One of country’s most famous couples tells all

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Finishing the Race
Even as Alan has supported me in hair issues, I’ve tried to affirm my love for him by entering into his interests.

Ever since I met my husband, he’s been crazy about cars. His father was a mechanic, and Alan inherited his love of vehicles and his habit of constantly buying, trading, fixing and selling cars, boats, you name it. Once when Alan was a young boy, his daddy went to a flea market and came home with a broken street sweeper. This was not on his mother’s shopping list. It had big suction vents, rotating black brushes and wide tires. Daddy Gene got it running, and Alan remembers riding up and down his driveway in Georgia, sweeping the hard dirt till it shone.

Alan hasn’t brought home any street sweepers lately, but in the interest of marital unity, I’ve tried to participate in his love of cars. A few years ago he wanted to do a big car rally, a four-day drive called the New England 1000. I joined right in. The idea was for each team to drive preplanned routes through the beautiful countryside, keeping careful track of mileage, timing, and our oil gauges. We were to check in at designated stops throughout the day and have our official time logged by the rally officials. Alan, of course, was our team driver, and I was the official navigator, which meant I had to read the map and keep us going in the right direction.
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We drove a blue AC Cobra, a serious two-seater race car with no top and no windows. We had brought matching black full-body jumpsuits in case of rain, full-face helmets, a stopwatch, a notebook, directions, and pit-stop instructions. We were locked, loaded, and ready to do our 250 miles per day.

All was well until the rain began. At first it just drizzled, but then the clouds rolled in, and a heavy, cold, drenching downpour settled down on the Northeast, centered right above our car. We stopped for lunch, changed into our waterproof jumpsuits in the restroom, and came out looking like ninjas.

As the rain continued, I became less and less tolerant of my husband’s beloved hobby. The little windshield had wipers, but I had to use a chamois every other minute to wipe down the inside of the windshield so Alan could see. At first I squeezed it outside the car, but then I realized it really didn’t matter. Our little blue Cobra was filling up like a leaky rowboat.

Then my jumpsuit decided to stop being waterproof. Like the car, it began to gradually fill with rainwater. I felt like I was sitting in a wet diaper. For hours. My hair was plastered to my cold head, I could not feel my fingers, and by the time we finally pulled up to our lodging for that evening, I was so cold I could barely speak.

When we went inside, I was absolutely flabbergasted to discover that everyone else in the entire rally had given up because of the rain. They had skipped the meandering, scenic route and had come directly to the hotel many hours earlier. They were warm and dry, sitting by a roaring fire. Alan and I — who both looked like refugees from Waterworld — were the only participants who had driven the entire route for the day — without any cover!

Furious, I rushed into the hotel room, stripped off my sopping suit, and stood in the hot shower for about an hour. By the time I emerged, pink and gently wrinkled like a prune, I was actually able to be civil to my husband again.

At the end of the week, after the thousandth mile, the rally people had a big closing banquet. As awards were handed out, Alan and I were surprised when our names were called. “And to Alan and Denise Jackson,” the emcee said, “we present the Good Sport Award, for staying out in the rain and not giving up when everyone else did!”

Everyone laughed, and I stood up. “Thank you so much,” I said. “I’d just like to add that car rallies are not my usual thing; I did this for my husband. And I want you all to know that I will be receiving a very large piece of jewelry from Big Al when I get home!”

I was kidding, of course, and everyone roared with laughter. It was a light moment ... but when I thought about it later, I realized that crazy road rally was in some ways a picture of what God had allowed Alan and me to do in our marriage. It had been tough and uncomfortable, but we hadn’t bailed out. We had stuck together. We were both determined enough — or maybe I should say stubborn enough — to stay the course.

And by God’s grace, we plan to finish the race!

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One of country’s most famous couples tells all