Tag Archives: road trip

The 15th State

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I am getting my Griswold on…again!

This is, to put it mildly, a surprising turn of events. A few weeks ago, I never would have dreamed I’d be hitting the road again this year. Especially for such a compellingly unexpected reason.

It’s all about a girl, you see.

A girl whom I have known for nearly nine years. We first “met” in January, 2003 – a lifetime ago for both of us. Ahh, the wonderful world of blogging! Over the years we became friends. We got to know each other intimately – sharing our deepest secrets, our darkest desires. You can’t know somebody for so long without developing attachments to that person…it’s just not possible! I care about her deeply, and she feels the same way about me. You know what’s really cool? I’ve known her mom for just as long! In fact, her mother (Tracy) was one of the first people to subscribe to my blog, and has been a longtime supporter of mine. She was the first one to finish reading my book, No Time For Kings - and gave it a very positive review on Amazon. I count both Tara and her mom as close friends, and that’s gotta be pretty rare.

I first met Tara in person this past March. She has family in the area, and was in town for a visit. We went out to lunch, spent the afternoon deep in conversation, and then parted ways. I wondered if I’d ever see her again. I certainly didn’t expect to…when we said goodbye, I thought, well, that was fun! and what a great friend she is and too bad we can’t hang out together more. That alone would make a perfectly satisfying ending to many stories. Turns out it wasn’t our end, though.

Because there’s more to the story. That great friendship of ours? It’s evolving into something more. How much more remains to be seen. I’m trying not to think too much about anything (“trying” being the operative word here) because it’s scary…but scary in a good way, if that makes sense. All I know is, right now I feel pretty damn good. It’s been awhile, and I’d like to hold onto this feeling. It’s rather intoxicating.

I have to admit, I never saw this coming. And I still don’t know what is coming. Everything feels new and fresh, despite the fact that we’ve been in touch with one another for close to a decade.

So I’m rolling the dice and taking a trip to Ely, Nevada. Ely, of all places! I never thought I’d find myself in such an isolated, rural portion of the country. During my road trip this summer, I covered fourteen states. Nevada will be the 15th I’ve visited this year. I think that’s pretty amazing. And what a reason to go!

I’ve been warned that I might not have cell phone service in Ely. I pretty much had coverage everywhere I went in June and July, except for the remotest portions of the least-traveled highways in the most isolated portions of the great plains. Computer access is certainly not a given, so don’t expect a play-by-play like you had earlier this summer. I’ll try my best, but it’s quite possible I may be completely removed from civilization for the next five days, a fact that is hard for this very plugged-in 21st-century person to imagine. And when I do come back, will I be wearing a cowboy hat and boots and a newfound outlook on life?

I have no idea. All I know is, I’ve never done anything like this before. Tomorrow morning I am leaving very early – before the sun even rises – to drive 700+ miles to rural Nevada in order to spend a few days with a girl whom I am very fond of, but one who has never been more than a friend to me…until now. This feels like something out of a movie – a really cool romantic comedy. It’s all a great big gamble. One misstep, and our entire friendship could be in jeopardy, even though we swear to each other that no matter what, that won’t happen. I sure hope not. Tara’s very special to me, and the risk of losing that tight-knit bond is almost too much to bear.

But, the idea of not seeing this through…of missing out on something that could possibly be wonderful and amazing…is even harder to bear. Life is short, and happiness is difficult to come by. Trust me, I know.

So, let’s do this thing. I am all in…and excited to see what happens next. And you know what? This just feels right. I am amazed and comforted by that…and excited as hell.

Nevada, here I come!

Getting My Griswold On – Day 14: Home!!

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23

Miles traveled today: 448.3
Total miles traveled: 5684.3

“I was surprised, as always, by how easy the act of leaving was, and how good it felt. The world was suddenly rich with possibility.”
— Jack Kerouac (On the Road)

Thirteen days after setting out, during which time I traveled through fourteen states, experienced four time zones, and racked up more than 5600 miles, I returned home,  pulling into the driveway at almost 1:00 exactly. I opened the front door and was greeted by a very happy cat. I dropped to my knees and immediately began petting her, and marveled over the fact that I was in my very own townhouse again. My very first thought? How big this place is! Which is funny, because it isn’t, but after living in ten different motel rooms over the course of two weeks, the place looked huge. Oddly enough, there was no bed taking up the majority of the space, either. Even though I had the time of my life, and will forever consider this road trip an amazing adventure full of fun and discovery, it is always nice to come back home. You know the saying: be it ever so humble…

My last night on the road did not disappoint. Once the sun set and dusk settled in (10 PM this time of year in this part of the country), I grabbed my camera, hopped in the car, and drove down Vista Avenue in the direction of downtown Boise. I had scoped out Ann Morrison Park, site of the big fireworks extravaganza, earlier but it was closed to vehicles and elbow-to-elbow with people. They were still streaming in as the festivities were beginning. Rather than battle the crowds, I pulled over into a grocery store parking lot and watched the display from there. It was nothing short of spectacular, and I thought to myself, how fitting that the last day of this incredible road trip across America would end with a literal bang.

4th of July fireworks over Boise, ID.

It was an emotional moment for me. I had seen so much of this great country of ours over the past two weeks, you might say I fell in love with the U.S.A. all over again. I felt a swelling of patriotic pride as the fireworks rumbled and boomed over Boise and silently congratulated myself for accomplishing my dream of traveling across a great swath of America. It was a grand finale in more than one sense of the word.

Once the fireworks ended, I left the parking lot and drove the few miles back to my motel. On the way there, my car’s odometer rolled over to 100,000 miles. Wow! I have never owned a car longer than five years before, and the ol’ Hyundai Santa Fe is now nine years old. She’s been the most reliable and dependable car ever, and even though she struggled a bit in Wyoming, she found her mojo again today on the last leg of the trip and will, hopefully, continue to perform well for a while. As a reward for carrying me more than 5000 miles, I’m giving her a few days off this week. She has earned it.

When I got back to my room, I was excited because I knew after unwinding it was time for bed, and when I woke up, I would begin the final portion of my trip. I was more than ready to come home by then! My alarm was set for 6:00, but I woke up a little before that and got up. Took my last motel shower for awhile, packed up my stuff, checked out, and hit the road. While my drive through Idaho the day before was surprising because I’d been expecting trees but found desert, my drive through Oregon today was equally surprising because I’d been expecting desert but found trees. Ha…so much for my knowledge of geography! Seriously, everybody knows that Oregon (and Washington) are like two separate states: there is the wet side west of the Cascades (home!), and the dry side east of the Cascades. But I had never actually been to eastern Oregon before, and did not realize I’d cross two mountain ranges – the Wallowa and the Blue – before settling into the arid, flat portion. My drive was beautiful, all snow-capped peaks and forested hillsides and streams. I stopped at a rest area outside Baker City, and the air was actually chilly! I’ve been so used to opening my car door and being greeted by a blast of hot air, this was both a shock and a welcome relief. Alas, the landscape did change for the worse, but then it changed for the better again as I drove through the Dalles and entered the Columbia River Gorge. I was thrilled to see familiar sights again, and marveled anew over the lush, green beauty of this place I call home. And while I loved the thunderstorms I encountered on my trip, and miss the fireflies, and wish it would snow more than it does, I can say with certainty after my travels that I am living in the greatest place in the country. For me, at least. The Portland metropolitan area is, and always will be, my true home.

I spent a lot of time reflecting on my trip during the last few days of driving. Was it everything I’d hoped it would be when I first set out during what feels like a lifetime ago? The answer is an unequivocal yes. I had a fantastic time! Every day was an adventure, and the journey truly was just as much fun as the destination. The trip opened my eyes to different parts of the country, and allowed me to experience how others live across this great land of ours. The great plains and the midwest are so incredibly different than the Pacific northwest, and yet, charming and unique in their own way. I’d been feeling pretty insulated here in my little corner of America, and now I feel like the world is a much bigger place, wide open and full of possibility. I saw that firsthand. It was almost like I got to experience a different culture – one in which Sinclair gasoline stations and White Castle hamburger joints and row after row of cornfields dot the landscape; where the weather is often dramatic and intense; and the people – no matter how different their lives may be – are, at heart, really the same as me.

I realized, as well, the truth behind the saying “life goes on.” 25 years after leaving Rapid City, and 31 years after bidding farewell to Dayton, both places had changed some…but they also stayed remarkably the same. I found my childhood home, wearing new colors and sheltering a different family, but still standing, exactly where I had left it decades ago. Same goes for my elementary school and my high school. Growing up an Air Force brat is a transitory existence; everything seems fleeting and temporary. Retracing my footsteps was comforting in an odd sort of way I can’t really describe. It showed me there is permanence in the world, after all. My memories are more than just memories: they’re part of a bigger, ongoing reality. It was a fantastic experience to see these places again.

Best of all, I no longer feel like my life is boring or empty. I’ve seen a lot, and yet, I’ve barely scratched the surface. There’s a lot to see and do still, and while my wanderlust has been cured for now, I have no doubt there are future adventures just waiting for me to discover them.

But for now, I’m going to relax.

My car's odometer rolled over to 100,000 miles on July 4, 2011.

Mount Hood meant I was getting closer to home!

The familiar scenery of the Columbia Gorge served as a verdant reminder of why I love this part of the country so much.


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Getting My Griswold On – Day 13: Boise, ID

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Miles traveled today: 346.0
Total miles traveled: 5236.0

I Was Expecting Trees

I wasn’t in any particular hurry to leave Ogden this morning. Not because I was in love with the Utah town, pretty though it may be, but I knew I only had about a 4.5-hour drive to Boise and if I left too early, I’d arrive well before check-in time. I have a hard time parking my car full of all my stuff and leaving it unattended, though I had no choice back in Clear Lake, Iowa. Still, that was a soybean field off a gravel road a million miles from anywhere, and this is Boise, the biggest city in Idaho. So I “slept in” (a little bit past 7:00) and took my time getting ready. I pulled onto the interstate a little after 8:30, decided I’d kill some time by checking out the Great Salt Lake, pulled off the highway and got in line at a state park, saw the entrance fee was $10, did a u-turn and got back on the freeway. It just wouldn’t be worth the price for, what? Thirty minutes tops? Plus, the morning was overcast and humid, so it wasn’t the greatest photo opportunity anyway. I managed to snap a quick pic as I was flying down the interstate, though. At least I can say I saw it!

The lovely Wasatch Front receded and the landscape gave way to more gently rolling green hills as I crossed the Idaho state line. I passed through Coeur d’Alene, in the panhandle, on my way east eleven days ago and the beauty was stunning. I was expecting more of the same, but my route through the southern portion of the state was the complete opposite: the hills gave way to a dry, barren, featureless desert. And the sun came out. It wasn’t the most scenic stretch of highway, that’s for sure. Good thing I only had a short drive today! I could have gone farther and gotten closer to home, but I’ve always wanted to visit Boise, and wanted to be somewhere big for the 4th of July. Also, too often on this trip I’ve pulled off the freeway and checked myself into a motel room, only to stay there with nothing to do the rest of the evening. For my last afternoon and evening on the road, I wanted to get out and do some things. Boise did not disappoint. 

The city is, first of all, quite beautiful. Surprising, considering all that desert surrounding it. It’s like an oasis, and is both clean and modern while clinging to its historical roots. There are skyscrapers downtown, and an older historical district with period-looking buildings. After checking into my motel – yet another Super 8 (I have been pleased with my accommodations there, and find it’s a good value if you’re budget-conscious and not expecting The Ritz) – I drove downtown and parked in front of the State Capital building. It was sunny and hot, in the mid-90s, but by now I’ve become accustomed to the summertime heat. I’m not saying I’m a fan of it, but I can walk around in it without grumbling too loudly. Maybe that’s because I know there’s inevitably going to be an icy-cold room waiting for me when I’m finished?

Anyway. I admired the domed capital building, then walked through downtown Boise for a while. Because it’s the 4th of July, most of the businesses were either closed or closing early. Still, it was nice to see. Boise reminds me a little of Portland – it’s sort of a PG-rated smaller version of home. After exploring downtown, I hopped back in the car and drove to Boise Depot for a picturesque little stop with a stunning view of downtown and a very nice garden area with water. The train museum was closed, but there was a steam locomotive on display with interpretive information. When I was finished there, I stopped for an early dinner at Sizzler. I sort of thought they all went out of business, as the one near my house closed years ago. I haven’t been since I was a kid! I know Sizzler isn’t exactly the epitome of haute cuisine, but I wanted a steak on this trip, and while I envisioned a nice place in the midwest, that just didn’t work out. It was fitting that I had a good dinner on my last full day of traveling, anyway. I’m pleased to report that Sizzler is still good (and the salad bar still rocks). I returned to my room after dinner to cool off. There’s a big fireworks display in one of the downtown parks at 10:15 tonight, and I plan to drive around and find a decent spot to watch them once the sun sets.

Fun Things I’ll Miss About Motels

I can’t believe I’ve been on the road for thirteen days. When I was 11 years old I spent a few weeks that summer at my grandmother’s house in New Jersey, but other than that, this is the longest I have been away from home in my life. It feels like I’ve been gone forever. Naturally, I’ve gotten quite used to living out of motel rooms, and while the saying “there’s no place like home” is true, there are some things I’ll miss about the motel experience. Such as…

Fresh towels. Cleaned and neatly folded. By somebody else.

Not having to worry about making my bed every day.

“The Arc” shower curtain bar that makes your bath appear larger and keeps the curtain dry and mildew-free.

Fresh, free coffee every morning.

Tissues that disappear unobtrusively into the wall and are easily dispensed whenever you need them.

There are other things, like tiny bottles of shampoo and key cards that you swipe to open the door and ice buckets, that are fun but not necessary staples of life. How weird will it be to fumble around for keys again when I want in the front door?

A Few Random Observations from the Road

One thing I noticed out west – particularly once you hit Montana – is the abundance of motorcyclists who don’t wear helmets. Something about those wide open spaces apparently inspires them to believe they’re immune from having their brains splattered all over the asphalt. One glance at all the roadkill – and there was lots of it, everywhere (mainly deer and raccoons, but I even saw a badger and a porcupine) – should be enough to make them think twice about feeling the wind in their hair. Back home, helmets are the law, and you never see anybody riding without one. Once I hit the midwest, the helmets returned.

Box Elder water tower. Go, Patriots!

Practically every city in America of any substantial size whatsoever has a water tower with their name painted on the side. I saw this everywhere. Most are simple, a few, quite artistic. My favorite was this one in Box Elder, South Dakota. Probably because it’s right next to my old high school and gives a shout-out to my school team. Go, Patriots!

The more ambitious towns actually paint the first letter of their names on the side of the nearest hill. I first noticed this when I spotted a big white “L” while passing through Livingston, Montana. Maybe these places have visions of Hollywood-like grandeur?

Bugs are stupid for getting in the way of your windshield. When there are thousands of acres of corn for hundreds of miles in every direction, why do they choose to fly across the middle of the lone strip of freeway and end up smeared across your glass? The worst were the locusts in Missouri. They were big and, apparently, suicidal. Every stop for gas involved a corresponding squeegee wipe across the windshield. Five minutes later, it was dirty again.

The Home Stretch

This is it! My trip comes to an end tomorrow. As fun as it has been, I’m ready for home again. Two weeks is a long time to be gone. I miss my townhouse and my bed and my cat and my kids and I miss lazing around doing nothing if that’s what I feel like. Plus, it should be noted, I am sick of driving.

My next post will be from home!

That little bit of water is the Great Salt Lake, glimpsed as I was flying by at 75 mph.

I was expecting trees, but instead this is the view I had from my windshield for most of my drive through southern Idaho.

Boise, Idaho.

Historic downtown Boise.

Modern downtown Boise.

Boise Depot and Platt Gardens

Capital building - Boise, ID.

Getting My Griswold On – Day 12: Ogden, UT

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Miles traveled today: 554.9
Total miles traveled: 4890.0

We’re Not In Kansas Anymore. Wait, We Never Were…

If I had to pick a theme for this trip, it would be Crazy Weather. True, I had a four-day stretch where there was nothing but sunshine – but the other days more than made up for that. When I settled into my room in Sidney, Nebraska last night and discovered there was a Tornado Watch posted, I was surprised because the sky didn’t look very threatening at all. But then the clouds began to thicken, and the radar showed a line of severe thunderstorms bearing down on me. Sidney appeared to be exactly in the bulls-eye. My friend Steven, both an avid ghost hunter and storm chaser (the guy knows how to multitask!) kept me up to the minute with what was going on. Literally. He was following along from home, and even though he was more than 1000 miles away I think he was even more excited than I was! Fortunately, even though funnel clouds had been spotted with this cell, there was no tornado activity – just a whole lot of lightning, thunder, rain and wind. I took some video, and Steven extracted the best frame (and added a little shameless plug for his photography business, as well).

Lightning display over Sidney, Nebraska.

After 30 minutes the storm passed and the skies cleared. When I hit the road this morning, there was nothing but sunshine; you’d never know such an intense storm rolled through less than nine hours earlier. Such is life in this part of the country. I think I’m all done with the bad weather for the rest of my trip, but we’ll just see what Mother Nature has to say about that.

Crossing the Continental Divide. Twice.

I wanted to reward myself with one nice sit-down breakfast on this trip, so this morning I stopped at the Perkins across from my motel in Sidney. I like that most of my motels have offered free breakfasts, but the choices are slim and they all start to taste the same after awhile, so I enjoyed my eggs, bacon, biscuits and breakfast potatoes today. I had one of those perky older waitresses that calls everybody “hon.” I was feeling special for about two minutes, until I heard her call the old guy in the booth next to me “hon,” as well. Is that a prerequisite for working at a Perkins or Denny’s? Just curious. After breakfast, I hit the highway – it was shortly after 7:30 AM. Nine days ago, I spent about twenty minutes driving through Wyoming. Today, I was there for more like six hours. The flat prairie soon gave way to mountains – boy, was I glad to see those! – and then, desert. That surprised me…I didn’t know there was a desert in Wyoming. It all looked pretty arid and desolate. At one point I crossed the Continental Divide, and chastised myself for not being quick enough with my camera to snap a picture of the sign. Then, about thirty minutes later, I crossed the Continental Divide again. Not sure how that happened, but I again chastised myself, because I was no quicker on the draw the second time around.

My poor car did not appreciate today’s drive. Most of the time we were climbing steadily but gradually, and it protested over the long uphill grades. One sign I passed indicated the elevation was more than 8000 feet, remarkable considering I wasn’t even crossing a mountain at the time. I guess that’s why they call it the “high plains.” After my car continued to struggle, I hit upon the idea of switching into a lower gear on those long uphill climbs, and that did the trick. Duh! I’m not used to having to do any work driving an automatic. I also had to fill up for gas three times today; I’ve never had to stop more than twice before. I’m sure it was a combination of the steep roads and gusty winds.

Finally, mercifully, the road began descending, and soon I was in Utah.

Multiple Wives Are All The Rage

Most of the time, crossing into a new state yields no discernible difference. Indiana looks remarkably like Illinois, Ohio looks remarkably like Indiana, etc. But the moment I passed the Utah border, the landscape changed. The high desert of Wyoming gave way to steeper, greener mountains and canyons in Utah. I passed through the Wasatch Front mountain range, their peaks still dusted with snow, and gasped out loud, the scenery was so beautiful. Utah – at least this portion – is gorgeous! It’s also hot as blazes. The temperature when I arrived in Ogden was 99 degrees. Ouch.

My theory about motels seems to be proving true. The bigger the town, the crappier the budget motels are. The Super 8 I checked into is rather dingy on the inside, and my room has a funny smell. But…BUT…the view from my room is incredible, and makes up for it!

When I was in Rapid City over a week ago (!), I purchased a bottle of Cruzan rum so I could enjoy an occasional rum and Coke when settling into my room for the evening. After a long day of driving, it really hits the spot. But because I’m in Utah, I felt funny just carrying the bottle into the room, so I actually took pains to hide it in one of my bags. Sheesh. It’s not like people don’t drink in Utah! Still, I felt odd about it. Funny thing is, nobody would have batted an eye if I’d brought two women back to my room, I’ll bet. Multiple wives are all the rage here.

OK, I’ll knock it off with the Utah stereotypes.

By the way, I have gotten devoured by mosquitoes on this trip. I count a dozen bites on my left leg alone! There are more on my right leg, my arms, even my neck. They were attacking me like crazy the two nights I was standing outside watching the fireflies. They itch like mad, but the experience was totally worth it anyway.

Tomorrow I plan to stop in Boise, about five hours away, and spend my last evening on the road there. I’m looking forward to experiencing the 4th of July in a new city I’ve never been to. One reader commented that they’re sorry I won’t be home for the 4th, but I’m not. Had I arrived in the evening as originally planned, I would have been too tired to do anything but crash. This way, I’ll get to explore a new town and see how they celebrate the 4th. Considering it’ll be my last day before returning home, I should go out with a bang!

The Medicine Bow Mountains in Wyoming.

Wyoming's Red Desert. It's got everything a desert should have, except cacti.

Wyoming desert

Rock formations in the Red Desert.

A more pastoral Wyoming scene.

Descending through a canyon in the Wasatch Range, Utah. Beautiful!

Ogden Utah

My motel may be only halfway decent, but check out the view from my room!

Getting My Griswold On – Day 11: Sidney, NE

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Miles traveled today: 607.9
Total miles traveled: 4335.1

Missed the Bullet Hole. Damn.

I have to give props to the Super 8 in Cameron, MO: nicest motel on this trip so far. The king-sized bed was plush, the air-conditioning icy cold and refreshing, the wireless internet worked without a hiccup, and the coffee was superb. Oddly enough, I’ve noticed that with the budget motels, the nicer ones are usually found in smaller towns along the interstate, whereas the inner-city ones often leave much to be desired. I guess it’s all about presentation – when you’ve been driving on the road for hours and you’re considering your overnight choices, you’re going to want a motel that looks decent from the outside, at least. I enjoyed my brief stay there, and I slept like a rock. Got about 7.5 hours, by far the most for any night since I’ve been gone.

I took my time this morning. I was planning on a rendezvous in Lincoln, Nebraska that could not occur until 10:30 at the earliest. Since it was about a 2.5-hour drive, I didn’t leave my motel until 8:10. That turned out to be a big mistake – more on that in a minute.

My friend Mike, who actually lived in northern Missouri for four years (who knew?), told me that St. Joseph was worth a short detour because of “the Jesse James and Pony Express stuff.” I guess I’m not up on my history of the old west, because I had no idea what he was talking about until I googled it. Turns out the house Jesse James was shot in has been preserved and turned into a museum – cool! The actual hole from the bullet that killed him can be seen on one of the walls. Or could be seen, if the museum had been open, but it didn’t open for another 90 minutes or so and I had a pressing engagement in Lincoln. I walked around the outside, taking a few pictures, and then drove a couple of blocks to the National Pony Express Memorial. It’s the site of the first Pony Express mail delivery service in 1860. I was actually impressed with St. Joseph – the downtown looked very historic, with lots of fashionable old brick buildings – so I can’t say I was completely turned off by Missouri.

Water, Water Everywhere

I’ve mentioned all the high water and flooding I’ve encountered during this trip. It’s been everywhere: lakes, rivers, fields, streams, etc. Still, I was caught off guard while speeding north on Interstate 29 when I spotted water from a flooded field practically lapping at the side of the road. And then I glanced to the left, and saw an incredible sight. Miles and miles of flooded farmland. Houses, barns, and grain silos were all underwater, thanks to the raging and swollen Missouri River. I took as many photos as I could while racing down a highway with the windows open. And then, I spotted a detour sign. It turned out that I-29 was closed due to flooding. I was forced to exit the freeway and ended up on a major detour through the Missouri countryside. Missouri gave way to Iowa – I wasn’t even supposed to be back in Iowa on the return leg of this trip! – and the minutes ticked away. I was afraid I would miss my lunch date in Lincoln, but fortunately the detour finally took me back to a section of I-29 that was open. I then crossed the troublesome Missouri River on Interstate 80 West, through Omaha. Lincoln was dead ahead. I was two hours behind schedule, but better late than never!

I Didn’t Know Chickens Had Fingers!

Before I set out on my journey, there were two regional fast-food establishments I wanted to try: White Castle and Raising Cane’s. Everybody knows White Castle, but I had never heard of Raising Cane’s until reading about it through a friend’s blog. She was always raving over their chicken and, especially, the Cane’s Sauce. Raising Cane’s is just as elusive to find as White Castle – I mapped them out, and there were only two possible locations along my entire route: Lincoln, Nebraska or Fort Collins, Colorado. The timing worked out so that I would pass through Lincoln right after they opened for an early lunch. Then, of course, the damn river went and flooded. Turned out to be nearly 1:00 before I got there, but that’s the prime lunch hour anyway. I ordered “The Box” combo and ate it in my car.

Raising Cane’s serves one thing only: chicken fingers. And I have to say, their chicken fingers are awesome. Crispy on the outside, moist and juicy inside. And sure enough, their Cane’s Sauce – used for dipping – elevates them to incredible status. I was trying to figure out what’s in the sauce. It’s the color of Thousand Island, so there’s probably ketchup and mayo. And it’s got hints of vinegar, dill, allspice and coriander. Whatever, it’s awesome. My meal came with cole slaw, fries, Texas Toast and a drink. Even though downtown Lincoln turned out to be a bit of a detour, it was worth it for the opportunity to try this place I’d been curious about.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Parsley.”

About an hour west of Lincoln, the sky grew gunmetal gray and ominous. I’ve already come to associate that with impending thunderstorms, and sure enough, I encountered those again while driving down I-80. It rained for awhile, and I was treated to some spectacular lightning displays, and then the storms passed and the sun came out again.

I ended up pulling off the freeway in Sidney, Nebraska. Ode to my cat! LOL. Cheyenne was still another 100 miles away, and I beat my record for most miles traveled today. I was in no mood to continue. Because of the detours, I am well behind schedule now and won’t make it home on July 4th as planned, but my parents have agreed to watch the kids on Tuesday so I’m not concerned about it. I should arrive home late in the day on the 5th.

In Sidney, I finally found a Motel 6! Actually, I tried the Days Inn first, but they wanted $97 for a room. Considering I just paid $39 at the Days Inn in Dayton, I felt this was outrageous and walked out. There was a Motel 6 right next door, and they’re charging $69. Still a bit pricey, but what are you going to do? As I was checking in, the clerk took my driver’s license and said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Parsley.” I was shocked. My last name is Russian for parsley…but nobody knows that. It’s the first time in my life I’ve ever gotten that. The clerk laughed and remarked how funny it was that I had to travel all the way to Nebraska for somebody to know the meaning of my name.

The Motel 6 is actually pretty nice, and – surprise! – it’s got a laundry room. I had to shovel about fifty bucks in quarters into the machines for detergent, a washer, and then a dryer, but it’ll be worth it to finally have fresh, clean clothes! If I survive the night, that is. Turns out there’s a Tornado Watch in effect for this area until 10 PM. It’s sunny right now – and very windy (gotta love the northern plains!) – and it smells like cow manure. We’ve got some thunderheads building up to the northwest, it looks like. We’ll see what happens.

Tomorrow? I’m pointing my car in the direction of Salt Lake City and seeing how far I get.

The house where Jesse James was shot and killed - St. Joseph, MO.

Pony Express Memorial in St. Joseph, MO.

Missouri

Downtown St. Joseph from my car window.

This is where Interstate 29 in Missouri was closed due to flooding. You can see water encroaching on the freeway on the right side of the photo.

Flooded home along the Missouri River.

Missouri River flooding.

Missouri River, flooding

Yikes. This is not good.

chicken fingers

Raising Cane's does one thing, and they do it really well: chicken fingers. Wish we had this chain back home!

LIncoln, Nebraska

Weirdest thing about Nebraska: their stoplights are all sideways!

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Getting My Griswold On – Day 10: Cameron, MO

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6

Miles traveled today: 603.4
Total miles traveled: 3727.2

State of Misery…err, Missouri

Today was tough. For two reasons: I had to say goodbye to Ohio, and I logged more miles – and driving time – than any other day so far. In fact, I passed through four different states over the course of about 9.5 hours. Sadly, the one I stopped in is Missouri. Not that I have anything against the Show Me State. It’s just that I’ve traveled across most of the northern portion and so far, what it’s shown me isn’t all that impressive. Plus, it’s hot. Oppressively so. And the sky is hazy. Let’s just say I miss the mountains, and am looking forward to seeing them again either late tomorrow or Sunday.

I pulled out of Dayton a little bit after 7:00 this morning. The sky was clear, and it was weird to have the morning sun shining on the back of my car instead of the front. Proof that I’m headed west now, in the direction of home. Soon, the clouds thickened and grew ominous, and by the time I reached Indianapolis I was pretty sure I was in for a rough patch of weather. Sure enough, I encountered thunderstorms through western Indiana and eastern Illinois. Nothing severe like the ones I experienced in Rapid City, but they put on quite a lightning show which made for a fun drive. As long as it doesn’t hail on my car, I’m happy. The rain was a blessing.

After about an hour, as I neared Champaign, the clouds began to break up, and the rest of the drive was sunny, humid and uneventful. I drove through Springfield, IL and saw signs for the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Museum. That would be cool to check out, but I’ve got a lot of ground to cover these next few days and not as much time for sightseeing as I did on the drive east. Good thing there aren’t any SPAM museums or airplane crash sites along the way. At least, not that I’m aware of, although a friend tells me there’s some cool Jesse James stuff in St. Joseph (my intended destination today, but I pulled up about 30 miles short, figuring I’d had enough of the car and the heat and hoping that a motel room in a smaller town would be less expensive; the Super 8 here in Cameron cost me $51, a figure I’m happy with) that I may have to check out tomorrow. One of the things I’ve most enjoyed about this trip is the freedom to stop and explore as I saw fit, and I might as well squeeze every last drop of fun out of these last few days. I may be headed home, but my road trip isn’t over yet.

Speaking of Home…

During today’s long drive, I was fantasizing about being home. All I could think about was my soft leather recliner and my plush bed and how nice it would be to relax in the evening with a cool drink and a favorite television show. That seems so novel now! I’ve been on the go nonstop for 10 days and counting. The trip has been wonderful, but I’m starting to get a little homesick, I guess. Plus, I miss my cat.

Oh, and my kids, too. Right.

I look forward to a few days of lazing around when I get back.

Good News: July Milk is Looking Strong!

I’ve been listening to CDs pretty much the entire trip. Every time I eject one, the default radio station – 94.7 (Portland’s KNRK – alternative rock) comes on. Most of the time there’s nothing but static coming through my speakers while I dig out a new CD, but the other day a local Iowa station was coming in loud and clear. They were playing classic rock, so I left it there for a few minutes. When the song ended, the female DJ came on and started talking about the stock market. I don’t mean the Dow Jones…she was going on and on about the LIVESTOCK market. Talking about how much cattle and pigs were fetching, and how June milk was down a nickel but July milk was projected to be up 8%. I listened for awhile, enchanted. There is nothing like a livestock report to remind you that unless you’re from the midwest, it’s a different world out there.

By the way, I ran out of clean clothes a few days ago. I’d been intending to do laundry in Dayton, but of course the Days Inn did not have a laundry facility. Every other motel I’ve stayed in has had one…figures. I’m okay on shorts (I brought three pairs) and shirts (having picked up several at Crazy Horse, Mount Rushmore, etc.) but my socks and boxer shorts ran out. I figured I could go commando and wear sandals until I find a motel that has a laundry room, but I ended up stopping at a Kohl’s in Fairborn yesterday for some new boxers. The Super 8 in Cameron doesn’t have a laundry room either, so that is looking like it was a smart move.

Not a lot of pictures today…let’s see, I’ve got one of my motel room here. There was nothing else worth taking today, save for the lightning, but I was too busy driving. I’ll include a few pictures from Ohio that didn’t make it into the blog originally.

Lovely Cameron, Missouri.

For a brief while, before transistor radios came along, radio bikes were all the rage. From the Bicycle Museum at Historical Carillon Park, Dayton.

Antique cars and old-fashioned Sunoco filling station, Carillon Park.

Another view of my childhood home. We lived on the left side of the duplex, if you hadn't guessed already.

A reminder that I was technically trespassing in my old neighborhood. Oops.

A thriving business in Fairborn, Ohio. Hopefully not TOO thriving.

Fountain in the Miami River, downtown Dayton.

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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