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.

Naperville, IL to Des Moines, IA

I would be lying if I said it bothered me to have some company on this day's drive. Leaving from Naperville, IL with our sights set on Des Moines, IA, my best bud Nick and I had but one stop prior to our end destination: The Field of Dreams in Dyersville, IA. While I was never one to take sports very seriously (feel free to replace "very" with "at all" or "even remotely"), Nick is a ball player through and through and was a darn fine pitcher in high school and college, and well, I just really love the movie. (As far as Kevin Costner goes, I think Malcolm Gladwell would agree that this is one of his outliers.) That being said, we drove the three hours with utmost excitement and were not disappointed.

Upon arriving at the field, we did what any two men/boys in their mid 20's would do:

1) Gawked at how impossibly beautiful the field is.



2) Did our best Ray Liotta.


3) Called our dads.


What's particularly excellent about the field is that it is meticulously maintained as if Costner & Co. were going to start filming the sequel tomorrow, and still, there are no entry fees or parking tolls and if you bring a ball, a bat and glove you can play all day and night. Just like the movie.

After spending nearly an hour pretending we were still 11 years old, Nick and I jumped back in the car for a four hour drive to Des Moines for more baseball. With timing again working in our favor, a mutual friend of ours who plays AAA baseball for the Portland Beavers (the San Diego Padres' AAA team) just so happened to be duking it out with the Iowa Cubs that night. The vast majority of the drive looked like this:


On a mission to make it the 7pm game time, we were barreling west on I-80 when we came across a Winnebago that had spun off the road and dumped itself upside down on the side of the highway. It was a startling reminder how quickly things can change and how careful we need to be. (This is one of those moments in which I record a fact more for my own recollection and less for the value of the story. It hit us pretty hard [bad pun] and we discussed it for quite some time thereafter.) Grateful, we drove onward.

One thing I can say I noticed about the trek through Iowa is that (most certainly related to the endless cornfields) there are these delicate little yellow butterflies that dance back and forth along the highway the whole time. And while they appear so matterless and airy, they explode like miniature raw eggs on your windshield as you drive, making a muted clicking sound, like the snapping of gum with your mouth shut. This also makes viewing difficult as it happens every few seconds.

We made it (safely) to the game (late) and rushed to our seats right next to the (home team's) on deck circle. While we watched the Iowa Cubs get their rear ends handed to them, Nick and I made friends with the folks seated around us. It started with the non-stop chirping of a 7 year-old pacing aimlessly around us (think Max from the tv series Parenthood). When I turned around and smiled at the old man sitting behind me, he showed a big smile under his camouflage hat and said, "That there's my grandson. He's a smart kid but he don't ever shut the hell up." I soon discovered this to be true; this little wind-up toy was a something of a wiz-kid. He knew every NASCAR driver, his number, and who his sponsor was in addition to knowing more about baseball than I do.

The older couple to our left were the most devoted AAA fans I've ever met. Their son didn't play for either of the teams we were watching, the husband wasn't a former ballplayer, but still, they drove seven hours from Chicago just to see these guys play. Their exact reason: "This is where the Cubs are born." They're just big fans. They spit out facts, oozed over certain plays players had made in certain games, and had endless comments on each player. That saucy lady next to us (see below) had a particularly interesting fascination with one of the players, and when we asked if she thought they'd call him up (to the majors), her response was, "Oh I'd call him up any night of the week." Nice.


It was a great night. We made some new friends, enjoyed a few more hot dogs, saw Jake the Dog (Iowa's canine bat boy [who actually isn't named Jake, as he is a replacement for the original Jake who is currently in the midst of a long dirt nap] who in addition to picking up bats between batters also brought the umpires towels and water bottles between innings), and our good ol' pal Baxter went 2 for 5.


Our night ended in an Embassy Suites Hotel with Baxter, Nick, and me devouring a few (of) Domino's (new) pizzas and drinking a few (cheap) beers while we talked to Baxter about life on the road as ballplayer. Shortly before we called it a night, he confessed that while his existence is living in hotels, eating in hotels, playing ball a few hours a day, and traveling on a bus, he's lucky to have the privilege. Still, that luck doesn't make the struggle any easier.

oh, this also happened in Chicago.

Click on the image to englarge.

Chicago, IL

This part of the trip wasn’t so much “roadtrip” as it was vacation. Lady Fortuna spun her wheel in my favor, as the days I was planning to be there just so happened to be Lallapalooza and two of my best high school friends (and their significant others) were planning to be in the area at the time. (Well, one lives there, but still.) I think the best way to address it all is by topic: Activities first and then food

Lollapalooza & Living Large
Three days of non-stop music. Highlights of the festival, in descending order: Green Day (I can’t describe how good this show was. And I’ve had quite a few days to think about it), Lady Gaga, Arcade Fire, Mute Math (I’d never heard of them, but they rocked. And probably still do). As is often the case when traveling with a larger group (there were between four and six of us at any given time), we didn’t end up seeing all the bands we had planned on. However, we did acquire VIP passes that, throughout the weekend, gained us access to VIP tents full of free VIP food and VIP beverage in addition to VIP seating. And VIP golf carts to take us from stage to stage if we so desired. Which we did. The corresponding jewelry was a burden I was glad to bear. A special thanks to Alex for hooking us up with these!



The Arcade Fire closing out the weekend.

Green Day converting the masses. With Kiera's help.

Buckingham Fountain at the center of Grant Park. Yes, that is the one from Married With Children that shuts off as the theme song ends.

Cubs at Wrigley & Harry Caray
I grew up going to Fenway Park, so to me, that’s what a baseball stadium should look like. But I’ve got to say, this place is pretty magical in its own right. Sitting in the bleachers (why bother sitting anywhere else?), drinking overpriced beer and eating freakishly delicious hot dogs (more on that later), I couldn’t have asked for anything more. Perhaps the highlight of the game was the kid behind me, calling the game play-by-play in a dead-on Harry Caray voice. “Look at that couple over there sitting behind home plate. Can’t keep their hands off each other… He kisses her on the strikes, and she kisses him on the balls!” He had everyone within earshot in stitches for hours.





John Hancock Building’s 96th Floor & Our Special Cab Drivers
After a long hard day of watching baseball and listening to live music, we all showered up and headed for the John Hancock Building’s 96th Floor where there is a beautiful restaurant and bar with 360 degree (I don’t know how to type that little degree symbol) view of Chicago and the square mileage that surrounds it. If you end up in Chicago, I highly recommend stopping by and checking out the space. If you don’t want to, here’s what it looks like.



While this was good and fun, what was ultimately and infinitely more memorable was the means by which we arrived at the Hancock. You see, we were staying at the Congress Hotel which is right on Grant Park (and is also disturbingly reminiscent of the Overlook Hotel from the Shining). Very convenient location for the festival. The problem is that about 75,000 other people were in the immediate area as well. This makes finding a cab rather difficult. So, after wasting a solid 15 minutes trying to obtain a cab, and walking several blocks in the process, we asked a car stopped at a red light if they’d take us to the Hancock for $20. They agreed. Meet Joe (left) and Seneca (right). Absurdly friendly brothers who scoffed at the thought of going to Lollapalooza and were just going out to “meet up with [their] ladies”. We certainly bonded in those 10 minutes that the four of us were crammed in their back seat and I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t hoping/partially expecting them to waive our $20 fee, but alas, a deal is a deal and we paid, very happy with the customer service.


Hangge Uppe & The Importance of Washing New Clothes Before Wearing Them
Because all of that wasn’t enough for one day, three of us headed over to Chicago’s biggest, most frat-tastic dive bar, The Hangge Uppe. (It’s just pronounced The Hang Up). With a line stretching around the block, a member of our pack started talking to a girl at the front of the line. They did a little Discovery-Channel-hosted-by-Sigourney-Weaver-mating-dance, we joined them in line, and shortly thereafter the girls left, tired of waiting in line. Two hours of waiting line avoided.

The only story I’d like to share (remember) about that place is this: Once inside, you drink, dance around like a maniac, and sing along to every song they spin, all the meanwhile pouring sweat from every pore. I happened to wear a new (unwashed since purchased) white t-shirt. I don’t know if this is common, but as I started to sweat, the shirt started to stink. Subtle at first. Gradually it achieved the most foul, mildewy, damp, disgusting towel odor I’ve ever encountered. The bar tender told me they just sold their last “Hangge Uppe” t-shirt, and I was destined to spend the rest of the night as a walking stink-bomb.

Food
Everything I ate in that city was delicious. I'll do my best to keep it condensed:

Hot dogs seem to be very important in Chicago. There are Chicago Dogs and then there are Wrigley Field hot dogs. All I can say is A) They are the most intense hot dogs I've ever eaten, and 2) My "Hot-Dogs-Consumed to Days-Alive" ratio is higher than I'd like it to be.
This crazy looking thing that looks like a Ninja Turtle was hit by a drunk driver is what Wrigley Field and the Chicago Cubs call a hot dog. Who am I to blow against the wind?

Rockit - This place has the most over the top, ridiculous Bloody Mary bar I have ever seen. A $5 bloody mary gets you a vodka and tomato mary, and a full bar of nonsense to put in it: pepper, three types of hot sauce, horseradish, cajun shrimp, four types of olives, salami and cheese, sundried tomatoes, celery, jalapenos, caper berries, those hot, water filled little peppers that come in your salad at the Olive Garden... the list goes on. If you're in Chi-town on a weekend morning, go there. You'll be happy you did. We sure were.


Artists Café - On the park and open late, which isn't common. Had a killer late night grilled cheese with basil and bacon and lots of grease, if you're into that kind of thing. Legit late night snack.

Lou Malnati’s Pizza - A Chicago institute, Lou Malnatti's is your traditional deep dish pizza. And I don't care if you're from New York and like thin pizza. This is a tasty way to spend your lunch.

A special shout out to my buddy James for hosting us this weekend. Love you buddy!

Cleveland, OH OH OH

I haven't had much access to the internet these last few days so I'm scouring the midwest looking for an internet connection to catch up on my notetaking. It seems that in addition to restrooms, gas and food, a lot of rest areas now include wi-fi. So here I am, sitting outside a roadside restroom, facing an aerial assault of flies, gnats, and mosquitoes, hacking away at my keyboard. Here goes...

Waking up just outside of Cleveland in a pool of sweat (and tears), I was able to get an early start on my checklist for the day before heading off to Chicago. A little fresh-up time in the men's bathroom of Walmart and I was off. The beauty on Walmart territory is the access to anything you might need upon waking up.

Cleveland Museum of Art - Unbeknownst to me, this is on Case Western Reserve's campus
Rock and Roll Hall of Fame - Cleveland, OH
Ralphie's house from "A Christmas Story"

The Cleveland Museum of Art was beautiful, inside and out. And free, which makes it even better. Housing a collection of artwork from the 1800s through modern and contemporary periods, I can confidently say it was worth my time. My interest revolved around their pieces from Picasso, Van Gogh, Pollack, Rothko, Monet (who I still don't care for, but can appreciate his importance), and Miro (see comments on Monet). I never really understood the important of Jackson Pollack until seeing his work in person. Now I (think I) get it: it's a display not of an image or idea, but of a process. The textures, colors, and layers and their contrast allow you to see how the piece was composed. ANYWAY, in an otherwise tumultuous time, life made sense for a few moments when I found myself standing in front of side-by-side Rene Magritte and Salvador Dali paintings. This was a great start to a day. And as with any decision making, these two paints made me feel as though I had made the right decision in spending my time here.

After stepping out and walking through the gardens surrounding the museum, I found a park bench with this inscription, which I found to be unnecessarily appropriate.

As for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame...meh. I'm not so sure. It was interesting to see so many pieces of memorabilia from so many people I consider to be hugely influential, but paying $22 to see a bunch of the Rolling Stones' elastic pants and the Beatles' jackets seems a little steep. Maybe that's just me. I don't know what I expected, but on a 1 to 10 scale, Rock and Roll Hall of Fame gets a 5-6 in my book. Still, the architecture is cool and if you're in Cleveland it's not a terrible way to spend two hours.

I'm sharing this below picture with you because it was the last one I was able to take there before my removal. (Worth it!) If you do visit the RnR HOF and are asked to put your camera away (somewhere in the vacinity of 4-5 times), you should do that... unless you'd like to be (very politely) removed from the building. While I thought I was doing a good job of discreetly taking photos, security disagreed.

On my way out of town, I stopped by 3159 West 11th Street, better known as the house from "A Christmas Story". While I found Cleveland's downtown area nicer than I had anticipated, this area was a dump. An "I don't necessarily feel safe here or ever want to be here again" kind of dump. That being said, I drove by and sniped a photo of the house (and the lamp, of course). I was excited when I discovered that the actor who played Randy (Ralphie's little brother) has been living in the house this year and conducting tours. I was disappointed (but not really) when I found out he wasn't there the day I was. So it goes. Good bye Cleveland!


More photos from the road between Cleveland and Chicago alternating between 80, 90, Rt. 20, and Rt. 6.

Iglesia San Miguel in Cleveland.

The beginning of what has turned out to be miles and miles and days and days of cornfields.

Some of my cattle friends in western Ohio.

day one: Ludlow, MA to Conneaut, OH

After a big homemade breakfast courtesy of Mom and Dad, I took off around 11:30am and headed west, leaving behind a waving family of parents and grandparents. Taking I-90 through Massachusetts and New York State, I stopped in Buffalo for a coffee with an old friend and kept on my way. The driving hours flew by and I would imagine a large part of that is the excitement of it being the first day.

As 9:00pm came around, I crossed the PA/OH border, leaving Erie and entering Conneaut, OH. With dinner on my mind, I passed up Velvet (which was very clearly open, though I'm not sure for what) to check out its neighbor down the street: The White Turkey Drive In, a local institution known for their root beer floats.




Pulling in to the parking lot and sitting at the counter, I felt more American already. Open since 1952, this place was straight out of the movies. While doo-wop and Elvis hits were pumping out of the radio, I breathed in the most amazing smell of greasy food, and took a seat/stool at the counter. Almost as if on queue, a muscle car pulled into the driveway just to rev its engine and then peeled out and blasted down the road, as everyone within earshot stopped everything and just gawked in silence. I chuckled and a 40ish year old in line or takeout flashed a toothless smile, mumbling something I just pretended to understand. Joe, my server, welcomed me and I asked him what he recommended to a cross-country traveler who may never be back here again. After hearing his suggestions, I ordered a Large Marge (pulled turkey sandwich with bacon and cheddar and covered in bbq sauce and hot sauce). My neighbors, overhearing my questioning, were quick to suggest the chili cheese fries, which I had to order.

While taking in a blissfully coronary-inducing meal (which eventually also included their famous root beer floats), I got to learn a good amount about my neighbors, father and son duo Bill and Dave from just over the border in PA. They admittedly love coming here, and tend to save it for special occasions. There was a really comfortable dynamic between the two. Dave could have been anywhere from 18 to 30 and was very proud of all his hobbies and jobs (which he listed one after the other), but in a very humble way. Bill shared this pride, but in a much more subtle way. He had a very pleasant demeanor, very serious, but still very polite. I dropped an F-bomb mid convo and immediately apologized and he smiled and softly laughed, not caring much at all. After my mentioning driving cross-country, Dave wasted no time letting me know he had visited every state east of the Mississippi except Alabama. Additionally, he builds catapults (or trebuchets) that throw everything from pumpkins to bowling balls and microwaves up to 200 yards. I wouldn’t have doubted him, but still he showed me video proof on his iPhone. When I asked if that was a common hobby around here he grinned and admitted that it wasn’t. His librarian got him into it.

I didn’t ask who got him into tapping maple syrup, his other hobby, but he was quick to mention how good he was at it. Again, not bragging, just proud and happy to tell someone about his accomplishments. It was this point that Bill pointed out that his son was a machinist and he a paramedic. Although with the Amish nearby, he makes some extra coin helping them transport bails of hay. I guess that lack of technology has its drawbacks. I admitted that I hadn’t inquired about their occupation because so many people back home don’t seem to like their jobs and talking about it is almost trivial. Not these guys – they take pride in their work. And said so with a smile.

They seemed eager to talk and to give advice and I was more than happy to listen. Once or twice I let the conversation trail to make sure I wasn’t interloping on a father-son dinner, but they kept finding different routes to suggest or stories to share.

After the two left and bid me farewell and safe travels, Joe came by to check on the progress I was making on my meal and assured me that not everyone around here is like them. But I’m not so sure. I was then very politely interrupted by another couple who suggested that I go into Cleveland to see the USS Cod, the submarine (right next to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame) that has been turned into a museum.

Joe: Part time teacher, part time server at the White Turkey Drive In



Dave and Bill: Bill was nice enough to take his hat off for the photo


I thanked Joe for the food and convo and headed on my way to Ashtabula (pronounced ASH-ta-BYOO-lah or just BYOO-la by the locals), a few miles away. In the parking lot of a 24-hr Walmart, I set up camp in my car and wrestled with sleep. Probably the worse night's sleep I've ever gotten. Waking up to rain in the middle of the night, I was forced to close my windows, making the heat infinitely more oppressive. I’ve never slept in a humidor before, but I would imagine it would be just like this.

it's the final countdown

Only a few weeks ago, everything was status quo. It was another Tuesday night which meant nothing out of the ordinary. Come home from work, unwind, and prepare to get up tomorrow and do it all over again.

But tonight is different. Tonight is different because work is no longer a constant. Tonight is different because tomorrow doesn't meant getting up, showering, putting on a tie, and heading into the office.

Tomorrow I will get up and begin on a trek that will last the next eight weeks or so. Tomorrow I will get up and start driving west and that idea exhausts, excites, and invigorates me. It is a step in the direction of "I wish I could" or "I wish I did". It's a step in the direction of "Are you out of your mind." It's a step in direction of "WHY?!".

It has been a very effortless and relaxing two weeks. It has reminded me of my summers as a kid away from school; drinking iced tea, laying by the pool, not doing much and being okay with that. Helping Mom with dinner (marginally), watching a movie with Dad, and going to sleep whenever I felt tired, be it 9pm or 5am.

But tonight is different because tomorrow is different. Tomorrow is the first day of an adventure that will ideally be with me for the rest of my life. Tomorrow, this moment of writing will be a moment of envy. While I'm curled up in my car, sweating, wondering if I'll ever fall asleep, I'll be thinking, "Wow. I had it good last night." And that's the reality. Luxury is merely having a nice place to go to the bathroom and take a shower. So tomorrow holds no luxury. Tomorrow is the first step. Cheers to tomorrow!