Carla has the high pole set up and the lot is right on the river...

You can see the Canadians fishing on the other bank...

Last spot the mayflies were so thick, we had to slough the lights and work in the dark, spooky, loads of people spinning on rides at a dark carnival in the churchyard...

They were swarming and getting into everything, huge clouds of winged monsters the size of dragonflies...

They were piling up in the lighted areas at least a foot deep, shovel fulls of dead bugs that smelled like fish...

After teardown, I pulled off the lot with my third load, I had moved the dozers, dragged a Ginny wagon on a chain, and now finally, I was returning to move my own shows which were parked under a streetlight ready to roll...

As I left the churchyard around ten at night, I was the last showtruck to leave the lot...

I eased the battlewagon onto the winding two lane and rolled along at granny speed to warm up the old 454 before I opened it up...

As I neared the first set of railroad tracks, I came to a full stop at the crossing and heard a strident angry horn blasting from behind me...

Evidently, I was inconveniencing the person who owned the road...

Too bad. I mean, what am I supposed to do? The two lane was lousy with twists and turns, no shoulder, track crossings, bumps, potholes, typical Michigan backroad. They have only two seasons here, winter, and roadwork...

I kept going slowly and carefully, and cranked up the Randy Crawford CD to drown out the horn blaring behind me...

Finally, after stopping at two more crossings, negotiating numerous twists and turns, crawling along at ten miles per through a sleepy village, all with a pissed off moron in a red convertible leaning on the horn behind me, I was on the on ramp...

I put my foot in it and the ratmobile leaped onto the interstate like a racehorse out the gate...

I glanced in the mirror and it looked like a snowstorm behind me...

A huge cloud of debris swirling and obscuring all three northbound lanes of I 75 was trailing behind me...

As I was trying to figure out what the hell was up, the red convertible passes me and a gorgeous stacked blonde was giving me the finger as she was spitting mayflies...

I mean she was covered, the wipers were smearing them on her windshield, the interior of the Mercedes was covered in them, I bet she had to spend hours combing them out of her hair...

Evidently, they had piled up on the roof of the rig while it was parked under the streetlight...