Matters of the Heart

The things you see on the road.

Driving along Interstate 70 yesterday in Indiana I saw a billboard with an advertisement for a local hospital. It had two doctors pictured on it, above whom it was displayed in big, proud letters: Highly Skilled Heart Surgeons.

O-kay. You're advertising as quite the accomplishment something I would take as a given, that is, that your heart surgeons are very good at what they do. Am I to assume that, until this most recent advertising campaign, that they lacked something, something you're proud to announce they have overcome?

Would I want, should the need for anyone to handle my thumping gizzard arise, less able heart surgeons to hold my life in their hands? Are there really hospitals out there with less than stellar doctors who might give me a price break on such important matters? Do I want to know the answer to that?

No! I'm going to Indiana so that the Highly Skilled Heart Surgeons can take care of me. Marty is sold on their on oddly reassuring billboard.

Ketchup With Phil

On the road yesterday with me brother Phil in tow and having greatly overestimated the time we would need make an appointment in Fort Wayne, Indiana, we decided to get breakfast at a little diner in Napoleon, Ohio.

We sat down at a booth, and the server brought us menus and coffee. The waitress took our orders soon after that, then soon after that she brought our breakfasts. "Would you guys like ketchup?" she asked.

I laughed out loud. "You don't know the in joke, but yes, we would like it. Me brother here uses a lot." 

She gave us ketchup in a large bottle. The young woman turned away as Phil took it and absolutely slathered his plate of food with it. Think an absurd amount of ketchup, and just a but more after that.

The waitress came by a few minutes later. "Is everything okay, oh my, that's a lot of ketchup!"

"And now you're in on the joke," I quipped.

Battery Light

The battery light, the warning light on a car dashboard that look like a small rectangle with a positive and a negative sign within it, came on yesterday just as I was leaving Indianapolis. So what did I do?

I drove home with it on. I thought, well, the new old van is running well, and if I turn it off, what? Will it restart? Obviously I had no way of knowing. But my choice seemed to be to find a mechanic in Indy, a very random random process, or see if I could get back to the D to take it to my long time car guy. I elected the latter, and got all the way home just fine.

In fact, the first time I shut it off, the engine restarted readily and and easily. A couple hours later when I tried firing up the old van once more, it again started with no trouble.

Do I take it to my mechanic anyway, or was this just a fluke?

History on the Road

You learn, or at at least you can learn, on the road. What did I learn yesterday?

Indiana State Route 9 is the highway of the Vice Presidents. All you folks in all our history who were one heartbeat away? Indiana 9 has your back.

U. S. Route 6 is the route of the Grand Army of the Republic, the Union Army of the Civil War. It specifically refers to an association of Union Civil War veterans formed after the conflict. Kinda cool.

I also learned that you can get small tubs of cookie dough bits in the refrigerated snack aisles at truck stops. All right, maybe that isn't as important as remembering history. But they're sweeter than any candy bar I know.

Money Left Over

My first stop yesterday was in the western part of Michigan, namely the town of Allegan. The good folks at Allegan Rentals wanted a cutting blade; as I was to be in the area for other things I took it to them.

The owner asked if I wanted a check or to send one, then said he'd just go ahead and pay. Stepping into his office he came back with a $19 check. 

Me brother Phil was with me. At being handed the check I turned to him and said, "Looks like you'll be getting paid this week."

"And you'll have money left over," he quipped without missing a beat.

Just Because

December has been a great months for sales, and that's good. Because I'm in sales.

Last week I sold two Model C Electric Eel drain cleaners, one on each of two consecutive days. I like that. Because I'm in sales.

Yesterday a very good customer, indeed one of my best, called from Saginaw (about two hours north of Detroit) and asked about getting 30 cables ASAP.  I told him I'd bring them right away. He kindly offered to meet halfway, which I did appreciate, so we set up a meeting point. "I'm not putting you out, am I, Marty?" the man asked me over the phone.

"My friend, I sell things. Delivery is in the job description!" I assured him.

The fact is I like being on the road. I like seeing people, especially those who, at the risk of sounding trite, are friends as much as customers. Ask me to help you; it's all good. Because I'm in sales.

Mom would never say that.

During a recent road trip I made a stop at a rest area along the freeway. I never thought of them as rest areas. They're more like, O thank God you're here! areas for me.

As I entered the lobby the custodian was at the far end, clearly having just finished mopping the floor. "Man, I sure hate to step all over your work," I remarked to him.

"I wouldn't," the man replied. "Get it dirty again. That's my job security," he explained with a smile.

I laughed. But I also thought that me Mom never seemed to care about that kind of job security when I'd tromped into hall with muddy shoes. I'd probably get swatted with the wet mop.

Road Work

I made a 600 mile loop on the road today, but that's nothing. My top run is just over 902 miles. Yes, in one day. And my goal is to trip a thousand. But even I'm sure that total has been surpassed by my dad or my grandfather. Likely by both.

We're drivers, we Detroit Cosgriffs anyway. I come by my affliction honestly. Pops and Grandpa Joe loved to be on the road.

Joe liked to go on the road to wherever it led him. He would simply take off, go out west, say, riding the rails in his younger days, or to Mexico by car. Maybe Alaska even, or up the 401 through Ontario with my brother Phil until they ended up in Quebec where neither understood the language and ate boot tongues with cheese sauce. Je ne sais quoi. Joe had many interesting things happen to him that way. Some will certainly be blog fodder as I recall them.

Pops, he traveled mostly for business. But man did he travel. The folks at Electric Eel, the company dad sold for and I do now, called him the Road Warrior. Forget Mad Max; Pops had him beat by many untold miles, traversing these United States and even Canada for the business, for Electric Eel. He loved the road, and the road, him.

I'm retreading many of those miles now. And I'm gaining a deeper understanding every day of my forebears' love of the open road. There's a freedom to it, an openness you rarely find elsewhere. I flatter myself that I'm anywhere near the men they were. Yet every now and then I hear their voices through mine.

After making a delivery this afternoon, after offering tips and answering questions about the unit I had delivered, one young man was astounded that I was returning to Detroit this very afternoon. "You're going back to Detroit today?", he asked incredulously.

"Hell, yeah,' I told him. "You think we still travel by stagecoach?"

On the road today

The things you see on the road...

I passed a billboard this morning, paid for by a hospital in Ohio. It proclaimed, "Voted a best hospital in Ohio, Again!" Just like that, with an exclamation point.

How do we take that? To me, it sounds as though they were surprised: "Hey! We've been named a best hospital again!" like they can't believe it themselves. Or maybe it's meant as if they pulled the rug over someone's eyes.

Then there was the gas station which proclaimed that it had a beer ATM. I'll let you sophomores out there dole out the punch lines for that one.

On the road again...

Everything just exactly wrong

I've had long days; we've all had long days. Some days things just seem to pile on, and all we can do is be thankful we're past them.

Once I was on the road for 19 hours. Midnight until Seven PM. I concluded a hard sell (okay, that part was good) and then got caught in a traffic jam within an hour of starting back home. It lasted about ninety minutes. When I had cleared what had caused the problem - a truck trailer by then to the side of the interstate looked like the Hand of God had karate chopped it midsection into an elongated V shape (how that happened I don't know) - I decided to heck with it, I'd take the scenic route for awhile. Why not? See something different than the freeway, enjoy the country air, just have a nice ride.

A train caught me at a railroad crossing. It only delayed me about, oh, ninety minutes. The train for some reason sat completely stopped for most of it.

This put me in Toledo during rush hour. I-75 in north Toledo was under a massive reconstruction, so that obviously slowed me down all the more. But eventually I was through all that mess and in south Detroit (you sang it, didn't you?) and as I neared my exit I actually said aloud, "Thank God I'm home."

The exit was closed.

Okay, all I had to do was go to the next and circle around. First World problem. It still felt like my shoelace just busted.

But I supposed we've all had worse too. When it happens to me I'll let you know.

On the road yet again

I know that I'm probably playing this sort of joke out. But when you see something and it's there, what's a guy supposed to do?

Driving back from an early morning delivery in Lansing today, I hit a point where I needed gas. So as I approached the next nearest exit I could not help but notice the Marathon sign. It was placed high up on supports because, of course, it's intended to catch the attention of drivers like me that want gas.

What made me laugh was what was below the Marathon logo. A sign proclaimed that they had Diesel Beer.

Yeah, yeah, I know. But as I've said before, it's no fun taking the such signs at face value is it?

Cotton fish

The things you see on the road (this is getting to be as regular a feature as our dear friend Cloyce).

While driving along yesterday I saw a Dairy Queen. It had a sign advertising new and amazing things which that store offered. But what they offered, well, I'm not sure it's something I want to try.

The sign proclaimed: "We now how have cotton candy dip fish sandwiches!"

Okay, the fish sandwich part was on the second line, the cotton candy dip on the first. I'm simply running the two items together. And I know what they meant: you could have your ice cream cone dipped in cotton candy flavoring, and you could get fish sandwiches there.

But where's the fun leaving it like that?

115

No, it's not just a number. And it's not the time. It's a restaurant at a truck stop outside of Marshall, Michigan.

It's really nothing fancy. The place is neat and clean, the service is good and friendly, and it's right off the highway, meaning it's very easy to get to. A quick exit off I-94 and a quick re-entry and you're on your way after a meal.

The only reason it sticks out in my mind is because me Pops liked it. He typically stopped there to eat on his swings through the western part of Michigan. I tend to stop there too.

I think I might even take my son there when we drive to Chicago next weekend, just to show him one of his grandfather's haunts. I mean, why not? You gotta eat somewhere.

Signs of the times

I noticed yesterday morning they've put new mileage signs on Interstate 75 south of Toledo, Ohio. You know, those markers which tell us Detroit is 89 miles away and the like? Well, the first new sign I saw had the distances to Dayton and then Cincinnati. That makes sense of course, their being in Ohio. But the third city listed was Tampa, Florida. It was from there 1,103 miles further south on I-75.

That was good for a chuckle. Then the next sign listed a couple Ohio towns again...and Atlanta, Georgia. It was a scant 852 miles along the way.

Methinks someone at the Ohio Department of Transportation has a sense of humor. Or an extreme case of wishful thinking. Or just too much time on their hands, who knows?

Road sign humor

The things you see on the road, up to and including silly and sophomoric humor. Some of which is even by me.

You know how they often have signs promoting various attractions near highway exits? At times they gave me an opportunity to display my oft-times silliness. One such sign advertised a nearby antique shopping mall. I thought, what's so special about an old shopping mall?

Then there's the Bourbon Family Fun Center. Granted, it was in Bourbon, Missouri. Still, I'm really not sure where to go with that one. It certainly invites jokes, but I simply don't want the hassle of offending the PC police today.

Notice that I o-so-subtly did though?

Another place I saw prominently advertised took what any childish humorist would have done and boldly ran with it without the least concern for the offense of anybody. I'm almost ashamed of myself for even talking about it. Yet there are friends out there, and you know who you are, who will think this classic comedy.

Near another Missouri town, Uranus, and I assure you I am not making this up, were billboards promoting the Uranus Fudge Factory. I sigh heavily as I write this, and likely as not every single one of you know where this unabashedly juvenile humor is going, but another sign farther down the road took it a step further. It proclaimed, and I swear I am not making this up, that the best fudge in the world is made in Uranus.

Yes, go ahead and laugh. It's what the world's come to.

A simple request

I know that they have as much right to be on the road as I do. I know they're much heavier and much larger than my van, and that makes gaining speed tougher. I even concede they have as much right to pass others on the highway as I do. But could I ask one thing of you, those of you who drive semis?

Could you find a way to pass other semis while going more than one-one thousandth of a mile an hour faster than the one you're trying to pass? Our destinations, the twenty of us who get caught behind you when you do this, are important too.

Thank you.

The day so far

I had to go to Electric Eel, the company I sell for, early this morning. That's no big deal. I drive to Eel in the wee hours regularly. But late yesterday I was speaking to a customer in Urbana, Ohio, a scant 15 miles from Eel. He wanted me to stop by today but couldn't meet until 9. No problem; I can handle that.

So I went to bed last night thinking, okay, I don't have to leave at 1:30 in the morning like I typically do. I can leave about 3:30 and make my trip comfortably. So I set my alarm for 2:45. That would give me plenty of time to run through the shower and be out the door by half past three.

I was wide awake and staring at the clock by 1:15. I was awake before then, I'm not sure how long, but you know how that goes. Even though you haven't heard the alarm, even though you know you have tons of time, there's simply no way you can force yourself back to sleep, is there?

I was on my way well before 2:45. The alarm on my phone let me know that as I drove south along I-75.

Fake threats

I like when you can joke with people. Especially folks you only meet once.

A few weeks ago I left very early for a sales trip. I was wide awake and staring at the unentertaining TV and figured, might as well get started. What this meant was that I had a lot of extra time to kill. So, when I came across a truck stop a couple hours out of Detroit, I figured I may just treat myself to a sit down breakfast.

I ordered an omelette and once finished eating I sought out the waitress to pay directly, as I don't like leaving cash on the table. She had given me the bill a few minutes before.

When she came out from the kitchen and started towards the register, I slapped the bill on the counter and said in mock anger, "Let's settle this!"

In a perfect reply she demanded, "Right here, right now!"

We both laughed, then I paid and was on my way. It wasn't the worst start to a day.

Vanity on the road

What you see when your job involves a lot of driving...

In a small Indiana town yesterday I passed the Vanity Beauty Salon. While I suppose there is a certain justification for such a name I'm not sure I would have chosen it. How does one take that? Are they appealing to the Veronica Lodges of the world? Betty Cooper, just walk on by, maybe? Whatever.

Within a few minutes more I saw a sign for Franciscan Fireworks. For those who may not be familiar with Catholicism, Franciscans are an order of priests. The sign was adorned with a priest gazing peacefully towards Heaven. The store itself, which appeared on the roadside in the next five miles, had a picture of a Franciscan complete in his brown monk's robe holding two lit firecrackers, one in each hand, and looking quite content about it. This was before they went off of course.

Lastly, it seemed that every wide spot in the road I drove through had a Dollar General. I can just imagine corporate board meetings at Dollar General World Headquarters: "Hey, Townville has 8, maybe 10 people. Put up a store!" I think it's overkill but hey, rural folk like their Dollar Generals I guess.

What you see on the road...

Taut shoelaces

I've had long days; we've all had long days. Some days things just seem to pile on, and all we can do is be thankful we're past them.
Once I was on the road for 17 hours. Two AM until Seven PM. I made a hard sell (okay, that part was good) and then got caught in a traffic jam within an hour on my way home. It lasted about ninety minutes. When I had cleared what had caused the problem - a truck trailer by then to the side of the interstate looked like the Hand of God had karate chopped it midsection into an elongated V shape (how that happened I don't know) - I decided to heck with it, I'd take the scenic route for awhile. Why not? See something different than the freeway, enjoy the country air, just have a nice ride.
A train caught me at a railroad crossing.
This put me in Toledo during rush hour. I-75 in north Toledo was under a massive reconstruction, so that obviously slowed me down all the more. But eventually I was through all that mess and in south Detroit (you sang it, didn't you?) and as I neared my exit I actually said aloud, "Thank God I'm home."
The exit was closed.
Okay, all I had to do was go to the next and circle around. First World problem. It still felt like my shoelace just busted.
But I supposed we've all had worse too. When it happens to me I'll let you know.