Day 3, 4, 5 - Wisconsin to the Rockies
Into Madison
We entered Madison, WI around 8 PM and immediately looked
for Capital Square, our landmark from last year’s visit. We were tired from
twelve hours on the road, and hungry.
I spotted a Hilton Hotel a couple of blocks from the square and said, “How
about if I go in there?”
“Too expensive,” Brett said.
“Maybe they’re full; so then I’ll ask for a recommendation,” I said.
“Don’t count on it,” Brett said.
In I went. “Do you have a room for tonight?”
“Unfortunately we’re full.”
I feigned disappointment.
* I later saw that it was not too expensive so my subsequent disappointment was real. Maybe next time.
Armed with a recommendation we found a room at a Sheraton, checked in, then
returned to town for dinner. Long waiting lines - over an hour - sent us back
to the hotel “grill.”
“Sorry, only appetizers after 9,” the grill waiter told us. We settled on nachos and salsa, plus fried cheese.
Minneapolis, a Small Detour, then Des Moines
Saturday morning - a MacDonald’s egg on a biscuit, a quick gas-up and we were off to Minneapolis to meet Kevin at the airport.
After the overnight it was two hours to Deerwood in northern Minnesota. Our car was a bulging suitcase, five stuffed people, plus bags, and four newly purchased pillows all competing for breathing room. Peering over the pillows the beautiful lake country scenery was crisp and, at times, captivating.
Following the hockey camp drop-off Brett and I retraced our morning drive, then locked onto the interstate south through Minnesota and Iowa. All cornfields all the time, once beyond reach of the Twin Cities.
Lonely Road Paranoia
The night before I’d read about Ames, Iowa – ranked third, in all of USA, in a list of best places to live. I booked a reservation at a Hampton Inn.
Ames seemed to be forever coming.
Rolling endlessly on a middle-America interstate can play with the mind -
anxiety mainly. It was scary lonely out here, unless you were a cornstalk.
Perhaps a crop dusting plane every two hours. That was it.
What would we possibly do if we broke down?"
There was no town in site - ever. Just bare exit roads, and a lone green
sign with a fake town name. Fake because looking left and right, far into the
distance there was no town, not a single building, nothing. "Fake out.”
A glance in the rearview mirror revealed more emptiness, miles of
straight concrete ribbon, not even a following car.
Call AAA? OK, but waiting through the overnight for the
tow-truck - should we sleep in the field or the car?
Finally there was a sign for Ames.
The hotel was right off the interstate. On the access road a man with a
deeply sunburned face and a plastic bag over his shoulder watched us roll in.
He was not especially well dressed. Brett immediately labeled him a killer.
Apparently the lonely road paranoia was still in force.
“No way,” said Brett as we inched our way into the hotel
lot.
I went in and told the clerk that – change of plans – we must now meet
my other daughter in Des Moines, so we’re getting back on the road.
Five Stars for Des Moines
“Only thirty miles to Des Moines,” I announced cheerfully.
At the city limits Brett, less than cheery, proclaimed “down and out.” It was her name for dilapidated and dangerous. Once into the downtown proper, however, things brightened. The Embassy Suites Hotel was exquisite. It was bordered by a park on the banks of the Des Moines River; there were railroad whistles and visible trains within earshot (a good thing) and restaurant row, just a block away, was quaint and attractive. In short, a magnificent evening – food, wine and afterward a lingering walk across the river bridge.
So five stars for Des Moines.
Monday it was off to points west. Where exactly, we knew not. It was a hundred-plus miles to the Nebraska border, then close to four hundred more to Colorado. We spotted Omaha and Lincoln so there are people in Nebraska – not just corn. The fact is - Ashley and I had enjoyed a stay in Lincoln a decade ago.
When You’ve Only Got a Hundred Years to Live
Somewhere in the middle of the great cornfield that comprises most of America – actually western Nebraska in this case - a song came on the radio.
The wind was whipping through the windows drowning out the music so Brett upped the volume. Then she picked up on the words – with exuberance. Unlike me, she can sing. I recognized the song.
“Five for Fighting.” Brett informed me.
Huh?
“The group, not the song,” she said.
Brett points out, that “Five for Fighting,” means that, in hockey, there is a five minute penalty for fighting, hence “Five for Fighting.”
“Get it?” she says, then adds, “They’re a Canadian group.”
Hmmm. Who knew? I had heard the song before – 100 Years - but didn't know all the words.
Brett knew the words and the tune and her singing filled the car, rising above the blasting wind and mixing into the entire scene – the breeze, the hypnotic fields whizzing by, the hum of our rolling tires with our car shooting through the plains, and most of all, the earnest melodic sound of my daughter’s voice:
Another blink of an eye
Sixty-seven is gone
The sun is getting high
We're moving on...
It brought a tickle to my nose and water to my eyelids.
Travelers Haven
We spent the night in Colorado Springs, pushing ourselves, as darkness neared, beyond Denver to what we called a “travelers haven” those now common interstate "cities" with all travel essentials - gas, food, and lodging – just outside of the USAF Academy grounds at the foothills of the Rockies.
Just a final word. We ate a late dinner at a "travelers
haven" chain eatery. Baked potato and veggie burger for me, Brett, some
pasta. It was not crowded at this hour. As I sipped a beer, I could feel the
tension slowly drain away. I looked at my daughter. Her smile was relaxed too
and had that brightness of youth. - visible to me at seventy. A blessing of my
age.
In my comfort I had to ask again - what did I ever do to deserve such
blessings?
