Monthly Archives: June 2011

Getting My Griswold On – Day 9: A Homecoming

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20

Miles traveled today: 67.4
Total miles traveled: 3123.8

You Can Go Home Again

I set out on this big adventure because of an overwhelming curiosity about the places I grew up. A lot of people spend their whole lives in the same area, but in my case, I moved every three years or so. Because of this, the things I associate with my childhood seemed distant and, in fact, almost nonexistent. I lived in Dayton once, but that was a long time ago. The only thing I had left were memories. I would dream of the home I lived in here often, always magically transported back to 1979 in my mind, but I had no idea if it even actually existed anymore. I found it on Google Earth a couple of weeks ago, but even then, I wondered if the image was outdated. Coming back here was taking a big gamble: even if the house still stood, could it ever possibly live up to its mythical status in my mind? Could any of this area? Therefore, when I left my motel room around 9 AM this morning, I was a little nervous. This was an honest-to-God homecoming, one I had dreamed of forever. Turning onto my old street, my heart started racing. And then suddenly, there it was.

My house in 1979.

My house today.

The siding was different, of course. The tree in the front yard was taller (or a different tree). But otherwise, the house looked pretty much the same as it did when I last saw it 31 years ago. Thirty-one years! I’ve lived a couple of lifetimes since then. The neighborhood has changed. Two other duplexes in the court have been torn down, replaced by trees. The big, empty field we used to play in is now fenced off and, apparently, a landfill. I headed in the direction of my youth – the little patch of forest we always affectionately called The Woods. It was still there, thankfully. And – wonder of wonders – the steep hill we used to ride our bikes down or go sledding on, tucked beneath the tall trees (the very same ones that towered over a much younger version of myself), was still there. I hiked down it and walked around for a bit. There was a creek we used to play in. That’s still there, too. Only it’s also fenced off. I was irritated by this at first, until I realized that it’s a good thing – they’re protecting the trees and the stream for future generations. I can live with that. It was amazing, to be retracing my footsteps from several decades ago. The entire time, I was in a state of disbelief. I couldn’t believe I was really there, in the happiest place of my childhood.

I walked around the neighborhood, and then, back to the house. My house. It’ll always be my house. There was a car in the driveway, so I figured somebody was home. I grabbed the photo album I’d brought along – pictures of me and my brother and the house, circa 1977 – and rang the doorbell. Dogs barked. Nobody answered. I tried again. Nothing. So I left a business card with my phone number and a brief note, saying I lived there once and would love to chat. I tucked it in the screen door, but nobody called back. I explored some more. When I returned to my car, a woman was just pulling out of the driveway. So, she had been home! I let her go without trying to flag her down, though. I can imagine it must be creepy to have a stranger knocking on your door insistently. I always figured the odds of anybody letting me in, or even being home for that matter, were slim. Oh well, I tried. I was giddy enough just seeing the house from the outside. Walking around to the backyard. Remembering. I did a lot of remembering today.

And then, it was time to check out my old elementary school.

Chasing Ghosts

This whole trip, I’ve felt like I was chasing ghosts from my past. I knew, through a bit of internet sleuthing, that my elementary school in Fairborn had been turned into a senior apartment complex at some point. When I turned onto Central Avenue this morning and spotted the hulking brick building – so historic and old and recognizable – I literally gasped out loud. There it was! My old school!

I parked the car and walked over to it. Met up with a kind lady who happens to work as a secretary there. I told her I’d gone to school here in the 70s, and she said she had also gone there, though well before me. She thought it was ironic that she worked in a building she had always considered “creepy.” And then, even though she had no idea I have a strong interest in the paranormal, she started telling me about a ghost that wanders the halls of the place at night. An old woman, she claims. She has seen the apparition herself, and many others report it. Wow…my old school is haunted!

I walked through the front doors and wandered the hallways. It is so obvious that the place was once a school – there are signs everywhere: lockers in the hall, an auditorium with bleachers, custodial closets, boys’ and girls’ bathrooms. Only, the classroom doors have been replaced with solid wooden doors that now house elderly residents. I saw a couple, struck up a conversation with one. Everybody there was friendly and thought it was great that I’d returned to my old school. My story, it turns out, intrigues most who hear it.

I left the school, and drove into downtown Fairborn, where I wandered around for a bit. It’s a cute, historic-looking downtown. Dayton and its suburbs are very proud of their heritage and link to the Wright Brothers, and this is evident everywhere. Literally, on every street corner in Fairborn.

Next, it was time to visit one of my favorite places in Dayton: Carillon Park.

The Wright Stuff

Carillon Historical Park is a charming step back in time. The main attraction – a 57-bell carillon – is one of Dayton’s most recognizable landmarks, and chimes every 15 minutes. After paying an $8 admission fee, I wandered through the park, which includes attractions like a one-room schoolhouse; Newcomb’s Tavern – the oldest building in Dayton; a printing shop; a bicycle museum (Wilbur and Orville Wright owned a bike shop before they began designing airplanes); and a transportation museum, with everything from stage coaches to trains and buses. The highlight is a recreation of the Wright Brothers bicycle shop and an exhibit devoted to their passion for flying, including the Wright Flyer III, the actual plane they used on their first successful flight in 1903. It’s pretty amazing to see. I toured the park for a couple of hours, and stopped for a Sprite. It was hot, in the upper 80s, and I am not used to being so thirsty all the time! I left the park and drove through downtown Dayton for awhile, eventually finding a bike path with a photo opportunity to capture the Dayton skyline.

I wandered back to Fairborn and stopped for dinner. No fewer than two friends from this area told me I had to check out a place called Skyline Chili, which serves “Cincinnati-style” chili. I was told this has a sweet kick to it, kind of like cinnamon, and the description was right on. I was advised to order the house specialty, the “Three Way,” which is spaghetti covered in their chili and topped with cheese. I did just that, adding onions, and it was really good! I bought a 4-pack of chili (they sell it in cans) to take home, and bought a bottle of hot sauce for my friend Erik, who promised me a home-cooked dinner in return.

I am now back in my motel room – or actually, the Bob Evans parking lot – trying to wrap up this post. Tomorrow I begin my trek back home. I’m sad about that; it’s hard to believe I’ve reached the end of my journey. One of my friends commented that she wishes I could keep going, because she feels like she’s watching a reality show with my daily updates. I wish I could, too. Life on the road isn’t all roses, but it’s been fun, and if I could keep going, I would. But reality is intruding, and I must start my journey home. I may take an extra day to get there; my parents are dubious I can cover that much ground in three days, and are willing to watch the kids should I get in a day later than planned. I’m playing it by ear. Tomorrow is going to be a crappy traveling day; a heat wave is about to grip the midwest, and my destination in Missouri is predicting a high of 99 with a heat index of 108. Yikes.

Me in front of my old house!

My old school - now a haunted senior apartment complex. Cool!

You can still see evidence that the senior complex was once a school everywhere.

Street lamps in Fairborn are decorated with airplanes.

Downtown Fairborn, OH

Historical Carillon Park in Dayton.

Wright Bros. Cycle Shop in Historical Carillon Park.

The Wright Flyer III - Wilbur Wright made the first successful manned aeroplane flight on (in?) this plane in 1903.

Downtown Dayton along the banks of the Miami River.

There are 57 bells in the carillon, and it chimes every 15 minutes.

Getting My Griswold On – Day 8: Dayton, OH

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21

Miles traveled today: 319.4
Total miles traveled: 3056.4

Gave Me A Warm Glow

Yesterday evening, as the sun was sinking low in the sky, I wondered if I was far enough east to see fireflies. Half an hour later, I pulled back the curtains in my room to stare at the corn – it’s mesmerizing, I tell you – and was delighted to see winking amber lights drifting lazily across the field. Lightning bugs!! I hadn’t seen any since I was a kid, so I literally dashed outside to watch them, bringing along my camera in a futile attempt at capturing a pic (this didn’t work). I’m such a dork. I grabbed one and let it crawl across my hand. Maybe I’m overly sentimental, but I think fireflies are magical. They do not exist west of about Kansas, sadly, so seeing them again was a big deal. It pretty much made my evening. I have fond memories of visiting my grandmother in New Jersey during many a summer growing up. My brother and I would catch fireflies, put them in a mason jar, poke a few holes in the lid, and – voila! – instant nightlight in the bedroom. I have a particularly vivid memory of a warm summer night right here in Ohio; I was sleeping over at a friend’s house in a backyard tent and was wide awake, so I crawled out and took a walk through a deserted field next to his house. The sky was ablaze with a thousand tiny flickering lights, and I ran through the field that night, feeling young and free and mesmerized by the fireflies. It was a moment in time I’ve never forgotten. Ahh, sweet nostalgia.

Earlier, at the recommendation of the hotel clerk, I drove to a local Mexican place called Fiesta Ranchera. I was craving some authentic, restaurant Mexican food, and though I had my doubts about Bloomington, Illinois being able to pull off this feat, it turned out to be the best Mexican food I’ve had in ages. Go figure. For some reason, it’s hard to find a really good Mexican place in Portland. I had carnitas tacos and washed them down with a great, big margarita that gave me a nice buzz. I felt I was entitled to a nice dinner after nearly a week on the road.

I slept pretty well, too. Good thing – I needed it. The night before I only managed four hours, and I haven’t really gotten more than six on any given night this whole trip. I’m wired when I arrive in a new destination, and often I have sprung forward an hour, so I don’t feel like going to bed. Last night, though, I got about seven hours and felt quite refreshed this morning. After playing in the corn for a little while (seriously), I hit the road.

Mark Goes To White Castle

Driving through the heartland pretty much demands listening to John Mellencamp, so I put on a CD I made up of most of his big hits. “Pink Houses” – which has been on my mind this whole trip and perfectly sums up the journey (ain’t that America somethin’ to see; ain’t that America home of the free) – was fading into “Authority Song” when I crossed the Indiana border, Mellencamp’s home state. I cranked the music even louder and watched the endless miles of corn fly by as I jumped an hour into the future. Eastern Time Zone, baby. I’ve met ‘em all now.

And then, the moment I had been waiting for happened. In the town of Brownsburg, IN – a few miles before Indianapolis – I saw a sign for the next exit advertising a White Castle. That was one of my biggest goals of this trip: to try White Castle’s famous sliders. I’d never been there before, and they’re such an iconic part of pop culture, I’ve been dying to try them. I mean, if Harold & Kumar went to all that trouble just to satisfy a craving, I figured they had to be good. I walked into the restaurant and pretended to act nonchalant as I ordered my first-ever sliders, but inside I was pretty excited. (Again, such a dork. I know). When my food arrived, I dug in. Verdict: awesome! I loved them. The patties are tiny squares of beef, and the burger is simple: just onion, pickle and cheese. But the bread tasted fresh and soft, and they’re pretty damn good. There was a Wendy’s right next door and people were streaming in there for lunch. I wanted to scream at them, “Are you crazy?! White Castle’s right here! You can get Wendy’s anywhere!!” People just don’t appreciate things they take for granted, I suppose. Some of my Facebook friends were less than enthused when I posted about White Castle. Maybe the reality is you always want what you can’t have?

Oh, Hi, Ohio!

After my White Castle fix (I’ll admit, I went back for a few more “for the road”), I was back on the interstate and driving through Indianapolis. Literally, as there was major construction going on and detours through town. Indianapolis is one of the few places I was not excited to see; I’ve actually been there many times over the years, as a company I used to work for had their U.S. headquarters there, and would send me for frequent business trips. I toured the Speedway once – that was cool – but otherwise, I don’t find Indy very appealing. It’s just big and busy and kind of seedy in areas. And the highways are so confusing, I took a wrong turn even though I was closely paying attention to Maggie and ended up headed for St. Louis briefly. Oops. So I circled partway through town and got back onto the right freeway.

And before long, there it was: Ohio. A smile lit up my face as I drove past the state line. I had returned to the happiest place of my childhood, 31 years later. All because I watched a movie a couple of weeks ago and was inspired to revisit.

Dayton was maybe half an hour further, and when I arrived downtown, I was greeted with…road construction. I swear, it’s the bane of my existence this trip! The exit I was supposed to take was closed, so I detoured onto another freeway, only to find that exit closed. I don’t know what I’d have done without a GPS on this trip! It’s been a lifesaver. I haven’t even glanced at a paper map once.

I circled around, backtracked, and finally found my way to my motel. I only reserved two on this whole trip – Rapid City and Dayton – and as soon as I walked into the lobby, I knew I had made a mistake. First off, I waited there for five minutes before somebody came along to help me. Then, she barely spoke English and I had trouble understanding her. She gave me my key, I grabbed some bags, walked upstairs, opened the door – and was immediately assaulted with the stench of cigarette smoke. I gagged, it was so overpowering. And the room was by far the smallest of any of the others on this trip; I felt claustrophobic inside. I called down to the front desk to request a nonsmoking room, but they didn’t have any available. Screw it, I said, and walked back down to the lobby to cancel my reservation. I didn’t even know if I could, but at that point I’d have taken a $50 loss just to find a better place. Fortunately, you have half an hour to change your mind. Maggie told me there was a Day’s Inn four miles away, so I headed over there. Though it looks a little crappy from the outside, it’s in a better location: right next to Wright-Patterson AFB. And the room is spacious and nice inside, a far cry from the other place. Best of all, it’s even cheaper: when I mentioned AAA, they knocked $10 off the price, so I’m only paying $39 a night. NOW I’m beginning to save money on motels! Plus, I only had to gas up once today.

My childhood home is 3.8 miles away. I was tempted to go check it out today, but that’s kind of the culmination of my whole trip, and I’d rather save it for tomorrow. It’s going to be a very special moment and I don’t want to feel rushed.

Chicken Pot Pie, Served With A Side Of Excellent Conversation

I have a friend named Laurie who I have known for more than five years now; we used to write on the same online journaling site, and got to know each other through our posts. We have a lot in common: an Ohio connection, we’re the same age, both divorced, both parents, both Whose Line Is It Anyway? connoisseurs, and we’ve both had dating “adventures” that – trust me – you simply wouldn’t believe. Ahh, if I had the freedom to write about those…but, anyway. We’ve helped each other out through some difficult times, and pretty much know one another’s deepest, darkest secrets. I just always figured we’d be online friends but would probably never meet, since we were thousands of miles apart, but then suddenly here I was in Dayton, about an hour from her home in Columbus. How could we not?

Tonight, she and her son, Neil drove down to visit me. It was hot, and the A/C in her car wasn’t working, so she practically collapsed into a chair next to the air-conditioner upon arriving, while her son entertained himself mostly by jumping up and down on the bed. There was nothing even remotely awkward about seeing her; we chatted easily, like two old friends, which is pretty much what we are. After awhile the three of us walked over to the Bob Evans next door for dinner (I got a chicken pot pie that has been one of the highlights of my trip, and Laurie ordered breakfast), where the excellent conversation continued. We hung out for awhile longer back in the room, where Neil decided I was a pretty likable guy and stretched out beside me on one of the beds (mom was on the other) while listening to music on an iPod. It was getting late, so eventually I walked them out to their car and we said goodbye. Getting to meet a longtime friend in person has been a nice bonus on this trip!

White Castle - finally! My first time ever. Brownsburg, IN.

Good things come in little packages.

This is why I'm not a huge fan of Indianapolis.

Welcome (back) to Ohio!

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Getting My Griswold On – Day 7: Bloomington, IL

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18

Miles traveled today: 454.1
Total miles traveled: 2737.0

One Hail of a Storm

Before I forget, here’s video of the hailstorm that forced me to pull to the side of the interstate in Wall, SD on Sunday.

 

I’m telling you, it’s amazing my windshield wasn’t cracked. You can hear how hard it was coming down…I had to shout above the noise. My poor car!

The Day The Music Died

When I was going over my travel route and realized I’d be passing through Clear Lake, Iowa, I knew I had to make a side trip. I’m a huge rock ‘n roll fan, and I’ve watched La Bamba enough times to know that Clear Lake is where Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and the Big Bopper lost their lives in a plane crash on a snowy February night in 1959. This was the basis for Don McLean’s hit song, “American Pie.”

I googled Clear Lake, and discovered that the Surf Ballroom – the location where Buddy Holly and the others performed their last concert on February 2nd, hours before chartering a small plane that crashed into a soybean field shortly after takeoff, killing all three – had been fully restored to what it looked like in the 1950s, and was now a museum (and also still a functioning nightclub, where many artists perform concerts to this day). I also had directions to the crash site, and about 40 minutes after leaving Austin, Minnesota this morning, I exited the freeway to Clear Lake. I turned down Buddy Holly Place (cool) and found the ballroom. Talk about a relic out of the 1950s! I walked inside and, past the ticket stand with billboards announcing the Winter Dance Party of 1959, walked onto the dance floor. It was dimly lit, with 50s classics playing over a hidden stereo system. There was a wooden dance floor with a giant mirror ball, surrounded by 50s-era wooden booths, a stage, and cheesy-looking but era-appropriate palm tree decorations (it is the “Surf Ballroom,” after all). I climbed onto the stage and got chills, thinking that 52 years ago Buddy Holly had been standing in that exact spot, playing to an appreciative crowd just hours before he died. I imagined the audience dancing and having a great time, while outside the wind howled and snow piled up on the ground. I had the entire place to myself, which was great. I took my time exploring the various memorabilia, including an electric guitar signed by Ritchie Valens. They even have the dressing room right offstage preserved the way it looked that night, and performers like Loverboy and Little River Band have scribbled their names in ink all over the walls.

I left the Surf Ballroom and headed next to the crash site. It was 5 miles down a paved road north of town that turned to gravel and winded through farmland. The directions said to “look for the grain silos on the left and then walk 1/4-mile down the fence line on the right” or something similarly obscure, but I had no doubt that I’d found the right place when I spotted Buddy Holly’s signature horn-rimmed glasses next to an otherwise unassuming soybean field. I trekked down a muddy path and came upon the spot, marked with a simple stainless steel memorial crafted by a local resident about ten years ago. I got goosebumps standing there, realizing three rock legends died in that exact place. What a lonely spot to perish, I thought. After reflecting for several long moments, I returned to my car, sweat dripping down the back of my neck even though it was barely 10 AM. This humidity takes some getting used to.

How Corny is That?

Iowa certainly lives up to its reputation for cornfields. I spent about four hours traversing the state, and the entire time – no exaggeration – I was surrounded by corn. And when I crossed the Mississippi RIver into Illinois, the corn didn’t just magically stop at the border. It followed me the rest of the way. My motel room, in fact, is right next to a cornfield. I can take twenty steps across the parking lot and be surrounded by corn. I am looking at it from outside the window. Most of it is about 18″ tall, so it’s all got some growing to do, but I tell you, I am craving corn on the cob in a bad way now.

What strikes me about this trip is just how much farmland this country has. I would say 90% of my journey thus far has been through fields and prairies and farms. You always hear about how the farming way of life is disappearing, and the doomsayers are predicting we’ll run out of room for all the people in the U.S. and we won’t be able to feed them, but I’m calling bullshit on that, because I gotta tell you – there are millions of acres of farmland out there that aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. We have more than enough room, too. This country is vast and huge swaths are sparsely populated. I’d probably gain a different perspective if I were traveling through the northeast though, I’m sure.

The Motel Experience

One thing I haven’t really talked about has been the motels I’ve stayed in.

By and large, they have been unexceptional – and also, remarkably similar. They’ve all got a bed (or two), a TV, a desk, some sort of chair for relaxing in (or throwing your clothes onto), a hair dryer on a wall-mounted stand, and a tissue dispenser built into the wall. I’m trying to hole up for the night as cheaply as possible, and before setting out envisioned a series of Motel 6′s along the way, figuring on maybe spending $50/night. I have been surprised to find very few Motel 6′s, however. They used to be all over the place, but nowadays, Super 8 seems to have the monopoly on the budget motel market. My rooms have averaged $65 a night, but have been as high as $99 in Billings (ouch). Finally, tonight, in Bloomington, I found a killer deal. $39 for the night – now we’re talking! It’s a crummy old EconoLodge with strips of paint peeling from the walls and a door that sticks, but I don’t care – it’s just a place to bed down for the night. And the cornfield gives it character.

The funkiest room on my trip so far was also my “home” for three days – the Super 8 in Rapid City. The decor was “bold” and dated, which led to its charm. The bed was oddly low to the ground, and it lacked a mini fridge like the other places I’ve stayed in, but what I liked best about it was the desk facing the window. This was a three-story motel and I was on the second floor; we were on the side of a hill and even though my room faced north and had a partial view of the parking lot, I could also see the lights of Rapid City twinkling in the distance and the gentle slope of the prairie. It was the perfect spot to watch the thunderstorms that rolled through every evening while I was there. Here’s a shot of the room.

My home base for 3 days in Rapid City. I loved sitting at the desk watching the lightning every night.

Another thing that interests me are the regional gas stations around the country. I’m used to Chevron, Shell and Texaco back home. Once I reached eastern Washington I started seeing Conoco stations pop up everywhere, and that was a novelty to me. Then came Sinclair stations with their green dinosaur. (Talk about truth in advertising – gas being derived from “fossil fuels” and all). Now, I’ve run into a chain called Kum & Go. Maybe it’s the adolescent in me, but I can’t help snickering every time I see one of those stations. And I can’t help but wonder if people from other parts of the country visiting my town tell their friends when they return home, “They had this funny chain of gas stations out there called Chevron – and there’s truth in advertising, because their symbol is a chevron!” Or is Chevron nationwide? I don’t think I’ve seen any since leaving Oregon.

Of course, the same is true with food. I’ve already mentioned how Perkins is big out here, while we’ve got Denny’s back home. What’s also funny is that our Carl’s Jr. is your Hardee’s. Same colors, same logo, owned by the same company – just a different name. It’s similar to how Dreyer’s ice cream out west is called Edy’s east of the Rocky Mountains. Up until a few years ago we didn’t have any Krispy Kremes, but now they’re everywhere. Still can’t find a Dunkin’ Donuts, though. All of this regional diversity is appealing to me. If the whole United States was nothing but wall-to-wall Chevron stations and Carl’s Jr. fast-food restaurants, there’d be no need to travel, would there? Err…except to see all that natural beauty, of course.

My trip is officially halfway over, and tomorrow, I reach my final destination, as far east as I will travel: Dayton, Ohio. I’m pretty excited about that. It’s only 266 miles away, which translates to an easy five-hour drive, so I can take my time in the morning.

A nice little tribute to a rock 'n roll legend.

The Surf Ballroom in Clear Lake, Iowa. Site of the 1959 Winter Dance Party.

Clear Lake, Iowa

The stage where Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and the Big Bopper performed for the last time.

View from the stage of the Surf Ballroom.

I snapped this shot from the stage of the Surf Ballroom. I was standing in the very spot where Buddy Holly & the others performed their last-ever show, hours before dying in a plane crash.

Ritchie Valens's autographed guitar.

Something tells me this marks the path to the crash site...

Clear Lake, Iowa

The exact spot where Buddy Holly's plane crashed in 1959.

Memorial to three rock 'n roll legends.

Just another Iowa cornfield.

Only in Iowa...

The Mighty Mississippi. The Old Miss. The Old Man. Deep river...

The state may have changed, but the view's the same. Cornfield next to my motel room in Illinois.

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Getting My Griswold On – Day 6: Austin, MN

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21

Miles traveled today: 556.9
Total miles traveled: 2282.9

So That’s How They Came Up With The Lyrics

My alarm was set for 6 AM today, but I woke up at 5:46 with bright sunshine peeking through the curtains. I sighed, because I knew it was time to bid Rapid City farewell, but I was also excited to be hitting the road again. An hour later the city dwindled to a speck in my rearview mirror before being swallowed up by the seemingly endless South Dakota prairie. It was a chilly morning, and very windy all day; I was awestruck by the way the prairie grasses were “rolling” wavelike in the gusty breezes. It’s hard to explain, but picture tall green grass blades with raggedy amber tips, flattening and spreading out over the land with each gust of wind, like an ocean tide pushing up on the sand before retreating. It dawned on me then that the lyrics to America The Beautiful perfectly summed it up: “amber waves of grain.” This was grass – not grain – but otherwise, it’s fitting.

And I have to say, this trip is making me feel all sorts of patriotic. I am rediscovering how vast and beautiful this country of ours is, and how fortunate I am to live here and have the ability to take a road trip like this one. I started feeling this way when driving through the purple mountain majesties above the fruited plain, you might say. Corny but true. Seeing Mount Rushmore again certainly helped.

Time Ch-ch-changes

Somewhere around the middle of South Dakota, I crossed into the Central Time Zone. Once I hit Indiana, I’ll reach the Eastern Time Zone, and will have experienced all four U.S. time zones. I’ve had to take that into consideration when planning each day’s trip; 8+ hours of driving today felt like 9 with the time change – but it’ll work in my favor on the return journey. I’ve always thought of Central Time as being the odd one. I don’t know if this is still the case, but the television networks always showed primetime programming an hour early here (“an all-new episode of The Office tonight at 8 PM, 7 Central” for example). My understanding is that’s because the farmers tend to get up early and, therefore, go to sleep early.

Today also marked the end of all that fantastic scenery I’ve been enjoying. Amber waves of grass aside, once you pass the Badlands there ain’t nothing to see, folks. I mentioned the next leg of my journey on last night’s Facebook status update, and somebody said to be careful and not to fall asleep at the wheel. Another friend commented that even if I did, it wouldn’t matter, because this is the straightest strip of highway in the U.S. I’m not sure if that’s true or not, but it certainly felt that way. Just one long, straight trek through endless empty land minus the occasional small town. I actually did start to feel a bit drowsy at one point and began yawning, so I cranked up the music and made sure to stop the car and stretch my legs. It worked, as I got my second wind. Crossing the Missouri River helped – it brought a change of scenery and something interesting to look at. There is a rest stop just across the river, and it’s the nicest one I’ve ever seen. It’s situated on a bluff overlooking the river, with a scenic viewpoint and an interpretive center inside. I was nearly blown off the side of the cliff by the strong winds; I’d forgotten how gusty it can be across the northern plains. It remained cool all day, but sunny, with just a few scattered fair-weather cumulus clouds dotting the sky. The severe weather of the past few days is history for now.

Shortly after 1:00 I crossed into Minnesota. Down side: the speed limit dropped to 70 mph. Up side: there was no road construction to contend with. Up side, part two: the scenery changed. Slightly, anyway. The landscape became even flatter – if that’s possible – but I started seeing evergreen trees. When I think of this state, trees and lakes spring to mind, so that was fitting. By the way, the rivers and lakes throughout Montana, South Dakota and Minnesota have been running very high and flooding the surrounding plains. All of them. Every time I pass a body of water, it is inevitably spilling over its banks and covering the bases of the nearby trees, and nearly every city I go through has flood advisories posted. The folks up in Minot aren’t the only ones dealing with high water.

I Drove 19 Miles Out of My Way for SPAM

There are two things you should know about me. I like quirky attractions, and I love museums. So when my friend Ron told me that “the world famous SPAM museum in Austin, Minnesota” was a must-stop, I was on board. Only, it turned out, Austin was actually 19 miles past my turnoff onto I-35 and points south. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to take a detour, but Ron was insistent, and then threw in a little bonus trivia, stating that Austin, MN is also the birthplace of legendary football player, coach and commentator (and video game namesake) John Madden. After hearing that, I was in.

It was going to be a close call, though. The museum closes at 5 PM, and Maggie was projecting my arrival to Austin just an hour earlier. Sure enough, she was dead on. I quickly found a Super 8 right off the interstate, checked in, and then drove a few miles to the museum, arriving about 45 minutes before closing time.

Ron, it turns out, was right. The museum was awesome! It’s located right next to a Hormel plant and one of two SPAM-producing factories in the country, which explains its existence in a small town like Austin. The outside of the building is brick with blue and yellow, SPAM-colored touches, and once you enter the lobby, you are immersed in a world of SPAM. It was actually very cool. There were displays tracing the history of the Hormel corporation in general and SPAM in particular, interactive games and kiosks, advertisements from each decade, glass-encased SPAM samples that included varieties I’d never even heard of – SPAM pizza, anyone? – an overhead conveyor belt with cans of SPAM whizzing by, and a very large gift shop. I purchased a couple of hard-to-find varieties (Garlic SPAM and Hot ‘n Spicy SPAM) and a few other trinkets, including a shot glass and a recipe book. I absolutely loved the museum, and could have spent more time there. I didn’t get to see the SPAM movie (but I did enjoy the SPAM-themed decor throughout). This was a totally worthwhile stop, and I’m glad I went out of my way to see it. It’s a slice of Americana I never knew existed before, and probably would never have heard of if not for this trip.

There’s not much else to do in Austin, so I’m holed up for the night. I’ve got some rum and Coke and I’m planning the next stage of my trip tomorrow. Turns out I’ll be passing through Clear Lake, Iowa. Something historical happened there in 1959, and I’ll be hunting down the site. Details tomorrow. :)

The Missouri River at Chamberlain, South Dakota.

The nicest rest stop I've ever seen. Chamberlain, SD if you're passing through.

Austin Minnesota

Other than John Madden, Austin Minnesota's biggest claim to fame.

How can you not love this place?!

Those are cans of SPAM stacked up in the lobby.

Mmm. The use of the word "base" instead of "crust" makes my mouth water. Seriously, why don't they sell this anymore?!

Yum! Guess what I'm serving at my next dinner party?

Fun fact: it takes each can of SPAM on this conveyor belt about 17 minutes to circle the museum.

I'm no interior decorator, but I'd kinda love this in my townhouse!

 

 

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Getting My Griswold On – Day 5: Badlands

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22

Miles traveled today: 178.8
Total miles traveled: 1726.0

Flash. Crash. Repeat.

Have I mentioned the crazy weather we’re having out here? For the third day in a row, I encountered thunderstorms. And not just any old thunderstorms – big, dangerous ones. With lots of lightning and thunder and – worst of all – hail. As I was leaving the restaurant I ate dinner in this evening, the manager was welcoming an elderly couple. “Looks like rain again!” the husband said, pointing out the ominous sky. “I know,” the manager replied. “Feels like we’re in Washington or Oregon.” I stopped dead in my tracks and wheeled around, ready to correct him. Because this is nothing like the weather we get back home. It rains there a lot, sure. But it’s a gentle rain most times. A soft rain. Often, no more than a drizzle or mist. It’s certainly nothing like these severe, car-denting hailstorms and lightning that flashes constantly, every few seconds. Check out this video I shot last night from the motel parking lot.

Free Ice Water!

My first stop today, after a more leisurely morning than I’ve had lately, was Wall Drug Store in Wall, South Dakota. This might sound odd if you’re unfamiliar with the place, but Wall Drug is more than just a drug store: it’s an institution and a semi-famous tourist attraction. Opened in 1931, the proprietor was struggling with the business until he hit upon the idea to advertise free ice water to travelers on their way to the newly-opened Mount Rushmore, 60 miles away. The idea worked, and the enterprise has been thriving ever since.

Wall Drug is both enormous and kitschy, with a cowboy/Old West theme. It’s comprised of several different “businesses” all under one roof – clothing stores, art galleries, gift shops, a restaurant, even an arcade – kind of like a shopping mall but more intimate. When we lived in South Dakota, we’d head out to Wall Drug every so often on our way to the Badlands, which – sure enough – was my next destination. I bought a pack of buffalo jerky to snack on, just like old times.

What A Nice Butte

From Wall, I drove 21 miles to Badlands National Park. I love the Badlands – this 244,000-acre preserve of eroded buttes, pinnacles and spires offers breathtaking scenery. The red-striped rocks take on different appearances depending on the time of day, amount of sunlight and shadow, and weather conditions, so the whole landscape feels like it’s in a constant state of flux. I drove at a leisurely pace, stopping often at different viewpoints and overlooks. I did quite a bit of hiking, too – if you only see the Badlands from your car, you’re missing out, because there are numerous trails that lead around the various rock formations, and you are welcome to climb them (at your own peril, of course). It was pretty hot in the sun, but a nice breeze was blowing at times, and thunderclouds were stacking up to the west. As soon as I got on the interstate heading west, back toward my motel, a squall line moved through and hail started pelting my windshield so hard I thought it was going to crack. Everybody on the freeway pulled over and waited for the storm to pass, which fortunately took only five minutes. It was something, though! I got video footage from inside my car but I’m having trouble uploading, so I’ll post that another time.

I can’t help but marvel, once again, over the beauty of this area. I liked it as a teenager, even though my parents complained about the brutal winters. They are harsh – one year (I think it was 1985) we had a blizzard on my birthday. Which is April 27th. In some parts of the country, it’s already summertime by then! And that first winter, back in ’83, it dropped down to -27 one night. This is definitely a land of fierce extremes, and it can be very punishing if you aren’t prepared for it. But the magnificent beauty and abundance of natural attractions – not to mention free ice water a mere 55 miles to the east! – make it worthwhile. I’ve often wondered if I could ever picture myself living in Rapid City again, and after returning, the verdict is in: yes, I could. I’m not saying I will - I love the Pacific Northwest far too much – but I wouldn’t rule it out if the circumstances were exactly right.

The Pluses and Minuses of Traveling Solo

I am having the time of my life on this trip – and it’s not even half over yet! The best part about traveling solo is, you can do whatever you want, whenever you want. Which is pretty much also the best thing about being divorced. If I want to see the world’s largest ball of twine, there’s nobody nagging at me about sticking to the schedule. The downside to traveling by yourself? A lack of human companionship, which is pretty much also the worst thing about being divorced. Everywhere I’ve gone the past few days – Crazy Horse, Mount Rushmore, the Badlands – I have seen nothing but families and couples. There were so many parent-and-kid combos today, I actually got a little pang in my heart because I never got to do that with my family, except for one nice weekend getaway to Crater Lake a year before we divorced. And the families with small kids? They’re the luckiest of all. I hope they realize that. I haven’t seen another solo person, anywhere, and I’ve been looking. Oddly enough, I’ve become the guy who other couples ask to take their picture. Maybe I have a trusting face (or perhaps it’s because I’m not chasing after small children). I’ve lost track of how many strangers I’ve photographed.

I’m not complaining, though. I’ve always been comfortable by myself, which is why when dinnertime rolled around I decided to walk across the street to Perkins, a sit-down restaurant that’s kind of like a Denny’s or Marie Callender’s. You know the type: they all serve breakfast all day, sell pies, and have cash registers up front when you’re ready to pay. Some people might balk at eating alone, but I have been trying to avoid fast food and felt like a decent, sit-down dinner for once, so I went. I have never been so excited to see a salad in my life. I’m not saying the chicken fried steak I ordered was any healthier than fast food, but it hit the spot, and aside from the jerky and a breakfast scone I hadn’t eaten all day and was starving.

And now, sadly, my time in South Dakota is up. I will miss it, and I’m already vowing to return someday – and I promise it won’t take me another 25 years. By the same token, today was the first day it felt like I was on vacation instead of a road trip, so it’s time to Ramble On and head east. Tomorrow will be my first full day of traveling since Billings.

This gives you an idea of the enormity of Wall Drug.

Inside the main entrance to Wall Drug.

Hey, I thought the ice water was free!!

Near the beginning of the Badlands Loop. Interspersed with the rock formations is the largest protected mixed grass prairie in the country.

Luckily, I didn't see any.

One of the trails in the Badlands.

Red-striped rock formation in the Badlands.

Thundercloud over the South Dakota prairie. You could hear the rumbling echoing through the Badlands.

A spot of color in the Badlands.

Mountain goats far below. I could barely see them from my lofty perch overlooking this canyon - thank god for zoom lenses.

More Badlands.

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Getting My Griswold On – Day 4: Black Hills

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23

Miles traveled today: 166.8
Total miles traveled: 1547.2

It’s Technically Not “Stealing” Since I Didn’t Pocket Anything

I forgot to mention yesterday the one downside to my motel in Rapid City: a crappy wireless internet connection. For some reason I cannot log on through the Super 8 server, so I have to look for other local networks. Last night there were none to be found. It was late, and I had to get my blog updated, so at 11 PM I threw on a pair of sandals, packed up my laptop, and walked up a small hill, through the wet grass, and past a darkened car wash business to the Hilton next door. I strolled in like I owned the place, marched right through the lobby, said hello to the clerk on duty, and set up my laptop. I got the Hilton signal easily enough, but it needed a password. Undaunted, I walked up to the front desk and asked for the password, which they provided to me on a slip of paper. Heh. I then spent the next 45 minutes working on my blog and uploading pictures to Facebook. At one point the clerk asked if I was cold and offered to get me a blanket. I politely declined. Lesson learned: pretend like you belong somewhere, and nobody will ever be the wiser.

The things I do for you people…

By the way, after yesterday’s severe thunderstorm, I noticed today that I have hail damage to my car. There are several pock marks and indentations on the hood, about the size of golfballs. One of them even chipped the paint. I guess I’ll have to think of that as a souvenir from South Dakota. Fortunately the Santa Fe is well past its prime anyway.

Gutzon Was A Dynamite Master

After waking up shortly before 7:00 and helping myself to the free motel breakfast (they’re the same every day at every place, and starting to get old), I headed up to Mount Rushmore. As far as the monument goes, it hasn’t changed a bit since 1986. As for the visitor’s center, however, it’s completely different. There is now a multi-story parking garage where before there was just a paved lot (hard to believe). The Avenue of Flags is now more elaborately designed, and the whole museum/gift shop/amphitheater complex is radically different. One cool new thing: there’s a Trail of Presidents that winds down to just beneath the mountain, with some great vantage points you weren’t able to see before.

Even though I’ve been to Mount Rushmore many times, it is still amazing to see. I stared at it for a long while, reflecting on the intervening years of my life since I’d last visited, and enjoying the awe-inspiring beauty of the surroundings. The sky was a perfect, deep shade of indigo, with puffy clouds building over the Black Hills. Incredible. I have seen so much beauty on this trip already, it’s really made me appreciate this great land of ours. I spent about two hours at the monument and bought a few souvenirs. Including a windbreaker, Esther. Bring on the rain!

Lord, I Was Born A Gamblin’ Man

After Mount Rushmore, I drove north to the historic town of Deadwood. Here’s a place that is radically different from before for one simple reason: gambling is legal, so there has been a proliferation of casinos. Since I subscribe to the whole “When in Rome” philosophy, I decided to try my hand at the slots. I’m hardly a big spender, though – I put a dollar in a penny slot, worked my way up to $8, then gave it all back to the casino. Oh, well – I was suitably entertained for ten minutes or so. Afterwards, I stopped by Wild Bill’s Saloon & Steakhouse for a buffalo burger and Coke. I was parched – that’s one thing I’m having trouble getting used to on this trip: the heat. I was burning up, beads of sweat were dripping down my neck, and when I passed a bank thermometer, it read 75 degrees. LOL…it’s the humidity. It’s been brutal here, with all the thunderstorm activity every day. Quite frankly, the weather here is insane. When I started writing this post, we had blue skies and sunshine. Within an hour – no exaggeration – a thunderstorm moved in. It was every bit as intense as yesterday’s. Lightning was flashing constantly, thunder rumbling, we had hail and heavy rain and winds. Total deja vu. Naturally, I went outside with my camera to try – once again – to capture that perfect lightning shot, putting my very life at risk.

This time, I think I succeeded. But I digress…

Satisfied with my Deadwood experience, I drove through its twin city, Lead. Much less touristy, and known for its gold mining. Lead is a beautiful town full of rolling hills and amazing scenery.

When Did Rapid City Become So Funky?

My tour of the Black Hills complete, I returned to Rapid (as the locals call it, something that annoyed me in 1983 but I now find charming). I decided to check out Dinosaur Park, not so much for the dinosaur statues but, rather, for the amazing view of Rapid, and the distant prairie. After snapping some pics, I headed downtown to the Historical District. I was quite surprised to find a little slice of Portland in Rapid City: quaint coffee shops, a used bookstore, and this cool alleyway I stumbled upon that was decorated all over with graffiti and murals. I strolled through there, taking plenty of pics. Love it!

I then decided to head for my old high school, right outside Ellsworth AFB. I pulled into the parking lot and stared at it, mesmerized. I’ve always been in a weird position when it comes to high school – I graduated from Milpitas High in California, but only spent my senior year there. The first three years I attended Douglas High School here in South Dakota. On the one hand, I feel like Douglas is my true high school since 75% of my time was spent there, but on the other, my diploma has the name of a different school on it. It’s a strange situation. I parked my car there and wandered around, staring at Patriot Stadium and peeking inside the glass doors at the hallways I once roamed, many years ago. A flood of memories returned, naturally.

I couldn’t get on base – the visitor’s center was closed – so I drove instead to Rushmore Mall in Rapid City. Made a quick beeline through there, only because – again – it was a hangout, back in the day. I remember taking my first girlfriend there to see a movie starring a little-known actor named Jim Carrey. The film was Once Bitten and it was cheesy, but a fun night. My adolescent hormones were in overdrive. I think it was my first “real” date. Good memories.

One random observation about South Dakota: you’ll see people dressed up as cowboys even though Halloween is months away. And there are Indians, too. This town is definitely still very much clinging to its Old West roots. On the way back to my motel, I stopped at a grocery store for booze, since I didn’t bring any on my trip. South Dakota, it turns out, is yet another state that sells liquor in their grocery stores. C’mon already, Oregon and Washington – get a clue!

I Killed Cleveland

Because I left on this trip a day early, my schedule has a little bit of flexibility built in. After a full day on the go, I realized that I hadn’t seen enough of South Dakota yet, and couldn’t imagine leaving tomorrow morning with so much still to explore. So, I made the decision to nix the Rock ‘n Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland. Instead of spending an extra day in Ohio, I’m spending it in South Dakota instead. I am enraptured by this place all over again, and want to enjoy every last drop of it while I can. If Dayton represents my childhood, Rapid City is my adolescence. Even though I’m inevitably disappointing a couple of friends in Ohio, this is my trip, and I have to do what feels right.

And now, some pictures.

The first view of Mount Rushmore from Highway 16.

Gutzon Borglum's famous sculpture, carved out of granite.

One more sign that this is Sioux country.

Pactola Lake Reservoir, Black Hills

Downtown Deadwood.

In Deadwood, you can see history unfolding before your eyes.

Rapid City, SD.

Dinosaur Park has been a Rapid City landmark since 1936. It offers great views!

Welcome to Art Alley.

Art Alley, Rapid City

Art Alley in Rapid City. How cool and funky!

One of the murals in Art Alley.

Patriotic lightning.

Getting My Griswold On – Day 3: Rapid City, SD

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13

Miles traveled today: 434.5
Total miles traveled: 1380.4

A Parting Shot or Two

Pulling out of Billings this morning at 7:30, it occurred to me that I might have been a little harsh on the town. Perhaps the outskirts would prove to be a little more, umm…Montana-like. So as I drove past on the interstate, I snapped another photo of Billings. (Click to enlarge).

Billings 2.0: Still not impressed.

And then another.

Billings 3.0: NOW we're talking!

Ahh…that’s more like it! Never let it be said that I don’t try my best to give a place the benefit of the doubt. This makes Billings look quite charming. Montana town, you have redeemed yourself!

133 Miles of Absolutely Nothing

Once I left Billings in the dust, the great plains opened up before my eyes. There was a moment when I crested a hill and saw, spread out before me, as far as the eye could see – from one end of the horizon to the other – absolutely nothing. Pure, uninhabited countryside, an uninterrupted rolling golden prairie, and I thought, this is why Montana’s nickname is “Big Sky Country.” Because truly, the sky did seem a whole lot bigger in that moment than I’d ever seen it before. Conversely, I felt very tiny.

After a short while, Maggie (my GPS unit, whom I’ll be referring to by name for the rest of the trip, as she’s my only traveling companion – she does talk to me, after all) had me turn off Interstate 90 E and head onto Montana US 212. I didn’t question this – I’ve learned that Maggie is wise in these matters – but after awhile, I kinda did question it. US 212 turned out to be a two-lane highway that took me through the middle of nowhere. And I mean, nowhere. I hardly saw another car the entire two hours it took to traverse, just a few random Native American outposts. Modern, of course. Tract houses – no teepees. And, as per usual, miles and miles of beautiful countryside. Hills, rock formations, trees, and a blanket of purple and yellow wildflowers seemingly everywhere. At one point I stopped the car to stretch my legs and take photos (from the middle of the road, no less). A gentle breeze stirred, the sun beat down upon my skin – warm but refreshing – and I could hear cicadas buzzing and birds chirping. I felt completely at peace in that moment. There was absolutely no thought of my joblessness or money woes or other issues that plague me back home. I was tempted to leave the car on the side of the road and wander off into the great, desolate unknown, Into The Wild style. I get the appeal now. I do. It was a gorgeous morning without a cloud in the sky.

That, it turns out, would not last.

Great Faces, Great Places

After several hours of nothingness, I crossed the Wyoming border, and was greeted with – more of the same nothingness. I could barely reflect on this, however, because I was suddenly in South Dakota. Seriously, my trip “across” Wyoming took a little more than twenty minutes. If I’d have blinked, I’d have missed it.

The Black Hills loomed on the distant horizon, growing larger by the minute. I pulled to a stop at the sign announcing South Dakota, and I swear, I got goosebumps. Twenty-five years ago, I left this state, and vowed always to return. When I actually crossed the state line, it was an emotional moment for me. I’ve talked about returning to Dayton, my favorite childhood place, but South Dakota is where I spent my most formative years: 1983-1986. All but my senior year of high school. I learned to drive there. Dated my first girlfriend. Went through adolescence. South Dakota holds many warm memories for me; I enjoyed my years living here, despite the often harsh weather. Fittingly, my 80s mix CD was playing as I entered the state.

I passed through Belle Fourche and stopped to grab lunch at Taco John’s. TJ’s was a “hangout” for me in high school. I know they’re a chain, but we don’t have them in the Pacific Northwest. The tacos remain good – not great – but the Potato Ole’s? Yum. They’re just round tater tots with a nacho cheese dipping sauce. They are every bit as good as I remember. After lunch in my car, I traveled through Spearfish and Sturgis, and was then suddenly on the outskirts of Rapid City, my old stomping grounds. Again, another goosebump moment for me…and suddenly, there it was, laid out before me. Over and over in my head, I kept thinking, I can’t believe I’m back here. You have to understand, I’ve been wanting to come back for many years. I’d even planned a trip with the kids in 2008, but that fell through. It felt surreal to be back. I found my motel, a Super 8 on one of the main drags, and even though check-in was an hour away, I convinced them to let me in early. I had places to go and didn’t want to haul my valuables around.

After a few minutes of debate, I settled on the Crazy Horse Memorial, Korczak Ziolkowski‘s monument to the fallen Sioux leader. He started work on this momentous carving (it will dwarf Mount Rushmore when completed) in 1948, died in 1982, and his family continues work to this day. They still have a long way to go – it won’t be completed in my lifetime, that’s for sure – but it has changed a lot since I last visited in 1986. I spent a good two hours in the museum and gift shop, and watched a traditional Sioux dance on the veranda beneath the gathering clouds.

Be Careful What You Wish For

About those clouds…when I checked in, I learned a severe thunderstorm watch had been issued for the area. Ominous looking dark thunderheads built up over the Black Hills and blotted out the sun. Driving back toward Rapid City, the sky turned black and eerie, and though sunset was a couple of hours away still, it grew as dark as night. Fantastic, jagged streaks of lightning sliced through the sky, and it started raining just as I pulled into the motel parking lot, accompanied by deafening claps of thunder. Man oh man, I was loving it! And then, suddenly, I was a little frightened by it all. The rain came down in sideways buckets, winds gusted to almost 70 mph and it began hailing. Not just little hail like at home, no sirree…golf-ball sized hail up to 4″ in diameter. I was a little intimidated by it all, as I haven’t experienced a thunderstorm like that since…well, since I left here! It turned out to be quite the storm. There were downed trees and power lines, flooded roads, and a huge section of downtown lost power…literally, my Super 8 was the first business in blocks with electricity. Whew!

After the storm quieted down, I headed out to dinner. When we lived here in the 80s, we used to frequent a Chinese restaurant downtown called Great Wall. I looked it up online, and surprisingly, it was still there, in the same spot as always. I picked up an orange chicken combo dinner and brought it back to my room, driving down storm-ravaged streets through a steady rain and continuous lightning and thunder. The food was very good…and there was an awful lot of it. Too much for me to finish. But it was another happy memory relived.

I’m in Rapid City for two nights, so I don’t have to travel tomorrow. I can also sleep in a little longer – I’ve only managed about 10 hours total the past two nights, but hey – I’ll sleep when I get home, ya know? This is all about having fun, and tomorrow, that’s the plan. I’ll be hitting Mount Rushmore, Deadwood, and checking out some places around Rapid City and Ellsworth AFB, where I lived.

The enormity of the vast Montana landscape is staggering.

The middle of nowhere, Montana.

Wyoming! Blink and you'll miss it.

Welcome back to South Dakota, 25 years later.

The Black Hills, growing larger on the horizon.

Crazy Horse: what it will look like someday...

What Crazy Horse looks like now.

Lakota Sioux performing a traditional war dance at Crazy Horse.

I know the foreground is blurry, but check out the lightning!

Rain! Wind! Hail!

Getting My Griswold On – Day 2: Billings, MT

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28

Miles traveled today: 570.6
Total miles traveled: 945.9

Next Time Remind Me to Write a List

I was served a reminder today – in the form of an early morning thunderstorm as I was loading my car to depart Spokane – that I forgot to pack a jacket. Or a sweatshirt, of any sort. All I’ve got are t-shirts, shorts, and a single pair of jeans. Granted, it’s summer, but you never know when you’ll be caught in a surprise downpour. The weather is unpredictable pretty much everywhere east of the Cascades. It’s my own fault; I didn’t bother writing a list because I was relying on my mental acuity to remember what to pack. Note to self: do not rely on your mental acuity.

White Supremacists Have Beautiful Vacation Spots

Twenty minutes after setting out from Spokane, I crossed the Idaho border. The scenery was breathtaking – Idaho is criminally beautiful. Especially Coeur d’Alene and its namesake lake. This resort town has traditionally been linked with the Aryan Nations white supremacy group. I hate to have those idiots associated with such a gorgeous part of the country. I was traveling through the panhandle portion of the state, which means it took me only about an hour to reach the Montana border. For some reason, I was really excited to be driving through Idaho. Probably because it’s one of a handful of states I had never been to before. Now I can cross it off my list.

Why Did The Turtle Cross The Road?

Fortunately, the wonderful scenery did not change once I crossed into Montana. Neither did the speed limit – 75-mph in both states, baby. Love it! Unlike yesterday’s journey through a rather dull landscape, today was a smorgasbord for the eyes. The Rocky Mountains were a feast of snow-capped peaks, and the rolling prairie was dotted with pine trees and the occasional swiftly-flowing stream. I was reminded of the movie A River Runs Through It which was set in Montana. The only downside to my drive through Big Sky Country? An annoying series of lane closures due to construction, which caused me on several occasions to switch the cruise control off from the 75-mph I’d become accustomed to and crawl at a miserly 55-mph instead. Or slower. At one point a car in front of me swerved to the left, and a moment later I saw why: a turtle was inching his way across the busy interstate lane. I managed to avoid him, but I have my doubts he made it safely to the other side.

The weather was interesting. I experienced a little bit of everything – bright sunshine, overcast skies, and at one point, a torrential downpour that reminded me just how hard it can rain out here. Thunderclouds built up over the mountains and began drifting across the prairie. I love thunder and lightning, which is sadly much too rare in the Pacific Northwest. I’m hoping to experience some big storms on this trip.

Western Outlets, Gun Shops & Casinos

Montana is a breathtakingly beautiful state. Until you get to Billings, that is…and naturally, that’s where I’m holed up tonight. In a motel room that cost about twice what I wanted to spend, no less. I found a coupon book at a rest stop advertising a great deal on a room at the Days Inn, so I loaded the coordinates onto my GPS and made my way over there. I walked in the lobby, they quoted me a price, and I turned my nose up at them. “That’s a lot more than I want to spend,” I said, and left, because there was a Super 8 right across the street. Which turned out to be just as expensive. And the other two motels I tried were even more expensive. Exasperated, I asked the clerk at the Howard Johnson’s what made Billings so special it could afford to charge an arm and a leg for a motel room, because from what I’d seen of the town so far, I was unimpressed. She said it’s summer, people are traveling, and there’s a special event coming up this weekend. Well, it’s summer, people are traveling, and there’s a special event coming up in Spokane this weekend, too, but they didn’t rake me over the coals for a motel room. In retrospect, I should have gotten back on the freeway and stopped, I don’t know, twenty or forty miles further down the road in some tiny little town where I’m sure the rates would have been much more acceptable. Oh well, live and learn. Fortunately, I’m spending considerably less than I’d budgeted for gas so far, so hopefully it’s all a wash.

Once I returned to the Days Inn with my tail tucked between my legs, I decided to give Billings the benefit of the doubt and check out its downtown. Maybe it was hiding a gem or two. Sadly, no…it’s really nothing more than one big strip mall with western wear outlets, gun and pawn shops, and dozens of casinos. What’s up with that? I returned to my motel room with takeout yakisoba chicken from a surprisingly good Asian place and watched a thunderstorm drift by from my motel room window. Billings may not be very impressive, but tomorrow I reach the Black Hills, and I’m very excited for that!

Lake Coeur d'Alene, Idaho.

Typical Montana scenery. Look - a river runs through it!

Thunder clouds building over the Montana prairie.

"Downtown" Billings, Montana.

The view from my motel room window, and a passing thunderstorm.

Getting My Griswold On – Day 1: Spokane, WA

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29

Miles traveled today: 375.3
Total miles traveled: 375.3

Entry # 1 in the chronicle of my twelve-day trek across a good portion of America kicks off in an air-conditioned Howard Johnson’s Inn in Spokane, Washington. It’s late but I’m pretty wired, having just finished dinner (a roast beef sub from a local sandwich shop called Jimmy John’s). Today was a hectic day; I was on the go from the moment I woke up until…well, now. It feels good to relax.

As the first half of the day raced by, I quickly realized one thing: I should have started packing much sooner. With an hour to go before my departure, I had an empty suitcase, and I was still burning CDs, for crying out loud. Hey, with all this driving ahead of me, I cannot stress enough the importance of having plenty of good music to while away the hours. I googled “road trip music” and loaded a couple of CDs full of Steppenwolf (Born To Be Wild), Sammy Hagar (I Can’t Drive 55), Golden Earring (Radar Love), The B-52s (Roam), Johnny Cash (I’ve Been Everywhere), and – well, you get the picture. Really good driving music. I finally finished packing, loaded the car, and shuttled the kids to their mom’s house.

At 2:22 exactly, I hit the road, pointing my car east, the general direction I’ll be traveling for the next week. The first song I heard to kick off my journey was Holiday Road, Clark Griswold’s anthem from the original National Lampoon’s Vacation and, in my opinion, the ultimate road trip song. I immediately got into the spirit, singing along and enjoying the scenery. My journey began on the Washington side of the river, driving through the Columbia Gorge until I reached the Bridge of the Gods and crossed into Oregon. From there it was a few hours driving down I-84 before I crossed back into Washington. Mountain formations gave way to dry, arid steppes and eventually just a whole lot of empty farmland. While driving through this desolate stretch I was struck with an overwhelming disbelief that I am really doing this, and I felt proud of myself. Not everybody would hop in the car pretty much on a whim and take a solo trip through a wide swath of the country like this. I love the impulsive feel of the whole thing.

What I did not love were the scraggly-looking hitchhikers thumbing for rides in Oregon. I passed a few of them, and they all looked homeless. The last guy grabbed his crotch in a rude gesture as I went flying by. Considering that he resembled Charles Manson, I’m thinking my decision to continue without stopping was wise.

A little while after I passed through Ritzville, Washington the landscape began to change. Barren farmland gave way to pine trees and firs. My GPS unit told me Spokane was less than ten miles away, but I found that hard to believe – it still looked like I was in the middle of nowhere. And then, suddenly, there it was, looming on the horizon. Spokane is the second-largest city in Washington and the third-largest in the Pacific Northwest, behind Seattle and Portland. It’s much more impressive than I ever imagined – it’s got trees and hills and rivers and a funky downtown, and reminded me a lot of home. I arrived at my motel a few minutes past 8:00, and even though I was hungry, I wanted to get out and explore before the sun went down, so I checked into my room and got back into the car. I headed down to Riverfront Park, about a ten-minute drive from where I’m staying, on the advice of the friendly motel clerk. I parked the car and walked around this gorgeous park, site of the 1974 World’s Fair. I crossed a suspension bridge over the incredibly fast-flowing Spokane Falls and marveled over the beauty of the area as the sun sank below the horizon, finally heading back to my room – regretfully – as dusk descended.

Despite 5.5 hours on the road today, I easily could have gone farther, which bodes well for the rest of my trip as this will be the shortest travel day. And it’s weird; I’m still in my home state, so in a sense it feels like my trip hasn’t even really begun. However, the Idaho border is just twenty miles away, and tomorrow I will be traveling across Montana. Montana! Now, that sounds a little more exotic. My plan is to hit the road early – shortly after 6:00. Hope I can sleep tonight!

Here are some photos from today.

Sydney, preventing me from packing - the suitcase was still empty.

The beginning of my journey: looking east toward the Columbia Gorge.

The Bridge of the Gods - it costs $1 to enter Oregon.

The middle of Washington is pretty boring.

Civilization! Spokane, Washington.

Spokane Falls. It was amazing how turbulent this water was!

Riverfront Park in Spokane - site of the 1974 World's Fair.

Sunset over Spokane, Washington. The sky was absolutely gorgeous!

Clock tower in Spokane's Riverfront Park.

The obligatory self-portrait (at dusk), proving I was there!

Something Doesn’t Add Up Here

by

26

Back in November, right after I started collecting unemployment, the state of Washington told me I had to go down to the local Work Source office and sit around a room for a couple of hours with other jobless people as part of an orientation. I said, at the time, that there’s nothing more depressing than spending a good chunk of your morning hanging out with jobless losers other people down on their luck (as I am).

Turns out I was wrong.

Hanging out in a room full of people who have been out of work so long they’re now receiving emergency unemployment compensation (such as I) is even more depressing, it turns out, as I discovered yesterday. That’s three hours of my life I’ll never get back again. (And yet, I feel oddly positive these days, like change is just around the corner. I’m hoping that’s a bit of psychic intuition and not just wishful thinking). I can’t really knock the Work Source office, anyway. They are staffed with people who genuinely seem to want to help those who are “between gigs” (again, moi)  find employment. The EUC meeting didn’t cover a lot of new ground for me personally, but then I already know how to draft a decent resume and cover letter and my computer skills are great. Therefore, when we had to choose a task to complete during the last hour, I opted to take an online skills assessment test. This was a six-part, several-hundred-questions test designed to gauge which career is best for you based on your answers, which are used to identify your transferable job skills.

The test started out innocently enough. Part 1 consisted of questions like “Do you enjoy selling products to people who are disinterested?” (I’d rather remove my own kidney) and “Do you believe that people are generally good by nature?” (Naively or not, I do). In the next section, you had to compare two situations and choose the one you’d prefer – “Would you rather rebuild a carburetor or write a book?” (Duh). I was sailing along, making great time, when I came face-to-face with my nemesis.

Math.

If I had been driving a car, you’d have seen me come to a screeching halt once I arrived at that particular (inter)section. Math and I do not get along. We have never seen eye to eye. I’m a creative type. An artist, if you will! What need do I have for numbers? Unless I’m listening to Kraftwerk, of course. (Cue the inevitable vague reference). I don’t just dislike arithmetic – I refuse to call it that because the name sounds so pretentious. It’s just math, dammit. Anything else I consider putting on airs. Math doesn’t like me, either. How else to explain the pummeling dished out to me by Geometry in high school? I still have bruises from that experience (not to mention a D, my worst grade ever – and that was based on a steep curve). I guess, my problem is, I’ve never exactly been an analytical thinker. Give me a paintbrush and I’ll color you a reasonable facsimile of a tree. Give me polynomial equations and I’ll end up with the dry heaves.

I heart math. (Courtesy of ms-abuboo.com)

These weren’t just basic 2+2 math questions, either. They were far more intricate than that, the little buggers. We’re talking -4 (7 x .5)² ÷ 3/8 (-6 + – (-4)). And, my favorite: “What is the next number in this series: 4, 12, 6, 12, 36, 18, 36″ (actual question – anybody got it)? I muttered, “Nobody told me there’d be math!” under my breath quietly enough so that the instructor wouldn’t hear me (because one of my traits is passive-aggressiveness). And then, a funny thing happened.

I found myself actually enjoying the math problems.

I have no idea why, but they were stimulating. Kind of like brain exercise. I hadn’t worked out math problems like this, by hand, with a pencil and scratch paper (no calculators allowed), in years. I found myself really getting off on the challenge. I took my time, worked everything through, and had a feeling I’d done pretty well on the math portion of the exam. Go figure. And then, I got the results back. A list of occupations that I am most qualified for. #1 turned out to be Librarian. I personally don’t think I’m sexy enough (nor do I wear glasses or have my hair tied back), but who can argue with an 88% job match on the Career Compatibility Chart? Certainly not I. It’s no surprise, given my love for books. But then my eyes skipped to #2 on my list, and I about fell out of my chair.

Mathematician.

Even now, as I am writing this post, I cannot believe that one. I guess I aced that portion of the exam, after all. But telling me I should become a mathematician is like suggesting the Pope convert to Judaism or that a vegan should cook hamburgers for a living. It’s just unthinkable. I mean, mathematician (83% job match) ranked higher than Creative Writer (77%) and Writer/Author (77%)!

Suddenly, it’s clear to me why my novel has never been published. All along, I’ve been toiling in the wrong field! I thought I enjoyed writing, but apparently I’m a numbers prodigy instead. Maybe I’m like Rain Man. There’s only one way to find out (hello, Vegas!).

It’s sort of empowering, being a math whiz. I feel like tackling complicated financial statements now, or maybe working on some of those long-unsolved mathematical equations that have bedeviled the likes of John Nash and others for eons. I might as well take a crack at them, now that I’m a certified numbers genius. Maybe I can figure out the Hodge Conjecture or the Riemann Hypothesis. I’d love to take a stab at that pesky Yang-Mills existence and mass gap.

And then write a killer paper about it.

Then again, before I get too big-headed, that same Career Compatibility Chart said I should also consider becoming a Horticulturist (81% match), and I don’t know squat about plants, so clearly something doesn’t add up here (pardon the pun).

In other news, I’m hitting the road a day earlier than planned! Turns out the kids are leaving on Wednesday, rather than Thursday. This works out perfectly because I was secretly hoping for an extra day in Ohio, as I’m tossing around the idea of hitting the Rock ‘n Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland. I figure, when in my life will I ever be so close again? Probably never, seeing as how I haven’t revisited the Buckeye State in 31 years. So, I’m heading out tomorrow (!!) afternoon and won’t be returning until the 4th of July. Like I said, I’ll be blogging from the road. My goal is to write every day, but that’s largely dependent on free wi-fi connections, so we’ll see. At the least, I can update from my phone if necessary. I’ll probably fall behind on reading my favorite blogs, but I hope you’ll follow along on what I’m hoping turns out to be the journey of a lifetime. I’ve got about a million things to do and only about 30 more hours to do them in, so – until I reach my next destination – bon voyage!