Of People and Possums - Part Two

If you haven't had a chance yet, please read part one of this tale about our recent departure from our winter paradise in Florida!

We departed from Largo, Florida at 4:30 AM on Saturday morning.  Traffic was almost non-existent.  We made every traffic light green on Ulmerton Road except one.  We crossed the Howard Frankland Bridge on I-275 into downtown Tampa ... we merged onto I-75 at the Pasco County line exactly one hour after we left "home."

Wait a minute ... I'm sounding exactly like Sergeant Joe Friday from Dragnet ... just the facts, ma'am!

By 8:30, we had crossed the state line into Georgia.  Our bladders were full, my coffee was empty, and our gas needed replenishment according to the fuel gauge and my anal retentive travel habits.  The sun was up, the air pleasant, and Georgia welcomed us at Exit 1 on I-95.  A half hour later, we were back on the road with empty bladders, washed hands, and a full tank of gas.  While I was filling up the tank, co-pilot Mindy ran into the Pilot truck stop and bought me a bottle of Dunkin' Mocha iced coffee.  We were ready to go!

Along the way north on I-95, we found gas to be cheap, restaurants to be closed, and traffic to be light.  The container of chicken salad that Mindy made before we left served us well as we broke open our cooler to have lunch at the I-95 rest area by Lake Marion in South Carolina.  The bottle of Stok un-sweetened iced coffee in the cooler was a great substitute for the usual cups of hot black mud formerly purchased at the Pilot truck stops that generally kept me going through the day.

Rest areas were unusually empty and extraordinarily clean.   Mindy mentioned how "spooky" they felt, being so empty, compared to usual.  As we progressed northward, each state featured highway advisory signs that carried a unified message.

"Stay Safe" ... "Stay Home" ... "Practice social distancing: ... "for COVID-19 info visit www.<insert state-specific website here>.com." The general feeling was thus:  If you are reading this sign ... what the hell are you doing here?

We arrived in Ashland, Virginia before dark, and as usual, pulled up for the night.  Our room at the local Red Roof Inn was clean ... with the distinctive aroma of disinfectant cleaners lighting up our nostrils as we entered the room.  A bent shower curtain rod and missing towel rack were the only things that made our stay less than perfect.  We ate more chicken salad sandwiches, and used the microwave to cook some Yakisoba noodles to allow the driver to satisfy his carbohydrate cravings.

As soon as it was dark under the table, we tucked ourselves into bed.  Alarm clocks set for 3AM, we got up as planned, showered, and hit the road once again.  A quick stop to fill up with gas in Ruther Glen, VA at Mr. Fuel ... no hot coffee available (but thank God for Stok) ... Mindy bought a carton of Virginia state low-priced Marlboro cigarettes ... and we were on the road once again!  Clear road, clear skies, and clearly, we were on our way north!

Outside Fredricksburg, VA, we took US 17 north towards the city of Winchester, and the junction with I-81.  US 17 leaves Fredricksburg as a four-lane highway gradually climbing upward through the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains toward the Shenandoah River.  About 10 miles from Fredricksburg it crosses the Fauquier County line.  Fauquier County is my Bradford family ancestral homeland, and as such is a place near and dear to my heart.  US 17, bypassing the town of Warrenton, runs just a few miles from the place where one of my Bradford forebears, George Nevill, operated an "Ordinary" (otherwise known as an inn) near Auburn, VA.  Nevill's Ordinary is a place among many that has the distinction of having George Washington as a regular guest, while young Washington was working as a surveyor in the area under the employ of the area's major land owner, Lord Fairfax.

As we climbed higher into the foothills of the Blue Ridge, the vision ahead grew more foggy.  I slowed down, and let my low-beam headlights light the way using the right-side white line to guide us.  Mindy, thankfully, was asleep, as she gets quite nervous under these driving conditions!

Just north of Delaplane, VA, US 17 turns into a two-lane road with a strictly-enforced 45 MPH speed limit.  Radar-equipped speed warning signs appear every two or three miles along this stretch, flashing brightly if you are exceeding the posted maximum.  Having traversed this 10-mile stretch of speed-controlled road before, I could only remember fondly how beautiful it is during sunny daylight hours, and I slowed down to the speed limit to avoid being caught in this pre-dawn speed trap.  The last thing I wanted was was a local Sheriff's Deputy telling me "you in a heap of trouble, boy" at 5:30 on a foggy Virginia morning!

The fog made it much more attractive to slow down ... low beams ... slow go!  Behind me was a pickup truck ... riding high, with his headlights glaring into my rear-view mirrors.  He was clearly annoyed that I was following the speed limit ... I could barely see ... and we were in a well-known speed trap!  There were no shoulders on this stretch of road, and I could see no place to pull over so he could pass.  I wished like hell he would pass me and get it over with!  He couldn't be more than half a car-length behind my rear bumper!  I prayed for God to have him back off and slow down!

Right after I crossed a railroad crossing and started down into the valley ahead, I noticed movement on the right-hand shoulder of the road.  "Oh oh," I said to myself, "something is crossing in front of us."  I immediately recognized the shuffle of a possum crossing in front of me.  Narrow two-lane road.  Dark.  Foggy.  Pickup truck just inches from my rear bumper.  I couldn't swerve right, no shoulder.  I couldn't hit my brakes or risk being struck hard by the truck behind us.  I thought about swerving left, but saw headlights approaching from the north.  Nowhere to go but straight ahead.

As I got closer to the possum, he kept crossing at the same pace.  Suddenly, he looked up, and saw my approach.  He then did what possums do best ... he played possum!  He hunkered down, belly flat on the road with his eyes opened real wide and glassy looking.  He opened his mouth, and stuck his tongue out.  That was the last I saw of him.

Thunk.  (Front cross-member possum hit number one.)

Twang.  (Bounced off the exhaust system somewhere behind the catalytic converter, hit number two.)

KERTHUNKKKK!  (Hit the trailer hitch receiver, just inches from the ground due to the heavy load of northbound stuff we were carrying, massive hit number three.)

"What was that?" Mindy hollered as she woke up from her slumber.  "Nothing" I said.  "Just ran over a possum.  We're all right."

"Ok," she said, and went back to sleep.

The pickup truck quickly backed off.  I'm fairly certain my trailer hitch receiver, on that final "Kerthunk" may have flung some possum meat up into his windshield ... but either way, he did back off until we arrived at the intersection with US 50.  As I stopped at the red light, I couldn't help but notice a real funky odor coming up through the cockpit as we waited for the light to turn green.  Mindy, thankfully, was asleep.  At the first opportunity, once we turned left onto US 50, the pickup passed us and I never saw him again.

The remainder of our trip was somewhat uneventful.  More chicken salad sandwiches, Stok coffee, and some beef jerky and honey buns for good measure.  More fog in Pennsylvania ... no traffic in Hartford.  Every once in a while Mindy would ask "What's that smell?"

Later, while traveling through Massachusetts, the electronic signs were different.  They spoke of a 14-day quarantine for everyone arriving in the Bay State.  Now my general feeling was that of Dante's Inferno ... and the sign on the gates of Hell ... "Abandon all hope, all ye who enter here!"

Our stop at the Vermont Welcome Center on I-91 was different from our usual pleasure.  The main building (and its restrooms) was closed.  It felt so good to stretch my legs and breathe northern New England air ... but my bladder was telling me "you gotta go, dude!"

There were porta-potties set up at the edge of the parking lot.  Mindy "suggested" that I glove-up before I went in there ... so, being the good husband that I am, I grabbed a pair of our "gas station vinyls" and stretched them over my hands.  I was pleasantly surprised by the cleanliness of the outhouse ... locked the door, did my business, unlocked the door, and de-gloved before pushing the door open with my elbow.  My eye caught a wall-mounted hand sanitizer dispenser, so I glopped a handful of alcohol-based lifesaver and rubbed my hands together with a smile on my face!

We got back home to New Hampshire around 5 PM.  Thankful to be back in our own house, we unloaded our house plants and other items that we didn't want to leave in the cold overnight.  We warmed up some canned supper and turned in for the evening.  Our son left us with about 30 gallons of water to flush with until the town could come in the morning and turn our water back on.  Life was good, and we were home!

Later, as I crawled into bed, I took my usual time at the end of the day for devotions and prayers to my maker ...

Dear Lord ... I thank you for the safe travel back from Florida.  I'm so sorry I killed your possum in Virginia this morning ... but oh, sweet Jesus ... I am ever so thankful you sent a possum to slow that pickup truck down instead of a moose!

Amen!

Of People and Possums - Part One

My lovely bride, Miss Mindy, and I recently returned home to New Hampshire from our winter stay in warm and sunny Florida.  We cut our planned visit short by two weeks due to the spread of the novel Coronavirus, amid the general uncertainty of exactly where the safest place to be on earth presently is.

Many of our "snowbird" neighbors in Florida are Canadian.  With the spread of the COVID-19 pandemic to North America many of us were waiting, watching, and wondering if we were safer there or "back home" in our northern states or Canada.  I, like many, did not want to leave the warmth and enjoyment that we have in wintertime Florida.  There were still many activities planned at the clubhouse that everyone likes to participate in.  The days were getting warmer, and the pool invited us all with the promise of its comfortable relaxation.  We were making regular trips to a mangrove beach on Tampa Bay, where we could enjoy the warm bay water, Mindy lounging in the sun and me reading a book in the shade of a mangrove tree while sipping on iced tea and eating sushi from our local Publix store.  Life, as we were living it, was quite relaxing to say the least!


Now, the opossum is a very interesting and somewhat misunderstood animal.  The predominant "possum" in North America is the Virginia Opossum, which ranges east of the Rocky Mountains from southern Canada to northern Costa Rica.  Possums play a vital role in our ecosystem as they eat a variety of yucky things, such as rats, mice, slugs, cockroaches, ticks, carrion, rotted fruit, and human garbage.  I suppose you could call them the garbage truck of the animal kingdom!  They are the only marsupial found in North America, with the female giving birth after a very short gestation period and carrying the babies in her pouch, each one having attached itself to one of her 13 teats until mature enough to leave the pouch.

Possums are known to have an amazing immune system, do not get rabies, aren't bothered by poisons that would kill most other animals, and are immune to snake venom.  About the size of a house cat, the possum has very little to defend himself with, except his appearance.  With 50 razor-sharp teeth, a possum with mouth wide open, hissing, drooling, and blowing snot bubbles out of his nose is an imposing sight to some smaller predators.

To protect itself against larger, more aggressive predators, the possum will actually fake his own death.  He hunkers down, opens his mouth, sticks out his tongue, and goes into a mild coma.  He also releases a noxious green fluid from glands located around his anus.  No self-respecting carnivore would ever eat something that grotesque and stinky!  The action that we call "playing possum" is an involuntary process that evolved to protect the possum from becoming someone's lunch.

People sometimes "play possum" too, when they are faced with a crisis or situation that frightens them and don't know what to do.  Thankfully, we don't actually lay down, stick out our tongue, and stink to high heaven.  But we do stop whatever is going on and involuntarily do nothing until we figure out what it is that we need to do.

And so it was in beautiful, relaxing Boca Ciega Village on Walsingham Road in Pinellas County, Florida.  As the news advanced about the growing number of infected people in the US, we went about our daily activities and lives with the attitude (as stated by one resident) "We've got our own little bubble here.  We're safe."

Then our President declared a state of emergency.  We needed to stop playing possum!

The Canadian government asked all citizens to return to Canada as soon as possible.  The Canadians' private health insurance plans (that cover the difference in cost between US and Canadian health care) were advising them that their policies would be cancelled if they did not return immediately!  Within a matter of just a few days our neighbors from the north were gone!  Those with cars left as soon as they could pack their bags.  Those who were flying made immediate reservations and prayed their flights would not be cancelled ... some were delayed for days.  Refrigerators were emptied, and groceries donated to those who hadn't left yet.  (Glad we could help!)

Spring break arrived, as it does every year in Florida, with massive numbers of college-aged kids whose still-maturing brains could not understand the concept of social distancing and staying away from Florida this year.  Beaches and restaurants were closed as a result of their lack of appreciation for the situation at hand.  Closing as well was our beloved mangrove beach, and eventually the county closed our community swimming pool at Boca Ciega.

Many American residents started making plans to leave early as well.  Our park has about 25 (out of 138) year-round residencies, with the remainder being seasonal.  We were down to a little over 50 remaining two days before we left.  We packed our things and studied the weather forecasts.  We targeted our exit date.  We said "goodbye" to paradise.

While reading the news, we learned that New Jersey and the NYC Metro area were real hotpots for COVID-19.  Our usual, shortest, and fastest route goes straight up the New Jersey Turnpike to New York City.  Years of trips back and forth conducted with my anal retentive behavior patterns reminded me that we cannot make it through NJ without stopping for coffee, restrooms, and gasoline.  No how, no way!

So, this year, we decided to avoid NJ by turning north just before Washington, DC, and taking I-81 north into Pennsylvania.  This would allow us to then turn east on I-84 well north of NYC, scoot safely into CT, MA,VT and finally arrive in NH.

Our plans were set ... the van was loaded.  A final restful night's sleep in Florida and we were on our way at 4:30 in the morning.  Dark.  No traffic.  Northward bound!

Stay tuned for Part two of our exciting travel adventure!