J & W Decorated for the Holidays
After vaulting my 70-year-old body into the passenger seat, I located my seat belt and secured my precarious position before a windshield which created the illusion of being on a chair ski lift. Comforting, I thought, picturing a collision.
The View from the Seat I Occupied
After loading, Husband turned all the knobs and fired up the venerable diesel engine, which entertained us for miles with every conceivable sound that has ever been emitted by man, beast, or contraption. Some examples: pshew (air compressor), squeak-squeak, tweet, rattle, RATTLE, gurgle, POP, knock-knock, and hummmmm. That's right, tweet! My thought, a family of birds in the Thermo-King? It was complete sound schizophrenia.
In the midst of all this, I turned my focus from the carnage of carcasses on the road to the more pleasant vista of the Sunday paper puzzles, which I enjoy. It was then that our vehicle's astute sensitivity to every imperceptible crack in the asphalt became formidable opposition to any pencil trying to make contact with paper. Thank goodness I wore my heavy-duty sports bra or things could have been even worse. Husband says a fully-loaded truck rides much smoother than one carrying just 24 gallons of oysters. He could be right.
Our Truck Being Loaded
In spite of all the jiggling, bumping, and shaking, I managed to finish three cryptograms, a sudoku, and the word jumble, and felt satisfied with that performance under duress. Husband says I just don't understand diesels.
After violently bounding up and down around the Richmond potholes - tweeting, pshewing, rattling, and knock-knocking, we headed for Charlottesville, Afton Mountain, and North on Interstate 81 to our destination. At the rainbow's end was the "sweet silver song of a lark"* in the form of "Traditions," an all you can eat seafood buffet in a beautifully appointed dining room on the outskirts of the city. We enjoyed fried oysters (shucked at J &W), steamed shrimp, crispy fried chicken with all the trimmings for a mere $14.95. It's a rare treat to be experienced if you are ever in the area. The owner, Mr. Brian Willi, is to be commended!
After breaking our resolutions at the buffet, we climbed back into our places aboard our frenetic kinetic transport and headed back home like two weary astronauts on the space shuttle, but knowing our quaking diesel ride would involve far more friction...squeak, tweet, rattle, knock, clunk and PSHEW!
Mr. Kevin Wade's J & W Sign
* Lyrics from "You'll Never Walk Alone," a great song from yesterday.