Honda did not have a good weekend.


Someone threatened to wrap her around my neck.

I don’t want to jump to any conclusions but I’m guessing that might be a little painful for, as well as difficult on, both of us.

The weekend began with me smacking the poor car into the side of our ridiculously narrow dirt-floored garage. Again. The long black panel that once graced her right side is now completely gone. Before Friday she had half a strip still left on the back end. Now, no more.

After driving several miserable hours to Las Vegas (yes- she may not look very hearty but the car can driiiiive) we finally arrived on the strip near mid-night. My sisters were car-sick since poor Honda has this rhythmic jerking problem that occassionally makes you feel like you’re sitting in an electrical massage chair, but usually makes you car sick. This time, the girls were car sick. And probably quite a bit dizzy. It’s a lot like driving in a wind-tunnel hovering over a girating tractor. I’m used to it. They, unfortunately, were not.

Our Yahoo-complimentary directions ended at the freeway off ramp and a dead-end at a resort where we weren’t staying. Time to explore. After driving around a bit I managed to get us on a road that looked very much like it was going to drive us right up to the neon-outlined hotel in the distance where my aunt and uncle were waiting.

Ten seconds later something just didn’t seem quite right. No one else was on the road...there was quite a bit of construction going on....it was really, really, dark.

“Uh, Leis, I don’t think this is uh…a…um…road…” Lindsey said gingerly—trying not to be that back-seat driver we all hate.

“Yeah but I think its fine...” I brushed her off in my usual, overly confident manner.

“But that woman in a construction uniform is waving for us to go the other way.”

“Well,” I say, “You can’t trust everybody,” and keep driving. Only, the road became much more difficult and we kept hitting very, very, large gaps in the cement. This doesn’t seem right, I kept thinking to myself. But I kept my mouth shut.

Soon after we reached a dead end (very close to the hotel, mind you) over a very large, yawning abyss.

Crap.

I saw a man off to the side who was entering a construction site porta-potty—

“Excuse me!” I shouted “Before you go to the bathroom—does this go to that hotel?” (Ok, so clearly it didn’t but I thought I might try my luck). My sisters slunk down in their seats.

“Don’t roll your window down too much!” Desiree warned.

The man shut the port-a-potty door and walked toward our vehicle.

“Oh no, you have to drive around.” He said in a very thick accent and then nodded.

“Where?” I asked.

“Oh you go around to the Industry Street. Turn left and go around and then you will get to that hotel.”

“Ok, great,” I said. “What’s the name of that street?” I pointed to the one we were barred from entering and on which the hotel was located.

“Yes that street.” He said.

“Yes, that street,” I repeated “Right there,” I added as I smiled.

“Yeah that’s a street.” He said again.

“But what street is it?” I asked again.

“Yes the street.”

Okaaaay.

This was going nowhere. I nodded, thanked him, and turned the car around, ignoring the construction woman and her “I told you so” look as we passed the dark hulking building site.

At Industry street there was a wall where he told us to turn left.

Hmm…..problem.

Rather than stressing over this I yanked little Honda (who was overheating just a tad) into a wide street that failed to have very visible lines.

I soon found out I was going against traffic.

As in, straight toward the oncoming traffic.

As in the left lane when I should have been in the much, much, further right lane where everyone else was driving northward.

I may have given Lindsey a heart attack.

I can’t finish this now so I will explain what happened on the rest of the trip at another time. But what I concluded at least on this part of my excursion to the desert in my very interesting and filthy car is this:

Journeys are a lot more worthwhile if they are filled with unexpected, unwanted but laugh-worthy detours.

That sounds like one of those really ugly inspirational posters with a dolphin superimposed onto a gaudy sunset, but I still think it’s true. The trick is learning how to laugh at those detours instead of crying our bloody eyes out.