Day #3: Just Another Day in Paradise…
Dry Run Road Trip - Entry #7
We’d decided to spend the day in Presque Isle.
Well, “decided” isn’t entirely accurate - we basically had no choice.
We were waiting around to try to connect with the Pennsylvania State Police, to get the damage we’d found - the result of a Walmart parking lot hit-and-run - added to his police report. The trooper who’d failed to get my information at the scene had gone off shift, not to return until midnight. We figured all would be resolved once he returned.
“You know what this means, right Chris?” Ben asked me.
“No…” I replied, suspicious.
“It means we get the stay at Presque, and you can tell everyone that your road trip had to pause here.”
I’d been concerned that the Dry Run Road Trip would be seen as a failure if we just stopped in the first place we fell in love with.
But he was right… as long as we’d be stuck somewhere, it might as well be this park, right?
We’d already decided to have breakfast on the beach that day. We had purchased a number of snacks and pastries at Walmart that morning, with plans to head over to Beach #8 to charge the car, use the restroom facilities, toss out our trash, and enjoy what was left at the sunrise.
But first, we had a mission.
We’d been informed that Krispee Creme was giving out a free donut to anyone who had proof of their vaccination shot.
Ben was bound and determined to get his - he’d been vaccinated upon his return to the US - shots not yet available in the country he was coming from - and he’d earned himself that donut, dammit!
We had to find out if what we’d been told was true.
“I think I heard something about that months ago,” I told him. “That promotion probably ended by now…”
“No! Not yet! I wasn’t even here yet! I want my free donut!”
As luck would have it, we’d spotted a Krispee Creme just a block or two from the Walmart. But they wouldn’t open until 6:30. It was just 5:45 now. Was it worth waiting around for nearly an hour?
“We can drive around for a little bit and then head over,” Ben said.
I agreed, and off we went, sailing up and down Peach St., the main thoroughfare in this little township of reckless drivers and zombie police officers.
What we found was a whole lot of nothing special, we thought - but we did spot the road that we’d planned to head toward later, a road with a treasure trove in the form of a collection of art crafted from old automobiles. We decided to hit that up after the beach.
After more driving, the clock struck 6:30. We headed over to the donut shop, the anticipation building. Free donuts! Just for getting a shot?
“Can I help you?”
“Um, yes,” I replied into the speaker. “We heard that, if you have your vaccine, you’re eligible for a free donut. Is that still the case?”
“A free glazed donut,” the voice on the other end replied.
“Okay then… we’ll take two!”
“Two glazed donuts… anything else?”
“Two large coffees…”
“Two glazed, two large coffees. Anything else?”
The menu board showed an impressive collection of patriotic donuts, ready in a box of a dozen. I asked if they were available singly, and the voice said that, indeed, they were. I looked at Ben.
“We don’t need more donuts. We have the stuff from Walmart,” he spoke up proactively.
“But the Fourth…”
“Today is the 24th of June…”
“We won’t be here on the Fourth…”
“No, we don’t need another donut.”
“That’ll be all,” I replied, defeated.
Still, we’d been victorious in our mission… we each had a free donut!
When we got to the window Ben asked the woman taking orders if they still had a lot of requests for the free vaccine donut.
“Sure, people come through all day for these,” she told us.
“So I mean… is a limit of one per lifetime? One per day?” Ben asked her.
“No, there’s no limit” she replied, looking at us like we were differently-abled. “It’s no big deal. People come through and have these for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I mean… it’s just a glazed donut…”
Ben and I looked at each other in horror. It wasn’t “just a glazed donut” to us. These were a symbol of the struggle to survive during COVID. For Ben, a journey to return to America, the only place he could get his vaccine shot. For both of us, a reward for behaving responsibly during a pandemic, for -
“That’ll be $5.19,” the woman at the window said. She misread the expression on our faces as shock at the price she’d just mentioned - not at her disrespect of these little doughy trophies we were about to enjoy. “For the coffees,” she explained.
I paid her, and we drove away, Ben placing our donuts and the corresponding vaccine cards - which the Krispee Kreme employee hadn’t even been interested in seeing - on the console for a photo op.
“She talked about these donuts like they’d otherwise just throw them into the trash,” I remarked.
Ben, too, was disappointed.
“But seriously… should we go through the line again?” he asked me, giggling. “She said no limit!”
Now it was my turn to say no.
“Just here to rescue some more of these Just Glazed Donuts from the trash, two donuts at a time…”
As we drove out onto Peach St. Ben lamented that the “HOT” light, indicating that the donuts were just coming off the conveyor fresh, wasn’t on.
“I wish we could have come through when it said “HOT,” he told me.
“I’m sure that the free vaccine donuts are never hot,” I told him. “These are probably the Day Old Donuts. We’re lucky they’re giving them to us at all…”
We silently agreed to be satisfied with what we’d come away with…
Our next official stop would be the beach.
But first, Benjamin had mapped out a route of the entire peninsula that would take us into the marina - of particular interest to me, as I live in a marina in a state park in another state - as well as past hiking trails, a playground, and at least a dozen beaches we hadn’t seen yet.
We headed straight for Presque Isle, sipping our coffee and letting our donuts warm in the sun. Ben fired up the Exotica playlist as we passed Sara’s at the entrance. We briefly toyed with the idea of pulling off into one of the many parking lot observation areas, but Ben vetoed the idea.
“No stopping unless we’re charging!” he announced out of nowhere. “If we’re not charging, we’re not stopping!”
“So that means Beach #8 only,” I replied. “If we see something cool and want to stop, we can’t…”
“We need to charge, Chris,” he told me. “So yes… we can stop to take a photo, but we aren’t eating breakfast until we’re plugged in at the beach.”
“Fine.”
“Or the marina, if it works…”
“The PlugShare app says it doesn’t…”
“Maybe that’s old,” Ben said hopefully. “It would be nice to charge and eat at the marina, and then do the beach later…”
Ben was discovering one of the drawbacks of EV travel: charging stations that just… don’t… work. Sometimes the app warns you that they won’t work; other times you discover it on your own. In this case, the Plugshare app reviews told a story of locals who had been waiting for this supposed free charging at the marina to come online all spring; in late June it was still out of service, with no word to why.
Still, we had our backup… Beach #8. But how long would it be until other EVs pulled in and took our spot?
We weren’t going to worry about that for a moment.
We just sipped and drove… sipped and drove… sipped and drove.
It was almost as relaxing today as it was yesterday.
The only difference seemed to be some competitive cyclists who were riding at a faster pace than we were prepared to drive. I was keeping the odometer to 18-20 mph, something easy to do with the Tesla’s “hold” mode and regenerative braking. I couldn’t have been more relaxed - Ben, I suspect, as well. Even cyclists racing around the peninsula at breakneck speed wouldn’t get my adrenaline going today…
We’d made it almost to the end of the peninsula when we spotted them: a floating city of houseboats.
More than a dozen houseboats, just floating in the bay.
From old 1950s-style bungalows to what appeared to be a late-model single wide trailer, these structures on various manner of barges sat out in the middle of the water, as disconnected from land as I felt from stress at that moment. I sat up and took a second look, then pulled over so we could see them up close.
“Holy shit, these are cool,” I said.
Ben was already snapping photos.
“That one is adorable,” Ben cried out, pointing in the direction of a cute little number, white with red shutters.
“Look at that one - it’s got two stories!” I said, pulling forward ever-so-slowly.
“That one has a boat attached!” Ben pointed out.
“We have to find out if these are on AirBnB or something,” I said. Ben agreed. It was almost certainly too late for this trip, but surely if we did another, or if I came back to Presque Isle on my own…
“These. Are. Everything!” Ben finally said. He’d gotten a ton of photos.
I’d never seen anything like these in my life.
We agreed to try to Google them later and see what the story was.
Afterward we pulled into one of the many beaches, and Ben spotted a playground that appeared to be nothing more than some pieces of wood thrown on the ground.
“How can every piece of this park be so impressive, and this playground be such shit?” I wondered aloud. “Maybe they should charge admission, so they can upgrade this to something kids would want to play on…”
“There’s kids all day at the beach,” Ben pointed out. (Indeed, the previous night we’d felt that we were on the New Jersey Family Beach - long story involving accents.) I guess they don’t bring their kids here for the playground, maybe?”
“I sure hope not,” I replied.
We drove on. The next beach had no playground, but it did have a ton of shade trees and what appeared to be a hiking trail.
“Later we’re coming back to this one to go for a hike and then take a nap,” Ben told me.
“I could go for a nap right now,” I replied. I’d barely gotten any sleep in the Walmart parking lot - maybe three hours, tops.
“Hike first. Then nap. Now marina, then beach.”
We drove on.
We almost passed the marina - it’s hardly marked and appears to be just another entrance off to the side. Once we pulled in we were impressed by the variety of boats, including one very similar to my own. We spotted the EV charger, and our donuts were crying out to be eaten, so we backed up to it and attempted to plug in. Sure enough… not working. They didn’t even appear to be plugged in.
“Hopefully nobody has beat us to Beach #8,” Ben said hopefully, and we continued to drive.
We finally arrived at our target and were surprised to find the chargers empty, once again.
We plugged in, availed ourselves of the changing areas, and headed for the water.
While I’d been changing Ben had organized the beach bag to include our towels, our snacks, our donuts, and anything else we’d need. He was standing by the car holding that and our chairs - all I had to do was grab the coffees.
We headed for the sand and set up our spot, then sat down to enjoy some breakfast.
We decided to go for a swim.
Probably not the smartest idea in hindsight, because it meant tracking sand into the car - I’m still trying to get it out. But we needed a bath, and since the bathrooms here didn’t have showers, and we hadn’t had one in the past 24, Ben snuck a bar of soap into his swimming trunks and we both discretely bathed in Lake Erie. The lifeguards didn’t seem to care, and we noticed an entire family doing it off in the distance… I suspect that the same crowd that lives at Walmart probably scrubs here daily.
After breakfast and a shower and swim we headed back to the car to hit up our next stop. In planning our journey I’d stumbled upon a roadside attraction, the kind road trips are built on: a front yard collection of artwork crafted from the carcasses of classic cars. I’d seen a rocket ship, and a giant bug, and Uncle Sam online - this had to be seen to be believed. What a perfect place for photo ops with the car…
It wasn’t really too far out of Erie - just a few minutes by car. I’d previously sent the artist an email asking for details - was there a fee, were there any COVID restrictions - and he wrote back to let me know that it was free, just park by the beebox” and walk around - just don’t stray into the private property behind the various creatures.
Seemed easy enough.
We turned around where it was safe and pulled up next to the mailbox - another couple were already there admiring the art, and looked to be getting ready to leave. I walked across the road for the requisite Tesla shot, and then Ben and I wandered around exploring the exhibits for a bit.
Ben and I had engaged in several disagreements about local fare vs. chains during this trip.
We were on a road trip! I wanted to find local diners and dives, and to eat at those. These places offered local flavor and - if we were lucky, like the ice cream stand from our second day - a little bit of local history.
Ben, on the other hand, had spent the past five years backpacking around Europe. Many of the locations he’d found to do his Workaway ‘working vacations’ at did not have American cuisine. Ben wanted to do a tour of American favorites - McDonalds, Burger King, IHOP, Olive Garden.
We’d agreed to compromise. We were averaging two meals a day, what with breakfasts on the beach. One would be a “Chain!”, as Ben called it. The other would be a diner or dive.
For lunch we’d decided to try out Sara’s. We’d driven past it on our way in a number of times. It seemed very popular. It had a look of nostalgia that we both liked. We could eat indoors, eat outdoors under a canopy, or just eat outside at picnic tables lining the road. Despite the high temperatures, those tables appeared to be filling up quickly. We’d considered driving down the peninsula for a bit, but decided to pull in and order.
Sara’s - photo taken as we drove by during a far less-busy time…
We had the option to go through the ‘drive-thru’ lane or to park and go in. We decided to pull in to the first space we came across, realizing only afterward that the drive-thru lane essentially ran through the parking lot. Benjamin would probably have to stand behind my car and stop traffic while I tried to back out of my space and into the lane for the drive-thru. Didn’t make much sense to us, but I imagined the level of overcrowding that would probably occur if Sara’s didn’t have a drive-thru, and when we were able to get a table I was glad for it.
For all the hype, Sara’s is more or less a basic hamburger stand. If you’ve been to one in your town, Sara’s will be nothing new. Menu options were simple. Ben was excited that they had a soda fountain machine that allows you to mix the flavors. I settled for root beer - no caffeine - but mixed in a shot of vanilla. I had a cheeseburger and onion rings. Ben ordered a kielbasa with fries. Other customers were already bumping each other trying to race for the tables under the shaded awnings, so we walked out into the section in the front and sat down at one of several available tables. The wind was breezy enough that day that we didn’t even feel hot.
The hamburger window was also the ice cream window, and they had some pictures of super-appealing concoctions on display. The line just continued to grow while we ate, and traffic was backed out right up to the street, so we decided that we’d wait for a future visit to sample dessert. Also, after big juicy hamburgers, sausages, and onion rings, we were full.
Just as I suspected, traffic was a shitshow on the way out. Fortunately, not one but two vehicles wanted our spot, and they’d both backed off enough to allow me to slowly reverse into the drive-thru lane. No more fender benders today, please! They duked it out behind us as we drove off, and we found an exit off to the right that let us skip going all the way around the restaurant again.
I can’t imagine what this place must be like on holiday weekends!
Once we’d finished our meal it was time to head further down Peninsula Drive for a bit of a nap. We were both tired… I’d barely slept due to my claustrophobia the night before, and Ben had slept only a little more due to having to sleep in such close proximity to me. Would it prove any easier to sleep in the car during the day? I hoped so. I was feeling groggy during the drive back, even - at one point Ben offered to drive. We’d definitely have chances for that, but for now I just wanted to get back to a safe place to sleep.
We’d considered a return to Beach #8 - Ben’s “no-stop-without-plug” rule required that we be plugged in and powering up during our nap. We realized, though, that with this heat wave, and the sun beating down on the beach, parking in that unshaded lot would require a whole lot of air conditioning to keep the car cool enough for occupants. We figured it would be better to take a nap in the trees, where less a/c would be required. Then could always head over to the beach that evening after checking in at the campground, charge and enjoy another sunset, before calling it a night…
We settled on Beach #11. While our favorite beach featured a paved or gravel lot, this one was mostly dirt, with grass all around the edges. We’d passed it before, and Ben had noticed the shade trees all around. I wasn’t happy about driving the Tesla through what was essentially a field of potholes to enter the lot, but once we’d navigated those I could see the appeal of all of that shade…
Ben suggested that we skip the privacy shield this time, and just let the window tint - 15% on the sides, 20% in the back - provide the privacy we needed. I questioned whether it would be dark enough to provide true privacy, but as I stood outside the car as Ben made the bed and got a little iPad movie station set up for us - complete with snacks and drinks - I realized that I could barely see any movement in the car when all of the windows were closed. (We’d later realize that others couldn’t see in, either, when passersby continuously walked up to the car to get a closer look, not even noticing people were laying in the back, even when they were looking through the front windshield).
“Imagine if we’d been knocked unconscious by that car this morning,” I remarked at one point. “Would they have even been able to see that there were people inside the car who needed help?”
“We’d have woken up on a flatbed being towed down the road,” Ben replied wryly. We both laughed, but, really - with the privacy curtain providing full wrap-around coverage at Walmart, we would have been virtually undetectable from the outside, unless someone got a really good look from the perfect angle through the glass roof. Crazy. From the outside, it looked like any other car…
Ben fired up the movie, but I was exhausted, and fell asleep almost immediately. I don’t know how long Ben was able to fight the urge to sleep, but when I woke up nearly two hours had passed and he was zonked out too.
Whatever claustrophobia I’d felt the night before had certainly disappeared…
Once Ben was awake it was time to head over to the campground to check in.
The campground was just a few minutes away - as the crow flies. It was practically on the other side of the channel from where we were.
“Maybe we can just take the water taxi,” Ben suggested. We’d seen signs for it several times, but didn’t know what it was. But it appeared to go almost directly to where we’d be spending the night…
“I feel like we should take the car,” I told him. “I don’t want to get back there tonight and have them freak out because someone is here to #TeslaCamp…”
It was agreed, and we began the 30-minute drive all the way back down the peninsula, through downtown Erie, and down the road headed to the channel that would take us to our home for the night.
On the way we passed beautiful waterfront hotels with parking lots that appeared almost empty. I bet we could get a decent rate on room for tonight. After what we’d experienced at the hands of the locals in the Walmart parking lot, I figured we’d be well within our rights to stay in a hotel just this once. But we pressed on… this was a road trip, after all. We’d agreed to Tesla Camp the whole way, and dammit, we were going to do that.
We drove into the campground and found ourselves in a line of people arriving for the first time. Once the vehicles ahead of us had been directed to their sites it was our turn. The woman who was handling things wasn’t who we’d talked to on the phone. She looked at us suspiciously, and then made a point to look behind us to see if we were towing a trailer. We weren’t. She looked around for a moment, perhaps to try to find one we’d dropped off on the way in. Seeing nothing but us and our car she lifted her clipboard and took a look.
“We’re here for one night,” I told her, providing my name.
“I don’t have anyone here for one night,” she told me, thumbing through pages on the board. “When did you make your reservation?”
“This morning,” I replied. She looked up.
“That’s why I don’t have you. Okay, what site #?”
“I think it was 24,” I told her.
“That’s a problem,” she told us. “I’ve got someone on 24. And she’s not just here for one night…”
“Hmm…”
We were at an impasse. A standoff. Or, perhaps I’d just forgotten the number.
“Did they send you an email?”
I pulled out my phone and checked. No emails had come through.
“Do they usually send an email?” I asked. My stomach was sinking. We’d be headed back to Walmart for another night if this reservation hadn’t been made successfully. I knew I’d never get any sleep there…
“I’m not sure,” the woman replied. “I’m just helping out while the manager had to go out.”
“I told the person on the phone that we’d spent the night at Walmart,” I told her. She looked the car up and down. I could tell she was standing in an area where the sun wasn’t shining directly on the dent. She looked at me suspiciously again. “It’s hard to see unless you’re in directly sunlight…”
“Did they charge you?” Ben asked me from the passenger seat.
“Yea, did you get charged?”
I checked my banking app. There it was: $37.
“Charged $37!” I replied, perhaps a little too triumphantly. “It’s pending…”
“Well, that’s you then,” the woman with the clipboard replied. “You must have a spot. Let’s see…”
She looked through the numbers. I remembered that the woman who’d made the reservation had given me a choice of three, and I’d told her that I didn’t have the map in front of me so I’d trust her to choose the one with the best view.
“Oh, well, that’s 42, then,” the woman told me. “That’s the best view. You just reversed the numbers.”
“That makes sense,” I replied. I was relieved… I did not want to spend another night in a big box store parking lot if we didn’t have to. The woman gave us the basic overview of the property - how to get out, how to get in since the gate locked, where the toilets and showers were located, that sort of thing.
“Showers?!” Ben asked excitedly. The map online had showed showers, but indicated they were planned for the future. We’d had plans for another bathing session in Lake Erie… but the woman told us that they’d had showers for a while now. “Showers!” Ben repeated.
It turned out that the woman and her husband would be in the RV just behind us, if we needed anything. I was relieved that there were no questions about whether we’d be bringing a trailer later, or setting up a tent, etc.
Our site was the site with the highest number, which meant we had to drive past every single site in the park before we would arrive at our own. We slowly drove through, and it felt like all eyes were on us - quite a few of the RV owners appeared to be sitting under awnings and at least a few in pop-up sunrooms, and they stared as we drove by. For Ben and I it felt like each set of eyes was judging us for not towing a camping contraption of some sort behind us. In reality, Teslas are still not as common as they should be, and people were probably just checking out the car.
Still, when we got to our site, parked, and began sorting and organizing things in the car, the eyes of a camper in one of the sites behind us was just too much. She stared directly at us for the better part of 15 minutes, watching intently as I unpacked the contents of my backpack on the picnic table. I’d hoped to do some updating of my social media, but even in the screen of my Mac I could see her eyes on me.
“So this is the best view?” I finally asked. “Kind of disappointing…” There was a fence of some sort in between our site and the canal, and while I could see through it, there wasn’t a lot to see. The channel was over there, but the fence blocked most of it. Even when a boat came through, we could only see the flybridge.
“Picture this but in a gigantic motorhome,” Ben replied. “How do you think the view would be from up there?”
He had a point. We were in a low-riding, ground-hugging Tesla, and I was sitting on the picnic table. This space was huge - it took me 20 seconds just to back down in and get the car into position. One of those big camper-buses would have a great view.
“Maybe we could suggest ramps to drive cars on to for our next visit,” I said, and Ben laughed.
“I’m sure one day there will be entire campgrounds dedicated to people who are Tesla camping,” he replied. “But, for now, we should probably not rock the boat too much by stuffing the suggestion box with things we want tailored to us.”
He was right. I clicked ‘submit’ on my post - one of very few that I accomplished during this trip - and we decided that it would be best to retreat to the beach and return to set up camp after sunset.
Even with the climate control blasting us with cool air, and my CPAP in action, we really didn’t lose very many miles from the battery. We were both surprised at that. We’re talking heat wave temperatures, and the Tesla’s #CampMode performed very well, with very little power drain.
Benjamin decided to leave the bed in place - he’d taken to reverting it to ‘car mode’ complete with front and back seats each time we woke up. Today might be a double nap day, though, we surmised. Best to have it ready, just in case.
Ben wanted to go for a walk on a nature trail. He’d seen people walking on the trail during our earlier ride, and he was excited about going for one with the two of us. My health isn’t great, but I’d agreed earlier, so I had to go. As we headed for the mouth of the trail, I realized that it was primarily weeds - it almost looked like the trail had been cut straight through them.
“Uhhhh, I don’t know about this,” I told him.
“It’ll be fine,” he reassured me. “We’ll walk until you start to feel tired, and then we’ll turn around and come back…”
“Not that,” I replied. “Upstate New York has had an explosion of deer ticks this year. Not sure if that carries over to western PA, but if it does - weeds are what you’re supposed to avoid.”
Ben had been living in Europe, and his last stop before me had been Florida. The northeast was reporting nearly 4x as many ticks this year as in years past, but I guessed that news didn’t make it nationally or internationally…
“We’ll just check for ticks after,” he told me.
“The last thing I need is Lyme disease to accompany this cancer,” I replied. “But, okay… I agreed, I guess…”
We’d been walking into the trailhead, and just as I reaffirmed my intent to go for our hike we came to a mess of fallen trees and standing water and mud that would we immediately knew was impassable.
“Well… that’s that, then,” Ben announced. I could tell he was disappointed.
“We can drive around, there are probably others - the one trail we saw is even paved,” I told him.
He’d lost his interest in hiking, though.
“Let’s just go plug in and we can walk on the beach…”
We headed for the beach, plugging in to the free charger and availing ourselves of the free, private, and clean bathrooms. (The nap spot beach had a public bathroom that smelled very strongly of the stench of urine).
Ben had already put a little cooler of snacks together, and refilled the water bottles. We walked out to the beach and sat down in the little folding chairs we’d brought. Ben took some almonds for himself and passed them to me.
I had just finished my almonds when I felt it: pain in my right side.
I’d felt it before. It was where it hurt when I first went to the emergency room and was diagnosed with cancer. I felt it later, after my liver biopsy. I’d felt it a few months ago, after a Sandostatin injection that hadn’t gone particularly smoothly. And now I was feeling it again. I hoped it would go away.
It didn’t. Within fifteen minutes it was really beginning to throb.
I told Ben that I was feeling some pain. I didn’t want to alarm him, but I wanted him to know. On at least one previously occasion this pain had been accompanied by diarrhea. I’d had a rough time of it on our first day, but so far had staved off any of the symptoms that had the potential of turning this trip into a very different experience. I’d warned Ben well in advance, going as far as to tell him that the trip might need to be canceled in the middle if my health god bad. He’d checked on me regularly, asking how I was feeling, etc. - but up until now I’d been feeling great…
“Do you think it’s something that we ate?” Ben asked me. “We went to Sara’s this morning. And you had a few cookies at nap time…”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Eating something wrong usually just results in indigestion, not this…”
The pain was even worse now. It hurt to sit up. My side was aching. I had to lay down…
I lay down on the picnic table bench, and Ben got me some Powerade from the car. I’d picked it up on sale at a gas station on the border of PA, but the taste wasn’t to my liking and it had stayed buried in the cargo container we’d packed trip essentials into for the last two days. Ben suggested that I drink some. I also took a Tylenol.
After about 30 minutes laying on my side it hurt so much I almost couldn’t sit up. Ben had to help me. In true Ben form, he picked up everything, got it to the car, and packed it away. Maybe by the time we got back to the campground the Tylenol would have made some sort of difference?
We’d been driving a few minutes, me rubbing my side, when Ben asked if I thought a hospital visit might be a good idea.
“I don’t need to go to the hospital. I don't want to fuck around with insurance and all that. Let’s just go back to the campground and see if I can get some sleep…”
The pain continued to intensify. Before long it was what I would describe as a 9 on the 1-10 scale. It hurt almost as much as the day of my diagnosis. I realized that the hospital would be needed, and let Ben know that. Now I was getting scared… was this road trip going to end with my hospitalization?
Ben looked up hospitals on Google Maps and found one in downtown Erie.
“This one’s top-rated,” he told me. I was so appreciative of him doing the research that I didn’t even ask for details. Ben plugged the address into the car’s GPS, and away we went. It was still a good 15 minutes away. I wondered if I’d be able to drive that long.
At some point I realized I was talking to Ben, and also talking to the GPS. I probably shouldn’t have been driving. I didn’t want to put Ben on the spot, so I continued, but it was all I could do not to pull over and get out of th car. Sitting hurt so fucking much. What could be causing this? I didn’t know, but I hoped it was as simple as something I’d eaten…
When we pulled up to the hospital a man walked right up to us and came around to the driver’s side door. He had a big smile on his face.
“Are you here for treatment?” he asked.
“Yes,” I groaned.
“Is this a Tesla?” he asked excitedly.
"It is.” That was kind of an odd question, I thought. Then Ben leaned over and whispered into my ear…
“This is the valet.”
The what?
I looked up and, sure enough, there was a sign: Emergency Room Valet.
There was no way in hell at that moment I was going to hop out of my brand new Tesla Model 3 and just give the controls to the valet. For one, the car had something called ‘valet mode’ but I’d never even bothered to read what it does, because I’m not fancy and the chances of me needing ‘valet mode’ were, I’d figured, slim to none. I certainly wasn’t going to take the time to figure out how to use it here.
“My friend’s got it,” I mumbled. “I just need to get inside.”
“Of course!” the valet said with a smile. I sensed some disappointment. But he was kind enough to direct Ben to the parking garage, which was offering free parking - for the night, or until COVID was over, we didn’t know.
“You do have this, right?” I asked Ben. He reassured me that he did. “Just go slowly. If you have any questions at all about how to do something, call me,.” I instructed. He agreed, and I handed him the Tesla key card, got out, and limped inside.
Inside I stood and provided my information to the intake coordinator. There were no chairs. It had hurt to sit, but it was hurting even more to stand. Can I get a fucking chair? I wanted to ask. Instead, I rushed through providing the information and then sat in the waiting room. Within minutes I was meeting with two nurses who took my blood pressure. It was alarmingly high, even for me. They appeared alarmed, as well. Then I told them that I had cancer. What kind? Neuroendocrine. What stage? Four.
“We’re putting you ahead of all of the broken noses and migraines,” one told me. “You’ll be seen the moment we get an available bed.”
Except that’s not what happened. Instead, I sat in the waiting room for two hours. I exchanged a number of messages with Ben, who had successfully navigated to a parking space on the third level, and who had changed into his pajamas and was ready to take a nap. He wanted to know if that was okay, and I told him that it should be no problem - it seemed like I might be here a minute.
The emergency room was very busy. One patient actually did have a broken nose. Another complained of a migraine. Both were called to the front before me. I couldn’t fault the hospital. First come first served? That was fine. But after an hour or so I noticed that people who’d come after I’d arrived were being called. Had they forgotten about me? All of the staff seemed to disappear for at least 15 minutes, so there was nobody to ask.
Eventually I stood up, and realized that I needed to vomit. This can’t be good. I walked into the patient restroom, feeling sorry for all of the other people in that waiting area - and then bent over the toilet and waited.
Instead, I dry heaved. I wondered if vomiting might have made me feel better?
I returned to the waiting room and sat down. I heard one of the nurses say something about the oncologist on call. I wondered if that was for me. It definitely seemed like they were waiting for something, and I hoped that was not it. I contemplated what would happen if I wasn’t able to leave the hospital for a few days… would Ben need to take the train back to NYC? Should I let him drive the Tesla back to Geneva and get a ride? The pain was that intense that I was thinking I might not be going anywhere for a while.
And then, as if by some miracle, I actually began to feel better.
After a little while, I realized that the pain was more of a dull throb now. I texted Ben and let him know I might be ready for a pickup earlier than expected. He was sleeping, I’d find out later - but I wanted to give it at least 30 minutes, to see if the pain returned, anyway.
After a little while Ben texted back and let me know that he’d been thinking, and - maybe we were just dehydrated?
We’d both been drinking water all day, and Ben had been refilling our water bottles with fresh water practically everywhere we went. But maybe we’d been drinking for a regular summer day, and not a heat wave?
I had to admit that he was probably right… I’d been sipping on water throughout the day, and really hadn’t felt thirsty, but we’d been in the hot sun most of the day, and I hadn’t slept much the night before… dehydration could definitely have been at play. That might explain the intense pain around my liver, and the quick recovery, as well.
By the time two hours had passed a nurse finally called my name and let me know that they were ready to get my bloodwork. I asked how much longer it would be before someone actually examined me, and he estimated at least an hour.
Then, as if on cue, someone called out that a medical helicopter was coming in.
“Could be more,” he warned.
“I’m actually starting to feel better,” I told him. “I think what I’m going to do is head home and just come back if the pain returns…”
“I understand completely,” the nurse replied. “Do you even want this put in, then?” I’d given a urine sample when I first arrived, and it was next to the blood collection kit. I told him I’d re-do it if I needed to return overnight, and he wished me a good night. I got the impression I wasn’t the first patient to walk out without being examined that night. Probably even that hour. This hospital definitely had their staff-to-patient ratio out of whack tonight.
I texted Ben, and then stepped outside into the ER waiting area. The valet was gone. My Model 3 faced us on the third level of the garage. I watched the lights blink and the car reverse, then opened the app and watched the speeds drop and fall with each turn around the driving lane. Soon Ben was on the ground level, and then in the parking lot. He offered to drive, but I promised him I’d give him a chance the next day. My anxiety was still very high, and I am a nervous passenger. He stepped out, and I took over the driving. We left just as the helicopter touched down on the roof.
We headed back to the campground. It was now after midnight.
“I just want to make sure you know that I may have to go back,” I told him. “I don’t know what caused this. It may come back.”
“If it does, we’ll deal with it,” Ben assured me. “I can sleep just as easily in that parking garage as I can anywhere else. Actually, since that parking garage is free… I was thinking, if we add another night to our tour of Presque Isle, that might be a good option…”
“Oh wow, I wonder if they have a space on the rooftop? We could sleep in the car under the stars, all for free!”
“We could watch helicopters land right above us.”
It was definitely an idea worth exploring.
We’d found our way back into the campground and pulled onto our pad. We could see the moon, the stars, and - with the exception of the light from the electrical outlet on the driver’s side - it appeared that we’d have a nice, dark view.
“Let’s not even use the privacy shield tonight,” Ben suggested. “I bet that added to your claustrophobia… let’s see how you do without it?”
I agreed.
“And let’s try getting in through the side door this time,” he continued. “I bet if you can get in and out of the door, you won’t have that feeling like you’re trapped after you squeeze through the trunk.”
“Do you think we can get in that way?” I asked. Ben had already tried, at the parking garage, he told me, and it had worked fine. “That would be amazing…” I was quite a bit bigger than Ben, and wasn’t sure if I was limber enough. I sat down on the upper portion of the ‘bed’, pulled my feet in, and did a sort of spin maneuver that resulted in my foot kicking the side of the door. Still, I was in. I lay back, looked at Ben, and said: “Holy shit! That makes it a whole different experience.”
“It really does,” he agreed.
“I wonder if I can get out that way now?”
I tried exiting the vehicle, and was able to get out with ease. I came back in the same way - no door kick this time. Oh my God, why the fuck had we been climbing through the trunk this whole time? This time there would be no gasping for air, no insistence that the ventilation was on - none of that. I felt like I was laying in a protected little bubble with a 360-degree view. It felt amazing.
“This really does feel better,” I told Ben.
“It does. But you know, when I was at the hospital garage, and I got a chance to lay in the car by myself, it really felt truly spacious. When I’m not here with you, whenever you do your next trip, you’re going to feel even better…”
I doubted that. Ben had made this trip easy. And fun. I’d become accustomed to his “turndown service”, as he called it - the bed was made for me every night. And reverted back into seating in the morning. I hardly had to carry anything back and forth to the beach - Ben had everything sorted and ready to go. If it were just me I pictured myself making multiple trips to get things I’d forgotten. Sunscreen? It’s in the car. Ben had acted like a guide on this trip, and the next one would be very different without him.
“I couldn’t have done the hospital tonight without you,” I told him. I meant it. I felt responsible for him - he’d trusted me to plan this trip out, and things hadn’t gone according to plan. His being there had made that so much easier - no anxiety about leaving the car with a stranger, just for starters.
“Well, let’s make sure we keep drinking water for the rest of this trip, so we don’t have to do that again…”
I agreed.
“I’m really surprised that was a top-rated hospital,” I told Ben. “It really sucked.”
“Well, it was top-rated on Google Reviews,” he clarified.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I mean, when I looked up hospitals, that one had a few good reviews. The next one had just one, and it was three stars…”
“So Ben,” I began. “When you said it was a ‘top-rated hospital’ - I thought you meant that you’d read that it was top-rated in the field of cancer. Or emergency care. Or… something, at least. Are you saying that it was just… more five-star reviews?” He nodded. “Okay. Hopefully I’ll never need the ER again on this trip - but, if I do, and you do any research while we are trying to find the right one, be sure to mention that you’re pulling your information from Google reviews.”
“Got it,” Ben replied.
“Because ‘top rated’ in Google Reviews doesn’t mean - “
“Got it.”
We closed our eyes and I was out in just a few minutes. As I dozed off, Ben remarked at how lucky we were to have found this campground. A safe place to sleep - with a fence to keep donut-driving teens out - and a shower in the morning? It was perfect.
“And,” he continued, “if you had the right adapter, you could even be charging the car while we sleep!”
An idea to keep in mind for next time…
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READ ALL ABOUT THE ‘DRY RUN’ ROAD TRIP!
[Dry Run Road Trip] [Outfitting The Tesla] [Day 1: Niagara Falls] [Day 2: Route 5] [Day 2: Presque Isle] [Day 3: A Screeching Halt in Erie, PA] [Day 3: Just Another Day in Paradise!] [Day 4: Time to Go…] [NYC & Post-Trip Wrap-Up]
