Crossing America - One Pet at a Time . . .

We return once again to our saga . . .

Driving across the entire country can be a trying and tiring experience as an individual, let alone as clan leader of assorted children and pets. Trying to organize not only the clothing and other assorted gear that must be part of the package, as well as which dog or cat rides where and for how long only adds to the fun.

We seriously considered flying everyone out ahead of us - accompanied of course by the proper amount of adult supervision - but the cost, summer heat, and the consequent issues of transportation from the airport to our eventual new home all worked against that plan. Of course, the death knell (so to speak), was the release only weeks before our departure, of an annual report on animal deaths during air flights. Who knew?

Regardless, our plan was thus: transport five dogs and two cats cross-country in two vehicles - a Chevrolet Tahoe and a Volkswagen Beetle. While not requiring the quartermaster skills of supplying Patton's army, the logistical questions seemed daunting. Which dogs in which car? How many times will we have to stop for "rest breaks"? Finally, how many hotels/motels accept pets - let alone seven of them?

As it turns out, all of our questions were answered more easily than we first assumed. Through a deft combination of good luck, solid potty training, and a little subterfuge in dealing with our arrangements for lodging - all eventually ended well, but not without a few memorable instances.

Driving arrangements proved the least of our worries. The two largest dogs rode in the VW's backseat. Remarkably, they sat up most of the way and like most tourists, took in all of the scenery America has to offer - though unlike most tourists, always panting. If you didn't know any better, your first glance at the yellow Beetle might reveal four passengers - albeit two strangely misshapen ones in the rear. Had we been daily commuters to D.C. on U.S. 95, we might have even snuck them by as fulfilling our requirement to be in the HOV lane for multiple passengers . . .

As to the rest of the brood, the three Chihuahuas (yes, I said three Chihuahuas), and two cats rode in back of the Tahoe. The dogs were confined to a cage, but the cats - as is their wont - roamed free in the rear seats, only occasionally taunting their captive compadres. Every once in awhile, one of the cats would place their paws on the front seat headrest and peer over the top for a better view of say, Wyoming; but for the most part, all remained quiet and content simply to ride along.

Rest stops however, were another story. While each state-sponsored rest area has a designated space for pets, it soon became obvious which were designed by pet owners themselves, and which were designed by those who had negative childhood experiences with four footed creatures. From the lushest of lawns in Virginia and Nebraska, to the barren and rocky soil of the Russian high tundra - excuse me, Utah and Nevada - the quality varied greatly.

While quality varied, it seemed that our Keystone cops routine of harnessing up each of the dogs, varying their path, waiting patiently and then cleaning up, painfully remained the same. Add watering and a one-time feeding at night (spaced appropriately from each pet to avoid any "issues"), and I can develop a real sympathy for the guy in the old westerns (always named Cookie), who ran the chuckwagons on the cattle drive. At least his clientele bussed their own trays . . .

Finally, there was the question of where to stay each night. Thankfully, there are numerous pet-friendly motels in virtually every city. Unfortunately, they differ greatly in quality (read cleanliness), and in extra fees. Also, most of these locations have a more reasonable limit on the number of pets allowed than I seem to be able to muster in my home. As a result, we were legally able to declare only four animals - all of the dogs - and I resorted to sneaking in the remaining miscreants.

Our plan seemed doomed from the start when our first abode provided us a room on the third floor - with the elevator inconveniently located in the lobby and thus unavailable for my planned covert operations. Add to this the 107 degree heat of a Louisville summer, and let's just say I worked up a good sweat - and not from nerves. Future locations improved floor-wise, but the truck stop locale we stayed at in Carlin, Nevada sans grass - does Nevada have any lawns at all? - proved to be a near traumatic experience, perhaps for the dogs as well.

All in all, we had none of the much feared disasters we thought might come our way - car sickness, runaway dogs, or constantly meowing cats - all of which have been experienced on simple trips to the vet. On the contrary, after a little whining in the beginning, every pet settled down and seemed to enjoy the ride. Though not wanting to ever do it again, I realize it could have been much worse. After all, we left the fish, the rat, and the Cockatoo behind . . .

Crossing America - The Journey Begins . . .

As many of you know, recent circumstances have dictated a change in the Graves family lifestyle. Among the most dramatic of these changes is the need to uproot the clan and move from the east to the west coast in order to be closer to family. While I am sure that thousands of people move themselves for similar reasons each year, I doubt many have done so in quite the same fashion.

Picture the following in your mind's eye: two cars and a Uhaul trailer stuffed with our belongings transporting two adults, three children, five dogs, and two cats over a 3200 mile journey from Fredericksburg, Virginia to Grants Pass, Oregon. Six days and five nights later, through wind and rain and summer heat; after passing through thirteen states and three time zones, experiencing the best and worst of America's hotels and motels, we literally fell out of our vehicles and into the arms of parents/grandparents just glad to see us - or so they said at the time.

Along the way, several opportunities arose to observe bits and pieces of the country, it's people, as well as our own family interactions. What follows are a few quick snapshots:

- Driving Can Be a Tanning Experience: I don't know about the rest of you, but I prefer an unbalanced tan - and there's nothing like a long east-west drive to accomplish that fete. The left side of my face, left arm, and even my left knee are the deepest of golden browns. If I didn't look like I emerged from one of those Army testing sites from the 1950's, it would almost be chic . . .

- The Early Pioneers Were On To Something - As a historian, I have always admired the early settlers who crossed the continent in their Conestoga Wagons, braving the elements and unfriendly natives. I especially remember reading as a child about their frequent jettisoning of furniture, etc. when the need arose for a lighter load over some tortuous mountain pass or muddy trail. I was also ready to jettison some items from our vehicle along the way - not for a lighter load - but because the whining, barking, and meowing would occasionally rise to an unbearable crescendo. And that was just the kids . . .

- Gotta Love State Nicknames - I've never been big on nicknames, either for people or things, though I loved the recurring skit on Saturday Night Live with Rob Schneider as the office flak incessantly offering up nicknames for any colleague who wandered near his cubicle. However, during our trek I saw the validity and the fading appropriateness of the various monickers attached to the states we passed through. Among the most appropriate name we encountered was West Virginia's "The Mountain State". No doubt about it, after three hours of driving through one of John Denver's favorite locales, there was not a flat spot to be seen. Eerily, very few people either . . . Through Indiana I kept looking for a Hoosier, but without knowing what they looked like, they adroitly escaped my notice. I was vastly disappointed by at least one state - Nebraska. Driving along the entire length of what has to be one of the flattest states in the nation, I saw not one field of corn, let alone anyone "husking" some . . . Finally, my birthplace - California aka "The Golden State" doesn't seem so golden anymore. Between closed rest stops - usually avoided, but critical with the menagerie we were transporting - potholed roads, and just a general sense of slow decay in public works, the economy has taken its toll on California. Perhaps some consideration should be given to changing the state motto from "Eureka" - I have found it! to What the hell happened? - I'm a little weak on the Latin translation . . .

Of course, there was much more to our sojourn than simply tanning and discovering the occasional misdirected state name. Over the next few weeks, I hope to share more and to draw you even deeper into my experiences. I've always thought it easier to share one's pain than to suffer alone in silence . . .