September 2001: After three or four rest stops (Jackson had a small bladder) and several games of "your car" (a cunning game of strategy in which one "gives" the most dilapidated car he sees to the other), we had crossed into Illinois and decided to grab a bite. I had already used up the roll of duct tape my father provided me in an attempt to stop the shredding of the tarp. It seemed like every time we stopped, a new section of the tarp was sporting a thin tear. I wasn't too concerned (the sturdy knots my father tied were invincible), but I didn't want my belongings flying out if the tarp retained too many holes.
So, after a quick bite at McDonald's (no time to lose--we had to make it to Kentucky by sundown), I ran into Wal-Mart to purchase another 2 rolls of duct tape. After a brief discussion, we decided that patching the holes was a failing strategy. The new plan of attack: cover that puppy. Jackson grabbed the roll, I grabbed the end of the tape, and we plastered the entire back portion of the tarp with poor man's plaster. It didn't look pretty (turquoise truck + blue tarp + duct tape = Clampet mobile, "your car"), but I was confident in our craftsmanship. With the wind at our backs, the journey carried on.
To be continued...
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