NEWSLETTER / August 2004

MOVING BY NUMBERS
by Noel Freidline

Almost a year ago we made a journey cross country, moving from Las Vegas, NV to Charlotte, NC. Initially after our trip I was struck by some numerological fixation, particularly with the number 117. It seems that 117 is quite significant. For example:

117 is the number of votes that Paul Gasol received from professional basketball writers and broadcasters in 2003 to receive the Eddie Gottlieb Trophy for Rookie of the Year.

Frank McCourt's bestselling and Pulitzer Prize winning novel Angela's Ashes remained on the New York Times bestseller list for 117 weeks, propelling the 67-year old retired schoolteacher to wealth and fame.

117 is the highest recorded temperature for both Illinois and Montana.

The lost colony of Roanoke, in North Carolina, was founded in 1587 by 117 colonists.

July 21, 1983 the temperature dropped to a record low 117 degrees below zero at the South Pole.

On June 12, 1899, the 8th deadliest tornado on record killed 117 people in New Richmond, Wisconsin.

The TV program CHEERS holds the record for most Emmy Nominations with 117, followed closely by MASH at 109 and ER with 104.

In 117 AD Roman Emperor Hadrian, known for his propensity to erect large and long walls, began his reign.

Wernher von Braun was among 117 German scientists sent to United States at the end of WWII to work on guided missile systems.

If wind speed exceeds 117 kilometers per hour it is considered hurricane strength according to the Beaufort Scale.

Laredo, TX is the 117th largest city in the US with a population of 176,576.

117 degrees East longitude was the point that millionaire Steve Fossett crossed to establish the record for first solo nonstop round-the-world balloon flight.

In 1996 117 “y’know’s” were counted in a 45-minute Los Angeles radio broadcast by Barry Oldfield, a retired Air Force colonel.

Mrs. Hannah Butler, Chicago, IL, died December 31, 1952 at the age of 117.

And 117 degrees Fahrenheit was the high temperature in Las Vegas July 14th, 2003, the day we left sin city to move to Charlotte, NC.

But the with vantage point of perspective and a little further reflection, I discovered that 117 was not the only significant number on that trip. Far from it. In actuality our cross-country move was rife with an almost mystic numerology. I am sure there are some things I missed. One can never be certain.

So without further ado, lets, as they say, do the numbers.


2 ­ Number of 24 ft. moving trucks we rented to move ourselves cross-country.

1 ­ Number of 6 x 10 Uhaul trailers we needed in addition to the two moving trucks.

1 ­ Number of 1994 Ford Clubwagon vans with 191,000 miles on it that towed said Uhaul trailer.

3 to 2 ­ Ratio of children to adults that would ride in the van all the way across the country.

1 to 5 ­ Ratio of dogs with bladder infections to humans that also rode in the van (see below).

2 ­ Number of cars on auto transports that were towed behind the moving trucks.

2 ­ Number of apartments we had to empty out two days before we were scheduled to leave.

3 ­ Number of storage units we had to empty out that same day.

121 ­ Record breaking temperature in degrees Fahrenheit in Las Vegas that day.

3 ­ Number of times I discovered that the roof of a 6 x 10 Uhaul trailer sitting out in the sun on a 121 degree day can inflict second degree burns to your elbows and knuckles.

2 ­ Number of times I discovered the trailer hitch and bumper on my van could do the same to your shins and knees.

9 ­ Hours after picking up the two moving trucks that the first one broke down.

100% - Chances that the first truck to break down did so after it was fully loaded.

45 ­ Minutes after truck #1 was repaired that its A/C quit.

16 ­ Hours after truck #1 broke down that truck #2 broke down.

21 ­ Hours that the repairs to truck #1 and truck #2 put us behind our scheduled departure.

29 ­ Minutes into the trip that truck #2 began overheating.

0 ­ Point in the trip where truck #2 quit overheating.

18 ­ Number of times I had to reattach a wire that I used to jury-rig the 6 x 10 trailer to keep the taillights grounded (and working).

1 ­ Number of my neighbors in a 24-hour city like Las Vegas that appeared to still be awake at 11:30 pm when I realized that the taillights on the trailer were not working and that I needed a piece of wire to ground them.

0 ­ Number of conversations I had ever had with said still-awake neighbor.

0 ­ Number of languages besides Spanish that this gentleman could speak (and understand).

0 ­ Number of languages besides English that I know how to speak (and understand).

100 to 1 ­ Chances that I would be able to convey “wire to jury rig our trailer so that the taillights will work” convincingly with hand gestures.

3 ­ Number of things he initially offered me, including a pair of shoes, a crescent wrench, and his oldest daughter’s hand in marriage, before he finally understood what this crazy gringo was asking for.

0% ­ Probability that he really understood WHY I needed the wire.

100% - Probability that he was simply relieved that I had what I needed and would go away.

78 ­ Age in dog years of our totally deaf and arthritic half Lab/half Chow dog.

3 ­ Number of days before we left that our 14-year-old, totally deaf dog got so dehydrated that she could not stand up.

2 ­ Number of days before we left that we discovered from the vet that she had a severe bladder infection.

4 ­ Number of pills, daily, that we had to give our 14-year-old, totally deaf dog with severe arthritis and a bladder infection.

3 ­ Number of times I considered putting the poor animal out of its misery.

7 ­ Number of times I considered putting myself out of my misery.

5 ­ Number of times my wife considered putting me out of her misery.

8 ­ Number of states we were supposed to pass through according to our original itinerary.

9 ­ Number of states that we actually passed through.

1 ­ Rank of US 93, which crosses over Hoover Dam, as the best way to head East out of Las Vegas to get to I-40.

0% - Chances of two fully loaded to the gills 24 ft. moving trucks being allowed to cross over Hoover Dam in post 9/11 America.

97 ­ Distance in miles South to Laughlin, NV, an out-of-the-way alternate route if you are unable to cross Hoover Dam.

0% - Probability that two fully loaded to the gills 24 ft. moving trucks could climb out of the ridiculously steep Mohave Valley just East of Laughlin, NV.

24.5 ­ Distance in miles to Needles, CA from Laughlin, NV, an additional out-of-the-way alternate route if you are unable to climb out of the ridiculously steep Mohave Valley.

2.15 ­ Length of time in hours that Mapquest.com says it should take to go from Las Vegas to Needles, CA.

4.5 ­ Length of time in hours that it actually took us.

-3 ­ Quotient by which everyone’s confidence in my competence declined after this four and a half hour trek across the desert on a marginal at best two-lane road, which wasn’t in the middle of nowhere, but you could sure see it from there.

131 ­ Mile marker on I-40 in New Mexico, about 17 miles outside of Albuquerque, where I began hallucinating.

32 ­ Hours that I had been awake which led to aforementioned hallucinations.

10 ­ Minutes into the hallucinations that I became lucid enough to realize it was neither logical nor probable that a man should be running along side of the truck for the last ten miles.

38 ­ Miles to the nearest rest area in New Mexico when a bottle of Dr. Pepper exploded all over me and the cab of the truck I was driving.

0 ­ Number of wet wipes or drops of water I had in the truck with which to try and clean myself up.

10 ­ Minutes I remained convinced that being as sticky as a 2-year-old in a cotton candy factory wasn’t that bad.

4.8 ­ Square yardage of vinyl used to cover the bench seat in my truck.

100 ­ Factor by which vinyl seats feel much stickier on bare skin than cloth seats when it is 98 degrees in the truck and you are wearing shorts.

117 ­ Fahrenheit temperature of the high in Las Vegas the day we left.

113 ­ Fahrenheit temperature of the high in New Mexico on our second day.

108 ­ Fahrenheit temperature of the high in Oklahoma City at the end of our third day.

23 ­ Number of times I resolved to try and be a better person because I was sure I now had an inkling of what hell is like.

65 ­ Speed in miles per hour at which the governor on my truck’s throttle would kick in.

3 ­ Days into the trip that I actually got the truck to go fast enough to find that out.

50 ­ Average maximum speed in miles per hour that my truck could attain on flat terrain minus the presence of any head wind.

25 ­ Speed in mph of the prevailing southerly winds in Oklahoma City.

35 ­ Speed in mph that we were able to travel through Oklahoma City.

10 ­ Percentage that the 25 mph prevailing winds contributed to this slow down.

90 ­ Percentage that the crappy roads in Oklahoma City contributed to this slow down.

3 ­ Number of times I have driven through Oklahoma City with a fully loaded moving truck.

1000 ­ Number of times I swore, after passing through the city the 3rd time, that this was the absolute last time I would ever do that again.

1 in 2 ­ Probability that I will end up doing that again some time in my life.

0 ­ Number of times that I am convinced Bobby Troup actually visited Oklahoma City to come up with the line “..and Oklahoma City looks might pretty.”

98% - Percentage of Sooner Boomers out there who can’t wait to kick my ass after reading the last eight lines.

3 ­ Days into the trip that we received a phone call from our Charlotte mortgage company saying they could not close on our new house in Charlotte because they did not have copies of my tax returns.

22 ­ Feet into a 24 ft truck that the tax returns were packed.

7 ­ Number of times I assured them that they did have copies of my tax returns because I was there when they photocopied them, dammit.

23 ­ Number of times I assured my wife that they did have copies of my tax returns because I was there when they photocopied them, dammit.

4 ­ Days into a five-day trip when we were informed that we were approved for our loan and that there should be no problem, pending any new developments, with closing on our new house.

1261 ­ The number of miles I drove wondering if we would actually have a house to move into when we arrived in Charlotte.

2141 ­ Miles of a 2283-mile trip that were spent on I-40.

1072 ­ Miles of I-40 that followed the path of the original Route 66.

27 ­ Number of “official” Route 66 museums between Needles, CA and Oklahoma City.

1,000,000+ - Number of flying insects hovering around a gas station in Arkansas, about 50 miles outside of Memphis.

6 ­ Number of flying insects I had to fish out of the diesel gas tank before I figured out that I had to cover it with my hand while filling up or I was going to have some serious problems down the road.

8 ­ Hours after leaving that gas station that I swore I could still feel bugs crawling in my shirt and through my hair.

2 ­ Number of times other drivers gave me a peculiar one finger wave that I assumed was some sort of regional sign meaning “Hey friend, good luck with your move. Thanks for passing through our state!”

2 ­ Number of cars with New York plates that offered me that kind gesture.

30 ­ Minutes after stopping for a bathroom break that my son would announce that he had to use the bathroom.

15 ­ Minutes after stopping for my son to use the restroom that I realized that NOW I needed to pee.

23 ­ Number of bottles of Snapple Iced Tea I consumed over the course of five days between Las Vegas and Charlotte.

6 ­ Number of empty Snapple bottles I used to take a leak into to avoid having to stop just one more time.

0 ­ Degrees that the steering wheel on my truck would tilt.

0 ­ Amount of latitude this large, unmoving steering wheel gave me in the cab of my truck.

1 ­ Minimum number of hands you need to drive a 24 ft. moving truck.

2 ­ Minimum number of hands you need to take a whiz into an empty Snapple bottle while in a sitting position in a 24 ft. moving truck traveling at 50 mph.

9.87 ­ On a scale of one to ten, ten being the most difficult, the difficulty level of trying to take a whiz into an empty Snapple bottle and not run off the road.

2 ­ Amount of time in seconds beyond the point of no return that I realized that this might not have been such a good idea.

1 ­ Times per hour that I had second thoughts about moving cross-country.

1 ­ Number of unavoidable truck tire treads in the road that ended up ripping the running boards off of our family van.

4 ­ Seconds it would take my 24 ft. truck to start moving from a dead stop with the throttle floored.

25 ­ Average speed in mph of the truck uphill.

80 ­ Average speed in mph of the truck downhill.

7 ­ Percentage of the grade of the mountain outside of Asheville, NC where my truck almost stopped.

100 ­ Additional number of yards that would have prevented me from making it over that hill.

6 ­ Number of gas station hot dogs I ate between Vegas and Charlotte.

6 ­ Number of unanticipated stops I had to make at rest areas because of gas station hot dogs.

1.25 ­ Average price in dollars of a gas station hot dog. I should have known there would be problems when it was $1.25 for one, $1 for two and 50 cents for three.

9 in 10 ­ Chances that you get what you pay for.

25 ­ Percent of purchased foodstuffs and doggy bag leftovers that would remain uneaten.

3 ­ Average number of days said uneaten foodstuffs and doggy bag leftovers would stay in the cab of my truck until I threw them out.

19 in 20 - Chances that the cab of my truck looked and smelled like a dumpster after two days.

4 ­ Number of hours my four-year-old son Thaddaeus slept in my lap on our last night as we pulled into North Carolina.

0 ­ Number of things in the world I would ever trade for those four hours.

4 ­ Number of times I got lost trying to find our new house in Charlotte.

0 ­ Amount of patience left in everyone after five days and 2283 miles.

257 ­ Rank of “moving cross-country by yourself during the hottest week of the year with two overheating moving trucks, three children and a 14-year-old dog with a bladder infection” in the list of “Fun Things to Do With Your Summer.”

1 - The rank “moving cross-country by yourself during the hottest week of the year with two overheating moving trucks, three children and a 14-year-old dog with a bladder infection” falls below “removing your own appendix with a blunt shoehorn.”

Special thanks to William Hartston and his research in The Book of Numbers, Copyright 2000 William Hartston, Metro Publishing Limited, London, for his information on the lost colony of Roanoke, German rocket scientists, Hurricane winds and “y’know’s”.