Tag Archives: United States

An Ely Good Time

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Earlier this summer, I embarked upon a road trip across the country. It was a fantastic journey, filled with sights and sounds and new experiences, and it changed my life. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to top it, let alone a mere two months later.

But I did. My trip to Ely was better.

Then again, I had somebody very special waiting for me on the other side. That makes all the difference in the world.

If I Had A Bucket List…

I’d be able to cross off no fewer than three items on this trip. But more on that later.

I already wrote about my drive down to Ely and the first night there. Did I mention the incredible sense of excitement that built up with each passing hour as the gap between us shrank? We were both giddy with anticipation. It tripled for me once I crossed the Nevada state line. There is no better feeling than knowing you are just a few hours away from seeing somebody special to you. I wish I could bottle that build-up juice and sell it on the open market. The world would be full of anticipation junkies.

So. Thursday, after lounging around Tara’s house in the morning, I drove to her office in town and met her for lunch. I got to meet her coworkers, who were friendly and welcoming, and hung out in her office while she finished up some business. She looked pretty cute sitting behind that desk being all official. When she was done, we stopped at Economy Drug in downtown Ely for lunch at an old-fashioned soda counter that looked like it was straight out of the 50s. Probably because it was straight out of the 50s. Tara and her mom had hyped up a drink called an Ironport, a soda that is similar to root beer but a little sweeter and spicier. It was pretty damn good! We then drove around Ely for awhile, Tara pointing out the various sights. I have to say, I was pretty impressed with the town. Downtown is quaint and old-fashioned looking, with a little bit of neon glitz mixed in for contrast. This is Nevada, after all. The surrounding mountains provide a rugged backdrop. Tara had to go back to work for a few hours, so I took a drive a few miles east to a spot called Cave Lake, where I wandered around for a bit before returning to her house. I tried to take a power nap – I had gotten very little sleep the previous two nights – but I was too wound up with excitement. Around 3 PM Tara came home, and asked if I was ready for some four-wheeling. I’d always wanted to ride an ATV, so I eagerly climbed on board behind her and off we went, traversing a series of dirt trails in the hills around Ruth. What a rush! The wind in our hair, bumping and bouncing over rocky terrain. We switched places and I got to drive for a bit. Bucket list item # 1 – complete! We checked out the local copper mine, then sped up Garnet Hill to search for garnets and take in the breathtaking, 360-degree view. “I wish I could freeze this moment in time,” I told Tara, and what do you know…I guess I did.

We rode back home, and after a mishap involving a lost phone – Tara had dropped it somewhere on our adventure, and amazingly retraced our route and was able to find it – she cooked chimichangas and baked pumpkin chocolate chip cookies. Her friend Ray joined us for dinner, and he is quite the character. Real nice guy. He left, Tara and I got cozy on the couch, and my first full day in Ely came to a close.

Ladies & Gentlemen, Our Cruising Altitude is 10,000′

Friday morning we headed east to Great Basin National Park, a little over an hour away from Ely. Our fist stop was Osceola, a ghost town and former mining camp. We walked around an impressive little cemetery on a bluff, and drove over a rocky dirt road through what was left of the town before meeting up with the highway again. After a stop for lunch at a little bar and grill in Baker, we headed into Great Basin. Unlike many of the national parks I’ve been to, there is no admission charge to get in. We stopped at the visitor’s center and then took a 90-minute guided tour of Lehman Cave, a spectacular underground cavern of stalactites and stalagmites. The cave was a cool 50 degrees, and Tara and I were the only ones without jackets, but we managed to keep each other warm during the tour. I loved holding her hand – not just there, but wherever we walked. That’s the type of simple but affectionate gesture that is missing from my life.

Following the cave tour, we drove up and up…and up…until we were suddenly at 10,000′ elevation. The view up there was remarkable! We then took a hike on the Alpine Lakes Loop Trail, a 2.7-mile jaunt past rolling fields and stands of Quaking Aspen and fir trees, with majestic Wheeler Peak looming in the distance. We stopped at both Stella and Teresa Lakes, and saw a couple of deer along the way. I will admit, the first part of the hike was strenuous; it wasn’t that steep, but at 10,000 feet you have to struggle to fill your lungs with oxygen. We took frequent stops and drank plenty of water along the way. I’m used to hiking alone; having somebody to enjoy the scenery with was pretty nice.

Afterwards we drove home, and Tara made us another fantastic dinner. Homemade beer bread, salad, ribeye steaks, and these fantastic sauteed mushrooms that I am so going to have to make myself. We ate dinner, watched a movie, and went to bed, exhausted.

Jealous, Dirty Harry?

Saturday was more of a leisurely day, but still full of fun. We drank coffee and sat on Tara’s deck, enjoying the morning sunshine and quiet, before heading into town to check out the farmer’s market and Renaissance Village. It’s nothing like the acres of tents and produce stands I’m used to at home, but the few tents and buckets of fresh fruits and vegetables just screamed small-town charm. I ended up buying a jar of pickles. We were hungry by that point, so we headed to Rack’s Bar & Grill (once owned by her dad) for burgers, and shared a basket of fried pickles that were really damn good. After lunch we went back to her house, where we took the quad out again, and that is when I crossed item # 2 off my bucket list.

I shot a gun.

Not just any gun – a Ruger 9-mm semi-automatic pistol with a twelve-gauge clip. Oh. Hell. Yeah.

I’ve never been a gun person, but had always been curious and wanted to take a shot. Literally. So Tara took us out to a spot a few miles from her house, set up a few cans to shoot at, gave me a quick lesson on how to use the gun, and then handed it over to me. I surprised myself by not only managing to hit my targets a few times, but by actually taking out three cans in a row, one after another, at one point. Sweet! It was a real adrenaline rush and I felt all sorts of studly. I see the appeal now.

When we were finished shooting we drove through town and out to a rock formation on the outskirts of Ely called The Gap. Along the way it started to rain, and I experienced what Tara had told me about countless times before: when it rains in the high desert, the sweet smell of the sagebrush perfumes the air all around you. It’s an incredible aroma. We had planned to take the Ghost Train tour – a ride aboard a steam locomotive – but the Ely Depot had just changed to a fall schedule and the train we wanted wasn’t running. Well, it was, but two hours later and $44 more, so we decided to skip that and spend a quiet evening back at Tara’s house. We lay entwined on the couch, watching a couple of movies, and the evening was romantic as hell. After leftovers and Bloody Marys it was getting late and, because I was getting up early the next morning, we went to bed. It was the last thing in the world I wanted to do. We both read for awhile, and then switched off the lights. I lay there in the dark a long time, my arm draped around her, not wanting to let go and fall asleep because I knew when I woke up, it would be time to leave.

But I did. And it was.

I Feel The Need. The Need For Speed. 

I did not want to leave Tara; every fiber of my being screamed at me to stay. But I couldn’t. Reality intruded and demanded I get into my car and drive away, but not before a sweetly tender embrace and a promise to see each other again soon. I pulled away from her house, waved goodbye, and made the lonely drive through downtown. It was 39 degrees, the wind was blowing, and it started to rain. I pulled over across the street from the Hotel Nevada, brightly lit against the predawn darkness, feeling the rain on my skin and wishing so badly I could turn around and go back to her.

So many emotions…

(And did this really just happen yesterday? Did I hold her in my arms and kiss her a mere 29 hours ago? Already it feels like an eternity).

I gassed up my car, pulled onto the highway, and watched Ely disappear behind me. Tried to take my mind off the sad fact that such a fantastic trip was over in the blink of an eye by listening to Built To Spill as loudly as I could. Once the sun rose, on one particularly solitary stretch of road, I pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor. Driving 100 mph was the third item on my bucket list. I hit 102, and have the picture to prove it.

The long ride home sucked. I knew it was going to be hard, but I truly wasn’t prepared for exactly how difficult it would be. Every passing minute took me approximately 1.25 miles farther from Tara, and when I crossed the Idaho border I felt a pang in my chest. We were no longer in the same state. God, I feel pathetic writing all this! Can’t help it, though. She’s gotten to me in a big way. I’m crazy about her.

And I get that our situation is far from ideal. She’s 840 miles away. On the plus side – she’s 840 miles away. A little more than a 12-hour drive, close enough to make the occasional visit, even on the spur of the moment. This is my glass-is-half-full side saying it could be a lot worse. She might live in Fargo. Or Birmingham. No offense to either of those places, but I like Ely a lot better. Plus, her goal is to move out here. I know that it won’t happen for awhile, maybe even a year or longer.

But you know what I think? Finding a real connection with somebody is difficult. Tara and I click in a way that feels incredible. We have a long past and a ready-made foundation from which we could build upon. A mutual respect and admiration for one another. And a hell of a lot in common, including a few things that surprised me. I think the sky’s the limit, and anything is possible should we choose to take that step.

I, for one, am no longer afraid.

And in 37 days, she is flying up here for another visit. We’ll be staying with her mom (hi, Tracy!) in Seattle for a few days and attending a three-day music festival. We’ve already purchased our wrist bands and have our calendars penciled in. I’m excited as hell to see her again.

Nevada landscape in the evening sun. I was maybe 50 miles from Ely here.

At long last! And yes, I now know what a Bristlecone Pine looks like.

Downtown Ely is pretty charming!

"The loneliest road in America" passes through Ely. I can believe it!

The Ruth Pit copper mine in the hills above Tara's house.

Tara and I, aboard her four-wheeler atop Garnet Hill.

Cemetery in the ghost town of Osceola.

Osceola ghost town.

Lehman Cave, Great Basin National Park.

Loved the shield formations in Lehman Cave.

Stella Lake, Wheeler Peak in background - Great Basin N.P.

Tara's ATV. So much fun!

Hell. Yeah. Major testosterone moment in my life.

The Gap, outside Ely. No, it's not a clothing store.

Rain on the Nevada plain brings out the sweet smell of sagebrush.

This wasn't me. I only hit 102. Such an amateur, huh?

East Ely Railroad Depot.

Historic Hotel Nevada in downtown Ely. A side of glitz with old-fashioned charm.

Empty Skies and Reflections

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If all goes as planned – with technology, you never know – I will be on the road, headed home on the 10th anniversary of 9/11 when this post is published. I’ve had to do a little bit of pre-planning to ensure it happens. Gotta love the scheduled post feature! Here’s the deal: I have been blogging, on and off, in one place or another for a little over ten years. I have almost everything I’ve ever written saved, except for a six-month stretch in 2003. I rarely go back and read the old stuff anymore; those words belong to a different person. However, I did want to share what I wrote immediately following 9/11. I was still stunned – I think we all were – and thought the world as we knew it was coming to an end. In some ways that happened, as anybody who flies a lot can attest, but fortunately things weren’t as dire as I feared they would be. Still, I find it fascinating to look back on what I wrote one decade ago. Here it is.

The Empty Skies – 9/12/2001

Courtesy of lindy1950.tripod.com.

I stood in the warehouse at work this afternoon, staring toward the heavens. Minutes passed, with nothing but a blanket of unbroken blue overhead. If this doesn’t sound very unusual, it is. My office is located on Airport Way in Portland. PDX is a few miles to the west, and we are directly beneath the flight path. Every few minutes on most days, a jumbo jet rumbles by overhead, either taking off to the east or landing to the west. It’s a noisy place to work, but you get used to the constant drone of the airliners day in and day out. Today, and yesterday, there was nothing but an eerie silence. The quiet, which normally would be welcome, came with a heavy price, for it served as a constant reminder of the tragedy that had befallen our great nation. And then, in the distance, a roaring noise. I craned my neck skyward, searching for a sign that things were returning to normal. A 747, perhaps. Even a commuter plane would have been welcome. A moment later, an airplane appeared in the sky. A jet fighter, a slate-gray F16 from the Air National Guard, raced by directly overhead. Several seconds behind, a companion jet followed. This isn’t exactly odd; once a day these same jets take off on training exercises, just one more plane in a steady and constant stream of air traffic. But today was different. Today, these were the only airplanes in the sky – and I knew they weren’t merely flying training exercises. This was the real deal, marking the beginning of the New Reality, and the sad end of the Old America. In the New Reality, nobody is ever safe. America’s borders can be breached. Death and destruction can find us in our own backyards. Already I grieve for the Old America, for the comforts and security she provided, even if they were false. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss. I am saddened that my children will never know the innocence that nurtured me for thirty-two years. Outside my house, a flag blows in the breeze, a symbol of my love and support for our great nation. Word is, people have been scrambling to find American flags, and many stores have sold out. I say, shame on those people for not already owning a flag. Mine will fly indefinitely, perhaps long after the last golden leaves have fallen from the trees, and winter’s chill has descended upon us. It’ll fly for however long it takes us to show the world that America’s spirit cannot ever be broken. With a flag flying dutifully, the skies somehow don’t seem quite so empty. God Bless America.

Post Script: I ended up flying that flag every day for one year. I never took it down; it weathered sun and wind and rain and snow and ice, fluttering in the breeze or resting still, 24 hours a day. I know you’re supposed to take the flag down at night, but I kept mine up to make a statement, finally removing it on September 12, 2002. It was an extremely patriotic time in my life, one rarely matched since (though my road trip across America this summer sparked a great sense of pride, as well). 

Surreal Moments in White Pine County

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Yesterday I experienced one of the most surreal moments of my life.

A few minutes past 7:00, just as the sun was sinking behind the Nevada mountains, I pulled up to the curb outside Tara’s house. She was there to greet me, and we hugged each other tight and kissed hello. You have to understand, for years now I’ve read about her house and seen pictures of it, but never in my wildest dreams would I have ever imagined I’d actually be staying here. Seriously, there was no conceivable scenario in the world that I could think of that would land me here.

Except for one, it turns out. :)

Even now, writing this entry in her house and enjoying a cup of coffee while she is at work is just…bizarrely cool. We’re meeting up for lunch (I’m going to meet her coworkers – a little nervous about that!) and she’s hoping to get off early. I’m really excited to check out downtown Ely – from what I saw when I passed through last night, I was impressed. Seems like a cool little town. I don’t have any photos to share yet, because there’s no wireless connection for me to use my laptop - I’m borrowing Tara’s for the time being. Out here in the sticks, the internet runs s…l…o…w.

My day began at 5 AM when my alarm went off. An hour later I hit the road. It was a strange feeling to be traversing the very same stretch of highway I drove two months ago, only going in the opposite direction. I remember what a novelty Idaho was in June and July. Now? Not so much. Once I hit Twin Falls I turned south, and Nevada wasn’t too much farther. As remote and desolate as I found Montana and Wyoming to be, Nevada was even more so! Just a straight and lonely two-lane highway surrounded by sagebrush and rocky outcroppings. I wondered how many bodies were buried out there. I also wondered how close Area 51 was. And, my speedometer hit 93 mph at one point. OK, I was passing a semi, but still. You can get away with that out here. When I entered White Pine County, I grew excited. I was getting closer by the minute! The scenery, while not as green and lush as back home, was still a sight to behold. Finally, after 13 hours on the road, I was there.

Tara gave me a tour of her house and fixed us up some Bloody Marys using a bottle of pepper vodka I had brought with me from Washington. I had never had a decent Bloody Mary until I met her…she knows how to do ‘em up right, lemme tell ya. Good stuff. We sat on her front porch with our drinks and talked, but the evening was growing cold, so we didn’t stay out there long. Ely is at 6400′ elevation and you can really feel that chilly mountain air! It was 41 this morning. Meanwhile, back home we’re having a heatwave. The timing of this trip couldn’t have been better. Another thing about Ely (or technically Ruth, where Tara lives)? It is so damn quiet I can’t get over it. It’s a good thing, just…different. After we finished our drinks she drove us out to the middle of nowhere so we could look at the stars. The moon was a little bright, but they were still plentiful and fantastic. It was pretty romantic, despite the chill.

We came back home, and then we…

Well. Some details should remain private. Let’s just say it feels really good to be here with her. If the rest of my time here is as good as the first few hours, then I know I’m going to return home a different person.

This’ll be my only post from Nevada. We’re going to be too busy having fun the next few days for me to think about the blog, so I’ll catch you up with all the details next week!

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 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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15

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!

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