Did I call this a real part of the world yesterday? Don't know what I was thinking....
Yesterday
Jamestown, ND
752.10 miles
Too many pit stops to count
Montana may have higher speed limits, less road work, and more interesting scenery, but North Dakota is way better because the rest stops are totally cool (vending machines! Phones!) and there are real live actual radio stations in this state. Including NPR. Although, you can’t hear songs like “Good-bye twenties, hello minivan.”
The Little Bighorn Battlefield was on my route. That anniversary of that battle is next Tuesday. Easy to remember Custer’s Last Stand when it’s on your birthday. (Hint, hint, that’s my birthday coming up on Tuesday, not yours.)
This trip is just like Frontier House, only instead of traveling west to start a new life in the wilderness, I’m traveling east to start a new life in preppydom. And instead potentially dying from the elements, I could potentially die from boredom.
In North Dakota I lost both an hour and all feeling in my left butt cheek. However, neither was a surprise this time.
There’s a place in North Dakota (Exit 7 on I-94) called Home on the Range.
I’m already sick of my music. I’ve listened to everything twice, except my mixed CD, which is the only thing that still keeps me entertained (thanks KAG!), although I’m guessing that after listen number 7 tomorrow, it might start to wear off. Surprisingly, Barry Manilow is not the driving motivator I had thought he would be.
I’m in a friggin’ smoking room, because I made it to Jamestown and I was starving! My own fault, of course, because I can’t bear to stop for food and lose precious driving time. I got to the Holiday Inn Express, and I asked if the restaurant next door was still open. “Till 10,” he said. It was 9:42. “Give me a room.” “All I’ve got is smoking.” I debated: I could go to the hotel next door, but then I’d be stuck with Arbys. I took the smoking room. Of course, I’m not sure that dinner at the WagonMaster was worth it. I’ve been craving pasta since the chicken wing night. Apparently, no one out here has heard of Italian food. The closest they get is Pizza Hut. Every now and then, I crave pizza and there’s nothing around but a Pizza Hut. I think to myself, “It can’t be as bad as I remember.” And then I eat there. And then it is. I didn’t fall for that tonight. So instead of a carbo-filled meal of pasta, I had steak for dinner.
Today
South Bend, IN
847.2 miles
I keep a little notebook with me in the car and I jot notes during the day, which is how I remember what to blog at night. However, I left it in the car, and I’m on the second floor of the Days Inn in South Bend, and it’s not the most attractive place, so I’m going to just wing this. If I forget anything, I’ll add it tomorrow.
I was going to comment on how horrible a driver I am at night, but I realized it might alarm my parents who read my blog, so I won’t mention it.
Minnesota, Land of 10,000 Lakes, my ass. I counted all of 14.
Carcass count: 4 ½ deer, 1 fox, 5 raccoons, countless unidentified animals.
The land of the toll booth:
From the border of Illinois to the border of Indiana there were eight, count them eight tolls of 40 cents each. I would’ve happily paid $2 once. Hell, for the privilege of stopping only once, they could’ve charged me $3.
Every time I passed a sign for Eau Claire, I thought I should beat someone up for making noises about the Bear.
I was psyched to get to Minnesota because I knew they had NPR (from “Marketplace is produced by Minnesota Public Radio”). Of course, just my luck, I caught them during their Summer Pledge Drive. I couldn’t handle more than a few minutes of it.
Adam said tonight, “I miss you. I wish I were there with you right now.”
I said, “Really? Because I was wishing you were here instead of me right now.”
Tonight I entered my new home time zone.
Since I’ve gotten so far, I’ve decided to make a detour. At the rate I’m going, I’d reach Boston either late, late tomorrow night (it’s about 874 miles from South Bend, with no time zone change) or really early on Monday. Since my mom’s not coming in till Tuesday, and I don’t know the folks we’re staying with, I’m going to head to New Brunswick tomorrow to visit with the Tweedle Twirp. I’ll still be in Boston by about 4 or 5 on Monday.
Yesterday
Jamestown, ND
752.10 miles
Too many pit stops to count
Montana may have higher speed limits, less road work, and more interesting scenery, but North Dakota is way better because the rest stops are totally cool (vending machines! Phones!) and there are real live actual radio stations in this state. Including NPR. Although, you can’t hear songs like “Good-bye twenties, hello minivan.”
The Little Bighorn Battlefield was on my route. That anniversary of that battle is next Tuesday. Easy to remember Custer’s Last Stand when it’s on your birthday. (Hint, hint, that’s my birthday coming up on Tuesday, not yours.)
This trip is just like Frontier House, only instead of traveling west to start a new life in the wilderness, I’m traveling east to start a new life in preppydom. And instead potentially dying from the elements, I could potentially die from boredom.
In North Dakota I lost both an hour and all feeling in my left butt cheek. However, neither was a surprise this time.
There’s a place in North Dakota (Exit 7 on I-94) called Home on the Range.
I’m already sick of my music. I’ve listened to everything twice, except my mixed CD, which is the only thing that still keeps me entertained (thanks KAG!), although I’m guessing that after listen number 7 tomorrow, it might start to wear off. Surprisingly, Barry Manilow is not the driving motivator I had thought he would be.
I’m in a friggin’ smoking room, because I made it to Jamestown and I was starving! My own fault, of course, because I can’t bear to stop for food and lose precious driving time. I got to the Holiday Inn Express, and I asked if the restaurant next door was still open. “Till 10,” he said. It was 9:42. “Give me a room.” “All I’ve got is smoking.” I debated: I could go to the hotel next door, but then I’d be stuck with Arbys. I took the smoking room. Of course, I’m not sure that dinner at the WagonMaster was worth it. I’ve been craving pasta since the chicken wing night. Apparently, no one out here has heard of Italian food. The closest they get is Pizza Hut. Every now and then, I crave pizza and there’s nothing around but a Pizza Hut. I think to myself, “It can’t be as bad as I remember.” And then I eat there. And then it is. I didn’t fall for that tonight. So instead of a carbo-filled meal of pasta, I had steak for dinner.
Today
South Bend, IN
847.2 miles
I keep a little notebook with me in the car and I jot notes during the day, which is how I remember what to blog at night. However, I left it in the car, and I’m on the second floor of the Days Inn in South Bend, and it’s not the most attractive place, so I’m going to just wing this. If I forget anything, I’ll add it tomorrow.
I was going to comment on how horrible a driver I am at night, but I realized it might alarm my parents who read my blog, so I won’t mention it.
Minnesota, Land of 10,000 Lakes, my ass. I counted all of 14.
Carcass count: 4 ½ deer, 1 fox, 5 raccoons, countless unidentified animals.
The land of the toll booth:
From the border of Illinois to the border of Indiana there were eight, count them eight tolls of 40 cents each. I would’ve happily paid $2 once. Hell, for the privilege of stopping only once, they could’ve charged me $3.
Every time I passed a sign for Eau Claire, I thought I should beat someone up for making noises about the Bear.
I was psyched to get to Minnesota because I knew they had NPR (from “Marketplace is produced by Minnesota Public Radio”). Of course, just my luck, I caught them during their Summer Pledge Drive. I couldn’t handle more than a few minutes of it.
Adam said tonight, “I miss you. I wish I were there with you right now.”
I said, “Really? Because I was wishing you were here instead of me right now.”
Tonight I entered my new home time zone.
Since I’ve gotten so far, I’ve decided to make a detour. At the rate I’m going, I’d reach Boston either late, late tomorrow night (it’s about 874 miles from South Bend, with no time zone change) or really early on Monday. Since my mom’s not coming in till Tuesday, and I don’t know the folks we’re staying with, I’m going to head to New Brunswick tomorrow to visit with the Tweedle Twirp. I’ll still be in Boston by about 4 or 5 on Monday.
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