According to a report in the Oregon Salem-News, the landscaper noticed that a boulder was missing from a turnaround near a local IKEA store. The man then followed scrape marks the boulder had left in its wake all the way to one of Portland's interstates.
On the freeway (we presume the landscaper was driving), the landscaper reportedly saw the truck with the boulder underneath it and notified police. Officers suspected that the truck driver drove the wrong way around the IKEA turnaround, catching the landscape boulder in his rear axle.
Hearing the news harkened me back to my mom's 60th birthday celebration, a National Lampoon's-like family trip to Door County, WI. My nephews were 2 years old at the time, and my mom thought it would be fun for them if we drove to Wisconsin in an RV. Why, I don't know.
When my dad and I showed up to pick up the small RV he'd reserved just outside Chicago, we found that the company had mistakenly reserved a 35-footer for us. In case you're trying to picture it, it was the size of a yacht. When we met up with the rest of my family downtown, my mom was so worried about the RV's size that she forbade anyone to drive in it.
That would have been fine, except that it's illegal to park an RV in Chicago. So my dad had to drive the RV to Wisconsin--by himself. The rest of us followed in two separate cars--my mom and I in one car and my brother and his family in the other. Every time we turned a corner, we had to wait for my dad to follow; the RV was so huge, he could never make the turn the first time.
And so it went throughout the 9-hour drive down highways and one-lane roads. Our drive began in daylight and ended at 1 a.m. And it ended with a flourish--with my dad driving the RV right over a decorative boulder at the resort's entrance.
He dragged the boulder up the long drive and across the parking lot, where the boulder became wedged so tightly beneath the RV that the camper came to a halt. I awoke at 7:30 a.m. to the sound of a jackhammer pummeling rock.
The best part about the whole thing was that my mom's car broke down the last day of our trip.
She rode in the RV with my dad on the way home. The kids rode with my brother.
Hearing the news harkened me back to my mom's 60th birthday celebration, a National Lampoon's-like family trip to Door County, WI. My nephews were 2 years old at the time, and my mom thought it would be fun for them if we drove to Wisconsin in an RV. Why, I don't know.
When my dad and I showed up to pick up the small RV he'd reserved just outside Chicago, we found that the company had mistakenly reserved a 35-footer for us. In case you're trying to picture it, it was the size of a yacht. When we met up with the rest of my family downtown, my mom was so worried about the RV's size that she forbade anyone to drive in it.
That would have been fine, except that it's illegal to park an RV in Chicago. So my dad had to drive the RV to Wisconsin--by himself. The rest of us followed in two separate cars--my mom and I in one car and my brother and his family in the other. Every time we turned a corner, we had to wait for my dad to follow; the RV was so huge, he could never make the turn the first time.
And so it went throughout the 9-hour drive down highways and one-lane roads. Our drive began in daylight and ended at 1 a.m. And it ended with a flourish--with my dad driving the RV right over a decorative boulder at the resort's entrance.
He dragged the boulder up the long drive and across the parking lot, where the boulder became wedged so tightly beneath the RV that the camper came to a halt. I awoke at 7:30 a.m. to the sound of a jackhammer pummeling rock.
The best part about the whole thing was that my mom's car broke down the last day of our trip.
She rode in the RV with my dad on the way home. The kids rode with my brother.
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