Rainy Day Troubles

Saturday, August 29, 2015         Port Huron, Michigan     trip odometer 7,425 miles

            Another slow day due mostly to rain and construction. This adds a day to my expected arrival home: Monday, considering that I’m too tired to push for miles tomorrow. First thing that will happen is I’ll enter Canada. Things will be pretty straightforward until I get close to Toronto/Niagara.

            The roads in Michigan are awful. There is also the phenomenon that was conspicuously absent out West, where posted speed limits are 80 MPH. The people here pay no attention to the posted limits and go 75 to 80 anyway. In dry weather on decently maintained roads I’d have gone the posted 70; in rain with crappy roads and/or ones torn up for construction, 65 was the most I was willing to risk. Cars were whizzing past with dubbed in zo-o-o-om sound effects. At one point this became a serious problem, and I (and many other former speed demons) were stuck for nearly two hours because of an accident that spanned all three lanes of the road, the entrance ramp at that spot, and both the median grass area and roadside grass area. Rescue personnel had more urgent priorities than getting traffic moving, and even when I finally crept past, they had only the entrance ramp open as a by-pass and I had to stop to let some rescue people cross. I thought I recognized the burned 2/3 of a car on the road verge by the intact bicycle on the rear rack. Idiots or not, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

            I stopped for four caches, which I’d pre-downloaded spaced at just the right intervals for a needed leg-stretch. Except for the last one, they didn’t take much extra time. That one required brush-busting through seventy yards of shrubs, brambles, high grass, mud, and vines. With no geotrail. Worse yet, getting back out, with no trail of any kind. In the rain. In sandals. When I got back to the car, I had to pick burrs off my socks. Later I threw them out because they were totally wrecked. Heck, I later found a burr in my underwear. I was soaked from the neck, down, too. Had I known what this smiley was going to cost me I would have passed it by, but by the time I was in deep trouble, I was less than 100 feet from the cache. Two-and-a-half terrain rating, my maiden aunt!

            But, the good news? I’m back in my normal time zone. Even, better, I’ll be home and greeting my cats the day after tomorrow!

Traffic Jam

Friday, August 28, 2015             Hammond, Indiana        trip odometer 7,095 miles

            My goal today was to find one geocache (to keep my ‘streak’ going and add miles to the Bristol Rabbit Travel Bug I’m carrying) and get past Chicago. I accomplished both, but it was not easy.

            For one thing, there was rain all day, varying from a few specks on the windshield to a steady fall, but most of the time it was just enough for me to keep my windshield wipers on “Intermittent/High” and make the road a little slick. Traffic was heavy, especially after I passed Madison, Wisconsin, and it just kept getting worse. These folks still wanted to go 70 MPH, but I am always a bit more cautious in wet weather, so we were all frustrated.

            I miscalculated the exit for the first cache I wanted to try for, going a couple exits too far and not being inclined to retrace my route. The next one was not until after Milwaukee, and was actually the last one I had marked in Wisconsin, a park-and-grab at an enormous truck stop. The hint indicated it was on or near the car vacuum, and some guy was putting air in his tires in the same spot. He asked me pointedly if I needed to use the air pump, I answered honestly that I didn’t, then I went inside the truck stop to do my other needed things while waiting for him to go. I used the restroom (first and always!), wandered around looking at the food options, and ordered and ate dinner. I used an outside table so I could keep an eye on that vacuum and air pump.

            When I finished, I sauntered casually over. Three objects: air pump, vacuum, and a light post. A skirt lifter? But that wasn’t the hint. I circled the equipment, looking it over for anything that might not belong there. Nothing. Try the lamp post. Bingo! My streak was intact, Bristol Bunny had another several hundred miles, and I paused only to fill the gas tank before heading out for goal #2.

             I found Chicago’s rush hour traffic strangely peaceful. There we were, four lanes of bumper-to-bumper vehicles, barely moving. My strategy was to pick one of the inner lanes and stick with it. Past experience has showed me that moving from lane to lane because another lane seems to be moving faster than the others accomplishes nothing but raising blood pressure and occasionally causing an accident. I just kept my car a couple of carlengths behind the flatbed truck from Maine ahead of me, and otherwise I was free to let my mind wander. I had a full stomach, a full gas tank, enough to drink, and AC/DC was playing soothing music on my car stereo. Other than a potential bladder problem, it was pleasant. Surely better at 6 MPH than 60, with the cars spaced as they were. And, believe me, during those stretches where higher speeds were possible, they didn’t allow much more room between cars. That is nerve-wracking.

            At last the beltway dumped me back onto I-94, I crossed the State Line into Indiana, and it was time to seek a room for the night. Soon I will be home. It’s a good thing, too; I’m down to two clean shirts and three pairs of clean socks.

In The Footsteps of Keillor and Yankovic

Thursday, August 27, 2015         Eau Claire, Wisconsin    trip odometer 6,720 miles

            Minnesota lives up to expectations. As I drove east on I-94, one of the first things I spotted after leaving the urban sprawl of Moorhead was a small billboard: “Ole and Lars’ Pizzeria, next exit.” This was in quaint Otter Tail County. I have had some strange ethnic variations of pizza, some nearly inedible, and can’t help but think Norwegian pizza has got to be better than most of them.

            But I was on a mission. One hundred sixty-seven miles away was St. Cloud. This is both ‘the city’ the denizens of Garrison Keillor’s Lake Wobegon go to when Ralph’s Pretty Good Grocery Store fails them, and the exit for the most direct route to Minnesota’s most bizarre tourist attraction, the state’s largest twine ball.

            At a rest stop about half-way there, I decided to get in the spirit of things and popped a Weird Al Yankovic CD into the player at random. Once again coincidence worked in my favor, for out of the 7 in my CD case, this was the one that had his hit, “The Biggest Ball of Twine in Minnesota.” I sang along and watched the miles count down. At the next rest stop, I turned on my Garmin; there is a geocache at the famous twine ball, which makes navigating to it easier.

“If you could go anywhere in this great big world, now where’d you like to go-ta: They said, “Dad, We want to see the Biggest Ball of Twine in Minnesota.”

            35 miles. 34.5 miles. Wait! What’s that? The car swerved and my eyes bugged out. The exit sign had said “Lake Wobegon!” I thought Keillor made all that stuff up! You mean it’s REAL? I envisioned myself driving into Lake Wobegon, past the Whippets ball field, and having coffee and pie at the Chatterbox Café. I saw myself buying a fishing license and spending the afternoon casting flies for the hard-fighting sunfish that the lake is famous for. I’d take off my hat to the Statue of the Unknown Norwegian, then drive on.

            These thoughts were crowded out as I reached St. Cloud and took the turn for the twine ball. 24 miles to go. I gassed up, and motored on past crop fields, the occasional crossroad, and two tiny towns. 5.6 miles, to the right. I turned, and shortly entered Darwin, Minnesota. This sleepy town is still right on an active railroad line, but that doesn’t mean much anymore. US Route 12 runs right through it, but I-94 splits off from Rt. 12 twenty miles east, and all the traffic now uses the Interstate. Darwin could have withered away, except for two men.

            Francis A. Johnson wound a spare length of twine around his fingers in 1950 and just kept adding to the resulting ball for the next 29 years. After a short while he had to move the ball around using railroad jacks normally used to lift boxcars whenever he had another length to add. At the time he finished, the 11-foot tall, 8.7 ton twine ball was the world’s largest. It is still the heaviest, the largest wound by a single person, and the largest made of old-fashioned natural-fiber twine. At this point, he put it on public display in Darwin. The old railroad station behind it was converted to a local history museum and gift shop, and Darwin had a new tourist industry.

            This was modest enough until the 1990’s when Weird Al Yankovic visited the place and fell in love with the entire strange idea. He wrote a song about it which became a national hit. Between the two of them, the Famous Minnesota Twine Ball is now a destination attraction and there are two festivals held annually in Darwin which attract flocks of visitors… and much-needed income for the town. The grateful residents even have pictures of a twine ball on their street signs.

            I actually drove past it at first, half my attention on my GPS, seeing only the blue mailbox which is the geocache out of the corner of my eye. I went around the block, and coming back up the street I picked out a parking place, got out of the car, and… there it was.

 

“I parked the car and walked with awe-filled reverence toward that glorious, huge, majestic sphere.”

            The makeshift pagoda of Weird Al’s song was now a neat, sturdy, well-kept structure and the ropes had been replaced by panes of glass. It was still an awesome sight, and the same questions Weird Al asked were in the minds and on the lips of the tourists gathered there. Why? How? What was he thinking? I was just so impressed I didn’t even log the geocache until I’d stood agape for a while and taken some pictures. Then, a saunter through Darwin’s museum (which included a picture of Weird Al, privileged to HUG the ball), the obligatory purchase of souvenirs (yes, they DO sell miniature balls of twine and postcards that say “Greetings from the Twine Ball, Wish You Were Here”) to support the town, and I left this peculiar attraction with a tinge of regret.

            Later I found out that the town of Holdingford, Minnesota is the place that comes closest to duplicating the (yes, sadly, fictional) town of Lake Wobegon. They are apparently slowly converting themselves over to resemble it even more, and generate their own tourist trade.

            I was thinking as I drove on about these two places: one many people think is fictional, although Weird Al has often said that every tourist site in his song is real; one that is fictional, but is becoming reality. Geniuses like Garrison Keillor and Weird Al Yankovic, and Francis Johnson, too, have their own unique visions that reach out to people, and ultimately benefit the folks of a rural area that would otherwise never be a tourist magnet.

            What is the message of the Twine Ball? As I looked at it, I thought: “Americans are crazy. But, sometimes it’s a good kind of crazy. The Twine Ball is a monument to this, a lesson in benevolent craziness. This makes it worth preserving, and well worth seeing.”

Personal Best

Wednesday, August 26, 2015     trip odometer 6, 275 miles         Moorhead, MN

            Well, I clocked a pitiful 340 miles today, mostly because of getting lost twice. But I accomplished something that has meaning only to me: I found 5 geocaches in 3 states, earning three ‘State Souvenirs’ in one day, a personal best. This required a lot of planning, coordinating routes on the map with pre-downloaded caches, and then actually going there (75 miles out of my way) to the Iowa/Nebraska border, getting caches in both states, then motoring north all the way to North Dakota for those caches. At least the latter was on my route to the Twine Ball in Darwin, MN. I feel outrageously elated about this accomplishment, like I should be pumping my arms in the air while someone pours Gatorade over me. However, I expect that the quiet satisfaction of looking at the US Map on Geocaching.com is the only celebration I’ll have. Frankly, it’s all I want. (But can't I even watch the replay in slo-mo?)

            Both the Dakotas are nice places. North Dakota seems more dedicated to agriculture, with literally miles of crop fields. South Dakota has its playful side. Motels welcome pheasant hunters, for instance, and motorcyclists are everywhere. Weirdest sight of all, I saw an inboard v-hull motorboat on a lake shaped like a donut (big island in the middle) that I could have fly-casted from shore to island from almost any point on shore. What were they doing, I have to wonder? Going around and around?

            I have to admit I’m longing to get home. The two cats in the family-owned motel where I stayed last night were aloof, but reminded me so much of my own kitties. I hope the next few days I make better time than today. Crossing time zones west-to-east has my time sense all messed up. I was getting up at 6:30 – 7:00 in Seattle and now I’m crawling out of bed at 9:00 and wondering why the day seems so short. Admittedly this is more like my usual rise time, but right now it’s a bit inconvenient.

A Touch of the Old West

Tuesday, August 25, 2015          Elk Point, SD    trip odometer approx. 5,900 miles

            Yesterday driving through north-eastern Wyoming I drove out of the drought zone. The range showed a haze of green, which looked more normal compared with my memories. At one point I was admiring a lovely, deep stream running through the rangeland, when I spotted a herd of Red Angus, in my opinion the handsomest breed of beef cattle, lounging in a low spot where the stream took a bend. Riding purposefully down the slope towards them was a working cowboy: Stetson, chaps, lariat, colorful saddle blanket, the whole Western calendar page picture. For a vignette I glimpsed driving by at 65 MPH it is remarkably clear in my mind. Every once in awhile these perfect moments happen, and all we can do is appreciate them.

            In South Dakota there is a great deal more commercial development based on the fact that this is a Western state. Cowboys, Indians, prospectors, gamblers. Some of the places just looked like a way to fleece tourists for dough (The famous Wall Drug, which sounds more like a theme park, and may actually have a prescription counter between the shooting gallery and the six-foot-tall rabbit). Other places might be more interesting, such as Laura Ingalls Wilder’s home, an actual prehistoric Indian village archaeological site that allows visitors, a classic car museum that claims to have the original General Lee, and a mock-1880’s town that has a display of props and costumes from the movie “Dances with Wolves.” Goodness knows the Native American connection is very much alive here. But, except for necessary stops for gas, food, and to stretch my legs (geocaching), this was my day to test Bruce’s capabilities. He did well, and tomorrow there will be some city driving to challenge him.

            I found three outstanding geocaches today, considering that they were all park-and-grabs. The first was a clever adaptation of a bison tube in an unexpected place. Using my fingers where my eyes wouldn’t reach paid off with ‘something different.’ A tug moved the object slowly, as if dragging a magnet against resistance, and… Hey! Cache found! The second and third were both ammo boxes in rest stops, a type of cache I always like to see. How do you entertain geokids on a long trip? Caches with lots of swag. How do you move TBs the most easily? Caches big enough to hold them placed where people travelling can find them. My personal philosophy is that every hide should be the largest container that will reasonably fit and stay hidden.

            The proliferation of virtuals and micros in Wyoming prevented me from dropping two items tagged by Boy Scouts. These were not strictly trackables (they had Munsee barcodes on the tags but I’m not equipped to scan them) but were ‘racing’ to Colorado and had been pressed on me by a couple at the Block Party who discovered I was headed east. Thanks to whoever hid the ammo can near the first rest area I came to, I was able to get them as close as I could. This one, I had a hunch I’d need the knee boots, walking staff, and pack, and I did. I did some serious ‘brush busting’ through an interlaced copse of pitch pine. I’m still picking twigs out of unlikely places. But I enjoyed it, as here, where the drought has not hit, the plants smell as well as look green, and the dirt underfoot feels resilient, alive. Finally I spotted the cache, and it was naturally on the fringe of a meadow with a trail I followed back to the entrance of the service area (where no one on foot would think to go). Past logs show that no one has figured out the easy way, and some people found ways considerably harder than I did. To prove a point, I grabbed a Travel Bug that had been there only 3 days, and am moving it along.

            I missed one cache that I was trying for because the undistinguished pull-off it was concealed in flashed by without me being able to slow down. No signs or anything. I did find the other rest stop ammo can, which had been muggled previously and now was secured to a tree by a bright, new heavy chain. I do appreciate the cache owner persevering to offer a quality cache to travelers.

            In between caching, I had a hungry attack (I’m heartily sick of ‘continental breakfasts’) and stopped at a place called Marlin’s in Mitchell. This was right across the street from Cabela’s flagship store, but I figured it would not be much different from the one in Hamburg, PA I’ve visited so often. At any rate, I had one of the best meals of the trip at this truck stop restaurant, and even took away a piece of their own peach pie for an evening snack, now happily disposed of. (Yum!)

            Now I’m tucked into a cozy room in a family-operated motel which is much nicer than many chain places I’ve paid more for. The time zone change has caught me unprepared, and goodness knows what time (central daylight savings) I’ll hit the road tomorrow. I selfishly took a 75-mile detour south to add two states to my geocaching statistics, which I will do tomorrow. Then it’s off to grab a North Dakota cache and on to the notorious Twine Ball. Tomorrow, if the gods are with me, I will stay at the Twine Ball Inn.