July 12, 2005
Word of the Day
stanchezza: 1: fatigue 2: What JenFu felt after driving an entire day with the fear that he will stall on the highway and be the cause of a 13 car pile-up on the Autostrada.
Last minute planning can come back and bite you in the ass.
We covered about a billion kilometers today which, in my estimation, was a zillion miles. It wouldn’t have been so tough if I knew how to drive a manual transmission car. The last time I tried to tame such a beast was eight years ago. Kearny, New Jersey was not the perfect arena for such an epic battle but at 1 AM, there weren’t too many innocent bystanders to get hurt.
Before that, I would have to count back 11 years. Horton Campground in the Eastern Sierras of California is a peaceful place, except for that fine day that my buddy, King, decided to teach Chris Sharma and myself how to drive his manual transmission Toyota truck. Well, Chris was 13 years old at the time. I was just inept. I got forward down pretty well and Chris could drive backwards. Together, we made a pretty good team.
Today, Corinne and I made a pretty good team as well. As I struggled to keep the car running, Corinne did her best to decipher Italian maps. They do things a little differently over here and the maps reflect that.
Speaking of maps, one kinda needs a detailed road atlas to navigate the complex webs that they call Italian highways and roads. We, consistent with the “on-the-fly” planning, didn’t have one.
On the Autostrada, there are convenient, full-service rest stops called Auto-Grills. They are wonderful. One can enjoy fine panini, espresso, and baked goods while picking up toothpaste and the CD of the latest Italian hit. Where we stopped, though, there were no atlases for sale.
Never thought a truck driver would come to the rescue. He noticed Corinne’s difficulty finding one and offered his. This gentleman was kind and friendly. His British accent was even more disarming. Perhaps this is also the description of many serial killers but this wasn’t the case today. He wouldn’t take payment for the atlas nor would he give us his name for us to send him a gift. I finally convinced him to take at least something and he accepted five Euro, to be used for his coffee at his next Auto-Grill stop. After a few more pleasant words, he was off in his 18-wheeler, and in the process, helped me one step closer to having faith in the goodness of human nature.
I, however, probably helped Corinne a few steps back as she observed me struggle and fume over my frustrating manual transmission “experiment”. We did make it to Arco, and then to Cortina d’ Ampezzo. We found a campsite but still don’t know whether it will be home for the next week or so. It may have been spoken for already. Either way, I did manage a nice snack (thanks again to the Auto-Grill).
Anyway, we will take a shot at the South-West Face of Piccolo Lagazuoi. That is, if I can make peace with the gear shift stick.
stanchezza: 1: fatigue 2: What JenFu felt after driving an entire day with the fear that he will stall on the highway and be the cause of a 13 car pile-up on the Autostrada.
Last minute planning can come back and bite you in the ass.
We covered about a billion kilometers today which, in my estimation, was a zillion miles. It wouldn’t have been so tough if I knew how to drive a manual transmission car. The last time I tried to tame such a beast was eight years ago. Kearny, New Jersey was not the perfect arena for such an epic battle but at 1 AM, there weren’t too many innocent bystanders to get hurt.
Before that, I would have to count back 11 years. Horton Campground in the Eastern Sierras of California is a peaceful place, except for that fine day that my buddy, King, decided to teach Chris Sharma and myself how to drive his manual transmission Toyota truck. Well, Chris was 13 years old at the time. I was just inept. I got forward down pretty well and Chris could drive backwards. Together, we made a pretty good team.
Today, Corinne and I made a pretty good team as well. As I struggled to keep the car running, Corinne did her best to decipher Italian maps. They do things a little differently over here and the maps reflect that.
Speaking of maps, one kinda needs a detailed road atlas to navigate the complex webs that they call Italian highways and roads. We, consistent with the “on-the-fly” planning, didn’t have one.
On the Autostrada, there are convenient, full-service rest stops called Auto-Grills. They are wonderful. One can enjoy fine panini, espresso, and baked goods while picking up toothpaste and the CD of the latest Italian hit. Where we stopped, though, there were no atlases for sale.
Never thought a truck driver would come to the rescue. He noticed Corinne’s difficulty finding one and offered his. This gentleman was kind and friendly. His British accent was even more disarming. Perhaps this is also the description of many serial killers but this wasn’t the case today. He wouldn’t take payment for the atlas nor would he give us his name for us to send him a gift. I finally convinced him to take at least something and he accepted five Euro, to be used for his coffee at his next Auto-Grill stop. After a few more pleasant words, he was off in his 18-wheeler, and in the process, helped me one step closer to having faith in the goodness of human nature.
I, however, probably helped Corinne a few steps back as she observed me struggle and fume over my frustrating manual transmission “experiment”. We did make it to Arco, and then to Cortina d’ Ampezzo. We found a campsite but still don’t know whether it will be home for the next week or so. It may have been spoken for already. Either way, I did manage a nice snack (thanks again to the Auto-Grill).Anyway, we will take a shot at the South-West Face of Piccolo Lagazuoi. That is, if I can make peace with the gear shift stick.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home