hitch and slid over the edge of the bridge and fell down off the bridge onto the lanes below.  The trailer landed on another trailer being pulled by a K-whopper.  The sudden fall of the ten ton trailer onto the trailer of the K-Whopper caused it to separate from its trailer.  The K-Whopper continued down the I-24 for about fifty feet when it was flipped over on its side as the cab broke away from the trailer.  It struck several cars and rolled over on top of the concrete wall running between the East and West Bound lanes.  It was another K-Whopper that arrested its slide down the interstate.  Both K-Whoppers were completely destroyed in that collision.  Fortunately, both drivers survived the incident.  In the meantime, the driver of the Taggart Truck survived both the fall and the impact with the trailer below.  His cab had, more or less, soft landed on the back of the first K-Whopper to get hit.

The rather abrupt conclusion to the paths of the three 18-wheelers set off a chain reaction starting at the approach to the overpass, and continued to pile up to the west of the bridge.  More than three hundred vehicles began slamming into each other in sequence back toward where I was driving my Malibu.  Now this Malibu was brand spanking new.  It was not the Malibu that I left home with two weeks ago.  I had been given the new Malibu after the original Malibu was crushed when the Hotel’s number two building collapsed pursuant to the major earthquake that had occurred while I was staying overnight in that building.  I had escaped the collapse of the building and after several days of jawing with the Hotel’s ownership, I had convinced them that they were responsible for the loss of my Malibu. 

With absolutely no notice whatsoever, the five or six cars that I could see in front of me on I-24 started swerving.  One of the cars in front of me ran off the road and into the guardrail.  Its crash was quite violent.  Then another car in front of me crashed into the back of the car in front of it as it slammed into the back of the car in front of it.  The car right in front of me slammed directly into the back of a dump truck that was right in front of it.  That car’s rear end went straight up into the air as its front end went into the back of the dump truck.  Before I could respond, the rear end of that car came down violently and slammed into the pavement right in front of me.  I, of course slammed on my brakes.  Having brand new brakes, I was able to stop my car with just a mere two and one-half inches to spare.  For some reason, I do not understand, the car behind me, and the car on either side of that car, were able to brake in time to avoid colliding with the car in front of them.  It was at this point, just inches in front of me, and the two cars adjacent to me, that the chain reaction terminated.  And, while the chain began again just one row of cars behind us, our cars were completely untouched and undamaged.  More than 350 cars in front of me and more than 200 cars behind me were mangled in the chain reaction.  We were the only three people in the only three cars that were undamaged.  It was a sheer miracle.  No one could even explain how our three cars had survived untouched. 

In the aftermath of the chain of events that led to the 3 K-Whoppers that were completely destroyed in the initial event of the chain reaction, it came out that 3 K-Whoppers that started the Chain Reaction were totally and completely destroyed.  The other unaccountable part of the story was that the only three cars that avoided any damage were basically in the middle of the chain reaction.  The other unaccountable thing that was to come out of this event was the fact that the only three cars that were undamaged out of about 550 cars were all three Metallic Red Crimson 2015 Chevrolet Malibu.  All three of their drivers were men, and they were all named Paul Williams. 

 

It, of course, took many hours for the road to be cleared.  But when they had removed all the wrecked cars behind me, and cleared the road of debris, I was able to turn around and drive my car to the west until I was able to exit the freeway going up the On-ramp.  After gaining my freedom from the I-24, I used my navigator to find a route back to the interstate a few miles down the road.  From there, I was able to make it home a day later than I had planned.  Since this incident had occurred mid-morning, and it took about ten hours to get freed from the log-jam, I had to stop at another motel and spend the night.  I was too tired and too emotionally revved-up to continue on and try to drive through the night.  I left for home the next morning and arrived safely home about noon. 

It would be a long time before I could stop thinking about the comet, the 787, the 3 K-Whoppers, the 3 Malibus, and the 3 Michael Mitchells driving them.  It was one of the more bizarre things that ever happened.  And, oh, by the way, I gave up the monicre of ‘King of the Road.’  Just too many crazy events had happened to this Michael Mitchell to ever again consider himself to be a King of the Road. 

As for the Valley of the Kings.  With all the mountains surrounding a large part of the Chattanooga, Tennessee area, it was called the Tennessee Valley, and part of it was called Chattanooga Valley.  It seemed appropriate to then call the area the Valley of the Kings.  I thought to believe myself to be a ‘King of the Road’ for a time, and I knew there were many, many others who surely considered themselves to be a “King of the Road.”  But, in “The Accident” it became all too real to me that I was not a charmed driver.  So, I was not a King of the Road. 

It turned out that I was all to average of a driver.  Then it occurred to me that the area of the world referred to as the “Valley of the Kings” was in Egypt and it was a place in which were interred a substantial portion of all the dead Kings, or Pharoahs, of Egypt’s past.   It didn’t seem quite right, now that I think about it, to be returning to my home town.  Being yet alive, I couldn’t say that this was the “Valley of the Kings.”  That comparison just didn’t work out.  In my world, I’d prefer to be alive and watch my grandchildren grow up, as to be returning to a place called the Valley of the Kings.  I wasn’t deceased and had every reason to not want to be.   And, then I found out that what made me a “King” at all, was not at all what I initially thought it was.  Instead, I realized that it was my grandchildren that qualified me to be called a “King.”  And, I found that I could be quite content with that.

 

The End