Flight of the Bumblebox

The first leg of the trip was supposed to be easy enough.

The plan, as I initially understood it, was that we would head west to the first ceremony in Salem, OR. The nature of "we" was a little fuzzy, but I assumed it would all somehow get taken care of. That misconception crumbled away by degrees fairly quickly, as most misconceptions do.

A few weeks back I learned that Marlin, one of the team of five (more on this later), was the only other member coming from Minnesota -- and he was planning on flying. That left me on my own to get to Oregon. But surely, once there, that nebulous "we" would solidify and "we" would start heading east again.

But not so much. First, I have the vast majority of the equipment. Secondly, the other four are really focused on ceremonies and organzing community events and such. That means they're stuck on a strict schedule of travel. I, on the other hand, may be asked to fall behind or go ahead so as to get good video footage.

The net result was that I would be driving solo for six weeks and 10,000 miles with a trunk of equipment.

Doubtfully, I sent my little Camry in to the shop to see if it would live through this adventure. Since State Farm will no longer insure it, it only sometimes turns left, and you can only open one door at a time, it seemed unlikely to be the ideal vehicle for this adventure. When I got it back from the shop, they had replaced the axle and the thing that connects it to the wheel, saying something about how another few miles might have caused it to collapse, killing me.

I won't be taking the Camry.

White Bison was very understanding, and snapped right into action finding me another vehicle. I was very impressed with their immediate response and general helpfulness -- these are good people to be working with. They found a van to rent in Fargo, and got everything lined up for me. I slightly misunderstood the instructions, however, hearing only that I needed to pick the car up on a certain day. Apparently, I needed to pick the car up on a certain day before noon. Noon came and went, and the rental place canceled our long-standing reservation without bothering to call me, White Bison, or anyone else.

So, I arrived in Fargo with my parents, expecting to transfer a few bags and send Mom back home with our van (not the Camry, which is recuperating from its surgery by refusing to start). Instead, I found no car, and most rental places within two hours of closing. I know almost nothing about Fargo, and that set off a whole pile of phone calls trying to solve this delemma.

Long, stressful story made short: Dad and I ended up leaving Fargo in a rented car, prepared to cross the long wilds of North Dakota, the vast reaches of Montana, the twin mountain passes of Idaho, and the urban jungles of Seattle and Portland in a vehicle tenderly nicknamed "The Bumblebox."

Pictures will be coming soon; but imagine, if you will, a huge yellow cube 11 feet high by 16' long. It's a moving van for a three-bedroom house: the last vehicle left in Fargo.