Road trippin' with Barney Rubble

One of the greatest things in the world is a road trip.
What makes it even better is heading out with your brother and sister-in-law in a rented van and you get to drive.
You know it’s going to be good when your brother says, “Hey, we’re gonna stop in Hannibal for catfish, right?”
Hell yeah. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, that little BP Amoco just north of General Mills has THE best Cajun fried catfish and chicken strips you’ll find anywhere. A little spice left on the tongue, crunchy breading, but not too crunchy. Fish is light and flavorful. The chicken is cut in large strips, and the jalapeno ranch is enough to make John wipe his ever-balding forehead with a couple napkins ridin’ passenger.
The last road trip we took was about four years ago and I was emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausted. He had to drive almost the whole way because I kept falling asleep. He refuses to let me forget it.
So Saturday, after about three hours of slinging beers at a really cool Summer Roundup Friday night until 1 a.m., we got up at 7ish and were on the road after a quick stop at Casey’s for an electrolyte water in the brand new Toyota Sienna van we rented for what may end up being a pirate-type booty call to St. Pete. By the way, Predictive Cruise Control sucks. That damn thing slows your car down when a car comes into the front panel radar system. So when you’re not used to that you think the damn car is malfunctioning because it slows down on its own.
Well that just doesn’t work for me. I kept thinking there was something wrong with the car. And my seat kept getting hot.
Well John, who I loved dearly before this trip, kept distracting me and then hitting my seat heat button. I threatened to punch him, while his wife Susan tried to sleep in a multitude of different positions in the back of the van, including the floor, with seats either pushed all the way back or in the store-and-go position.
I think she wanted to move up to the front, but we as dudes weren’t allowing that. She wanted us to stop at a Dollar General and procure an air mattress for the van. I said she can’t buckle up that way, so that’s a deal breaker. I think she gave me a Blazin’ Saddles style ‘hrrumph.”
So, we get our top shelf catfish and head south. Johnny puts his Barney Rubble feet up on the dashboard and we get ready for the Reds/Cards game on the Sirius radio.
He does have Barney Rubble feet. As a truism, he can do THE best Barnie imitation with a bowling ball. He gets up on his toes and skitters down to the foul line where he lets a ball go. You can actually hear the Hanna-Barbera twinkle music when he does it.
Anyway, we literally invented a new car baseball game with dollar bills. If we don’t have a little money on it, it’s just not the same.
So here are the rules. Two players. You pick your team (He’s a frickin’ Cardinals fan and I’m a Big Red Machine guy). When your team is up to bat, your opponent (side rider) must put a dollar up if one of your players hits a double or gets walked. If there’s a home run, it’s $2, and it just keeps building as the game goes on. At the end, you get the stack of bills your opponent has paid until the end. Here’s the twist. Whenever there is a bean (hit batter), or a passed ball/wild pitch, or an error, the stacks get switched. You get his pile, and he gets yours. (Feel free to buy out the ones with fives or tens, or even twenties. Ask John, it works).
[Hey, does anyone else think that a marshmallow in the middle of a glazed donut roasted and then smushed between a four-piece graham cracker and half a Hershey bar sounds really good??!]
And then, here’s the icing, any triple is an automatic payout. So whatever your opponent has in front of him, you get if one of your players hits a triple. The Reds had two triples on Saturday, I made just over $20, but the Reds lost.
So Barney was ticked off that his team won, but he lost.
What a great game. AND, you don’t need to have your favorite team playing. Any baseball game from first pitch to the end.
Then we had to spend about an hour finding the nearest Buc-ees. We never found one as John and Susan couldn’t get together on what it meant to Google Buc-ees near me.
But at the end of the day, I drove nine hours just south of Chattanooga and stayed at a Hilton Garden Inn and ate Chili’s for dinner.
We made plans to work out in the morning and then head to the Buc-ees we eventually found near us (15 minutes away) for coffee and breakfast sandwiches. We’ll probably hang out and people watch for a bit. Explore some Buc-ee nuts and grab some water and finish the rest of the eight hours to St. Pete. I will probably drive because, you know, I can’t drive very far without falling asleep – but that’s Beside the Point.
Chuck Vandenberg is editor and co-owner of Pen City Current and can be reached at Charles.V@PenCityCurrent.com.