Road Trip to Seattle (Part 1)

In December 1997 I graduated from the University of Miami, and decided to move to Seattle.  Given my lack of a paying job, a place to live, and acquaintances in Seattle, it was a careless decision that only a naïve and passionate 21-yr-old can make.

My primary motivation to move to Seattle was curiosity.  My secondary motivation was music.  1997 was on the tail of the Seattle grunge explosion, and there were a ton of recording studios and bands from Seattle that were getting international attention.  I sent my resume to all of the major recording studios in the Seattle area, hoping to land a gig as a second engineer.  I finally landed an unpaid internship (who needs money anyway, right?) with Triad Studios in Redmond.  They had a number of new projects on the table and were anxious to have me start.

Fortunately, my practicality wouldn’t allow me to move across the country without taking care of my major challenges.  So, to deal with the lack of cash flow, I consulted with my professor, Clyde, who I recalled mentioning that he had an old buddy in Seattle.  Clyde put me in contact with Bob Lockhart.  Bob was a local distributor for high-end audio equipment, and he was also the head engineer for a local church.  The church was beginning a major remodel, including a massive overhaul of their sound system.  Bob gave me a $13/hr. gig soldering and running cable for the new sound system.  Paying job.  Check.

Onto my next issue – no shelter.  My boyfriend at the time (Michael) had a roommate, Mark, who recently moved to Seattle with his girlfriend, Jamie.  Since the stars were aligning, it turned out that Mark was scheduled to go on the road (he was a drummer in the circus) for six months and Jamie needed a roommate to share the rent during that time.  This was the start of an incredible friendship with two of the most wonderful people I have ever met.  (And that is a whole other story…)

Now that my major roadblocks had been abolished, I was ready to take real action on the move.  After I graduated, I gathered all of my belongings from my South Miami apartment, threw them in my ’95 Ford Escort wagon, and headed north to Saratoga (New York) for Christmas.  My plan was to start out for Seattle as soon after Christmas as possible.  There was absolutely nothing that could stand in my way – not even the lurking snowstorm that was promising to be a big one.  It seemed that my luck started turning sour at this point, because this horrible storm was scheduled to hit the northeast the day that I was scheduled to leave.  I was still determined to beat it.  Mom and Dad suggested that I wait until the storm passes before I head out for my cross-country road trip.  Actually, more than a suggestion, it was a statement: “It’s too bad that your trip needs to be postponed.”  No way, my trip won’t be postponed.

I left as planned, at 4:00am from Saratoga on December 27.  The plan for day #1:  stop in Carlisle, Pennsylvania for a rest and a visit with my aunt and uncle and grandparents, then continue onto Morehead, Kentucky to pick up Michael, who would accompany me for the rest of the road trip to Seattle.

I stopped in Carlisle very, very quickly.  Too quickly.  I stopped by 355 E. Baltimore St. to say hello to Andee, Bob, Paul and Emily.  I was not interested in visiting – I just wanted to use their phone to call my parents (as they requested) and get on my way.  I was racing a winter storm, after all, and really need to rush out of there.  I left 355 E. Baltimore to say a quick hello to Mom-Mom and Pop-Pop at 421 Dogwood Ct.  Pop-Pop had the news on and we were watching the weather report.  Mom-Mom was down for a nap and I didn’t want to wake her.  But Pop-Pop had told her that I was driving across the country and she was extremely concerned about this.  She said that I was not old enough to do this.  I thought this was kind of funny…  Pop-Pop went in to talk to Mom-Mom and then told me that Mom-Mom wanted to see me.

Mom-Mom was not doing well at this time.  I had never seen her “unpresentable,” and certainly never walked into her bedroom while she was in bed.  I rushed in to see her.  She leaned up in bed and her hair was a mess.  She had a worried look in her eyes, but I told her that I was going to be fine.  She said “I love you” and I said “I love you” back – and, that was the first and last time we said that to each other – and I ran out the door.

Pause.

This picture of Mom-Mom in bed is still vivid in my memory.  This is a moment in my life that I look back on and wish that I wasn’t in such a rush.  My priorities were seriously out of whack.  I was putting my potential for a new career and a new life in Seattle ahead of my personal safety and, more importantly, my family.  At that time, I could not understand the impact of the decision to live so far away from my family.  That every time I got to see them should be fulfilling, complete, quality, treasured … not rushed.  My drive for my career would always be there.  My time with my family would not.  I was 21.  I was a little blind.  I was selfish.

Back to the story …

The storm was headed in my direction quickly.  There were only a few flurries, but the temperature was dropping and the wind was picking up.  The race was on as I backed out of Mom-Mom and Pop-Pop’s driveway and headed for the entrance to I-81S, to get to Kentucky stat.  All was good for a couple hours.  I was ahead of schedule.  But as I entered West Virginia, the stars re-aligned themselves to someone elses’ benefit.  I hit a patch of ice and my car spun out of control.  I came to an abrupt, but brief, halt as the rear end of my car hit a road sign.  The impact catapulted my Ford Escort up a snow bank on the side of the highway.  In ultra-slow motion, my car headed up the bank, headed directly for a tree, stopping inches within the tree, and then slid anti-climactically into a ditch padded by a foot of freshly fallen snow.  There I was – stuck in a ditch in the middle of a massive snow storm, on the side of the highway, 99 miles from Charleston, West Virginia (according to the sign that I hit), over 200 miles from Morehead, Kentucky, and alone.

My back window was shattered, exposing every one of my possessions to the falling snow.  (For years to come, I would continue to find shards of glass from that window all over my car.)  My rear bumper was sliced in half – half of it still attached to my car, and the other half lying about 50 feet away on the side of the highway.  The damage was significant.  It was impossible to know if the car was even driveable, as I was lodged in a ditch where the snow level was quickly beginning to cover my tires, envelope my car, and blanket (destroy?) everything I owned.

… to be continued …