The Whole Trip -- rewritten

Oogie at Sixty by Jim Barcelona


Know what year during the baby boom had the greatest number of births? 1947, the year I was born. Radio dramas and comedies were still popular entertainment. My grandfather was an old school Italian who liked to listen to the radio including A Date with Judy. Judy’s boyfriend was Oogie Pringle. So when my mom and dad brought me over to his place for the first time he somehow knew that I didn’t have an Italian first name so he said “Whad ya name him, Oogie?”

Funny how a thing like that can stick with you. I spent many years training my father’s family to stop calling me Oogie and call me Jim. Well, I’m sixty and Oogie is back.
Finally, THE ROAD TRIP! Every bad day of my corporate career, I fantasized about just getting in my car and heading west. When I got to a bar in Jackson Hole, I would call my office and say I’m never coming back. Well I made it to Jackson Hole, not by car but via commercial jet. -- Can you imagine a town of 7,000 people with a full service airport! Thank you, Mister Vice President. – So why not h ad west now? I’ve got the time. I’ve got the inclination. I’ve got the right car. What else could a man need . . .?

My tentative route is to go from southeastern Michigan around Chicago; up through Wisconsin to Bloomington, Minnesota/Mall of America. Then across Minnesota trough Fargo to Bismarck, N.D.; Then across N.D. into Montana to Billings; down through Idaho Falls to Salt Lake City to Las Vegas then to Los Angeles. Coming back I’ll go up though Vegas to Denver and then home. About 5100 miles! Day 1
I decided my rules are: 1) relax, and 2) no French Fries. That’s it.

I didn’t mean to drive 620 miles the first day, but I did. Missed a turn above O’Hare and went the long way from there to Madison, Wisconsin but no sweat. Drove through the Wisconsin Dells – if I only knew what the hell the Wisconsin Dells were! What the hell does Farmer in the Dell mean while I’m at it?
. . ."the Dells," a very popular Midwestern tourist destination, and becoming one of the United States top family destinations. Yearly, the Dells area boasts an estimated 5 million annual visitors.
With 18 indoor waterparks and 3 outdoor waterparks in the Dells area, Wisconsin Dells proclaims itself as the "Waterpark Capital of the World,". It boasts the largest outdoor waterpark in the U.S., Noah's Ark. It has over 70 acres of waterslides. The Dells is also home to the nation's largest Indoor Waterpark resort, the Kalahari Resort. Kalahari's indoor waterpark features 125,000 square feet of waterpark space. Some other attractions in "the Dells" include the Dells Boat Tours, Mt. Olympus Water & Theme Park, many golf courses, mini golf, go-karts, water sports, horseback riding, the Tommy Bartlett Thrill Show, the Ho-Chunk Casino and many other places of interest. Most attractions are located on the Strip, otherwise known as the Wisconsin Dells Parkway. [Wikipedia]
Had I only known! The Ho-Chunk Casino!

Saw some lovely orange barrels and very little else but it was an excellent day. Love to drive that little Beemer.
I finished listening to The Moonshine War which Elmore Leonard wrote in 1969. That man has a wonderful ear for dialog and fantastic characters. Always has a strong silent hero who’s a man’s man.
Stick with me; it'll get more interesting tomorrow.

Day 2
Rule 3 – “They have stores.” Funny thing about traveling is no matter what you forget you can buy it on the road. Yesterday while strolling around a rest area to get some exercise, I cursed myself for not bringing my pedometer. If I had it I could make sure I walk at least 3000-4000 steps per day. Although not the 10,000 steps that is popular target these days, it’s better than sitting all day. Then I realized Rule 3 – I can buy one. After all, where the hell am I stopping today? – Mall of America. Think they might have one?
Duh! So while on my way to the Mall of America – just sounds grotesque doesn’t it? – I noticed some gorgeous dairy farms and such along the Wisconsin byway. So like a good little I-don’t-have-to-stay-on-the-interstate kind of guy I am, I pull off and look for a good photo opportunity. The countryside is beautiful; the weather is perfect. What could go wrong? Nothing much so far. Well, my digital camera was making a funny sound and it was so bright I couldn’t read the viewer. But something is not working. So, I move on. I passed a wonderful sight – a nice red barn the said "Top Shelf Genetics" across the barn door. Hmm. Wonder what bottom shelf genetics produce?
At last the Mall of America. What a perfect match for my shopping addiction. Not so fast! Once I got inside, I went up to the third level (of four) and bought a pedometer which I immediately opened with my knife (this is a key point in the story) and put it on my belt. I continued around the place until I had a bird’s eye view of the amusement park in the center and tried to take a picture – “Memory Card Full.” Aha! What to do. Wait until tonight and download to my laptop and erase the card? No! Rule # 3! They have stores. So I walk into Ritz Camera and for six bucks they download the memory card to a disc which will be ready in half an hour. So I start walking the circumference of each level. While waiting I buy my 997th pair of reading glasses and then pick up the disk. Now I’ve had enough, I want the hell outta there. I walk around the entirefuckingplace and find my car.
I find it. I reach in my pocket; and my other pocket; and my other pocket. You’re shitting me! No keys! – You know one thing you can count on is that I will do at least one really stupid thing per trip. – OK, I left them in the camera store. No, wait. The KNIFE. It’s on my keychain. I sat them down on the bench when I opened the pedometer package. So I return to the spot. Of course, no keys. Then a miracle! I check at the store and someone has turned them in to mall security. Whoever you are, I love you! I walk for another hour and a half and find the customer service window and there they are!
I left the Mall from Hell having walked 7,000 steps – 3.5 miles! In fact, as I sit here now, I have walked over 10,000 steps today. My highest total ever! And may I say that if you have ever been to a mall and an amusement park, do not go to the Mall of America. You’ve seen it already.
Now I am in Fargo. I have seen many people here, but no sign of Frances McDormond or William H. Macy. In fact the area of town I am in looks like it could be in the suburbs of any large city. Maybe it’s weirder in the winter.
Tomorrow I golf!

Day 3
Eighty-five degrees and sunny in Bismarck on September 23. Who knew? So, no golf. Did you know that North Dakota is the least visited State in the Union? The realization is sinking in. The concept of the Great Plains is really obvious. I will say that the Kirkwood Mall in Bismarck is much nicer than that place in Minnesota. I ate at the Grizzly Bar and Grille – some kind of pasta casserole. Very filling. I’ve haven’t done anything stupid yet today. I tried to drive through downtown Fargo but my Tom Tom (portable GPS) got lost, so I headed for the highway. Just set the cruise on 85 and ate up the miles. I’m about through with an audio book called Just One Look by Harlan Coben. The characters are interesting and you can follow the many threads of the plot but of course the resolution seems like it was tacked on after the story was written. I don’t recommend it. Although I haven’t done anything stupid today, I do have anecdotes. One is on my list of most embarrassing moments. I was on business in Milan, Italy with an English colleague. We had a small subsidiary in Milan and we were visiting our lawyer because we needed to fire our local GM because he was giving bribes – a common practice in Italian business but none the less a problem for a small American firm with a six person subsidiary in Milan. Just for those of you from Cincinnati, our local GM, an Italian of course, went to high school at Cincinnati Moeller – just struck me as odd.
Our lawyer was a short man named Giancarlo something-or-other-ending-in-a vowel. He was with Baker & McKenzie the huge international firm. Of course, I’m feeling very cosmopolitan. You know -- big shot American in his Armani suit and Hermes tie. Okay, I was wearing off the rack stuff. So, we’re in Giancarlo's office talking about the difficulties of firing a GM in Italy and Giancarlo stops; looks at me; and says “Your zipper is down.” Yeah, some Big Shot! Damn, just realized that I crossed another time zone. All the more time in Dickinson, ND. Closing in on the Montana border. I’d have to say that although ND is very nondescript, it’s still somehow compelling. Very relaxing to drive through such wide open spaces.
After three days, I absolutely love this trip. The weather has been astonishingly beautiful and hotter than hell. It hit 90 while I was driving today. Should be cooler tomorrow. I still have not spoken to anyone who was not waiting on me in a store or restaurant. Tomorrow I vow to talk with a stranger.
Day 4 A thousand pardons to the State of North Dakota and its people for saying it is nondescript. The western edge starting about 30 miles from Montana is spectacular. There is a painted canyon along I-94 that is Sedona-esk. Unfortunately the weather was very strange -- cold, windy and rainy. As I mentioned yesterday the temp hit 90F while I was driving -- this morning 42F! My worst fear on this trip is that I will hit snow and be stuck because I have high speed performance tires that cannot handle snow at all. I checked the weather in all the places on my itinerary before I left and it seemed fine, but anything can happen. The weather was so crappy that I had to drive at 70 mph for while. By the way, I have not seen a single state trooper in ND or MT. You know that I am the king of speeding tickets, with all respect to my eldest daughter who has surpassed me without looking in her rear view mirror, so hope I didn't just jinx myself. I was passed by one car today, a Porsche Carerra -- I resisted the urge to race him. I haven't done anything stupid today but I did fail to meet or speak to any stranger except waiters, clerks, etc. And boy did I blow the opportunity of a lifetime -- or at least of this trip! I was eating a magnificent bacon cheeseburger (no fries) at the exquisite Forsyth, MT Dairy Queen when Yosemite Sam’s great uncle walked in. He was about 5'5", lean and weathered, about 70 years old, his hands looked like he had worked with them everyday of his life. He wore filthy jeans held up by leather suspenders, a dirty frayed flannel shirt with patches sown on the sleeves, a neckerchief and a black mountain man hat. He had a full gray beard, glasses, a walking stick and a pronounced limp. And of course he smiled and said hello. Why, oh why didn't I ask him if I could take his picture? And his ride -- an old Ford 150 that had been ridden hard and put away wet. Damn, I wish I would have spoken to him. Later I gave some thought to achieving my goal of talking to a stranger by asking the guy next to me at the bar at dinner if he lived in Montana, but that would have been the woosie way to make my goal. Once you pass on Yosemite Sam’s great uncle, you just hang your head and except your failure. Downtown Billings is sort of like downtown Ft. Wayne except there are less cowboys in Ft. Wayne. In either city you could roll a bowling ball down main street at 7:00pm and never hit anything. They have no nightlife; they have still life. I still love this trip. No doubt my high spirits are making me feel better and even though I seem to spend most of the day in the car, I am walking more than I do at home -- you know, when I'm bored and lethargic. Today’s step count: 8,200! More than 4 miles. And -- drum roll -- I hiked up a trail at a rest stop that was maybe 1/4 of a mile and fairly steep and I didn't get lightheaded . . . I almost threw up my milkshake but I didn't get lightheaded!


Day 5The day from Hell! I did something really stupid -- a real Jim Barcelona dumb move; but, what the hell, it's all part of the adventure. We'll get to that. Southern Montana below Billings is picturesque and great for high speed cruising. There's a little more traffic than in North Dakota, but you can lead the pack all the way if you want to. Right before I turned off toward Yellowstone, I stopped in Bozeman. Yes, Chris K., I was picturing you there. College towns are great. I can't lie and say it felt like Ann Arbor or Charlottesville, but it was a universe away from Billings. Lots of interesting places to eat and buy stuff. I saw some Montana State gear in the window of a store and as I entered my eyes went straight to the shoes. For an obsessive shopper like me there are certain visual keys that you can see in your peripheral vision that suck you in like a vortex. For example, in any department store in the country I can spot every rack with a Sale sign on it from 100 feet away. So I saw some cool shoes. And what made them cool is that I haven't seen them in Michigan or Ohio. So I bought some all terrain running shoes. Yeah, like I could run ten feet! No matter. They look good when traveling through the west. I did however resist dropping 27 bucks on an Under Armor brand hat with the Montana State Bobcats logo on it. I ate a tasty sandwich at a deli in Bozeman and read the paper. I was content. As I left, I drove up the street through the campus and down the road to Yellowstone. After what seemed like a very few miles I was in national forests and it was very attractive country. Of course the drive is slowed by two lane roads but who cares? I made it to West Yellowstone, MT and walked around a bit and thought that I should find a place to stay here instead of in Cody, WY which was on the other side (east of) Yellowstone. Now here's where a typical Barcelona pickiness turned out to be painful. I thought "No, I don't want to stay here its too faux back-woodsy. Probably no Internet connection." Dum, dah, dum dum. So I drove up to the park entrance and saw that annual senior passes to all parks were $10; as opposed to $80 for youngsters. I quickly found out that I'm just a kid since I'm under 62. So I plopped down my $25 and drove in. I had no clue what there was to see beside Old Faithful, so I stopped to read the map and newspaper they had given me. I found out Old Faithful was 16 miles away and it erupts on average every 93 minutes, so let's see it. My timing was good. According to a hand written sign it would erupt again at 4:13pm plus or minus ten minutes. It was 3:55pm. I walked over and sat down. By the way, there are hot springs and steam rising from the ground all over that part of Yellowstone. It was a sunny but chilly day and it felt good. At 4:10 there she went and it was pretty interesting, not spectacular, but interesting. No announcement, no speech from a ranger, just did its thing. Where to next? Well, I didn't sleep well the night before and I was really tired. So let's get out of here. I was still aware that Cody was east of the park, but the maps I had made it appear to be not too far out of the way. So I headed around Yellowstone Lake toward the east exit. After ten or twelve miles the voice in my head was screaming "Turn back! You're going the wrong way." But I thought, I know what lies behind, maybe is smoother sailing ahead. So far, one bad decision -- heading east. Once around the lake it appeared that I was closer to the east exit than the west so I was committed. Mind you, the speed limit is 45 and you can't go 45. Next bad decision -- assuming Cody was about 5 miles outside the park. When I finally got through the mountains -- I about shit as I saw the frosty warning light come on and the temp drop to 37F -- and made it out. I saw the sign -- Cody 53 miles. I could have puked. So here I sit, 106 miles and three hours from the west entrance to the park with no way south or west without --you guessed it -- driving back through the damn thing! I may punch out a bison just to show then I've had enough of this place. But, what the hell, it's an adventure. Just a thought to those of you who know about my outbursts of road rage. I only gave one tree hugger the finger today. . . And finally, dinner from the buffet at the Sunset House in Cody was a feast in brown gravy.

Day 6

What a difference a day makes. New day. New attitude. New rationalization.
I slept only four hours so I was up early. I hit the road with calm acceptance that I could do this and that it would take me three hours plus to get back to West Yellowstone. I did and I was oh so mellow the whole way. And while taking a break at Old Faithful -- didn't stay for the show this time -- I saw a man with GVSU on his sweatshirt. And wonder of wonders, I spoke to him and his wife. I asked if they were from Grand Rapids and I told them I have a daughter who's a senior at Grand Valley (State University). We talked quite a bit about our travels and I found out they were traveling back the way I had come. It was pretty cold in Yellowstone and I had shorts on; in fact it was down to 34F at the highest point of the drive. I think it's pretty reasonable to visit Yellowstone twice in one's lifetime. In my case twice was on consecutive days.

So at last I reached West Yellowstone and headed south -- noticing that there was a Best Western motel right there in town. You know, the same kind of motel I drove an extra 110 miles for! There was an immediate improvement in the roads and I was back to high speed cruisin'. From there I reached and passed through Idaho Falls pretty quickly and came to rest in Pocatello, where I sit at this moment. I spent about 7 hours getting here -- six of it driving -- but I was determined to play golf. I had Tom Tom take me to the nearest golf course but little Tommy got lost. So I stumbled upon the Pocatello Visitor's Center. Bear in mind that I had already passed my hotel at the north end of town and was clear in the southern end of town. The very friendly lady sent me back to the north end right by my hotel to the golf course that you can see but that has no entrance. After 15 minutes of driving around the damn thing, I drove into the Pocatello High School parking lot and interrupted two kids who were making out and asked them how to get into the golf course. With their help I found the secret passage way, they went back to making out and I played 18 holes. What a glorious day! Sunny and cool. Rolling hills, beautiful green grass and mild profanity wafting from my lips. It was wonderful.

You may be wondering did Jimmy Boy do something stupid today. Oh, yes. I never disappoint. Forgetfulness. The scourge of every traveler. I didn't mention back on Day 2 that I left a library book and 12 DVD's in the room, did I? Naw, too embarrassing. Since then I have tried to be very circumspect about checking and re-checking each morning when I take off. Today's leave-behind was my computer power cord. Pretty essential to my new career as a blogger. (I can't believe I just used the word blogger!) Of course, there's Rule No. 3 -- They have stores. I called Radio Shack immediately and they came through -- for a mere $127. Bet I'll look closely tomorrow morning.

I've decided that Bryce Canyon in off the agenda for now. The directions say that there are 225 miles of two lane roads and I've had enough of them for the moment. So it's 8 hours of driving to St. George, UT tomorrow. And Zion National Park the next day. Then Vegas and LA!

I have a "Jim Traveling in Utah" story for tomorrow that many of you have heard. Stay tuned

Day 7

Rob at the scene of the "Tubby" incident. Tell you about it later. Today I drove from Pocatello to St. George, almost 500 miles. I skipped Bryce Canyon but I am going to Zion Nat'l Park tomorrow. Then on to Vegas! It was 47F when I left Pocatello and 88F when I got to St. George. It is really, really nice here. I passed though SLC and Provo which brought to mind another Jim dumb-shit move . . . My team at ProQuest had bought a company in Provo (genealogy database, of course) and three female colleagues and I flew into SLC to drive to Provo and introduce ourselves to our new employees. For whatever reason, the three women rode together in a gray Ford Escape and I drove alone in some kind of Monster truck, an Excursion I think. I guess they had ridden with me before. I said I wasn't 100% sure of the directions, so I would follow them. As we left the airport, I was multi-tasking (Probably why I was riding alone.) and when I looked up there were two identical gray Ford Escapes in front of me. No problem. They have to be in the one closest to me. So I continued to fart around with the satellite radio and change lanes to stay behind them. The changed lanes a lot I thought. As we approached an exit, without signaling they swerved off to the exit. I thought, "What the hell are they doing? Stopping to eat?" I followed. They turned in the opposite direction of the restaurants that I could see. "What is this?" They turned into a trailer park. Now I am baffled. Do they have "kin" here? They pull into a driveway and stop the car and sit still. Finally, the light bulb goes on for Jimmy Boy and I realize what you figured out long ago -- I followed the wrong car! They thought I was stalking them! I sheepishly drove off laughing my ass off at my own absentmindedness. St. George, Utah. A small picturesque Mormon community that is Utah's southernmost city. Winter home of Utah's most famous, and first, snow bunny. Brigham Young himself. Why is there a huge D on the side of the mountain in St. George? If you know this, you're scaring me. I did the walking tour of downtown including the sparsely attended street fair on Main Street. After a good walk I was hungry and tired so I went to the first place that looked passable -- oh, if I had only walked 50 more feet!

An aside: When Kathy (Mrs. B II) and I moved to Columbus, Chris was helping us move. At lunchtime I set out to find lunch. Having no clue what was around I started driving and went through several major intersections and saw nothing. At the next light I saw a White Castle. Ugh! But what if there's nothing else for miles? So did I buy a bag full of greasy sliders -- White Castle renowned trademark "sandwich"? No, no. I bought regular size burgers and fries. Purely awful and to this day I have never eaten at White Castle. What does this have to do with St. George? Well if I had driven to the next intersection in Columbus there were many places to eat. -- So tonight I stopped short again and went into the Pizza Factory, eschewing the Pasta Factory next door. I was seated next to the kitchen so I asked to be moved. The young lady took me up a half flight of stairs and I sat down. I noticed children screaming. In my haze I said this was fine and eventually turned around to see that I was alone with a birthday party for a five year old and several other large groups. Since I was in Utah, I did a quick polygamist check and there seemed to be four mothers and four fathers at the bd party. My waitress was sweet -- I charmed her of course -- and the meal was fine. On the way out I noticed a lovely patio with all adults – none of whom were screaming -- at the Pasta Factory! I was walking back to the motel and a couple on the corner kept saying something to me. When I got close the guy said "O-H" three times. What the hell? He said "You're supposed to say "I-O". You see I was wearing my block O hat and they spotted it down the street. They were from Columbus. Chalk up two more strangers met. -- My other conversation with a stranger today was at a rest stop where a normal looking guy tried to bum money from me! I declined. And he was pissed.
I leave you with this. My kids and friends know I am a grammar and syntax snob even though mine is not so great at times. I go nuclear over: "May I help who's next in line?" (This is wrong for so many reasons and I can't enumerate them.); "That'll be $3.79 at the first window?" (How much is it at the second window?); and "I'll be your lead flight attendant." (Who's our lead flight attendant right now?) Today I heard this gem: "If you're self-employed or an individual . . ." Hmm. I guess some of us aren't individuals.

The D stands for Dixie. As in "I wish I were in the land of cotton."

Day 8
Tree Huggers! Zion was full of them. You know, serious outdoorsmen (and women). -- As I embark on this mini tirade let me say that I love being annoyed by people. Criticizing them just gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling inside. -- As I parked at the Zion Visitor Center I looked around and tree huggers were everywhere. Where else would they be? They are easily identifiable in their wide brim sun repellent hats, back packs, fanny packs, hiking boots with heavy socks and shorts and that ultimate fashion accessory -- the walking stick. Why the hell you need a walking stick to hike a paved trail is beyond me -- oh, yeah. Duh! To look like a hiker! One old man had a small tree trunk and was moving at a glacial pace AND receiving compliments on this hiking implement. "Now that's a walking stick." I'll give you a walking stick . . .

But my most beloved part of the uniform is the hat. I get that you want to keep the sun off your neck and stay cool, but I know something about being vulnerable to the heat -- with blood pressure so low you could slip it under the door, a shaved head and no functioning sweat glands -- I can tell you that a ball cap works just fine. The instant I see those hats I think of what Tony (my dad) would have said: "I wish I had two of those hats. One to shit in and the other to cover it up with."

Now that I've bashed them let me say that huggers are in great shape and despite their know-it-all attitude (Can you image these people running the country? We'd be starving and broke. But, I know, they counter balance the corporate polluters, etc.) they are great for people watching. Not one obese person in sight. They are courteous as hell too. So despite my critique, I like tree huggers.

Zion National Park was fabulous. Actual shuttles take you into the canyon and drop you off at the trail heads and stuff, and come by every six minutes. Just like Disney World. It was great. I did a ton of hiking until I ran completely out of gas. I walked around 12,000 steps yesterday -- about 6 miles. I got some good pictures but I messed up a bunch of them. I'll do better next time. I thought it was infinitely superior to Yellowstone. Oh yes, two Canadian women spoke to me. That's right; my stranger-encounter of the day was initiated by the stranger.
Exhausted, I made it back to the car and stripped of my vest and t-shirt and shoes and socks -- not all at once -- and put on flip flops and a muscle shirt for the drive to Vegas. Speaking of clothes, I have a confession. In my REI Titanium sun proof multi-pocket vest and Nike all terrain shoes I was dangerously close to looking like a tree hugger myself! Of course, a COOL tree hugger. -- I cruised out of Utah and was surprised to go through the corner of Arizona. Las Vegas was now very close.

My motel in Vegas is miles from the strip and the area looks perfectly normal (non-Las Vegas like, that is). After falling asleep for a while I hauled my dragging ass outside at 10:30 and headed down Las Vegas Blvd. Not as tacky as I remember it, although I only went as far south as The Mirage where I pulled in. I stumbled into the first restaurant I saw in the casino, and wonder of wonders, it was a California Pizza Kitchen. Aw, something familiar. I ate a pizza. Then I was compelled to lose some money; so I did. It was entirely unsatisfying. But, oh yes, the people watching. The World's Capital.
So I've driven 3000 miles. Been through ten states (two of them for the first time) and am still lovin' it. Tomorrow, California! By the way, I thought I would probably lose weight because I wouldn't be snacking at night, and I didn't realize how active I would be. I just weighed myself, after breakfast, with my clothes on. The scale must be wrong (it was one of those balance beam things like doctors use.) I was down twenty pounds! That can’t be right.

Day 9
Leaving Las Vegas. The daytime personality of Las Vegas is quite a contrast from the nighttime one. As you drive by the casinos during the day they look like misplaced toys in a spoiled child’s bedroom. At night I love the stunning tackiness which is at once obnoxious and alluring. It’s fun to allow yourself to be sucked in while you stand there aware that sucking you in is exactly what the whole environment is designed to do. I couldn't believe that I was tempted to stop on the way out of Nevada at one of these massive grotesque casinos-in-the-middle-of-nowhere to gamble. You know just once I’d like to hit a small jackpot. Maybe $1,200 or something like that. Just to feel like I could walk out ONCE with a lot more than I walked in with. The drive down from southern Utah to Nevada to California gives you a perspective of what and where southern California is that I have never had in a lifetime of watching movies and television. Nothing can replace the feel of actually being there. You drive through a major decent from Utah to Arizona to Nevada and then again about 60-70 miles from Los Angeles as you drive through another huge decent into the San Fernando Valley. I don’t get how you drive down out of the desert into a valley. I always think of deserts as being the bottom of valleys, but what do I know. So it is educational, but not particularly beautiful by comparison. Had I flown to Vegas and driven down to Los Angeles, I’m sure I would have found it stunning. The L.A. freeways. Everything you’ve heard and much worse. And I never slowed down the whole way into Van Nuys. I’m as used to driving in traffic as you can get (as a Midwesterner) but it is still really stressful to drive fifty miles at 75-80mph across six lane freeways with fast moving traffic all around you. But I survived nicely and found Phil and Cindy’s house. They are my lifelong friends whom I rarely get to see and who treat me like a celebrity. As comfortable as I am with them (and have always been), it felt strange to “arrive”. The journey was wonderful. Since my encounters with strangers were nil today, I’ll explain the “Tubby” incident. It happened in Rocky Mountain National Park last June. My son Rob and I had flown into Denver to drive up to visit my brother and sister-in-law, Jerry and Cheryl in Berthoud, CO. We arrived early and had to kill the day while Jerry and Cheryl were at work. So we headed for Boulder and spent about 17 minutes there before we were bored and ready to move on. I suggested we drive up to Estes Park and on up Trailridge road – which as you probably know is the highest paved road in the country. It was an inferno in the foothills; about 95F and no wind. But at 12,000 ft the temp had dropped to 62F and with the bright sun it felt great. We parked at the store and visitor’s center and got out. I was struggling with the altitude and sun and was very lightheaded – my medicines were not getting it done that day. It was difficult to stand and walk and I could barely see. So I struggle over to a bench and sit. Rob says "I'll be back in a minute" and heads over to the hundred or so steps that actually take to up to 12,000 ft exactly (really 12,006). Within what seemed like a minute he was standing next to me. Wow! that was fast. – Now remember, I was feeling like shit and really cranky. – I saw a pudgy college kid with a Penn State hoodie on and I said “Why don’t you race Tubby over there? I bet you could go up back twice before he gets to the top.” I said some other uncharitable things about Tubby – he was out of earshot of course. After a moment’s pause, a college kid in a Michigan State T-shirt is standing next to me and says ”I don’t appreciate you calling my cousin Tubby. Why don’t you shut your mouth?” I stared at him in disbelief. In my youth I would have been scared and apologized. After all, I was the asshole in this little theatre. But in my advanced years and cranky mood, I fought back every urge to say “Well fuck you and your tubby cousin too!” The kid started walking away and the best I could muster was “Well excuse the hell outta me.” He told me to shut my mouth. All the while Rob is thinking, I wish this crazy old man would shut up before we get our asses kicked. By now the kid is talking to Tubby and they’re looking back over at me pointing. There are four of them. I stare them down. Bring it on, punks! Remember I’m a sixty year old man who has a bi-ventricular pacemaker, autonomic failure and can barley stand. And I’m staring them down! Rob must be dying by now. Well the bunch of pussies walked away. Rob and I laughed – not at them, at me and my incredibly brazen stupidity. I guess I think I’m invincible because I can always say “Are you going to hit a sixty year old man with a pacemaker?” Hope I don’t find someone who answers yes to that.

Day 10
Van Nuys, California. Sunday was really a day of rest. Phil and Cindy and I just hung out and talked and ate. A perfect day actually. They made delicious pasta for dinner with ham, asparagus, tomatoes, spices and such. We talked about all the social ills of the country and other life altering subjects.
My stranger encounter of the day was a new one for a Midwesterner. A young Mexican boy (I presume) came up to Phil and me outside of CVS and literally pleaded – you know, hands in prayer position – for help, i.e. money. Something about being deserted by his buddies and needing bus fare. What was new was he held his driver’s license out in front of him while he pleaded, I guess to show he was legal. In any event, hard hearted Jim declined to help (that’s twice this trip) and we drove off. Now I could spin off into the underlying social and cultural implications of this encounter, but why?
I did have a couple of minor anxiety attacks which does not happen very frequently these days. I have had panic attacks for so long that I can usually manage them to the point (a) those around me have no idea it’s happening and (b) I can talk myself through it so it passes quickly. Plus I always have Atavin with me and that will clam most of them. I could go on at length describing what it’s like for me to live with panic disorder, but it’s not that interesting in a journal about a journey. Yes, I know its part of the "journey of life" (ugh!!) but let’s leave that for another time.
Let’s try this journey. Take your mind to the deepest darkest jungle of Africa. It’s over 100F and the sun is beating down relentlessly on the tops of the trees. Steam is rising from the jungle floor. Are you picturing it? There is a small watering hole in a little clearing in the trees. The sun is beating down . . . Nothing is moving . . . Everything is perfectly still . . . In the middle of the watering hole two hippos are cooling themselves in the water with only their heads above the surface. Everything is perfectly still. Nothing has moved in eons. There is a little dead bird hanging from the ear of one of the hippos. That’s how still it is. Slowly one hippo turns to the other and says "You know Fred, I just can’t get it through my head that it’s Thursday." More to come.

Day 11
Whiskey Pete's, Primm, NV. Yee haw! We had a day of puttering around L.A. getting me ready to get back on the road -- and we visited Disney Studios – the original Disney studios. The high point was when Johnny Depp asked for my autograph. He calls me Oogie, you know. We saw Walt and Roy Disney's offices and met some nice people who are co-workers of Cindy. Got my Mestinon prescription with only minor hassle. And got my car serviced. Aside from the oil change that the car was insisting on -- the car tells you, you don't tell it -- I asked them to check the steering wheel because it was squeaking and do a visual inspection of the front right tire because I had run over a curb and gouged the rim. Mentioning the curb thing was not a smart move. The diagnosis was that I had damaged the rack and pinon (sp?) steering (whatever that is) and two of the tires were in need of replacement. Cost (because these were not warranty items; see stupid comment about running over curb) $3,000! I declined their generous offer and picked it up with the regular service only. To avoid L.A. rush hours, I left P and C's house around 7:00pm and headed for Whiskey Pete's. Yee haw! On the road again; but oops! Less than ten miles into the return trip multiple warning lights come on -- low tire pressure, some shit about the suspension and something else. Two reactions: one is complete depression; Now I have to go fuck around with this dealer and say "what did you do to my car?" and waste a whole day on car repair; and the other, this has happened before and it's not the catastrophe that it appears to be. I eventually pulled over and checked that the tires had air in them. They were fine. Sounds obvious, but I have the so called run-flat tires, meaning if they go flat you can continue to drive for 50 miles to a repair shop. There's no spare tire. I know what happens if you drive too much on one without getting to a repair shop and then it cost me $400 to find out. One thing about living for sixty years is that you have had many different experiences and you remember what happens as a result and how things played out. So when my car malfunctioned on the freeway I immediately thought not about what was wrong but about what it was going to mean to my trip. I felt sick not because I was scared or confused or felt out of control. Just the opposite. This was either going to be nothing or it was going to be a big pain in the ass interruption to my trip. I could picture every step of the process and I didn't want to deal with it. Same thing went through my mind when I fell on the stirs in Pocatello -- Didn't tell you about that, did I? -- As I was hitting the concrete I was not scared about how I might be injured. If anything I was disappointed that it might interfere with the trip. I have fallen and hurt myself badly before. I have lain on the concrete and had people hovering around me while and ambulance came for me. I knew how it might play out and I was pissed. OK, OK. I was scared shitless that my pacemaker would fail! -- I've been "mostly dead" as they say in The Princess Bride, and it wasn't fun or spiritually uplifting. In the end I skinned my knees, sent my heart into overdrive, and I went ahead and did my laundry.Back in the car: After debating whether or not to turn around, I continued to Primm, Nevada. An interesting little non-town. It's on the CA/NV border and consists of several trashy casinos and nothing else -- well unless you call McDonald's and gas stations something else. So I check in and am on the 12th floor in the middle of nowhere in a $32 room that looks and smells it. Not that it's a dump; just feels grungy, you know. I'll do my best to have a stranger encounter at Whiskey Pete's so I can amuse you. Tuesday I head for Desert BMW of Henderson. And then after a brief stay, I hope, on to Bryce Canyon and parts unknown.

Day 12
Trying to leave Las Vegas again. I must be getting wiser or something because I went into Tuesday with an accepting attitude that I was going to spend a lot of time waiting at the mercy of others. And of course that's exactly what happened. A very helpful young man named Shawn at the BMW dealer in Henderson noted which warning lights were on and tried to get one of the shaman (service advisers) to squeeze me in. Like trying to get a doctor at a clinic -- and they seem to have that same attitude. After an hour or so, no luck, but Shawn was nice enough to get me a name of a guy at the Las Vegas BMW dealership that could squeeze me in. Butch was his name and he was very pleasant and courteous, if not ultimately helpful. After another four hours there -- I just accepted the wait without too much frustration -- they could not determine what was wrong with the front end but the warning lights were off and the cruise control worked so I considered it a minor success and was happy to hit the road. They wanted to keep the car overnight and make me wait all day again the next day while they tried some cockamamie tests – taking the tires off another car and installing them on mine -- to see if the wheel bearing or the tires were the problem.While I was waiting a couple of courtroom shows were on the TV in the lounge and I couldn't find a way to change the channel. Are these people for real? Of course they just want to be on television. I guess the real question is who voluntarily watches this. I'm not afraid to say that I love People magazine, but reality TV leaves me cold. Our lives are reality or something like it, why do I want to see average (or below average ) assholes on TV? It does amaze me that it's so hard to get a straight answer from the shaman, again like with medical professionals. What I wanted to know was: what was the worst that could happen if there was a wheel bearing making a noise. -- Did I mention that their diagnosis was completely different from the L.A. dealership? I think I did. -- I just wanted the guy to say something comprehensible like "the wheel will freeze up." or "The wheel will turn to fire and the car will explode." Just something. But no. Just "It'll get real loud." No shit. Should I turn up the volume on the radio to cover the noise? So Mellow Jim departed for Utah with a nagging urge to loose some money before I left Nevada. And amazingly enough there were massive tacky casinos at the NV/AZ border just waiting to serve my need. My thought was that if they fixed my car that would be such good luck that I would have to hit the slots and watch the winnings flow in. Since they didn't really fix the car, I lost -- yah that must be the reason. The casino was the Oasis, by the way, and it was light years less creepy than Whiskey Pete's. . . . I can’t pass through Arizona without thinking of Camelback Mountain in Scottsdale. Specifically, climbing Camelback Mountain. I was on traveling on business in Arizona and I had a weekend to kill, so I thought I try to climb Camelback Mountain -- meaning hike up it. Although it is no “mountain” by Colorado standards, hiking up it is no walk in the park. I made a bit more than half way and I couldn’t catch my breath so I headed back, frustrated at my inability – this was before my autonomic failure condition had been diagnosed. As things worked out, I returned to Scottsdale about three weeks later on vacation with my family. We were at a resort not far from Camelback so I was determined to climb it this time. I got up early and headed out alone – with no water and temperatures headed toward 95F by midday. I parked in the small lot and headed up. I got further than before but I reached a point where I could go no further because I could not catch my breath. Disconsolate, I headed back and a quick pace. I was very short of breath and promised I would sit and rest at the bottom. I made it and went to the car. Since the lot was so small there were cars lined up waiting on open spaces. So like the dipshit that I am, I got in and headed back to the resort. I still could not catch my breath and I kept breathing harder and harder. My extremities started to go numb. Still I drove on through traffic at no small risk to myself and those around me. All the while I keep gasping for breath. After a half an hour I return to the resort and step out of the car. After three steps I fall to the ground continuing to gasp and tell some people to get me help. I was scared out of my mind because I thought my heart was failing again. A very helpful young man from the resort was the first there and he helped me until the ambulance got there. Before the EMS people put me in the ambulance, I told him to tell my wife. I said “She’s a petite woman in a one piece black bathing suit with three kids at the main pool.”

We got to the hospital and eventually they got my breathing slowed and I recovered. I had hyperventilated to the point that my breaths were as shallow as they had ever seen – and I had a big assed anxiety attack as well. I asked repeatedly if they had gotten a hold of my wife. Not yet. After several hours I was released and the resort sent a limo to pick me up! When we arrived I walked to the pool and right there were my wife and kids – my wife was in a two piece blue bathing suit. I said “Guess where I’ve been?” As it turned out instead of asking for Mrs. Barcelona over the intercom, the guys from the resort had walked around looking for a woman in a one piece black swimming suit -- and my wife saw them but decided not to worry about it ( i.e., where I was) and said nothing to them. After that, each day the staff personally greeted each day and asked how I was doing. I told them not to worry; I wouldn’t die at their resort.

As a postscript, the following day my wife and daughter and I climbed a smaller “mountain” successfully. As it turned out we learned that the preceding day a man my age had collapsed and died on that “mountain” . . .

So, back to the Heart of Dixie I went. Remember the big D on the side of the mountain? About 6 blogs ago. Well Erin, the knower of all facts, knew that southern Utah is nicknamed Dixie. And I am back at the same motel where I fell down and went boom in St. George. What to do on Wednesday? Bryce Canyon? Grand Canyon? Return to the gaming tables? What's a guy to do.

Day 13


Southern Utah. I made it through the night and morning at the Best Western in St. George, UT with falling down and skinning my knees so I considered the stay a success. Next stop: Bryce Canyon. Although I am slightly OD’d on national parks, I have been chastised by no less than three people that I must see Bryce Canyon.
The ride to Bryce includes Red Canyon which is bright and impressive and gives you a glimpse of what's to come. The so called Bryce Canyon Amphitheatre is what I would call the canyon. It's pretty spectacular and there are four or five view points that you can easily drive to get great views. I was really looking forward to taking one or two of the easy hikes but at 8000+ feet altitude, I couldn't handle it. Just fifty yards of incline brought my to my knees -- actually to my ass since I don't usually sit down on my knees. I was going to pull one of the famous Barcelona "Fuck this. I'm no pussy." and hike it anyway but sanity prevailed.
I got there at lunch time so I wanted to eat first -- which would make the altitude effect on me all the worse -- so I went to the full service or as I called the full shitty service restaurant at the lodge. As I waited very impatiently to be served I got that pissed off look I get -- you know, my everyday expression. And when Johnny Smartass, my waiter, made it around he said one of my favorite things "Be with you in a minute, Boss." Boss? Buddy? Pal? Chief? All equally stupid and obnoxious. So Mr. Grumpy ate his lunch. I was grumpy because when I parked and got out of the car, I took my computer backpack with me and it weighs about 30 pounds. The weight, the sun and standing up after three hours in the car really made me out of breath and weak in the knees . . . But on the plus side I found a wireless signal in the restaurant literally in the middle of nowhere -- completely unprotected and accessible.
At Bryce Point I encountered a bus load of Germans -- who have been at every national park I visited -- Germans I mean. Not that busload of Germans. I wanted to try my lame-assed German on them but I was too standoffish. When my picture taking came to an abrupt halt because of dead batteries, I read that as a signal to depart.
I picked a spot on the map – Salina, Utah - and headed out. I seem to be stuck on Best Westerns so I found one and got a room. While I was registering I noticed an overpowering sweet smell which I assumed was the clerk's perfume. When I went to the room I got a blast of the same almost sickeningly sweet smell. I guess either she cleans the rooms or more likely she sprays herself with the same room freshener that they use after cleaning the rooms. Wonder what it really smells like in here?
I ate at Mom's Cafe in "downtown” Salina. Good old American food in a good old American cafe. Built in 1876. It was very good and I was starved. Be sure to get a scone and put Butter and Honey FLAVORED topping on it. De-lish. Made be think of the town in Paper Moon.
I figured out what the hidden zipper pocket in Columbia shorts is for -- money. At the Oasis, I hit the ATM -- a sure winner -- to get cash. I am sure that I pushed the button for $100 but I got $500. For a moment there I thought I had made out but unfortunately my account was also debited $500. So the hidden zipper pocket safely protected me from dropping a wad. And I am really careful not to flip through hundreds of dollars in front of strangers.
I leave you with this. Why to sportscasters and commentators say "The Alex Rodriguez's of the world. The Tom Brady's of the world." Who are these other Alex Rodriguez's and Tom Brady's? I know who A-Rod and Brady are, but who are these other ones "of the world?"
Day 14


Two weeks on the road. I like it.

I went online to see what the top ten rated National Parks were. Zion, Bryce Canyon and Yellowstone did not make the list, but guess what. Arches National Park in Moab, Utah did (along with Grand Canyon, Arcadia, Yosemite and others that I can't recall) and it was on my way. It was a nice fast drive to the park and since I had already paid $25 times three at the other parks, I got an annual pass for $5 more. Who'd a thunk. Me a National Parks guy. Within ten seconds you can see how spectacular this place is. Before I even finished driving up the Great Wall (of the Moab Gorge) I realized this was better than the three other parks by a long shot. It was a gorgeous day with sunshine blazing down and temps between 77 and 81F. Again my hiking was mostly curtailed because I couldn't tolerate exertion in the sunshine and altitude, but there was a strong wind in most places that made it feel wonderful. My picture taking and knowledge of my own camera are wanting but I got some decent shots. I guess you'll be the judge of that.

My stranger encounter of the day was an exchange of two sentences. Boy, am I an outgoing guy or what? And the Hats were back! and the walking sticks. But that's not all. I found out there are yuppie tree huggers with a child carrier so elaborate that it folds out into a car seat so little Sue can ride on mommy or daddy's back. I'm not talking about a little papoose carrier. No, this was a full fledged car seat for the back. Amazing. And I couldn't quite figure if it was dad or granddad that was preparing to scale the steps with little Sue in tow. Little Sue was about 3 and dad? was gray -- what the hell, he was lean and ready for the challenge.

I saw a couple signs you don't see everyday. One was "Eagles on Hwy" on I-70. Of course, they get your hopes up but there are no eagles to be found. And in the park I saw "Do Not Enter Area When Flooded." I guess huggers are not deterred by a flood. They keep going unless a daunting warning sign stands in their way.

On to Grand Junction, Colorado. The drive was almost as spectacular as the park. But given the speed at which you can drive, it's best not to be looking off to the side of the road much. Being Best Western's new best customer, I checked in and plugged in. I ate dinner in town at a brew pub that was crowed, noisy and had the ballgame on TV. My idea of heaven. Then why did I have chicken fried steak? Because it looked really filling? It was.

Next stop Berthoud, Colorado. Home of Jerry and Cheryl Barcelona.

Day 15Today was driving in the mountains day. There really were some spectacular views – probably more majestic and much larger than in Utah. Colorado looks very different than Utah. Southern Utah is red. Colorado is gray and green. Utah has spectacular formations – Colorado has immense panoramas. I believe that I have driven to Colorado from Ohio four times before. The furthest west I drove previously was Vail. This is many, many years ago – I was in my twenties I think. My recollection of driving I-70 through the mountains near Vail and of Vail itself was entirely different from today. Think the roads might have been improved in 30 years? That and the fact that it was snowing in Vail then and I could barely keep the car on the road. I pretty sure that I once drive out to Colorado in the middle of summer with Leah, the school counselor at the school where I taught science, in a Mazda GLC. Of course it had no air conditioning so driving through the entire width of Kansas was like being in a blast furnace. I distinctly remember that the air coming in the windows made you hotter but it was too suffocating to close the windows. What brought this to mind today is that I can remember at least a hundred times wondering what was on the other side of Vail. At that point I had never been any further west, and even though I have since flown to many cites west of Denver later in my career, I still couldn’t picture what was beyond the mountains of Vail. Now I know and it is incredible country that I could drive for ages before I became oblivious to it like I am to I-75 -- from Flint to Miami. I think the west suits me. The drive was very stressful as well as beautiful. Descending the mountain passes at 75 or 80 mph in traffic can be a little overwhelming, especially when there is a little thought in the back of your head that there is something wrong with the steering. How ironic to being driving a car that was engineered for high speed, and stable cornering, and being worried about the safety of that very thing. For anyone thinking “Stop and get it fixed, dumb ass.” let me reassure you that the car is driving perfectly. And the seats are amazingly comfortable. I took 22 pictures today. Eighteen were of my feet, the ground and the interior of the car. Four were of the scenery that I was pointing the camera at. Photography is a learning process. So 4800 miles from home I arrive at the Barcelona’s house. It’s been my good fortune to see (my brother) Jerry and (my sister-in-law) Cheryl four times this year and Christmas will make five times. Jerry has been in Colorado for 30 years and it’s long ago become home to him. It’s quite a contrast going from the solitude of a different motel each night to the comfort of being with family. This is a big change in attitude for me from the days of my cynical youth and early middle age when I was too cool for my family. Age makes you appreciate your family.Aw, yes, Leah the school counselor. We met at Watts Middle School in Centerville, Ohio where I taught 6th, 7th and 8th grade science. I was in my second year at Watts and Leah was new. She was very pretty in an earthy way and had very long straight dark hair. I was fairly recently divorced and Leah and I struck up a very brief, very tumultuous affair. Leah was very smart and had some issues – particularly some big issues with her demagogue father. What I remember most is how she got her first name. Her first name at birth was Janet. I had assumed that she changed it Leah as an act of defiance toward her father. When I asked her how she came to be called Leah she said “I was in the mountains and the wind told me to call myself Leah.” . . . My, oh my! Tomorrow, golf and a picnic.

Day 16
As promised it was a day of golf, picnicking -- and watching the Rockies. The weather was gorgeous with bright sun and not a cloud to be seen. Jerry and I played golf with his nephew (in-law) Aaron who was an incredibly nice young man of 25. He is certified as a teaching pro and formerly a scratch golfer. Of course Aaron won, but it’s not like we were playing for money of anything. As long as I have a few good swings that make me look like a real golfer, I can live with my rotten scores. Do I have a choice? Golf is an amazing game in that it is so difficult yet so widely played. Most duffers like me never quite get the mechanics down and if you do then you have the real mountain to climb -- the mental aspect of the game. I’m sure part of the appeal is playing outside in great looking settings with lots of walking (except for gimps like me) and usually good companionship. Golf is a very social game but in my case, I love to, and often do, play alone. Imagine that – me the social butterfly, alone. The picnic was for a good friend of Cheryl’s who had watched her kids while Cheryl was a working single mom. Of course, I knew only the people I came with and I’m not what you would like a big small talker. (Is that an oxymoron?) But thirty seconds after the introductions, Jerry and I were talking with Bob (I asked both Cheryl and Lindsay to explain who everyone was to me, but I forget who Bob is). Bob went down in my uninterrupted-monologue-by-a-stranger hall of fame. Once he learned I was from Michigan he was off to the races since he was a former Michigander. We covered a lot of ground with some transitions that were to hard for me to follow. A lot of discussion (well, talking by Bob) was about fishing which is one of my true areas of expertise. I know Jerry was chortling to himself because he knew I didn’t have a fucking clue what Bob was saying. But I used my best phony listening skills and Bob was a very nice guy. After about 15 minutes Jerry started moving toward the drinks.The unbeatable uninterrupted-monologue-in-response-to-a-simple-question goes to a former colleague of mine. My question to him was “How old are your kids?” The 25 minute response began with “That’s a really interesting thing.” Huh? How about just a simple “six and nine” or “ten and thirteen”? His kids were adopted and he literally told me everything about them and I didn’t hear what the ages were for at least fifteen minutes. For the rest of the picnic I was mostly a lump in the corner. For some reason, maybe the host’s cat or parrot, I had an enormous allergy attack; but I survived. The television was on and I guess the Travel Channel was having a marathon on Las Vegas. It’s always interesting for me to watch people interacting while the TV is in the background. People continually look at the TV but it only registers in background of their mind. But then something strikes them about what they just saw and they comment. OK, I admit it’s not that interesting. I didn’t go near my car today. Felt good to let Jerry drive. I’ll be on the road Monday morning and I think I’ll going to take one final side trip to Mt. Rushmore and the Black Hills and then come home on I-90. I believe that this calls for a road trip story but this one will require some real creativity to get across the true stupidity of it. It’s another situation where Rob and I were traveling together and Rob was wondering what the hell his crazy old man was doing. It was a long weekend in Washington D.C. trip. Rob and I have done several of these. I decided to leave in the middle of the night so we could get to Washington around noon and have part of a day to look around or rest. I guess it was about 2:00AM as we were speeding down I-280 around Toledo. I saw a pick up and a minivan stopped and blocking both lanes. As I slowed to figure out what the hell this was I saw a guy talking to the people in the minivan through the passenger window and then it pulled away. So the guy flags me down. It’s a kid of about 20 who says he has run out of gas and needs to get to a house where he knows some people who can loan him money. It’s Matt. And Matt’s truck is stopped dead right in the traffic lane of the interstate. Yes, I was a big enough idiot to give Matt, who turns out to be drunk, – surprise -- a ride. His “friends” live in Oregon, Ohio but Matt is a little shaky on exactly where. At the first exit I pull off and say “Here you go.” Well, he “doesn’t have no quarters” so could we drive a little way down the road. Do I kick him out at the gas station like a sane person would? No. We keep going and Matt gets shakier and shakier about where these people live. Matt tells us he “doesn’t have no money” but he has checks from his lawn service business that he could pay us with. He says at least three times “It’s just over that hill.” When we pass a strip mall that has obviously been there for thirty years, he says “Oh, that’s all new since I was here before.” By now I’m more than a little pissed and Rob has chimed in too. Around this time Matt utters the memorable “Don’t think no bad thoughts about me now.” In response we find a convenience store that’s open and I tell him to go in and find out where these people live. We drove off and left him there. I believe Rob’s next words were “I can’t believe you picked him up.” I guess Matt's truck is still sitting on I-280. During our sightseeing in Washington Rob and I would look at something like the Jefferson Memorial and say “Oh, that’s all new. It wasn’t here last time I was here.”

Day 17

Tomorrow the last phase of this trip begins. As I said yesterday, I’m going up through South Dakota and Minnesota on the return trip. It adds about 300 miles to the trip, but what’s another three hundred miles? Since I have been to Mt. Rushmore once about twenty five years ago, I will be looking for a way to make this visit different. I’m expecting the same four guys to be carved in stone. I believe I-90 also goes by the monument to Crazy Horse (or is it Sitting Bull?) and that should be quite different than it was back then – which was a big chunk of rock that didn’t look like anything. Today’s high temperature was about 30 degrees less than yesterday but it was sunny and excellent golfing weather. Both Jerry and I played much better and even though he beat me there was no more than one stroke difference in our scores on any hole. He was pissed because he wanted to break forty, but he still won five bucks from me. When we left the course, I did the unthinkable AGAIN. Yes, I left my car keys in my jacket in the cart at the course. Thankfully I thought of it when we were just a short way from the course, so we went back and there they were. I wonder if anyone should be so absent minded as to leave their car keys in a public place twice on one road trip and also be lucky enough to get them back both times. No, I don’t have a spare set. I lost them!We went out to eat at Rock Bottom Brewery and Cheryl’s daughter Lindsay waited on us. We had good food and excellent service and I felt stuffed for the first time in two and a half weeks. By the way, I haven’t lost twenty pounds since I left home. Maybe six. No stranger encounters today – of course the picnic yesterday was at least two days worth of stranger encounters for me. On the trip home I had better increase my interaction with strangers or I won’t have a thing to write about. Once I get on I-90 in Rapid City, I don’t get off of it for 890 miles. That’s a lot of nothing to try to write about.

Day 18

As always I was incredibly comfortable and well treated at Jerry and Cheryl's and Lindsay even gave up her bedroom to me -- she got the air mattress. I left their house early this morning and was in Wyoming in no time. After a few miles on the interstate I got off on two lane federal highways. The highways are so uncongested, smooth and straight (and unpatrolled) that I set the cruise on 80 mph and burned up the road for hours. Someone told me recently that the winds in Wyoming blow constantly and if today was typical, he was right. Really strong crosswinds. I was so glad to be in a low slung aerodynamic car because the wind didn't bother my driving at all. The first word that popped into my head while I was cruising was desolate. Frankly I was a bit nervous about breaking down in the middle of nowhere. Not that there was any reason to break down; it was just kind of scary. A couple hours into the drive I finished my sixth audio book and that was it. My MP3 was in the trunk, so AM radio was my next choice. The book I finished was Paranoia by Someone-or-Other. I have listened to it before and it's mildly entertaining but as with so many popular works of fiction, the characters, particularly the protagonist behaves irrationally. Like the young damsel in horror films when you want to say "Don't go in there!" -- But on AM radio you get a real treat; anytime you use the auto scan to find the best signals, whether you're in Utah, Idaho, Montana, Colorado or South Dakota, you get Rush Fucking Limbaugh. The moron. I don't care what your political views are or how conservative you are, you can't possible be anything but offended by the simple minded shit that comes out of his mouth. Oh yes, all liberals are out to destroy the country and only the brave no nonsense right wing can save us. As Al Franken would say "Rush Limbaugh is a big fat liar." Fortunately I found an ESPN Radio station and listened to it -- speaking of simple minded shit! But it's innocuous and I enjoy it. I can scream you're an idiot at the radio -- with Limbaugh I just get nauseous.
I don't think I did anything really stupid today -- or absent minded. And the stranger encounter is zero as usual. I drove from J and C's house to Custer, SD with almost no breaks -- nothing to eat but a cereal bar. Then wolfed down some lunch and drove to Mt. Rushmore. Not a good idea. I had some physical problems at Rushmore but aside from that the four guys didn't seem to have changed much. However, everything else has. They completely rebuilt the place with a 3 story parking structure and a new viewing terrace and an amphitheatre. On the way I passed Crazy Horse which was different in that you could recognize the face. The rest -- not so much. So I drove on to Wall, SD and yes, I went to Wall Drug. Biggest collection of useless junk in the USA. I did buy an audio book by Sue Grafton. Tomorrow I think I'll swing through Badlands Nat'l Park and then on to La Crosse, WI.

Day 19

Since Badlands National Park was three or four feet from my motel, I had to drive through it before I started making serious tracks for home. It was very spectacular and the cool and sunny weather was perfect. It’s very accessible too, since you just drive through it back on to the interstate.Once I left Badlands, I saw some really tacky spots to stop including the big statue of a prairie dog that Annie mentioned in her comment. No picture, sorry. Next stop was going to be LaCrosse, Wisconsin. So it was AM radio or Sue Grafton's S is for Silence. About thirty seconds into the book I realized that I have listened to it before and the reader was annoying; but what ya gonna do? Back to radio. I glommed on to NPR and listened to some intelligent sports conversation and a review of Elton John's concert in Sioux Falls. Actually it was interesting. Then a flipped to some guy talking politics that seemed pretty level headed albeit conservative. I kept listening to this guy, who had a female co-host, and he sounded reasonable. He started taking calls and the callers called him Bill. I thought who is this? It can't be that Bill -- the shithead from television. Sure enough it was Bill Fucking O’Rielly. Forgive me, Rob. Once I figured that out I had to stop listening. How could the obnoxious cretin from Fox News but this reasonable guy? His voice sounded mellow. Just to prove I'm a hypocrite, I turned him off just because he a conservative. It felt like forever to get to Sioux Falls and, silly me, I expected to cross the Mississippi there, Oops, missed it by one state. I ate at Al's Oasis. How's it sound? It was fine. So far my streak is in tack; no fast food on the entire trip; and no fries. I planned to wimp out and stop at Albert Lea, Minnesota but no Best Western so I went on to La Crosse. I did cross the Mississippi, of course, but it was dark so I was focused on staying in the white lines.
Stranger encounters were limited to a couple "Hi, how are ya’s" in Badlands. Tomorrow night I sleep in my own bed. Can you tell I'm tired?

Day 20
Canton, Michigan. At 7:27PM I arrived home after 20 days on the road. I visited 15 states -- Montana and North Dakota for the first time -- covering 6243 miles (exceeding my estimated distance by 1100 miles) , using 205 gallons of gas, spending 88+ hours driving and $2600. And loving (almost) every minute of it. Today was my first cloudy day of the entire trip -- and I swear that I wasn't two miles inside the Michigan line and it started raining. And it rained all the rest of the way home. Thanks for your time and attention. Home again. Home again. Jig-a-Dee Jig.

Postscript

That was the most fun I’ve had in a long, long time. I suited me perfectly and exceeded my wildest expectations. I seriously thought that I would turn around after a couple of boring days on interstate highways. It turned out to be incredibly relaxing and at the same time exhilarating. With my early retirement because of my poor health, I spend a lot of time essentially doing nothing; and this is on the heels of working as a senior executive in charge of mergers and acquisitions. Quite a contrast.

The structured freedom of the trip suited me to a tee. I had something meaningful to do each day; I had plenty of occupy my mind; and I was free of deadlines, goals and demands. And writing about it knowing that many of my friends and family were reading my blog each day made it feel as though I had a bunch of people with me – while loving being alone.

When the cold dreariness of January and February hit Michigan, you can bet I will hit the road again – probably for Arizona.

Happy Trails.