It’s all I can do not to cheer—a whole day wasted. Yay, me! Bobby Orr would be proud to share the ice with me. Motel, here we come. “I feel like driving all night,” Dad announces. Say what? “There’s something magical about journeying on the open road under a starry sky.” Dad looks around. “Heck, I might even write a country song while I drive! House flipper, songwriter—I like it.” No. Nooooooo. Nononononono. We have to spend the night nearby or we’ll overshoot the rink and tryouts. I look out the window for a flea market or salvage yard. I’ve also got to figure out a way to get Dad out of the driver’s seat. He can’t notice the detour we need to take to get to the ice that holds my future. I look at Dad singing and pounding on the steering wheel to the beat of the song blasting out of the radio. He’s already made three or four course corrections since we got on the road this morning because he forgets about things like watching for his exit and highway numbers.
