During CasinoPalooza 5, Farmer H had the sneezes and the sniffles. He said he wasn't sick. Didn't complain of feeling bad. I thought it might be from spending two nights in a smoking room. The hotel was out of non-smoking when I made the reservation. Oh, and let's not forget that we went to 7 casinos every day, where there are no non-smoking sections.
Anyhoo... we only had that one room for free, since Farmer H is such a low-roller, and sometimes doesn't notice when his player's card stops working and needs to be reinserted. The Pony had one free night, but rather than go through the hassle of having him make a reservation for one night, we all stayed in the one room. That meant I had to share a queen bed with Farmer H, while The Pony lived like a king in the other. So Farmer H's breathered air wafted across my face, just like at home.
He still had the sneezes the week after we got home on Saturday. By Sunday, I was having sneezes, and a stuffy head. I didn't feel bad, except for a bit of lightheadedness. Especially when I slept on my back. The room spun. Or when I stood up at night to make my bathroom visit(s). I could hardly walk a straight line across the bedroom. I'd think I was on the way, but would list to the right. Same thing when I laid back in my OPC (Old People Chair). Room spinning.
I figured it was just some virus that had lodged in my ear or sinuses. I wasn't feeling bad, except for the ankle I nearly dislocated, and the opposite knee, which was overused, walking through 7 casinos a day. It was miserable trying to get my 44 oz Diet Coke the first few days, but I adjusted. Or so I thought.
Wednesday, I was on the blacktop county road, about halfway to town, when I crested a little hill by a rental house belonging to the local motel baron who has a richie rich mansion in the field beside it. I saw a grandma-ish lady getting mail out of the mailbox, preparing to walk across the road from the left. She stopped, as a white pickup truck with a yellow light on top came toward me from the opposite direction. I know that truck! It's our neighbor to the right, Copper Jack's human daddy. He works for the Hillmomba city road department.
The white truck swerved over into my lane a bit, just in case, not wanting to run over the grandma-ish lady. She must have known he was local, because she waved at him. I didn't see if he waved back. He never waves at me, even on the gravel road, even though I wave to him, and I've practically boarded and fed his dog (unintentionally) for several years now.
Anyhoo...I swerved a little to the right, not wanting to run into the white truck. The blacktop road has no shoulder. No wake-up bumps. No curb. It's blacktop then grass. At least there's no ditch in this area, at the top of that hill. After we passed, I was back to my lane, heading past the richie rich mansion.
WHOOPSIE! T-Hoe ran off the road! The two right-side tires! How in the Not-Heaven did THAT happen? I yanked the wheel and got right back on the road. My adrenaline was pumping. Was I turning into a SWEAVER? And not even a MASTER sweaver, like Farmer H! Just a common everyday sweaver with old-lady-itis!
I kept meaning to look for my tire track on the way home, and on the way past the next day, but I forgot. Friday, though, I caught a glimpse. I'd been a good 3 FEET off the blacktop! Thank the Gummi Mary, the grass has been growing lush with scattered thunderstorms.
Here's the thing. I can't even blame the truck in my lane, because he was past when I ran off. Maybe it has something to do with my compromised equilibrium. I'm normally not a menace on the road.
I'm pretty sure it was somehow Farmer H's fault...