Mango Bob, page 11
“Walker, this has been my best trip ever.”
“Maybelle, I'm glad you were here. I don't think those guys were kidding around. You saved the day.
“Do you think we should call your son Earle, and let him know what happened? Him being a deputy and all?”
“Heavens no! We don't want to let Earle know about this. He worries enough as it is. And if he finds out I tased two people and then locked them in a car trunk, he might put us both in jail.”
“So Walker. We keep this to ourselves.”
“That's fine with me. I don't want to get mixed up with the law in Mississippi.”
We traveled in silence for the next thirty miles, then Maybelle said, “Lucedale is just five miles ahead. Take a right at the next flashing yellow light.”
I followed Maybelle's directions until we reached an older home with a large porch with three kids on a swing.
As I pulled in, all the kids jumped up and started yelling, “Grandma's here!”.
Maybelle turned to me, “Walker, you're invited to come in and have supper if you like. Even camp out here for the night.”
“Maybelle, I appreciate the offer. But I'm on a mission to get to Mobile tonight. So I'm going to keep going.”
She took my hand, “Remember our little secret. Don't call Earle and tell him anything about today. I'll call him in a few minutes and let him know I made it home.”
“And Walker, now that you know where I live, feel free to drop in next time you come through this way. Maybe we'll go out and get a few more bad guys.”
I laughed, then helped Maybelle get her poke and get out the door. We hugged, and I got back in the Love Bus.
Before I drove off, I checked on Bob. He was back in the bed, asleep.
32
The GPS showed that from Maybelle's home in Lucedale to the Bass Pro shop was just 48 miles. Should be an easy drive.
But it wasn't. The closer I got to Mobile, the more traffic I ran into. Lots of stop lights. Lots of impatient drivers who didn't want to be stuck behind a motorhome.
When I finally reached Mobile, I took I-10 east toward the Mobile tunnel and Mobile bay. It was hard to tell whether rush hour was just getting started or just ending. Traffic was heavy, but not crazy. The roads were surprisingly good.
I'd already driven twelve hours. With just two stops - one of which included a little gun play.
The sun was setting and I needed to take a bathroom break. But first, I had to get through the Mobile bay tunnel.
Approaching the tunnel in a motorhome is a real adventure. You go from being on the flat interstate traveling in heavy traffic, then down a steep grade into a tunnel that travels under Mobile bay for a couple of miles.
Warning lights on the sharp curve leading into the tunnel flash if you are approaching at a hazardous speed. Since almost everyone is speeding, the lights flash non stop. Then a flurry of brake lights as cars attempt to slow to enter the tunnel.
Once in the tunnel, traffic speeds back up as it races to the daylight at the other end, where the road rises steeply up from the ocean floor, onto the Mobile bay causeway.
As I drive up out of the tunnel, I'm awed. Water stretches out on both sides of me. The smell of salty sea air is strong. The road is surrounded by ship yards, an aircraft carrier, even a submarine.
But there's no time to look around. I'm driving a six ton rig across a narrow strip of concrete surrounded on both sides by water. A wrong move by me or any of the thousands of other vehicles crossing the causeway could be disastrous.
So I'm not taking chances. Sixty is the posted limit and that's all I'm doing. Maybe a little less.
According to the route Jack showed me the night before, I take the Spanish Fort exit, the first exit beyond the causeway. Then cross over the interstate to the Bass Pro parking lot.
I see the exit, and the Bass Pro store. It's hard to miss. The store is a one hundred forty thousand square feet log cabin sitting on a hill above the interstate.
I take the exit, turn left. Bass Pro is straight ahead.
33
Pulling into the huge Bass Pro parking lot, I follow the arrows to the RV parking area.
Not many motorhomes here this late in the day, so it's easy to find Jack and Jean's rig. I park next to it.
Turning off the motor, I tell Bob we're in for the evening. I don't know if he hears me or not. I haven't seen him in a while.
As I get up to go back to the bathroom, Bob hops off the bed and starts talking. Telling me I'm his buddy. I rub him around his ears and he purrs.
In the bathroom I take care of business, and then check Bob's food and water. Still good.
According to the Bass Pro sign, there's a restaurant inside. I tell Bob I'm leaving and advise him not to try to sneak out when I get back. He has his plans. I have mine.
As I leave the Love Bus, I notice the lights in Jack and Jean's coach are not on. Either they're already in bed, or in Bass Pro.
Not wanting to disturb them if they are sleeping, I head across the parking lot to the main entrance of Bass Pro.
I walk in and am amazed. Over one hundred and forty thousand square feet of retail shopping space. Everything you can imagine for outdoor fun. Hiking, camping, boating, hunting, fishing. You name it, they have it.
I could spend a few days here and not see it all. But right now, I want food.
I locate the Fish Country restaurant. There's not a line. Good. As I'm looking for the greeter, my phone chimes.
It's Jack. He and Jean are already in the restaurant. They saw me pull in. Want to know if I want to join them for dinner.
I do.
Jack says, “We're in a booth by the back window. I'll stand up and wave.”
I look around and see him.
They tell me they arrived about thirty minutes ago. Had an uneventful trip. No problems.
I tell them the same. The route was good. The traffic wasn't bad. The roller-coaster roads around Jackson were just as described.
I leave out Bob's escape, my guest passenger, and the attempted carjacking.
We order our meals and discuss the route for the next day.
Jack says, “Tomorrow will be an easy day. We'll stay on I-10 for three hundred miles until we get to the Florida Georgia Parkway at exit 225. Then take it to Chiefland, where we'll camp at Manatee Springs State Park for the night.
“It's about four hundred miles total. Ten hours of driving.
“Stopping at Manatee Springs means we don't get stuck in rush hour traffic around Tampa.
“From there it's only two hundred miles to Venice. Another twenty miles to Englewood.”
Jean takes over, “Manatee Springs is a really relaxing place to camp. Ten miles off the main highway and right on the Suwanee River.
“The springs pump out a hundred million gallons of clear, cool water daily. And you can take a boardwalk from the springs to the river.
“It's very peaceful and scenic.”
“Will I need a reservation?”
“Probably not. But better to have one than to get turned away. If you can get on the internet, you can use the ReserveAmerica web site to reserve your spot.”
“Good to know. When I get back to the motorhome, I'll log on and see if I can get a spot.”
As we ate our dinner Jack continued to offer me advice and observations.
“Be sure to fill up with fuel in the morning before you get back on the interstate because gas prices in Florida will be about fifteen cents a gallon higher than here.”
Jack looked at Jean, “If we leave at seven, we should make Manatee Springs around five without having to push it. It's an easy drive. But lots of boring interstate.”
I smiled, “I'll take boring. Better than the excitement I've had today.”
Jean looked up, “You had some excitement on the road today? Tell us about it.”
“It started in Lake Village. I stopped to stretch my legs and when I got back to the coach, the cat jumped out.”
“I thought I'd lost him, but got some help and finally got him back inside.”
“Then the grandmother of the boy who helped me catch the cat convinced me to give her a ride to Lucedale.”
“Turns out, her son was a deputy sheriff and she knew all about the different areas we drove through. She kept me entertained with her stories and recollections.”
Jean asked, “So do you make a habit of picking up strange women?”
“No, it wasn't like that. Her grandson did me a favor and she was going to take a bus to Lucedale, and since it was on my way, I agreed to help her out.”
Jean smiled, "That's nice of you. But you should be careful about picking up strangers."
Jack put his fork down, “Walker, I've been meaning to ask you something. Jean says I should just mind my own business, but I'm curious.
“Most of the people we meet going south for the winter in their motorhomes are like us. Retired, in our sixties.
“But you're a young guy. Traveling alone.
“What kind of job do you have that gives you this kind of freedom?
“If it's none of my business, just say so. I won't take offense.”
I smiled, “Jack, I don't mind sharing my story.
“Up until three weeks ago I was married and had a computer job at a Fortune 500 company.
“Then my wife surprised me by filing for divorce. She said she was doing me a favor. Giving me my freedom.
“We didn't have any kids, so it was an easy divorce. Just sign the papers and walk away.
“We split everything down the middle. She stayed in the house and I had to find another place to live.
“About the same time, the company I was working for announced it was closing our plant and moving it to Mexico. Everyone was laid off, including me.
“The company owned a motorhome they needed to sell. They offered it to me at great price, and since I needed a place to stay, I bought it.
“So I've gone from being employed, married and living in a nice house, to being unemployed and living in a motorhome on the road to Florida.”
Jack asked, “So how are you holding up? All these changes in your life?”
I thought about my answer. “Well the divorce kind of caught me by surprise. I didn't expect it. But she made it quick and painless.”
“And I never imagined I'd own or be living in motorhome. But now that I have one, it gives me this feeling that I have the freedom to go anywhere, knowing no matter where I stop I have a place to stay.”
Jack nodded, “We get that same feeling every time we hit the road. A sense of freedom and adventure.
“The only downside is the cost of fuel. But the way we figure it, we make up for that by not having to pay for hotel rooms.
“And unlike hotels, the motorhome means we get to sleep in our own bed every night. No worrying about bed bugs or who slept there the night before.”
Jack folded up his napkin, “I'm full. And I'm itching to check out all the things in Bass Pro. Maybe they'll have a few things I want.”
Jean laughed, “I'm sure they have lots of things you want. But not many things you absolutely need. I'm going with you to make sure you don't go crazy.”
The waitress put our checks on the table. I picked them up.
“Walker, no need to do that. We invited you to dinner.”
“Jack, you and Jean have helped me so much on this trip. Getting the dinner tab is the least I can do.”
Jean smiled, “It isn't necessary, but thanks. We appreciate it."
She stood, "If you'll excuse me, I need to follow Jack through the store. Want to join us?”
“Thanks, but I think I'll just wander around a bit, and then head back to my new home.”
I spent thirty minutes exploring Bass Pro. Found plenty of things I'd love to have, but nothing I really needed at the moment.
When I got back to the motorhome, I didn't forget Bob's escape attempt earlier in the day. So I planned my entry.
I walked to the side door and tapped on it to get Bob's attention, then snuck around to the driver door and quickly opened it and climbed in.
I was in and had the door closed behind me before Bob realized what was happening.
Bob said, “Murrpff.” Telling me I won this round.
He came over and bumped his head against my leg, then walked away. Making friends again.
Remembering what Jack had said about getting a reservation at Manatee Springs, I retrieved my computer, powered it up, and went to the Reserve America web site.
There were only five campsites still available for the following day, so I reserved one close to the springs. Twenty dollars for the night. Not bad.
With that taken care of and my belly full of food, it was time to prepare for the night's sleep.
I locked all the doors, pulled the blinds, and moved to the back bedroom. Bob followed me.
Before I had a chance to hit the sack, my phone chimed. It was Molly.
34
“Walker, this is Molly. You still driving?”
“No, I parked about an hour ago. Made it to the other side of Mobile.”
“You're making good time. I'm calling to check on Bob. How's he doing? Is he driving you crazy yet?”
“He's doing great. He slept most of the day, ate a little food, used his litter box, and seems pretty content.”
“Good to hear. I was worried about him.
“Walker, there's another reason I called.
“I got a call today from Detective Tim Kerber of the Boston Police Department. He wanted to know why Harvey Tucker had called me.
“When I asked why the police were interested in the calls, Kerber said Tucker had been murdered. Shot three times in the head.
“They found his cell phone and were checking his calls. My number showed up. The two calls he made to me about the Love Bus.”
I was stunned.
Harvey Tucker had been killed. The day after he called trying to find the whereabouts of my new home.
“What'd you tell the police?”
“I told them the truth. That Tucker had called asking if the motorhome had been sold.
“The detective asked what the second call was about, and I told him Tucker called back wanting to know where the motorhome was parked.
“The detective said he didn't know if the calls mattered or not, but he would call back if they needed more information.
“I didn't mention your name or that Tucker had said he may have left something in the motorhome.
“It's pretty weird. Him calling me, then getting murdered the same day.”
“Yep, that's pretty strange. Out of the blue he calls you about the Love Bus. Then he's murdered a few hours later.
“Molly, if the police call you back, and you feel it's important they get in contact with me, give them my email address, not my phone number.
“I don't want to get any calls while I'm driving, especially from the police.”
As I was telling this to Molly, Bob started howling. A 'I want something' kind of howl.
Molly could hear Bob on her end, “Sounds like Bob's telling you it's time for his catnip.
“It's part of his nightly routine. A little catnip snack before he starts his nightly prowl.”
Bob continued to cry as Molly was telling me this.
“Okay, what do I need to do to get him to pipe down?”
“In the bag of Bob's things you'll find a small container of catnip. Get a paper plate and put about a tablespoon of catnip on it. Crush the catnip buds to release the oils.
“Put the catnip back on the plate and show it to Bob. After he eats it, he'll mellow out for a few hours.
“Here's the thing about Bob. Once he trains you to give him catnip, he'll want it every night.”
I laughed, “As long as it gets him to shut up, I'll be glad to give him his catnip. It'll be your sister's problem after Monday.”
“So you think you'll get there on Monday?”
“Yeah, unless something goes wrong with the Love Bus. So far, no problems, other than it uses a lot of gas.
“I'll call your sister when I have a better idea of when I'm going to get there.”
