The Smoker Finally Arrives
A two hundred thirty seven pound smoker that would not fit in the car, a white knuckle drive with no rope to secure it, a mountain of cardboard a boy refused to emotionally attach to, a foil boat for a massive brisket, and the strange feeling of going to bed with it still running.
Smoker Pickup
6:54am
Driver: Good morning, C. I have a delivery for you this morning and I’m in route to you now. I will call you when I'm 30 mins away so you can meet me at the main gate.
An hour-or-so later J and I jumped in the car, headed to the main gate of the neighborhood, per his earlier instructions. Until:
Driver: I'll meet you at the north gate, not the main gate. That'll be easier for me to turn around.
I can sympathize with that. We altered course.
Even with the back seats down, the smoker, in its box, didn't really fit into the car. The trunk lid wouldn't close all the way. I felt the sudden impact of unpreparedness. I had assumed everything would fit and the trunk would close. I had no rope, bungee or even any string. There are a lot of steep hills and sharp turns between the north gate and our house. I couldn't help but picture the smoker sliding right out the back, tumbling on the road, and then possibly going right off the road and down a mountain side.
