Des Moines, IA to Sioux Falls, SD

I need to plan more. I enjoy the spontaneity of this adventure and respect the role that timing and chance play, but it's the lack of things to do, the absence of a schedule that courts loneliness into my life these days. This was the first day of travel that I found myself seriously pondering, "Why am I doing this? Do I want to turn around and just go home. I'm not even half way across the US and I've got to go the rest of the way and then back. What the hell am I doing?!" And with a few phone calls to the right people, I was back on track and realizing how once-in-a-lifetime this opportunity actually is and how fortunate I am to be in the journey.

But hey, enough of the sappy stuff; let's talk about lunch. After a late night (which turned into a late morning,) I dropped my companion off at Des Moines International and drove in a westerly direction, stopping in small towns in search of foods, only to find run down antique shops and boarded up movie theaters. Then I found Missouri Valley, IA and serendipitously unearthed this magical lil' gem: Ricky's Rib Joint. If I was going to pass up a hot spot like this, I may as well pack up and go home.

I pulled over, parked behind the attached trailer, and as I was inspecting the place from the outside to ensure Zed's motorcycle wasn't parked in back, a mustachioed man flung open the door flagged me down and invited me in. While he walked me to the counter I asked if he was Rick, to which he responded, "I'm everything... Here at least. This is MY shit hole. Yeah, I'm Ricky." Accepting that, I went on to explain my travels and told Ricky that my meal order would be at his mercy. "Whatever you recommend."

Five minutes later, this plate of barbecue ribs, potato salad and beans was delivered to my mostly clean (and laminate) table:


While I was eating, another pair of curious eyes surfaced from behind the counter and queried as to where I was from. The eyes stepped into the light and I saw that they belonged to a young and rather awkward-looking twenty-something named Don who, while he appeared the inquisitive type, didn't offer much besides some superficial curiosity. He was from Texas, here now for college, and didn't seem to have much going on. I asked what kids in college here do for entertainment in such a quiet little town. In his very subdued and polite way he paused, reflected, and responded "... we've got a pool."

Unfortunately, Ricky didn't have much to say either and though I tried prodding them both with compliments on my meal (which was surprisingly really good) and questions about the illustrious Missouri Valley, I received only one or two word answers. It seems Ricky blew his load on the welcome party and was now too spent to engage in any further discussion. Accepting my situation, I quickly finished my meal whilst enjoying the minimalist decor of metal chairs, buzzing fluorescent lights, pseudo-marble linoleum floors and chipped and faded white paint (and the one [possibly dead] guy in fly-fishing gear sitting in the corner that I didn't even notice until I left). Don and Rick obliged when I requested a photo, and like that, I was gone.
Fast forward a few hours (and many many signs about how I should feel about abortion, Jesus Christ, who He is, what He did for me and what He'll do to me later). (Does the previous period go in the parenthesis or outside of it?)? ANYWAY, Darkness has settled in and I'm driving through Sioux Falls, South Dakota when a festival of flashing neon lights catch my eye. A ferris wheel. A roller-coaster. A merry-go-round. Just beyond the ravine to the north of me there appears to be a local fair. Without a moment's hesitation I pull off the highway, manage my way around the mini gorge separating me from fate, and find this to be rather sizable event. (Hours later, Wikipedia teaches me that Sioux Falls is the largest city in South Dakota and this makes much more sense.) Acres upon acres of of land covered with hundreds of cars. A figurative zoo. This couldn't get any better, I'm thinking.

But as is often the case, I was wrong. And I realized that when this sign started flashing:

For the next hour, I walked around what looked like a juiced-up version of every town fair I've ever seen. The demographic: 14-16 year old boys who seemed to have collectively decided that shirts were out of style, 13-15 year old girls in search of the aforementioned dubious ruffians, and all their parents. And of course a good amount of chopper-riding, beard-sporting, leather-wearing, ZZ Top fans who all look like... well, ZZ Top.





I had a helluva time laughing to myself about how out-of-thin-air the the whole evening had been. I removed the last five dollar bill from my wallet, exchanged it for a batch of piping hot deep fried Oreos, considered how log I can keep eating like this before I'll have to schedule an angioplasty, and made my way back to my car/bed (with the help of this clever device courtesy of my dad) as Billy Gibbons and Dusty Hill hammered on their music-making-machines and encouraged everyone to invest in some inexpensive eyewear.

With Wal-Mart a few miles away, sleep would soon be mine.

Other items from the day's drive:

Fields of wind turbines just outside of Casey, IA.


Floyd Monument. Dedicated to Sergeant Charles Floyd (the only casualty in the Lewis and Clark expedition,) this is the first dedicated National Historic Landmark of the US of A.