We got back from Grand Junction Saturday afternoon. Usually, the traveling to & from is my favorite part; the scenery, the games, the music...


The going to Junction was fine - we hit some snow on Hoosier Pass but the roads were clear. After that it was all sun. Derek made us an MP3 for the trip which Mom & I thoroughly enjoyed but Dad wasn't happy about the large quantity of Weird Al on there! We also played the Alphabet Game which I lost by one lousy letter to Dad. All in the all the journey was amazingly uneventful.

I wrongly assumed the trip home would be the same.

I had to work Saturday night so I tried to get some sleep on the way home. I managed about 2 hours and woke up as we pulled into Frisco. I realized that I didn't feel so hot... my stomach was a mess. I tried to deny it for about an hour then realized I better warn the parents. "I think I'm gonna puke," I told them.

"Seriously?" They chorused.

"Well, not this second but probably sometime real soon." So they gave me the Zale's bag that Mom's birthday present had come in. It was small and had the holes at the top cut out to make handles. Mom informed me that I should "hook them over my ears." I declined.

We drove through some pretty twisty, turny roads and every time we hit a curve I thought that would be it. Luckily, my stomach didn't betray me. We stopped on Wilkerson Pass and I walked around in the cool mountain air for a bit, thinking that would help. I did feel better for about 15 minutes and then it returned.

We passed a road sign that informed us that Colorado Springs (HOME!!!!) was only 38 miles away. Yes! Surely I could hang on that long! After a few more miles, we passed a sign that said "REST AREA 1 MILE." Mom asked me if I needed to stop. I assessed my tummy and decided that I could make it. No joke, 20 seconds after I said that we took a serious curve and that was all she wrote! I stuffed my face in the Zale's bag and started to puke. Too late I realized that the puke wasn't going in the bag - it was shooting out through the handle holes!!!

"F---! F---! Bleeeeeaaahhhh!!" More on me, my GIR pillowcase and my Dad's seats. "Sh--! D--- it! Bleeeeeaaahhhhhhh!" Even more not inside the bag! Mom whipped the Vue into a church parking lot (by this time we were in Woodland Park) where I jumped out and found that I was now done puking. Of course.

I did manage did get SOME in the Zale's bag but most of it ended up on me and the car seats. Fortunately, Dad had some orange wipeys in the glove box and we were able to clean the car up. Sadly, there was nowhere around that I could change and had to ride home in my puke-encrusted clothes, sitting on my GIR pillowcase that was now defiled. After a while, Dad said, "25 miles from home, you couldn't wait?"

"I'm sorry," I told him. Then a thought struck me. "I guess I *should* of hooked the bag over my ears."

"Imagine some preacher finding that bag we left in the church parking lot," Dad said.

"Yeah," I agreed, "He'll be all excited: 'Ooo! A Zale's bag... AAAHHH!!!" Dad & I laughed - Mom didn't think it was all that amusing. I was also informed by my father, King Of Cuss-Words, that my language during the puke-fest had been atrocious! Sorry, but it was all reflex!

I do believe that that ranks as the #1 worst trip home EVER! EVER, I say!

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