As midnight ticked over into the next day, I awoke just as we were leaving Illinois into Indiana. Leah got us through the Gary vortex and up into Michigan. The sun was a couple hours from coming up, so my shift was at hand. I drove up right up that Western Michigan coast all the way to mom and dad’s place.
And was it. We were home. Another great one for the recordbooks.
Spent the day regrouping after the first leg. It was good to be home. Spaghetti dinner, sitting down. The best.
“60 Days On The Road,” eh? With a good 80 percent of this adventure weighing in to the “pleasure” category, the other 20 percent is “all business.” Of course, even as we galavant across the states, our main obligations are to our clients, and hell, they have no problem making calls and going wild. No problem, whatsoever.
Mom’s got a good connection at the house, which of course, I compromised with some horrific uploads for the “putting out of fires” that may have arisen while I was on the way home.
The dudes from SNOWBOARD magazine started calling. Oh shit. You get to a weird point after a job is “handed off” where you just sorta fear what kinda call you are going to get. Usually, if you don’t hear anything, well, that’s a good thing. But of course, there is always something that we missed, and, one little change can mean lots of changes. Take for instance our “Gallery” section. We boast a thick image section in the mag, and page numbers were off for whatever goddamn reason so I had to make the changes, then, upload the shit to our server. The document was 800mb. Stuffed, it weighed in at little over 500mb. Do you know how long it takes to upload a 500mb document through yer mom’s computer, deep in the Northern Michigan woods? We found out. With a blazing rate of “13k per second” I “let the file go” around midnight, and, with much haste and nailbiting, had it completely uploaded by 11am the next morning. Horseshit. “Mobile Command Unit” woes, for you to ponder.
And of course, this brief respite from “The Big Road” was thinly veiled. I had about 12 hours in which to get myself readied for another big haul, this time across the “big pond” and over to a little country called, “Italy,” near a mountain range called, “The Alps.”
