Dunkinsville, OH
Miles Today: 123.6
Total Miles: 6115.2
Days on the Road: 122
Number Four

 
Power to the Peebles, Part 1
N 38°51.354 W 83°28.282
Sunday, June 1, 2003 - Day 122

Most people probably come into Ohio through Cleveland, or Cincinnati, maybe Columbus or Dayton. Few tourists, we're sure, enter the way we did; through Adams County, the most sparsely populated county in the state.

We had no particular plans to spend any time in Adams County, of course. State Route 41 had those little "scenic route" dots in our atlas, so we figured it'd be a nice way to head towards Cleveland. Up to now, the dotted route strategy has paid off. Those atlas folks sure know their scenic.

This time, however, we got to see a slightly different side of State Route 41, not mentioned on any map. Here's the story:

It all started with an ill-fated trip to McDonald's. We never go to McDonald's, out of some high-minded morality crap, but this morning Anthony had a hankerin' for an Egg McMuffin that wouldn't quit. Principles be damned, we headed to the nearest Micky Dee's (about 200 yards).

Things started looking bad when we sat down at a table and realized that Anthony's Egg McMuffin was not on a muffin, but a biscuit. We should have taken it as a bad omen and just left right then, but we exchanged the sandwich, happily ate our grease pies, and headed down the road to the Maker's Mark Distillery, 18 miles away.

Those 18 miles passed like 20 miles, and we finally arrived. Liz looked a bit bewildered, and it soon became clear why. She had forgotten her wallet at McDonald's. Crap. The next 18 miles passed like 36. Back at McDonald's, the wallet was not there. Crap. After half an hour of bank calling, we decided to skip the bourbon detour and head for Ohio.

A little while after crossing into Ohio, somewhere between West Union and Peebles, we heard a strange rumbling sound. "Strange rumbling" quickly became "violent grinding" and then right on into "terrifying grebabbling". Visions of seizing transmissions danced in our heads as Liz glanced in the side mirror and shrieked, "Eep! Our tire is flat!". "Flat tire?" thought Anthony, "Ha. I'll have that fixed in 10 minutes. I'm sure glad it's not the transmission."

One lug nut, two lug nuts, three lug nuts. All came off fairly easily. And now the meat of the story: Meet lug nuts numbered 4 and 5. These little hunks of metal (we can only assume LEAD), put up a fight like Rocky fighting that Russian guy in Rocky IV. They broke one, then two of our wrenches, and then started to strip unmercifully. It was clear we were screwed. By screws, no less. Well, nuts.

continued »




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