"Traveling about, I early learned the difference between an American and the Americans. They are so far apart that they might be opposites." ---Steinbeck
This was the day I traveled from my new friend Kansas to its Northern neighbor, a place I have held suspect since end of the 1997 football season, and maybe since Springsteen wrote about it when I was in college. The refrain I hold for Kansas comes from a fluffy John Denver song, where he sings,
"Gold is just a windy Kansas wheat field, blue is just a Kansas summer sky." ---Denver
The repeating lyrics in my head for Nebraska are a little different:
I saw her standin' on her front lawn just twirlin' her baton
Me and her went for a ride sir, and ten innocent people died.
From the town of Lincoln, Nebraska with a sawed-off .410 on my lap
Through to the badlands of Wyoming I killed everything in my path.
I can't say that I'm sorry for the things that we done
At least for a little while sir me and her we had us some fun.
---Springsteen
Bashing Nebraska, or Lincoln, is not my intent. Steinbeck treated the state as the hole in the donut of his journey: Northern North Dakota outbound and Texas inbound. And Bruce's song talks of an American, not the the Americans. His is a stark story of Starkweather (a man who based his life on a James Dean character....just lonely and sad, until ten innocent people died. 40 years later, another killer blamed his own rampage on the Boss's song. As Johnny Cash would sing, "will the Circle be unbroken")? Yes, I am listening to a lot of old music on the road.
Anyway, I left you in Lawrence. I had the chance to have lunch with a first cousin-once removed, my dad's cousin Michael. He moved to Manhattan, KS shortly after we moved to the US, and taught computer science there for 30 years. He is a kind and generous man with a kind and generous wife, doing well with challenges that age can bring. And it so often brings it to 1/2 before the other. I guess I had seen him since England, but remember him only from Uncle Tony's house days before we sailed (I was smitten by his 8 year old daughter, probably in the way only a 6 year old boy could be.....unaware of the delicacies of family relationships, yet it clearly left a mark).
Manhattan left me thinking it is a town with great pride, or a great identity crisis. The name and logo of K-State absolutely everywhere. (like WAY more than Ann Arbor is Maize and Blue). A nice campus, but with far less of its own character (beyond logos) than the others I have known. With the name "State," and the agricultural focus, I probably (and unfortunately) apply my own MSU judgments to the place.
North out of there on route 77, which should take me all the way to Lincoln. Except in this part of the world a detour is really a detour. 15 miles east, 15 mile north and 15 miles west is what it means to go around the block. This led me over an area named Blue Valley. Deep in corn country I was skeptical. Without the detour, I never would have crossed the mile-wide river and wet lands that earned the valley its name.
I liked northern Kansas. They seems to borrow New Hampshire's motto. "Live free or die" trickled all the way down to the marking of passing zones on these byways. Better to meet an F-350 diesel grill-to-grill than to have felt the imposition of governmental restraint on my right to pass cars, by god. I also loved the "Legends of Country" radio station I found. All Waylon, and Willie and the Boys stuff. Took me back to when I hated country, and made me wonder why.
In Northern Kansas I passed by Marysville and fired up what would become my four-state obsession with coal . I crossed a bridge over eight tracks and saw eight coal trains as long as you could see (my later obsession informs me they were 1.3 miles a piece) . In Lincoln, that observation was multiplied three-fold, as 25 tracks became the staging area for the fuel to my home, my lights, my I-Pod. Over the next few days I watched a hundred trains pull that fuel down from the Hills to the Plains. The routine so complete that each train had two engines in front and one behind, that each was made of mostly clean cars, that all were all 1.3 miles long, and that the loading had left each pile of coal identical. Rising a foot or two beyond the hopper,the coal grew from back to front, then dipped and rose again. It struck me how much the load in each car resembled the back of a bison: curved, humped, rising, brooding or charging. I thought this strange picture of the Range also completed an imagined circle. I was able to think the herds were still represented here; we still slaughter them and they still feed us, but how the world has changed.
I crossed into Nebraska near Beatrice, and fatigue, and the arrival of long, east-facing shadows left me ready to sneak into a bar. I was able to leave Luci in the shaded car, and to have beer. I had that beer with Schroeder at Poo's Palace. A man as proud of his 3rd cousin connection to the Silver Spoons star Ricky Schroeder as he was to be a "DIE-rect DEE-cedent" of Abraham Lincoln. And on the wife's side, related to Raymond Burr as well. For all his near fame and distant fortune, I liked the polite, honest man, and the respectful way he addressed an issue. I referred to the to the town name as as BEE-u-truss, and he said "pardon me, but here we say it, "Bee-A-truss. It's German." He wasn't offended, but didn't want me to say it wrong to the wrong fella. As I would soon learn, many western towns are pronounced differently from how they appear.
From there we are on to Lincoln, where I spent a couple of nights. Falsely worried about civilization (laundry, internet) as I moved on, and ready for a slower day, I set up camp. As you may guess, it wouldn't be a place I would favor again with extra time, but it was fine.
Lincoln is home to 222,000 souls, the seat of government and the largest campus. I had been told O Street was the place to hang out, and it was happening, but I found smaller, nicer joints on P Street or on the edge of town. Also on O street, if you wander East to the Wonder Bar, you may wonder where you've gone. It quickly loses the college feel, and doesn't hold out a welcoming hand to strangers. The place I went the first night, in search of food, but missed the closing of the kitchen, was Bison Witches.
On O Street the bartenders where male models or members of the Cornhusker demo squad. Either way, they weren't making it in the world on their brain power. Here on P Street, they were engaging and informed. The manager stopped by, perhaps not his first stop of the night, and when I inquired about buying a tee-shirt, he sent the bartender for one of the ones they had made for their softball team, and gave it to me for free. I went back the next night for food, hung out with a great young couple (he teaches 4th grade and hopes to coach, she sells drugs. Oh, sorry, she reps pharmaceuticals), and ate a fantastic beef and brie half sandwich. One beer, one margarita and too much food? $6.50. The couple wanted to make Lincoln my favorite place. They helped me to like them a lot and the bar a lot, but couldn't put all of Lincoln on their shoulders.
The next day, after chores, I headed out and had the obligatory runza for lunch. It is the national dish of the Big Red Nation. I thought it was like some one tried to make a Cornish Pasty after looking at a picture of one. Ground beef, cubed potatoes, diced onion and too much salt and thyme baked inside little more than a hot dog bun. Not horrible, but not good enough to taste for several hours, and that was its impact on me.
My journey will get me one day soon to Oahu. If you see Captain Cook's first map, he spells it Wahoo. Imagine my luck in finding that spelling just 30 miles north of Lincoln.. Hey, they have a Grand Island, NE which, like Mt Pleasant MI, is neither. Perhaps they also had a Hawaiian island hidden there. Not exactly. We got there as the shadows again provided safety for Luci in the car, and I headed into Chez Place, which bragged of the "coldest beer on the block." Loud music and three young guys playing a video game, I drank my beer and explored the town. Not too much to see. An aging corn town, but 30 miles from Lincoln and about the same from Omaha, it seems hopeful of a future as a bedroom community, especially if the occupants of that bed work in each of the two cities.
Anyway, I stopped back in Chez Place and the place was transformed, maybe even transported. Local hero, and QB of UN, Omaha, Zach Miller had just been married to his sweetheart, and the guests all had an hour to kill while the family took photos and the steamboat roast rested. Well of course they all wanted the coldest beer on the block, so here they were. A great crowd of mostly young, well dressed folks all in a good mood. The one guy my age was rugged, trim and handsome in black jeans and shirt, a pin stripe black jacket, boots and a chain on his wallet. It sounds like I'm funnin' him, but he pulled it off neatly, and was with his wife, whom I suspect once sat atop a float in this town. A beautiful young woman named Tara, fresh with her MSW thought she wanted to follow Janis's career, and took the time to tell me of the day ("oh that detour? We just went around the barricade. the wedding party is in a stretch Hummer, after all"). Her significant other, together with old buddies, stopped by long enough to convince himself of my harmlessness, and went back to Jose Cuervo.
Back in town, I took Luci again for a walk on the Campus. Large, and largely car free, built of brick in a consistent style and with some green space, she thought it pee-worthy. But this night the lights were on at the Shrine of St Tom......yes, a game afoot at Memorial Stadium, and in July no less. It was the high school all-star game, with the teams wearing the home and away Husker uniforms. It was the second half and I walked in for free. I am adolescently proud that it took me less than 10 seconds to start a fight over the 1997 national championship. "Huh, that's odd, they listed 1997 on your Wall of Champions. Well, that can't be right," I said Columbo-like. Just a few quick points:
1. They are happy to have a share of the title. Similar to the false mother's reaction to Solomon's offer to split the baby.
2. Their only argument: "We would have kicked your ass." Nice work. Pick the one totally unprovable fact and rest everything on it.
3. When in Lincoln, or perhaps the whole state, avoid saying, "Tom Osborne is a whore." I was warned in Lawrence about that. In the future I will heed such warnings.
4. On the mighty football statue in front of the stadium, they have roughly cemented plaques to the smooth brass, each representing the championship years. 1997 is around the corner, missed by most. I believe that if I traveled with hammer and chisel, I would have that with me today. I asked a Nebraska fan in South Dakota if he thought that would be a misdemeanor or a felony, he calmly replied, "a capital offense."
Time to leave Lincoln. Where is my .410?
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Itinerary
I am sure some people look at this not looking for all these thoughts, but to see where I have been. here is the drive so far:
Monday, July 21: I-94 and I-80 to the Quad cities (Moline, or actually Cordova)
Tuesday, July 22: Side trip to Field of Dreams. Illinois 84N to Illinois 20N to Dubuque (Wisconsin, Illinois, Iowa confluence), then Iowa 20W to Iowa 136N. Return trip, Iowa 61S to DeWitt, 30E to Clinton, 84S to Cordova.
Wednesday, July 23: Illinois 67S from Quad Cities to Macomb. West to Carthage, 336S to Quincy. Crossed into MO. 61S to 19S to 22W to 63S to Columbia.
Thursday, July 24: 63S from Columbia to Jefferson City. 50W to Lawrence, Kansas.
Friday, July 25: I-70W to 177N to Manhattan, lunch with cousin Michael. 77N, with 45 minute detour, to Lincoln, Nebraska
Saturday, July 26: Side trip Wahoo, Nebraska. 77N, returned on 77S.
Sunday, July 27: I-80W from Lincoln to Grand Island (which is neither), 24N to 2W to Alliance. 385N to Hot Springs. SD.
Monday, July 28: Winding through the Black Hills, N from Hot Springs, SD, by Custer, Crazy Horse, Mount Rushmore, Rapid City and Sturgis (Rally is next week) to I-90. W to Buffalo, Wyoming. Then 16W to Worland, 20S to Shoshoni, 26W to Moran Junction, 189S to Jackson (long day, beautiful drive).
Tuesday, July 29: Side trip to Yellowstone National Park by way of Grand Tetons National Park, all by way of 189. I went as far North as Old Faithful.
Wednesday, July 30: WY 22 out of Jackson and through Teton Pass into Idaho. The ID 26 through Arco and Shoshone to Gooding. I-84 with a stop at Glenns Ferry and then on to Boise.
Thursday, July 31: I-84 from Boise to Portland OR, with a stop in Pendleton for the world's best bacon cheeseburger.
Friday, August 1: Stayed in greater Portland
Closing in on 4000 miles
Saturday, August 2: NWA flight to Honolulu
Well over 6000 miles now.
Monday, July 21: I-94 and I-80 to the Quad cities (Moline, or actually Cordova)
Tuesday, July 22: Side trip to Field of Dreams. Illinois 84N to Illinois 20N to Dubuque (Wisconsin, Illinois, Iowa confluence), then Iowa 20W to Iowa 136N. Return trip, Iowa 61S to DeWitt, 30E to Clinton, 84S to Cordova.
Wednesday, July 23: Illinois 67S from Quad Cities to Macomb. West to Carthage, 336S to Quincy. Crossed into MO. 61S to 19S to 22W to 63S to Columbia.
Thursday, July 24: 63S from Columbia to Jefferson City. 50W to Lawrence, Kansas.
Friday, July 25: I-70W to 177N to Manhattan, lunch with cousin Michael. 77N, with 45 minute detour, to Lincoln, Nebraska
Saturday, July 26: Side trip Wahoo, Nebraska. 77N, returned on 77S.
Sunday, July 27: I-80W from Lincoln to Grand Island (which is neither), 24N to 2W to Alliance. 385N to Hot Springs. SD.
Monday, July 28: Winding through the Black Hills, N from Hot Springs, SD, by Custer, Crazy Horse, Mount Rushmore, Rapid City and Sturgis (Rally is next week) to I-90. W to Buffalo, Wyoming. Then 16W to Worland, 20S to Shoshoni, 26W to Moran Junction, 189S to Jackson (long day, beautiful drive).
Tuesday, July 29: Side trip to Yellowstone National Park by way of Grand Tetons National Park, all by way of 189. I went as far North as Old Faithful.
Wednesday, July 30: WY 22 out of Jackson and through Teton Pass into Idaho. The ID 26 through Arco and Shoshone to Gooding. I-84 with a stop at Glenns Ferry and then on to Boise.
Thursday, July 31: I-84 from Boise to Portland OR, with a stop in Pendleton for the world's best bacon cheeseburger.
Friday, August 1: Stayed in greater Portland
Closing in on 4000 miles
Saturday, August 2: NWA flight to Honolulu
Well over 6000 miles now.
No Place Like Home
"Much earlier I spoke of the changes at state lines, changes in Highway English, in prose forms on the signs, changes in permitted speeds. The states' rights guaranteed under the Constitution seem to be passionately and gleefully exercised."---Steinbeck
I think these differences exist, but a lot of national chains, products and advertising may hide the differences. By avoiding chains (except for my home-away-from-home, dog friendly, wi-fi kicking Motel 6's) and mostly staying off the interstates, I think I have found more differences along the way than hurried travelers might. In the last few days I have made my first stop in several of the states in the middle of the country, states that in the past I lumped into one: the plains, the fly-over states, the heartland. It has been a great opportunity see both the similarities and differences, at least those which jumped off the wall at me in these very short visits. I am sure longer stays and meeting more people would prove some and disprove some of my thoughts.
When I left Columbia, MO I did a drive-by of the state capital in Jefferson City and then continued west on Route 50 toward Lawrence, KS. Let me start with the quickest impression of all: the capital building is brilliantly positioned. Coming in on 63S, you come over a rise, and there it is, several miles away, completely dominating the skyline. Driving away on 50W, I look in the mirror, and again, all I see is the dome of the capital. And this building doesn't appear to do it by height alone, like the Nebraska ("only unicameral legislature in the country") capital, which appears to be compensating for something.
On to Sedalia, MO for frisbee and lunch. We found a nice park by a 19th century train depot that spoke to a time of glory for this small, now tired, town. I did have a nice lunch served by a nice bartender. She was 6'2", and the size must have come from her father's side, as I doubt her proportions would ever take her from that awkward stage. She told me Sedalia's current glory comes but twice a year as it hosts the Ragtime Festival and the State Fair. She was from Omaha, and thought I should change my plan and make that my Nebraska stop. I gave it good thought, as not much recommended Lincoln to me, but decided to keep to my route, and to my college town strategy.
From there we listened to the farm report and raced a train full of T.E.U.'s across the countryside, one labeled MATSON. I imagined it contained our household, although I knew the route and the time wasn't right. We gained on the train, eventually passing its length only to hit the speed zone of a small town and watch it again charge to the front. Dresden, Knob Noster and Lone Jack were all good for the train; the highway between was good for me and Luci. The highway outweighed the towns, and we led comfortably when the tracks peeled off to Kansas City.
Far Eastern Kansas is green and hilly, a continuation of Missouri. It is growing flatter by Lawrence, which then rises above like an acropolis. Atop this mound, The University of Kansas, dyslexically abbreviated KU, is a very nice campus. Tasteful buildings in complimentary yet different styles form a really nice college feel. You can see for miles in all directions. And then you head down the ski slope-like streets to the college town section of Lawrence. Laid on on state-named north-south avenues, it centers on Massachusetts, referred to locally a Mass. Little would dissuade young drinkers from long nights on Mass more than the Stairmaster of a hike back to the dorm on "the Hill."
I met Gary and Kari at Louise's Downtown, where most were drinking schooners of domestic for $1.75. A schooner being a 32 oz. glass, only slightly larger than the wagon of beer I thought they were ordering. College towns are cheap for eating and drinking. This is something I was missing in Ann Arbor, where the town/gown separation makes the college bars a place I wouldn't go, and where it would be viewed as creepy if I did. In Columbia, Lawrence and Lincoln, the crowd was varied in age and affiliation everywhere I stopped. Kari told me where to go in her hometown of Lincoln, and that saved me driving and research. People in each of these middle states often seemed connected to the nearby states, and all helped me along. Louise's is a place I would return to, and only partly because I owe the buying of some drinks there.
On the way out of town, and near my hotel I stopped in Johnny's, as recommended by Gary. A loud band, but a great Hawaii connected bartender named Blair. Elementary School at Maunawili in Kailua. He also gave me Portland info as his brother lives there. Someone else I owe a drink to. When they buy me a drink, I think they must of worried about the frequency of my fuel stops and took pity on me, but it is a trend that nicely continues.....
I came to Kansas with low expectations and little knowledge. As I drove from the state I passed the billboard for the OZ Museum and thought of Dorothy. Today I better understand her desire to return.
I think these differences exist, but a lot of national chains, products and advertising may hide the differences. By avoiding chains (except for my home-away-from-home, dog friendly, wi-fi kicking Motel 6's) and mostly staying off the interstates, I think I have found more differences along the way than hurried travelers might. In the last few days I have made my first stop in several of the states in the middle of the country, states that in the past I lumped into one: the plains, the fly-over states, the heartland. It has been a great opportunity see both the similarities and differences, at least those which jumped off the wall at me in these very short visits. I am sure longer stays and meeting more people would prove some and disprove some of my thoughts.
When I left Columbia, MO I did a drive-by of the state capital in Jefferson City and then continued west on Route 50 toward Lawrence, KS. Let me start with the quickest impression of all: the capital building is brilliantly positioned. Coming in on 63S, you come over a rise, and there it is, several miles away, completely dominating the skyline. Driving away on 50W, I look in the mirror, and again, all I see is the dome of the capital. And this building doesn't appear to do it by height alone, like the Nebraska ("only unicameral legislature in the country") capital, which appears to be compensating for something.
On to Sedalia, MO for frisbee and lunch. We found a nice park by a 19th century train depot that spoke to a time of glory for this small, now tired, town. I did have a nice lunch served by a nice bartender. She was 6'2", and the size must have come from her father's side, as I doubt her proportions would ever take her from that awkward stage. She told me Sedalia's current glory comes but twice a year as it hosts the Ragtime Festival and the State Fair. She was from Omaha, and thought I should change my plan and make that my Nebraska stop. I gave it good thought, as not much recommended Lincoln to me, but decided to keep to my route, and to my college town strategy.
From there we listened to the farm report and raced a train full of T.E.U.'s across the countryside, one labeled MATSON. I imagined it contained our household, although I knew the route and the time wasn't right. We gained on the train, eventually passing its length only to hit the speed zone of a small town and watch it again charge to the front. Dresden, Knob Noster and Lone Jack were all good for the train; the highway between was good for me and Luci. The highway outweighed the towns, and we led comfortably when the tracks peeled off to Kansas City.
Far Eastern Kansas is green and hilly, a continuation of Missouri. It is growing flatter by Lawrence, which then rises above like an acropolis. Atop this mound, The University of Kansas, dyslexically abbreviated KU, is a very nice campus. Tasteful buildings in complimentary yet different styles form a really nice college feel. You can see for miles in all directions. And then you head down the ski slope-like streets to the college town section of Lawrence. Laid on on state-named north-south avenues, it centers on Massachusetts, referred to locally a Mass. Little would dissuade young drinkers from long nights on Mass more than the Stairmaster of a hike back to the dorm on "the Hill."
I met Gary and Kari at Louise's Downtown, where most were drinking schooners of domestic for $1.75. A schooner being a 32 oz. glass, only slightly larger than the wagon of beer I thought they were ordering. College towns are cheap for eating and drinking. This is something I was missing in Ann Arbor, where the town/gown separation makes the college bars a place I wouldn't go, and where it would be viewed as creepy if I did. In Columbia, Lawrence and Lincoln, the crowd was varied in age and affiliation everywhere I stopped. Kari told me where to go in her hometown of Lincoln, and that saved me driving and research. People in each of these middle states often seemed connected to the nearby states, and all helped me along. Louise's is a place I would return to, and only partly because I owe the buying of some drinks there.
On the way out of town, and near my hotel I stopped in Johnny's, as recommended by Gary. A loud band, but a great Hawaii connected bartender named Blair. Elementary School at Maunawili in Kailua. He also gave me Portland info as his brother lives there. Someone else I owe a drink to. When they buy me a drink, I think they must of worried about the frequency of my fuel stops and took pity on me, but it is a trend that nicely continues.....
I came to Kansas with low expectations and little knowledge. As I drove from the state I passed the billboard for the OZ Museum and thought of Dorothy. Today I better understand her desire to return.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Entering Big 12 Country
"When show people come into what they call the sticks, they have contempt for the yokels. It took a little time, but when I learned there aren't any yokels, I began to get on fine." ---Steinbeck
I dipped further south than my destination called for to visit some places I had never been before: Missouri, Kansas and now into Nebraska. Janis had a bit of an epiphany when I was driving into Lincoln when she realized I was perhaps only a four hour drive from the Quad Cities. Yes, the same Quad Cities I set forth from three days earlier. Of course exploration is the mission, not expediency. Was it worth the detour? Yes.
Arriving in Missouri offered little promise. Light industry and agricultural businesses on wide divided highways replaced the old river town of Quincy, Illinois. but that gave way to nicer, smaller roads as I tried to find the angle from Quincy to Columbia that kept me off the highway, but on the path. A spot along the way that worried me, because I still don't know farming, or Missouri, was the village of Ladonia. The road forked there, and dirt alleys got longer connecting the tines as they spread southeast and southwest. Along these alleys were small white shacks on low stilts, and a lot of them. 500 yards down the road, there is more open space than one from east of the Mississippi can conceive , and yet some one needs to live in these close, soulless dwellings. Again, my ignorance: farmer workers? families? migrants? immigrants? displaced locals? I don't know, but I do know political correctness had not run amok as this little junction. Here route K joined with route KK, demanding signs in all directions that declared K KK, or KK K. A few miles down the road I saw a farm peddling "live bait" and "corgi puppies." I really hope they weren't from the same litter.......
Columbia was good to me, and physically impressive, but remains enigmatic. At a bike race the week before I arrived, the back of the pack was wiped out when thumb tacks were spread across the road. My older brother Nick works really hard to train for the Helluva Ride about this time each year, about his birthday. This year, rain ruined his day and he ONLY got in 70 miles, making him think about about doing another century ride later. This vicarious connection left me feeling for the riders, but I really wondered about the tack throwers. Thoughtless teens (guilty of stupid, hurtful, but unintended acts long ago, I know this happens)? Friends of some rider worried about a late charge? Anti bikers that arrived too late to wipe out the leaders? A 007 and "Q" fan that rigged his bike to wipe out pursuers?
There are an amazing number of Walmarts in this part of the world, and they come in many sizes. At school we often speak of Walmart, but here it is easy to see the profound change it would bring to a small community. For this trip, the biggest impact of the mega company was the 40 miles I spent behind a Walmart truck on a road too narrow to pass.
In Columbia we played frisbee and then walked the campus, and it was very nice. Luci had not yet announced her intention to keep me in constant company, but I still wanted to stop for a beer, and the Bengal bar on the edge of campus was happy to allow us on their patio, and supplied my friend with a big dish of water. The Bengal, in location, layout and purpose reminded me of the Linebacker bar in South Bend, but I was glad, with Luci, that I was not there the night before a home game. Anyway, Luci was popular, and I enjoyed the company of young people drawn to her, people that had no trouble with the term and concept of "goldendoodle."
Then to the hotel where Luci announced she would not be left alone during this adventure. After dark I headed into town and lucked into a joint called Booche's, established in 1884 or some similar year. Good beer, good, cheap burgers. and a great bartender. In the 1970's it was a men's club, and the activist women of campus staged a sit in. Booche's joined the decade and opened their doors to all. I suspect that every 3 or 4 days now, a woman actually takes advantage of that hard earned privilege. Actually a nice young woman named Sunny, comfortably looking like she was in costume for that long ago sit in, was there, and a welcoming presence for Columbia.
The bartender, a marathon running, world traveling, story telling historian recommended Ernie's (est. 1938)or breakfast, and a great diner it was, but not to be reached without some adventure.
I woke to see clouds that were altogether unfamiliar to me, heavy and gray, but drawn in long layers like fresh squid-ink pasta pulled through the pasta mills thinnest setting. I wondered if they were unfamiliar to locals as well. I suspected they held violence, but had failed to check the weather before leaving the motel. Luci and I arrived at the nature area Southeast of campus and the sky had greened, the wind now bragged and the light receded to a level where I now knew our minutes were being counted in the single digits. As friend Nord once quoted Gordon Lightfoot, "does anyone know where the love of God goes?" Nord said it when his good golf round disintegrated on the 13th green of Eagle Crest. Well, Luci and I felt the same dropping sensation as we ran back to the bridge (signed "flood area, impassible in high water," see picture) and were pelted by rain drops the size of seagulls.
We got to the car before the full deluge struck, and felt ourselves the lucky ones as we saw a young man, not dressed for exercise (but more for clubbing), jogging, walking and sprinting along the road. Kenny accepted our offer of a ride. Seems he was just dumped by his girls friend, who seems to have timed it brilliantly: miles from home, in a rising hell-storm, and before his college-mate friends had pulled themselves from bed. We took him the miles back to his place, luckily within a few blocks of Ernie's. He was a decent, respectful and good looking young man. I hold absolutely no judgment on the righteousness of his removal.
Ernie's was as good as advertised. I liked the help, I loved the "Boone County Ham" and thought the whiteboard of Dick Tracy longing for Ernie's (and produced by Chester Gould himself) was way better than the average homage. I need to learn Daniel Boone's tie to this area, but he got the county and a lot of schools named for him.
Back on the road, and racing a fright train to Lawrence, by way of Sedalia.
I dipped further south than my destination called for to visit some places I had never been before: Missouri, Kansas and now into Nebraska. Janis had a bit of an epiphany when I was driving into Lincoln when she realized I was perhaps only a four hour drive from the Quad Cities. Yes, the same Quad Cities I set forth from three days earlier. Of course exploration is the mission, not expediency. Was it worth the detour? Yes.
Arriving in Missouri offered little promise. Light industry and agricultural businesses on wide divided highways replaced the old river town of Quincy, Illinois. but that gave way to nicer, smaller roads as I tried to find the angle from Quincy to Columbia that kept me off the highway, but on the path. A spot along the way that worried me, because I still don't know farming, or Missouri, was the village of Ladonia. The road forked there, and dirt alleys got longer connecting the tines as they spread southeast and southwest. Along these alleys were small white shacks on low stilts, and a lot of them. 500 yards down the road, there is more open space than one from east of the Mississippi can conceive , and yet some one needs to live in these close, soulless dwellings. Again, my ignorance: farmer workers? families? migrants? immigrants? displaced locals? I don't know, but I do know political correctness had not run amok as this little junction. Here route K joined with route KK, demanding signs in all directions that declared K KK, or KK K. A few miles down the road I saw a farm peddling "live bait" and "corgi puppies." I really hope they weren't from the same litter.......
Columbia was good to me, and physically impressive, but remains enigmatic. At a bike race the week before I arrived, the back of the pack was wiped out when thumb tacks were spread across the road. My older brother Nick works really hard to train for the Helluva Ride about this time each year, about his birthday. This year, rain ruined his day and he ONLY got in 70 miles, making him think about about doing another century ride later. This vicarious connection left me feeling for the riders, but I really wondered about the tack throwers. Thoughtless teens (guilty of stupid, hurtful, but unintended acts long ago, I know this happens)? Friends of some rider worried about a late charge? Anti bikers that arrived too late to wipe out the leaders? A 007 and "Q" fan that rigged his bike to wipe out pursuers?
There are an amazing number of Walmarts in this part of the world, and they come in many sizes. At school we often speak of Walmart, but here it is easy to see the profound change it would bring to a small community. For this trip, the biggest impact of the mega company was the 40 miles I spent behind a Walmart truck on a road too narrow to pass.
In Columbia we played frisbee and then walked the campus, and it was very nice. Luci had not yet announced her intention to keep me in constant company, but I still wanted to stop for a beer, and the Bengal bar on the edge of campus was happy to allow us on their patio, and supplied my friend with a big dish of water. The Bengal, in location, layout and purpose reminded me of the Linebacker bar in South Bend, but I was glad, with Luci, that I was not there the night before a home game. Anyway, Luci was popular, and I enjoyed the company of young people drawn to her, people that had no trouble with the term and concept of "goldendoodle."
Then to the hotel where Luci announced she would not be left alone during this adventure. After dark I headed into town and lucked into a joint called Booche's, established in 1884 or some similar year. Good beer, good, cheap burgers. and a great bartender. In the 1970's it was a men's club, and the activist women of campus staged a sit in. Booche's joined the decade and opened their doors to all. I suspect that every 3 or 4 days now, a woman actually takes advantage of that hard earned privilege. Actually a nice young woman named Sunny, comfortably looking like she was in costume for that long ago sit in, was there, and a welcoming presence for Columbia.
The bartender, a marathon running, world traveling, story telling historian recommended Ernie's (est. 1938)or breakfast, and a great diner it was, but not to be reached without some adventure.
I woke to see clouds that were altogether unfamiliar to me, heavy and gray, but drawn in long layers like fresh squid-ink pasta pulled through the pasta mills thinnest setting. I wondered if they were unfamiliar to locals as well. I suspected they held violence, but had failed to check the weather before leaving the motel. Luci and I arrived at the nature area Southeast of campus and the sky had greened, the wind now bragged and the light receded to a level where I now knew our minutes were being counted in the single digits. As friend Nord once quoted Gordon Lightfoot, "does anyone know where the love of God goes?" Nord said it when his good golf round disintegrated on the 13th green of Eagle Crest. Well, Luci and I felt the same dropping sensation as we ran back to the bridge (signed "flood area, impassible in high water," see picture) and were pelted by rain drops the size of seagulls.
We got to the car before the full deluge struck, and felt ourselves the lucky ones as we saw a young man, not dressed for exercise (but more for clubbing), jogging, walking and sprinting along the road. Kenny accepted our offer of a ride. Seems he was just dumped by his girls friend, who seems to have timed it brilliantly: miles from home, in a rising hell-storm, and before his college-mate friends had pulled themselves from bed. We took him the miles back to his place, luckily within a few blocks of Ernie's. He was a decent, respectful and good looking young man. I hold absolutely no judgment on the righteousness of his removal.
Ernie's was as good as advertised. I liked the help, I loved the "Boone County Ham" and thought the whiteboard of Dick Tracy longing for Ernie's (and produced by Chester Gould himself) was way better than the average homage. I need to learn Daniel Boone's tie to this area, but he got the county and a lot of schools named for him.
Back on the road, and racing a fright train to Lawrence, by way of Sedalia.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Thursday, July 24, 2008
The Edge
"If you take a map of the United States and fold it in the middle, eastern edge against western, and crease it sharply, right in the crease will be Fargo. On double-page maps sometimes Fargo gets lost in the binding. This may not be a very scientific method for finding the east-west middle of the country, but it will do." ---Steinbeck
The driving mileage chart in my atlas confirms Fargo as a good choice for a central point, a jump from east to west. I used an older center of the country, one that doesn't live up to geographic scrutiny, but perhaps historic. It is also what I really considered the beginning of our adventure, not the middle, the point after which all would be new. It is the Mississippi River. Janis's folks moved to a house on the river, and our nephew lives there today. I have seen the River as its struggles to life in Minnesota, and I have seen it widening to the sea in Louisiana. But here in Moline it is in its working vigor.
Here at dawn on the River's edge a massive fog bank obscures the water and Iowa on the the side. In this invisible state, the river seems even wider than it it really is. I feel like this place sits on the edge of past, which I guess also means the edge of the future. This neighborhood, 20 miles upstream from the Quad Cities of Moline, Rock Island, Bettendorf and Davenport is made up of quaint river cottages, small family farms ,grazing deer and now dozens of huge McMansions. I suspect whenever the family home here is sold, it will be torn down as the land is no doubt worth more than the structure. As Luci and I walk down the street a man and his cat tend to his small gang of large cattle. I am not sure, but I think Luci believes them to be the biggest dogs she has ever seen. She once was visibly scared by them; running to the other side of the road, tail tucked firmly between her legs. Now she anticipates them, and hunts rabbits on the other side of the road, giving her plausible deniability that she saw them at all. If you go another 1/2 mile, the road is closed as it approaches the nuclear power plant, the one that warmed the waters and brought back the bald eagles according locals who must be from the "global warming is real, and it is good" school of thought.
I like Moline, perhaps more than Janis does. Of course I don't know Moline like Janis does. Moline itself formed about the same time as Ann Arbor, and shares a similar early architecture. Then Ann Arbor became a college town and John Deere made Moline a factory town, and that has driven them differently for the last century and a half. As John Deere makes farm equipment, it makes Moline a city uniquely built on the success of the farm. I suppose the machines Deere builds are what made large farms grow and family farms disappear. But if you are going to live in a company town, this seems like a good one, although not immune to the troubles of American heavy industry in the last 40 years.
From here I drove down through Macomb and Carthage and Quincy. Truly corn country. I wish one of the stands selling corn had a pot of boiling water and a stick of butter. I thought I must be near an airport when I realized the planes were dusting the crops. some real flying being done here. They turn in a high climbing bank, and then dive barely above the trees to 30 feet off the deck and spread their chemical cocktail across the corn. I could have watched for hours. The term crop dusting always brings a rude smile to my face as it is a term flight attendants use for a particular activity that occurs when the pressure change affects human body at altitude.
I crossed the Mississippi for good at Quincy, and headed into the rolling hills of Eastern Missouri. We'll pick it up there next time.
The driving mileage chart in my atlas confirms Fargo as a good choice for a central point, a jump from east to west. I used an older center of the country, one that doesn't live up to geographic scrutiny, but perhaps historic. It is also what I really considered the beginning of our adventure, not the middle, the point after which all would be new. It is the Mississippi River. Janis's folks moved to a house on the river, and our nephew lives there today. I have seen the River as its struggles to life in Minnesota, and I have seen it widening to the sea in Louisiana. But here in Moline it is in its working vigor.
Here at dawn on the River's edge a massive fog bank obscures the water and Iowa on the the side. In this invisible state, the river seems even wider than it it really is. I feel like this place sits on the edge of past, which I guess also means the edge of the future. This neighborhood, 20 miles upstream from the Quad Cities of Moline, Rock Island, Bettendorf and Davenport is made up of quaint river cottages, small family farms ,grazing deer and now dozens of huge McMansions. I suspect whenever the family home here is sold, it will be torn down as the land is no doubt worth more than the structure. As Luci and I walk down the street a man and his cat tend to his small gang of large cattle. I am not sure, but I think Luci believes them to be the biggest dogs she has ever seen. She once was visibly scared by them; running to the other side of the road, tail tucked firmly between her legs. Now she anticipates them, and hunts rabbits on the other side of the road, giving her plausible deniability that she saw them at all. If you go another 1/2 mile, the road is closed as it approaches the nuclear power plant, the one that warmed the waters and brought back the bald eagles according locals who must be from the "global warming is real, and it is good" school of thought.
I like Moline, perhaps more than Janis does. Of course I don't know Moline like Janis does. Moline itself formed about the same time as Ann Arbor, and shares a similar early architecture. Then Ann Arbor became a college town and John Deere made Moline a factory town, and that has driven them differently for the last century and a half. As John Deere makes farm equipment, it makes Moline a city uniquely built on the success of the farm. I suppose the machines Deere builds are what made large farms grow and family farms disappear. But if you are going to live in a company town, this seems like a good one, although not immune to the troubles of American heavy industry in the last 40 years.
From here I drove down through Macomb and Carthage and Quincy. Truly corn country. I wish one of the stands selling corn had a pot of boiling water and a stick of butter. I thought I must be near an airport when I realized the planes were dusting the crops. some real flying being done here. They turn in a high climbing bank, and then dive barely above the trees to 30 feet off the deck and spread their chemical cocktail across the corn. I could have watched for hours. The term crop dusting always brings a rude smile to my face as it is a term flight attendants use for a particular activity that occurs when the pressure change affects human body at altitude.
I crossed the Mississippi for good at Quincy, and headed into the rolling hills of Eastern Missouri. We'll pick it up there next time.
"Travails" with Luci
“Charley is no more like a dog than he is like a cat. His perceptions are sharp and delicate and he is a mind-reader. I don’t know if he can read the thoughts of other dogs, but he can read mine. Before a plan is half formed in my own mind, Charley knows about it, and he also knows whether he is to be included in it.
--- Steinbeck
As I drove through
Now Janis and I know we are the sad-to-observe childless middle age couple that dote on their dog as if the chance of a Harvard education was in the balance. And we know we are spending a ton of money to make this move work for Luci. And my sister just did for her sick dog what we would have done, taking it to the dog hospital at Michigan State for a week of miraculous measures (thankfully successful), even though she had to cancel a vacation, and I believe pull her child out of school and put him to work to pay for it (possible exaggeration) . So I listened intently as Dr. Katz, author of "Katz on Dogs" and other books, said how good dogs are at manipulating us. What we see as unconditional love, they see as guaranteeing their next treat.
So I arrive in Columbia, Missouri after a day of driving that included a two mile walk and a pair of frisbee games with Luci. She and I found the Bengal Bar on the edge of the Missouri University campus, and they let us sit down for a beer in their beer garden. Very nice. I then took Luci to the hotel and checked in. I was thinking "I am going to see a lot of this great country on this trip, and Luci will be there for 90% of it; but Imay like to see the other 10% without her." As I left she started barking. I hoped she may settle, so I stopped at the desk and said to call me if she did not. The call came 17 minutes later, the first complaint received. I, of course, was a big baby about this infringement, like the 12 year old who wanted the dog until owning it cost him a trip to Cedar Point, but she had done exactly what Dr. Katz suggested. She behaved in a way that got her what she wanted. And if this mode turns out to be de rigueur, it isn't really a huge deal, as she will sit in the car for an hour if I want to visit a restaurant or bar that doesn't welcome her.
And she is a good dog. In Carthage Illinois, a picture book throwback town deep in corn country not far from the Missouri line, we stopped and played frisbee in a fenced school yard. It worked great and has put me on the look out for school yards since. We found our next one in a depressed and mostly black neighborhood in Columbia, Mo. I am glad to report she had no prejudice to this at all, clearly seeing all school yards as equal. I have to admit I was not quite as good: in Carthage, I thought, "the worst that could happen is the sheriff shows up." In Columbia, I thought, "the worst that could happen is the sheriff is too far away." I was told later in town that may have been a bad neighborhood for me to visit. With a day to reflect, I disagree. I think with Luci as my ambassador, it was a great neighborhood for me to visit.
Dreams and Reality
“I soon discovered that if a wayfaring stranger wants to eavesdrop on a local population the places for him to slip in and hold his peace are bars and churches.” –Steinbeck
This drive took me through
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
getting started
"In long-range planning for a trip, I think there is a private conviction that it won't happen. As the day approached, my warm bed and comfortable house grew increasingly desirable and my dear wife incalculably precious." --Steinbeck
Of course, it is the incalculableness of my wife Janis that drives me to go. So while I hate leaving home, I am driven to go by both the road and the destination. I was delayed in leaving, but only slightly and not by motivational forces; just by staying out too late the night before departure, and by the amount of work I left to the last available minute.
The drive to Moline was uneventful, although more tiring than usual. Illinois, land of Lincoln and birthplace of Reagan. Probably the bookends of what was the republican party. I grew tired and for first time ever, used a rest stop.... to rest. Steinbeck described these new and pristine inventions in 1960. I think they hit a low point a while back, but are pretty nice again. The unchanged quality of them is they keep you separated from place. You travel over the land, not through it, and a rest stop offers few clues of where you've been.
Arrival in Moline led immediately to a rescue mission. My Hyundai picking up nephew Joe from his dying Dodge pick-up.....no symbolism there!
This is a familiar stop for Luci, where she ignores the cows and chases the rabbits. Here she cannot be described as a goldendoodle without raising eyebrows. Here she is 1/2 standard poodle, 1/2 golden retriever (as if an unfortunate event had happened to her mother) and 3/4 bad haircut (to explain a dog clearly neither poodle or golden). Steinbeck's Charley was a dandy of a groomed dog. Luci is a tomboy.
More about Illinois and Iowa tomorrow as I have seen some of both. Tomorrow I think I am heading to KCMO with hope of seeing the Tigers play, but it will take great luck for it all to happen.
Of course, it is the incalculableness of my wife Janis that drives me to go. So while I hate leaving home, I am driven to go by both the road and the destination. I was delayed in leaving, but only slightly and not by motivational forces; just by staying out too late the night before departure, and by the amount of work I left to the last available minute.
The drive to Moline was uneventful, although more tiring than usual. Illinois, land of Lincoln and birthplace of Reagan. Probably the bookends of what was the republican party. I grew tired and for first time ever, used a rest stop.... to rest. Steinbeck described these new and pristine inventions in 1960. I think they hit a low point a while back, but are pretty nice again. The unchanged quality of them is they keep you separated from place. You travel over the land, not through it, and a rest stop offers few clues of where you've been.
Arrival in Moline led immediately to a rescue mission. My Hyundai picking up nephew Joe from his dying Dodge pick-up.....no symbolism there!
This is a familiar stop for Luci, where she ignores the cows and chases the rabbits. Here she cannot be described as a goldendoodle without raising eyebrows. Here she is 1/2 standard poodle, 1/2 golden retriever (as if an unfortunate event had happened to her mother) and 3/4 bad haircut (to explain a dog clearly neither poodle or golden). Steinbeck's Charley was a dandy of a groomed dog. Luci is a tomboy.
More about Illinois and Iowa tomorrow as I have seen some of both. Tomorrow I think I am heading to KCMO with hope of seeing the Tigers play, but it will take great luck for it all to happen.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
getting ready, with growing urgency
Luci and I are getting ready for the big trip,which is less than a week away. I'd like to be looking at the map, choosing a route and imagining good road food. Instead it is is more about switching utilities, cleaning the fridge and securing medical records. But also a lot of good byes. Good friends and good get togethers, last pints with my brother, last rounds on favorite golf courses.
So this is a first attempt at blogging, and I expect it is pretty boring so far. I am only in today to make sure I knew HOW to get back in. I hope that the road will bring the inspiration to make it better. I am reading Steinbeck now. His America and mine will be quite different, separated by 1/2 a century, and by his professional observer's skills. But there are similarities, and I will try to quote Steinbeck when he has already said what I hope to say, as I would rather not compete.
The movers come tomorrow. I hope this isn't unpleasant for Luci, although I think she'll go to day care for the day to avoid the experience. Although she'd probably like to make sure we don't pack anything we need for the trip (frisbee, treats, etc).
I have loaded a picture to this blog, and it was very slow. I will set up a Picasa site to correspond with our trip. More next week.
So this is a first attempt at blogging, and I expect it is pretty boring so far. I am only in today to make sure I knew HOW to get back in. I hope that the road will bring the inspiration to make it better. I am reading Steinbeck now. His America and mine will be quite different, separated by 1/2 a century, and by his professional observer's skills. But there are similarities, and I will try to quote Steinbeck when he has already said what I hope to say, as I would rather not compete.
The movers come tomorrow. I hope this isn't unpleasant for Luci, although I think she'll go to day care for the day to avoid the experience. Although she'd probably like to make sure we don't pack anything we need for the trip (frisbee, treats, etc).
I have loaded a picture to this blog, and it was very slow. I will set up a Picasa site to correspond with our trip. More next week.
Monday, July 7, 2008
getting ready
In two weeks, Luci and I will set off across the country, from Ann Arbor, MI to Portland, OR and then catch a plane to Hawai`i, where we are moving to be with my wife, Janis. Luci is a Golden Doodle.....one of those designer mutts that are increasingly popular.
As I discussed my trip with the wise bartender at Casey's Pub, she asked if I had read Steinbeck's "Travels with Charley," his later life story of his cross country trip with his standard poodle. I have not, but I just received a well-worn copy from Amazon, and will make reading it a part of my preparation.
Growing up, my family never made that classic American family vacation: the car trip of the west. Hence, I have only ever flown over the fly over states, and this seems like a great chance to visit several of them, cutting in half the states I am yet to visit.
As I talked about this adventure, a few people have asked that I blog about it. Blogging being one of the web adventures I have not tried, I thought this would be a good time to give it a go. I will try to put up my thoughts when I get opportunities as I pass through the plains and the Rockies.
In the mean time, I will try to share my thoughts as I prepare for this journey.
As I discussed my trip with the wise bartender at Casey's Pub, she asked if I had read Steinbeck's "Travels with Charley," his later life story of his cross country trip with his standard poodle. I have not, but I just received a well-worn copy from Amazon, and will make reading it a part of my preparation.
Growing up, my family never made that classic American family vacation: the car trip of the west. Hence, I have only ever flown over the fly over states, and this seems like a great chance to visit several of them, cutting in half the states I am yet to visit.
As I talked about this adventure, a few people have asked that I blog about it. Blogging being one of the web adventures I have not tried, I thought this would be a good time to give it a go. I will try to put up my thoughts when I get opportunities as I pass through the plains and the Rockies.
In the mean time, I will try to share my thoughts as I prepare for this journey.
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