The Road to San Diego: Day 2 − 26 June, 2007
Day 2: Nashville, TN to Little Rock, AR
The Hell at Exit 157
The sun was hanging low in the sky when we finally rolled into Willow Beach State Campground, just southeast of Little Rock. We were one tired bunch. The first thing we noticed as we climbed out to explore site F-15 was the dearth of tents in the campground. Oh, there were campers there, sure enough. The place was nearly full with fifth-wheels, pop-ups, motorhomes…..but no tents. Our neighbors in F-16 stared at us with some sort of fascination as we gained our bearings. Not sure if it was my attire, which had scared the decent folk of Nashville to no end, or the possibility that we had broken some unspoken law by setting up such meager lodgings in the midst of this parade of the American Dream given wheels, but something was definitely amiss.
We took our first look at the flat, grassy area which was to be our home for the night and saw them. LOTS of them. CLOUDS of them. Bugs! Strange flying things that looked like a dragonfly with a wishbone attached for good measure. Our first thought was that this was the Arkansas version of the common mosquito. By their size, it looked as though a quartet of the little devils could drain a man dry before he could get a scream from his lungs. I turned to survey the rest of the campground and noted that everyone was hunkered down in dining canopies. The few brave souls that did venture out of the enclaves did so armed with cans of insect repellent.
That explained the strange looks. We were the greenhorns, attempting to settle in no-man’s land. Well, we weren’t going to turn back now, so Daniel and I unloaded the tent and waded through the buzzing maelstrom to stake our claim. Surprise! Surprise! Whatever the insects were, they did not seem to have humans on the menu. In fact, for the most part, they cleared a path as we approached. Jasa and Wendy joined us and our polyester palace was up in no time
After the requisite exploration of the bath facilities, which were respectable for a park campground, we dragged ourselves back into the van to make the trip back to town in search of dinner. As it turned out, the southeast side of Little Rock is hardly burgeoning with eateries, so we settled for pulling off at Exit 157 – Prothro Junction. The offramp promised the usual fast-food fare – McDonalds, Taco Bell and Sonic. As soon as we slowed to a stop off of the interstate, the negotiations began. “Where does everyone want to eat?” Silence. “Does anyone want Taco Bell?” “Eewww!”, responded Jasa. “I wouldn’t mind Taco Bell”, Daniel chimed in.
Seeing that consensus was not to be had, we drove to Sonic first and I braced myself for what was to come. I love Wendy, Daniel and Jasa dearly, but I would rather experience what we in the South call an “ass-whooping” as opposed to even attempting to placate everyone’s desires at a drive-thru. And so began the litany of Jasa’s dietary quirks…”I want a junior double cheeseburger with no pickles, extra ketchup, toasted on one side, well-done, with a twist of lime. And……Oh, yeah, a large….NO!...Small…Junior order of tots.”
I, who pride myself on being able to juggle the IP addresses and passwords for 60+ servers in my professional life, am summarily reduced to a gibbering, senile heap by the time I push the red button for service. I begin reciting the list of demands only to be corrected by everyone in the car at once. “NO! It’s a DOUBLE cheeseburger with EXTRA ketchup – SHAKEN, not STIRRED”. “It was a SMALL Sprite, NO ice….With a twist of lime”. Throwing up my hands, I relinquish the microphone to Jasa. After a couple of attempts, the order is complete. Now begins the Sonic Wait.
Trendy commercials nowithstanding, Sonics have food that might be a notch above the typical burger outlets, but not worth the extra time incurred to simulate a sit-down meal in an automobile. Five minutes pass, then ten. Still, nothing resembling a hand-crafted order of tots has reached ours, or anyone else’s car, for that matter. Now the natives in the adjoining cars are getting restless. “Where’s my damn food?”, offers one concerned patron. Another is busily extracting the contents from her feed bag in search of some specific condiment that was not delivered as requested. Against my better judgement, I press the call button for an update. Through the speaker comes the sound of a struggle – is someone being mauled by a mutant tot? Before I can find out, the call button light goes dark. No response.
A couple of minutes later, a very harried looking carhop brings the meal. Part one of the dinner adventure accomplished! We drove back up the street to the combination Taco Bell/KFC (a rather strange pairing). Inside, there were quite a few folks just standing around. After we placed our order, we sat back and enjoyed the show. The three person crew in the back seemed to be trapped in limbo due to a massive chicken order. Nothing was going through. It was a little like watching a traffic jam in progress. Folks kept coming into the restaurant, but they never moved past the order line. Fifteen minutes passed with no evidence that ticket number 225 would be called anytime soon. Finally, the Great Chicken Massacre was complete and the first of the delayed Taco Bell orders made it to the finish line.
The lady whose order had just been completed went to the condiment counter to grab some utensils. Everything had come to a standstill, including the replenishment of necessities in the restaurant. When she asked for some forks, another patron yelled, "Lady, be thankful you got food!".
We tried, desperately, to Think Outside the Bun that night. Seems that Prothrow Junction doesn't cotton to that sort of mindset.
