Despite our fairly early night, I got up Monday feeling terrible. My vertigo had gotten really bad, too, so I spent a lot of time feeling like the world was spinning. We packed up our stuff, checked out of the Tropicana, and loaded up the car.

We then headed back over to Caesar’s Palace to do some shopping and have lunch at the Forum Shops before heading out of town. Matt got some new shoes at the Nike Store, since it’s an obligatory stop every time we’re there.

Then it was time to get on the road. Matt was driving and I was reclining most of the time, trying not to be dizzy. This was his first time driving the Baker/Barstow route through the desert, so he got to experience all of it.

There’s a monstrous solar array out in the desert. I didn’t get a very good picture of it, but it’s massive.

The drive into the Inland Empire (or IE, for those in the know) was uneventful. The thing we noticed most is that it’s HUGE. Everything is so far away from everything else. It’s incredible.

We found our way to San Bernardino, and exited at the road formerly known as Route 66. A few miles down, through a rundown residental area, we found the Wigwam Motel!

(It was actually dark when we arrived, so I took these photos the next day. How awesome is this place??)

Due to the time of year, there didn’t seem to be many other people staying in the wigwams. The front office told us we’d be upgraded to a deluxe model; I didn’t know what the difference was, but we appreciated it.)

The wigwams were small but clean and well-maintained. I like how the windows are at floor level, too. The bed was so tall I could barely climb into it.

We hauled our stuff in, and then headed off in search of dinner. Matt was starting to get hangry, and I still felt crappy so I didn’t really care about food. We’d picked out a place about 15 miles away (because NOTHING in the IE is close), and I gave directions as he drove. We got there to find it was totally packed, with a 45-minute wait. We decided to go elsewhere.

Also, it was really cold there at night! I was wearing a dress and freezing, so I hated even being outside.

Our second plan that night was to go to Hangar 24‘s brewery, so we decided to try that and see if maybe they had food there or something. They didn’t, but they did have a gigantic beer selection. We got all the samples.

By the time we were done we were really hungry, and I felt really crappy, so we decided to just find a grocery store, get some sandwich makings, and go back to the Wigwam. You’d think this would be an easy prospect, right? But no, you have to drive a million miles, and then you find a grocery store that’s like a castoff discount bulk grocery store that only has everything in mega-packs, and you have to drive to another store another million miles away. But finally you’re at Trader Joe’s, and things are looking up again. (I’m pretty sure this Trader Joe’s was still technically in San Bernardino, even though we were 20 miles from the hotel.)

Having obtained food, we went back to the Wigwam to eat, and I went to bed right away afterwards. We needed an early night for once.

We got up the next morning, checked out of the Wigwam, and got back on the road. It was time to head into the desert… after a filling breakfast, of course. We found the highly-recommended DJ’s Coffee Shop about 15 miles away (but still in San Bernardino, of course), and sat at the counter to eat. It’s a classic greasy-spoon-type place, but their food was great; I had an omelet full of green peppers that was spectacular.

I’ve seen most of coastal California, especially San Francisco and SoCal, but I’ve never really been into the desert (with the exception of the Vegas drive). I’ve always been kind of fascinated with it, so I was excited to see what it was about. We learned from a friend later on that Thanksgiving weekend is the official start of ‘desert season’ in California, where everyone heads over there to camp and ride 4-wheelers around. Kind of like summer cabin season here in Minnesota.

The drive to the Coachella Valley was really scenic:

We got off I-10 just past the Palm Springs exit, and headed east instead. We stopped at a gas station in Morongo Valley, where I bought three bottles of water, in addition to the full Camelbak I had in the car. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that it’s smart to have a ton of water with you in the desert.

Back on the road, we passed through Yucca Valley, a super-cute little town full of art and antique shops. From there we hopped off the main highway, and headed into Joshua Tree National Park.

We bought a park pass and got a map from the ranger station. While I was paying, Matt was busy reading the sign I missed on the building: it said, “Watch out for tarantulas on the road”. While I’m sure that was meant to protect tarantulas, he thought maybe we should run over any of them we found. Hopefully they’d travel in a giant train, so we could get a bunch of them at once.

Since we came in the north entrance, that meant we entered via the Mojave, or high desert side. The hills were very volcanic looking (some of them reminded me of Haleakala), but the geology also varied quite a bit. There were Joshua trees all over, too.

Some of the Joshua trees were dead. They make for good pictures, though.

I have a million pictures of the park, and none of them really do it justice. It’s gorgeous. Also, the sky. Totally perfect.

There were rock climbers all over the bigger outcroppings. These looked appealing:

This is my favorite Joshua tree:

A few miles in, there were cars pulled over because a coyote was wandering down the other side of the road. It would pass each car slowly and approach warily, which sucks because that means it had been fed by tourists before.

This was a popular climbing rock. You can see some of the lines right in the middle. I bet the scrub was chock-full of tarantulas, too.

Several miles in, there’s a turnoff for a spot called Keys View. It’s a few miles up a mountain at about 5,000 feet, with a short trail to an overlook. It’s worth the drive.

Off in the hazy distance, it’s the Coachella valley. I really didn’t know how much farming went on there; it’s a lot. This is looking west, directly over the San Andreas Fault, with the San Jacinto Mountains in the background.

Looking south, you can make out the Salton Sea, and Signal Mountain near Mexicali in the far distance.

We headed back to the park road, and passed through a section of giant rocks. (I think one of the turnoffs is actually called Giant Rocks.) This is Skull Rock:

I wish we had more time to stop at all the roadside attractions, but it was a long drive through the park. We did have to stop to see the cactus garden, though. By then we’d crossed into the low desert, the Colorado, and the landscape started to change quite a bit.

(Confession: I touched the cactus and lived.)

The cactus garden is surreal. There are a million of them, just waiting to kill you.

This is the inside of a cactus stem:

Bally liked the view. Bally likes everything, really.

We stopped at the visitor center on the south end of the park to pick up a souvenir and to fill my Camelbak, because yes, I’d consumed all three bottles of water plus that entire container. It’s the desert, man.

Rather than get back on I-10, we followed Google’s directions (which were suspect in California at best, even with GPS enabled) toward Mecca. This led us through Box Canyon, which was kind of amazing.

The road twists and winds through at least 10 miles of canyon like this, and there are areas on the side of the road where people have parked their campers and created little compounds. They all had ATVs, too.

We exited Box Canyon onto the road heading into Mecca, a small town at the north end of the Salton Sea. Looking for the road to the sea, we passed acres and acres of produce of all kinds. It was kind of amazing to see that much food production up close, and in full bloom during late November.

We finally found our way to the highway that circled the Salton Sea.

We headed east, toward the state park area. The sun was starting to set, so we had pretty spectacular views. I pulled off at one of the beaches so we could get photos, and upon leaving the car was instantly greeted with the main reason people had deserted the Salton Sea: the smell. It smelled like dead fish and chemicals, and not just a little bit. It was overpowering.

In case you weren’t aware of this bizarre wonder in the California desert, here’s the short version (or the long version, via Wikipedia): the Salton Sea was formed accidentally in the early 1900s while workers were trying to funnel water into the very fertile Coachella Valley. It flooded the low basin, and created a huge inland sea. It soon became a huge resort and vacation destination, because, well, look at it.

The problem, however, was that there’s no natural exchange of water in the Salton Sea; it’s not fed by streams, nor does it have any drainage. So all the industrial and farming runoff from the valley poured right into the sea, and it poisoned everything. Almost all the fish died, creating a hell of a stink, and people left in droves. In many cases, they just left the stuff in their houses, and fled.

So now you have places like Bombay Beach, a former resort town that’s mostly abandoned and falling apart.

We unfortunately got there very close to sunset, and couldn’t see as much of it as we wanted to. It’s strange and mostly-deserted, but there are still people hanging on there at the end of a giant stinky sea. It’s a really bizarre place.

And then it was dark, so we pointed our car in the direction of Palm Springs. It took about an hour to arrive at our hotel, the Movie Colony. I’d picked it because it was walking distance to Tonga Hut, the only real destination we had in mind there, because we knew virtually nothing about the town beyond its awesome 1960s architecture.

The hotel was an excellent choice. It was very small, centered around a courtyard with a firepit, outdoor bar (which currently had free happy hour cocktails), and swimming pool. The lady working there was super-friendly, and took us up to our room on the second level overlooking the courtyard.

Matt had done some research on dinner options on the way there, and we’d decided on a place a few blocks away called Workshop Kitchen. We changed clothes and walked down there, finding it in the back of an open mall area. It was small, modern, and thankfully had a couple seats for us at the bar, since the entire rest of the place was already booked. We had a great meal, one of those that reminds you how completely spoiled California is, foodwise. It’s so easy to be vegetarian there.

We’d made plans to get together with my very longtime friend Paul, who lives in Long Beach, while we were in Palm Springs. He was there for Thanksgiving, and it just so happens that he and his friends love tiki bars as much as we do. So our obvious next stop was Tonga Hut to meet them.

We walked several blocks down there, passing a ton of great-looking restaurants and super-cute shops, which were all closed for the night. I kind of regretted not having more time in Palm Springs, because I’m pretty sure we’d have loved it. I liked that everything was centrally-located, too.

We headed upstairs to Tonga Hut and didn’t see Paul there, so Matt and I grabbed seats at the bar. We were worried we’d missed them, since they had dinner reservations elsewhere. After a while, they all showed up: Paul, his husband Eddie, and two of their friends who loved tiki far more than we ever could… they regaled us with stories of all the places they’d been, and the huge tiki collection they had in their new house in Palm Springs. (Paul sent photos later – it’s truly amazing.)

We hung out with them for an hour or so, talking about travel and what it was like living in the area. Apparently it’s really common for everyone in the LA area to head out into the desert that time of year, like a pilgrimage. I’d do the same, really.

Then it was time for them to head to dinner, so we said goodbye and hung out a bit longer before deciding to walk back to the hotel. It was even colder than it had been in other places in the desert at night, but it wasn’t cold enough to deter us from hanging out in the hot tub for a while before bed.

Matt and I decided that our anniversary in September was a great excuse for an annual trip. We had initially planned on Las Vegas because his parents were going around that time, but for Celine-Dion-related reasons, they decided to postpone. (She ended her run of shows. I know.) We decided instead to attempt to get in another camping trip in the last fall, which is always kind of risky in Minnesota.

I’d been checking conditions at Itasca for several weeks before the trip, and not only was it supposed to be relatively cold, there was a campfire ban due to extremely high fire danger in the area. That was far less than ideal for camping, particularly with cold nights, but we decided we were going to go regardless, because the daytime would make it worth it. Just a few days before we were supposed to leave, they lifted the fire ban for the campground, and suddenly the forecast improved a ton. I couldn’t believe our luck!

We piled everything into/on top of the car, and headed out Thursday morning. We’d never taken the kayaks on a four-hour trip at highway speeds before, so it was a little nerve-wracking. The front tie-down went directly through my field of vision while I was driving, but it did its job and our kayaks stayed firmly attached.

We arrived at the park just after check-in, and found the campground very sparsely populated. We had a very nice, relatively private site in the non-electrical part of the campground (i.e. sans RVs), and were close to the bathrooms. Which were FANCY compared to anything else we’ve seen… they were not only sparkling clean, but there was hot water and hand driers, plus individual shower rooms. We unpacked the car, then drove back up to the ranger station to get firewood and ice. We took note of the sign about protecting your food from raccoons and bears, too, because we’d endured a raccoon attack on the previous trip. Plus when there’s a hanging hook at your site, you know they’re a raccoon problem.

We set up camp, got the fire started after way too much effort (when it’s so dry you’re banning fires, how do you end up with damp firewood?) and got to prepping dinner. Shortly after dark, we sat down to enjoy our campfire banh mi, which was delicious.

The first night was supposed to be the coldest, and that was no joke. I had on warm clothes and a blanket while sitting at the fire, but I was still pretty cold. By the time we were ready to head to the tent, it was in the mid-40s. We’d camped in that weather before thanks to the heaviest comforter in the known universe, but for some reason this time I could barely handle it. I kept dozing off and then waking up, because something like my hand sticking out and being cold was keeping me awake.

Sometime in the middle of the night, the raccoons invaded. We’d put the food bins in the car, but didn’t bother to think about the trash. I heard them tearing stuff up, and it sounded like maybe they were throwing our recycling all over the state. What a bunch of jerks.

I did not sleep well, and was convinced I wasn’t going to make it through the rest of the trip.

We got up the next morning and I didn’t feel as terrible as I expected. We fired up my sister’s camp stove (we’d brought it in case they decided to ban fires again while we were there), and made some biscuits.

Matt cooked sausage, fake sausage, and eggs, and we made some delicious breakfast sandwiches. When we were done, we loaded the kayaks back on my car and headed off to explore the park.

We drove down to the Douglas Lodge area to hike and check out the situation with the daily paddleboat tours. They were supposed to be running that late in the season, but we weren’t positive that would be the case. We parked at the lodge and walked down to the launch, and saw the boat there with staff people working on it. It didn’t leave for a couple of hours, so we went to hike Dr Roberts Trail.

The daytime weather was absolutely perfect for hiking, and the colors were amazing. We didn’t encounter a single other human being on the trail, either.

From our hike, we climbed back up to Douglas Lodge to go check out the inside. Right at the door, there was a sign saying the boat tour that day was cancelled due to an emergency, so we figured we’d go the next day instead. We wandered around the lodge, then went over to the building with the gift shop for the required souvenir purchases. We then hopped in the car and drove down a very narrow road to find the boat launch at Mary Lake. We unloaded the car, and put the kayaks in the water.

There were signs about the lake being a loon nesting ground, so we paddled around the entire perimeter watching the reeds for any sign of loons. We didn’t see any birds there; we saw no animals at all, actually, though we did see a few spots where they came down to the lake for water. On the far side we came across some hikers on the trail near the lake, and talked to them for a bit before heading back to the launch.

We took the boats back to the campsite, made lunch, then headed up to the north end of the park to see the Mississippi headwaters!

I was worried the start of the river would be dried up, but there was still a bit of water flowing. We crossed the rocks, came back across the log bridge, and took a trail leading back to the visitor center. The visitor center entrance was basically one gigantic swarm of ladybugs who seemed to particularly like the giant wooden pillars. They were flying everywhere, especially directly toward my hair. I was incredibly glad they weren’t all over the campground.

We stopped into the bigger shop there, and both picked out stickers to put on our kayaks. We figured that was a good way to track our water-based travels.

From the visitor center, we continued around the park on Wilderness Drive, a several-mile one-way road through the forest. It had been closed recently due to fire danger. We got out to take a couple of short hikes, including one where we learned all about responsible forestry, and another where we saw the former tallest white pine in Minnesota (it fell victim to a storm a few years ago). Then we stopped for the half-mile hike to the fire tower.

The trail there was probably the best of the fall colors, which was saying a lot.

We headed up the stairs, stopping to catch our breath along the way. The stairs were slippery open grates so that you could see all the way to the ground, and the whole thing swayed the further you climbed up it. We met a guy coming down, and he told us to just go slowly and hang on. About halfway up, Matt’s dislike of heights got the best of him, so he climbed back down while I continued upward.

Just below the top deck, I met a couple really drunk guys climbing back down with their beers. Up top, it was just me and a weird quiet girl who barely wanted to even say hi. I took a bunch of photos, then headed back down. The climb down was worse due to the slippery, narrow steps, but I could see Matt waiting at the bottom.

We headed back to the campsite as it was nearing sunset, and secured everything there from the inevitable raccoon visit. We then got in the car and headed off toward Zhateau Zorbaz, about 35 miles away outside Park Rapids. It’s a longstanding tradition when up north.

It was dark by the time we were on the road, and being very unaccustomed to driving in the middle of nowhere, I was pretty freaked out at the possibility of hitting a deer. We were on the highway for 10 miles, then on small roads winding around lakes and resorts for the rest. Luckily there was little traffic, so I could drive with the brights on the whole way, and Matt was on extra deer patrol. We saw several of them along the way, so my concern wasn’t misplaced.

Zorbaz wasn’t too crowded, but there were still several locals there holding up the bar. We got a table and ordered pizza and beers. We’d been to their other location a few times, but went because it was entertaining, not because of the food. I hadn’t even realized that their pizza is actually really good!

We finished our meal and went up to sit at the bar and watch baseball while we had another beer. Round about 10pm, it was time to head back to the site, since the park entrance closed at 11.

We got there a couple minutes before 11, though we could see no indication of actual gates to be closed. There were still a few fires going at the campground, but for the most part it was quiet. Also, the sites had filled up like crazy by then, since it was the weekend. I was glad we still had a fairly private site, but the bathroom was full of teenage girls getting ready for the night. (My getting ready for the night? Go pee in the woods before bed. I’m not too fancy while camping.)

We sat around the fire for a while, then headed to the tent. This time I was perfectly comfortable, even though it was only a tiny bit warmer than the previous night. I slept very well, even though I woke up sometime around 2am to hear the raccoon raid again. There was nothing to eat, but still they had to come by and investigate.)

The next morning, we cooked up Hell’s Kitchen’s wild rice porridge for breakfast. YUM.

We then hopped in the car and headed toward Bemidji, about 40 miles to the northwest. We needed to pay Paul and Babe a visit, since it had been a while. On the way, we learned from the radio that it was homecoming in Bemidji, and that they had citywide events going on all day.

When we got there, they were having some outdoor sports event where people were playing miniature tennis on the plaza around Paul and Babe. It was really busy, but we managed to get pictures in and stop into the visitor’s center (which houses a substantial collection of “Paul Bunyan’s _________” donated from all over the place).

We went across the street to the nearest gift shop, and ended up talking to the lady at the counter for a long time. We then drove down to the south end of the lake to see the arena where the Bemidji Beavers hockey team plays, since I feel the obligation to visit all WCHA hockey venues whenever possible. (I’ve seen the arenas in Anchorage, Denver, Colorado Springs, Grand Forks, Duluth, Madison, Mankato, and Omaha!) After that, it was time to go find some lunch at the locally-famous Dave’s Pizza.

It took us a long time to find directions on our phones, and then a long time to actually find the place. (We did circle around a neighborhood near campus and saw a bunch of students drinking out in their yards, plus some classy college ladies wearing “Sloppy Beaver” tshirts.) When we got there, it was closed. SIGH. We headed back toward downtown to drive around and find a place, which was more challenging than you might think. We finally settled on the Blue Ox, a huge restaurant/bar with a giant tent set up outside for the band playing later that night, post-homecoming.

We got seats at the bar near the TV showing the Gophers football game (which was terrible, but it was the Gophers). There were a bunch of really drunk homecoming celebrators there, but the place was mostly empty besides that. We ordered Leech Lake beers, which were excellent, and some lunch. We got talking to the bartender, who told us about how he was working until after 2am, and how the place would be insane that night. We were glad to just be in town for lunch, before the disaster struck.

On the way out, we asked him where we could buy more of the Leech Lake beers in town, and he directed us to a liquor store. We stopped there for some bombers, then got on the road back to the park.

Our next stop was the public boat launch on Lake Itasca, where the rental building was. It was gorgeous outside, a very unlikely 80-degree day so late in the season, and the place was nuts. Most people seemed to be renting bikes, kayaks, and canoes. We, however, were in search of a pontoon. Because, seriously: pontoon.

They took us down to the dock, gave Matt a primer on how to pilot it out of the very small marina, and sent us on our way with a cooler full of Leech Lake beers, a stereo, and some snacks.

Our boat ride was glorious. We went down to the west arm of the lake, the one we were unlikely to be able to paddle on, and then back up to see the headwaters from the other side. I spent most of the ride with my feet up either on the couch or the front rails of the boat, drinking beer. There was hardly anyone else out on the lake, despite the crowding at the rental building. We’d never had a powered boat to ourselves before, and we loved it.

I drove for a little while around the top of the east arm, and then our couple of hours were up and we needed to get back before they closed. Matt very bravely sailed us back into the marina (which scared me a lot, but he did well), and we went to check out. We headed back to the campsite to hang out and play games before dinner.

We stayed at the picnic table too long and had to make dinner in the dark, but it worked out well. We had meat and non-meat satay with peanut sauce, and skewers of mushrooms, onions, and asparagus. It was delicious. (Since it was just the two of us on this trip, we went out of the way to plan meals and make slightly fancier food than usual. We ate REALLY well.)

We spent the rest of the night around the campfire drinking manhattans, aware that everyone else had already gone to bed. (That never bodes well for getting any sleep in the morning.) At one point Matt heard a noise nearby, and turned on his headlamp to see a little skunk walking through the woods next to our site. We couldn’t believe how cute he was, though it made me nervous that maybe some raccoons were lurking nearby.

We went to bed (very comfortably again… I have no idea why my first night there was so terrible!), and slept well til the nightly raccoon visit. This time they pulled our camping organizer off the table onto the ground, and after I heard the crash I was convinced they were tearing the fabric up. Then they walked right past our tent making squeaking noises at each other, to the point where I could see their shadows. Blech.

Someone had a dog that barked on an off for a few hours, and then almost constantly for the rest of the night. I have no idea how the dog wasn’t driving them crazy, or embarrassing them to the point where they took it into the RV (I assume it was an RV, since it always is), but the damn thing wouldn’t shut up. At one point someone yelled, “can’t you hear your own dog?” That sucked a lot, and did not help with sleeping. Also, everyone started getting up at sunrise, since they and their kids had apparently all gone to bed at 8pm.

We got up and made breakfast, and started readying our camp for teardown. Then we loaded up the kayaks and took them to the boat launch at the south end of Itasca, next to the paddleboat we never had time to ride (not that I’m sad about it… the pontoon was way more awesome). We put in and didn’t see a single other person on the lake until we got to our turnaround point, so it was fantastic. We paddled slowly around the edge of the lake, scaring up coots and finding tiny waterfalls.

We took the kayaks out just as the paddleboat was starting to load people up, and it was then time to head back to the campsite and pack up. Everything was pretty well-organized already, so it didn’t take us long to get everything loaded up and get on the road. As we drove out of the park, we noticed that the trees were starting to turn brown and lose their leaves. I’m not sure how we managed to end up there at the absolute perfect time, but I’m thrilled we did!

We got up and enjoyed the best shower yet in our cute little room at the Hotel Lirico, then went to breakfast in the lobby. European breakfast will always be my favorite: bread, cheese, fruit and coffee.

We calculated that we should have exactly enough time to go see the Spanish Steps before having to head to the train station, so we set off that direction, checking the map regularly since we didn’t have time to get lost. It was already incredibly hot and humid in Rome and we were rushing.

A sign led us to an underpass at one of the major intersections, and the underpass ended up being a book store. That was very, very strange.

We only got a little diverted once, but managed to find our way to the steps. The area was packed with tourists. The plaza was super-cute, and I’ve loved to have shopped there.

Of course we’d arrived at the bottom of the steps, and the easiest way back to the hotel was to go up them. Plus it seemed important to climb them. We had to stop halfway up to rest, but we made it in the heat. The top was full of buskers, guys in gladiator outfits, and people painting landscapes and selling their work.

We rushed back to the hotel, a journey that seemed to be mostly uphill, even though we’d just climbed up to what we thought was the top. We checked out of the hotel, and the porter carried my bag down the stairs for me, thank god. We rolled our way over to Termini and bought tickets for the Leonardo Express from a machine. The train seemed to only have first class tickets, but they were fairly cheap.

The train pulled in a little late, and everyone hopped on. It was less of a crush of humanity than it had been at Civitavecchia, though, and the train was much nicer. Matt put our bags on the rack, and we got seats in a little elevated couch section in the middle where we had a good view of the Roman countryside.

One thing that surprised us about Rome is how quickly you leave the city. On the train, you pass Vatican City, a couple suburbs, and then it’s basically nothing but farmland between there and the airport.

We got to the airport half an hour later, and took the long walk to the terminal through the station. We found the EasyJet check-in: it was the one with piles of litter laying all over the place. (I assume that’s one of the reasons it’s so cheap.) The lines weren’t long, but there were only two desk agents helping people out. There was a proletariat line that we were in, and a line for their frequent fliers. That line got priority, which was fair.

Once we got to the front of the line, we stood there waiting for the agent to gesture to us, just like he’d been doing for everyone else. The French couple behind us got REALLY angry that we weren’t going, explaining that this was the queue and we should just go down there. They were definite asshats, those Frenchies. We went to the counter when the guy called us.

We checked in, went through security, and a French lady jumped to the front of the line at the scanner. We didn’t have a great opinion of them by that point, and were wondering how our trip to Paris would go.

Our gate was fairly empty, so we went to do some shopping in the terminal. I overheard something in French about our flight number and a new gate, so we checked the board and that was correct. By that point the EasyJet queue was pretty long, so we were a little worried about getting crappy seats. But a bunch more people showed up behind us, so we figured we were safe. We stood there for 20 minutes or so, and then they started scanning boarding passes. We went into the jetway area, and found the whole ramp full of the people we’d just been in line behind. We were used to the queuing, but it was about 20 degrees hotter in the ramp area.

We stood there for way too long, and then the line started moving again. We made it to the entrance of the actual jetway, and Matt and I were able to edge inside far enough to feel the air conditioning. We stood there for another 10 minutes or so, then slowly the line started moving toward the airplane door. (I still think it’s worth it for the price of EasyJet tickets, but holy crap. Prepare to stand in line for a hour.)

We managed to get a row to ourselves, which was awesome. We bought cans of London Pride from the flight attendant, and had a meal of the Italian version of Go Ahead (which I’d bought at Roma Termini) and my Pocket Espresso. (Note: don’t open a Pocket Espresso on a pressurized airplane. It will just go on your pants.) We had a good flight, and our British captain Gary got us to Paris-Orly ahead of schedule, at 4:20. We saw the Eiffel Tower from the plane, too!

We stopped at a little shop in the Sud terminal to get some food and drinks from a vending machine, then started following the arrows to the rental cars. They ended up being at the Oest terminal, but the walk wasn’t bad. We found Citer/National after some searching, and checked in at the desk. There was some mixup with the car we requested (automatic, with a trunk since we’d be keeping luggage in there for a while), so they ended up giving us a much nicer car: a Citroen C5. It was hella fancy, and we decided to name it President Mitterand.

I’ve never driven a car with GPS before, and I’m generally annoyed by it, but it made our getting around infinitely easier. We figured out how to program our destination after some futzing with it, and headed out on the highways of Paris. We only encountered a few traffic jams along the way, and then we were out in the countryside.

We could read most of the road signs, so that was good. (We didn’t know what ‘rappel’ meant, but thought it was pretty funny.) We learned that France is really, really proud of its rural areas: they put signs up showing you what kind of farmland you’re passing, or what industries exist in a town. We passed the Asterix theme park, too, which looked a little bit run-down.

We entered a toll road and paid with a credit card, with no idea what the toll was. As we saw the Belgium border coming up on the GPS, we wondered if there would be any remnant of the plaza that used to be there pre-EU, but there was no sign of it. Just a ‘welcome to Belgium’ sign in French and Dutch. We took the first roadside exit at Texaco to use the bathroom and get snacks. Matt got an individually-wrapped Belgian waffle, since obviously that’s what you’re supposed to do there.

We were shocked when we got out of the car: it was COLD there. Like, way colder than we had expected. I was in capris and flipflops, and I was freezing. After we left the building, I dug my hoodie and sneakers out of my suitcase in back.

We got back on the road and soon crossed from the French side of Belgium (Wallonia), to Flanders, the Dutch side. The President told us how to get to the hotel, and that all went well til we got to the center of Brussels around 9pm and encountered Pride. Like, the actual parade was going on right at that moment. We diverted and had to circle a few blocks, but we managed to find the hotel. There were cars parked three deep in the entrance, but the valet told us to leave the car there and helped us unload the luggage.

The Hotel Metropole was probably the fanciest building we’ve ever stayed in. The lobby was full of Japanese tourists taking photos, and the entryway was full of notes from celebrities who had stayed there. We had a gigantic room, and the rack rate was 450 euros (we paid $140). The bathroom had a huge tub and a towel warmer. There was a trouser press on the wall, which Matt tried out later.The TV greeted us by name in English, and there were 2 free Stellas and bottles of pop in the fridge. We looked out onto Boulevard Anspach, which was in a certain degree of disarray due to Pride.

We unpacked a little bit while enjoying our beers, then decided to go try Delirium Cafe so we could enjoy several of Belgium’s ten billion excellent beers. We set out and walked a few blocks as things got quieter and quieter, so we suspected maybe we weren’t going the right way. We also noticed that every other business there was a temp agency. We looked at the map and turned around, heading back down another street. We passed a battery store, and noted it for later: I’d realized only a few days into the cruise that the one thing I’d forgotten was my camera battery charger, and I was heartbroken over the idea that I might not be able to take photos. I was glad that we at least both had nice cellphone cameras, but it’s not the same.

We passed our hotel and went the other direction. The street became crazier and crazier, so we figured we were going the right way. The area around Grand-Place was nearing a disaster, with drunk people stumbling everywhere and empty cans and cups all over the place. (It was around 10:30 at that point.) We hurried through the narrow cobblestone streets in the area, knowing Delirium Cafe had to be nearby. But we couldn’t find it, after circling and passing places we’d already passed before. We finally saw a sign for it pointing down a street, saying the entrance was in the alley. We followed the arrow and there was nothing there, so we kept circling. Finally we ended up going the other direction on the street with the sign, and found the alley… and it was absolutely packed with Pride partiers.

I was exhausted and had zero interest in trying to get in there. We decided to go find somewhere else to eat, and come back to one of the bars in the area for beer. Everything in the area seemed to be closing down except for the bars, so we finally decided on the Sultans of Kebap right outside Grand-Place. It was going to be packed with drunk people later, but at that point it wasn’t too bad. Matt ordered the doner kebab, and I got falafel. That food was so good, it will haunt me forever. They had the best bread in the universe.

Refreshed, we headed back into Grand-Place and settled on a place called Drug Opera, for one reason alone: it was quiet. We got seats right at the bar and ordered beers. Finally I was really happy to be in Brussels. AND they had free wi-fi!

We had another round, and the place started to close down around 1am. They only charged us for one beer, and we were fine with that. We decided to stop by the liquor store across the street from our hotel, and ended up grabbing a couple of beers, a can of J&B and cola (Matt had seen them smashed in the street, and was intrigued), and Kriek Max. Holy crap, I fell in love so hard with Kriek Max. It’s delicious.

Back in the hotel, we watched a German-dubbed version of British Silent Library, and a Tosh-like YouTube show called Rude Tube. European TV is so entertaining.

We had Friday off work, so we headed north around noon, stopping at an awesome little restaurant in Pine City called Nicoll’s Cafe. We got to Jay Cooke State Park around 3pm, and the rangers there let us check in early.

It was pretty cold and extremely windy, but our campsite was sheltered enough that the wind wasn’t really a problem. We set up the tent, unpacked, and then headed back to the visitor center to do some hiking.

Jay Cooke is gorgeous. I want to spend a lot more time there.

We brought firewood back to the campsite and set about getting the fire going. It was really difficult in the wind and with wood that seemed to have been recently damp, but after four attempts, it happened. I think we managed to make the hottest campfire on earth.

Bally’s first camping trip!

It was really awesome camping by ourselves; we’ve only ever gone with big groups. I was worried I’d forget something (since we assume that amongst our friends, we’ll always have four of everything), but we were very prepared. We made tacos over the fire, then played cards and dominoes while drinking manhattans. We’re the classiest campers ever!

Between the hot fire and our pile of blankets, it wasn’t cold at all that night. I think that’s the most comfortable I’ve ever been while sleeping in a tent!

Saturday morning, we packed up and drove the hour or so to Eveleth to see the world’s largest hockey stick and the US Hockey Hall of Fame. It was absolutely worth the drive.

Items that belonged to Herb Brooks

After we were done with the museum and USA-USSR bubble hockey, we headed back toward Duluth, stopping for an amazingly good lunch at the Duluth Grill. We then checked in at the Sheraton and set to wanderin’ around town. We wanted to find somewhere showing the Twins game, so we finally ended up at a dive called RJ Quinlan’s. There were a bunch of old guys drunk at the bar, and a lot of people who clearly had interesting stories to tell. Right before we left, I was eavesdropping on a conversation at the next table while Matt was in the bathroom. One of the old guys was telling the others about the day his mother died. I started crying my head off right there.

Thank god for sunglasses.

We crossed the street to the Dubh Linn and ended up sitting at the bar drinking Scotch and talking to the bartenders. They had a huge Scotch collection, for easily half the price of Minneapolis, so of course we had to take advantage. We left to walk up towards Fitgers to meet Jumi and Josh for dinner, and found them parked across the street from the bar. Clearly, we have awesome timing, at least when it comes to getting a ride.

We had a cocktail at Red Star (Duluth’s most famous ultralounge!), then went over to dinner in the brewhouse. God, Fitgers is awesome. After that, Matt and I headed over to the Fon du Luth Casino, where he wanted to play blackjack. I didn’t feel like playing (I didn’t think I was in a good-decision-making position at that point), so I wandered around, signed up for the players club, blew my free $5 in the slot machines, and then went to see how he was doing. He wasn’t thrilled with the table he was sitting at, so he asked me to go check on one across the way. Instead of just checking, I sat down to play, and he joined me shortly thereafter. Within an hour or so, I was up $45, and he was up close to $400. AWESOME. We went to celebrate at Blackwater before returning to the hotel.

Sunday morning, we had brunch at Takk for Maten and then did touristy things in Duluth. With Bally, of course.

We had a beer at Green Mill so we could watch some of the Twins game, then went back to the hotel to change for the wedding. The ceremony was held in the rose garden at Leif Erickson park, which was perfect for it.

The ceremony was quick, though it was very effective at making everyone cry. We all then piled into cars and headed to the Greysolon Ballroom, conveniently located across the street from the hotel.

The reception was fantastic. Everybody had a great time, there was dancing and ridiculousness, Bally ended up in a chandelier, the cake had ninjas on it, and Jumi got caught trying to stealborrow someone’s scooter.

Dan (the groom!) and Bally, the first basketball to be invited to a wedding

We stayed til the end, which was good since the last song was “Don’t Stop Believin'”. We said goodbye to Dan and Kate and headed to Pizza Luce. It seems to be one of the few places that serves food after 11pm, and for that we were very grateful.

Monday morning, we ran into Jumi and Josh again in Canal Park, so we shopped with them at the Northern Waters Smokehaus, then had brunch at Hellburgers. Matt and I did a little shopping before heading back to Minneapolis. Right on time, too, because it had suddenly become winter in Duluth!

Dan and Kate were smart… they headed right to Jamaica. SIGH.

Matt and I headed eastward Friday after work. We got in around 10pm, checked into the hotel, and headed to Bryant’s for some classic cocktails. Though we got there around the same time as our previous visit (close to 11pm), it was mobbed. There was a single round table open in the back, situated alarmingly-close to some crabby-looking ladies have a fancy night on the town. We didn’t care, though… the cocktails more than made up for it. That place is fantastic.

We stopped at George Webb by our hotel afterwards, and proved that you can indeed get food there, in a reasonable time period, with good service. Also, nobody steals your money. WIN.

Saturday, we toured the three places I lived in Milwaukee from the ages of 0-2 years old (it’s part of my 101 things list), then had lunch at Cubanitos. My brunch involved black bean soup and a manchego and spinach empanada, which I’m still fantastizing about.

While we were there, we found a little magazine with a feature on Nick (formerly of Town Talk) and Ira (formerly of the Violet Hour) of Bittercube, and their new bar in Milwaukee, called Distil. We tried to stop there, as it was next door, but the valet told us it wasn’t open for another couple of weeks. Reason to return? I think so.

After dining, we wandered around to see the sights (even though I was born in Milwaukee and spent a lot of time at my grandparents’ there, I haven’t seen that much of it), including the Milwaukee Art Museum. That place is gorgeous. We then drove up the north shore, and climbed up in a lighthouse that just happened to be open as we were driving past.

We even took Bally to see the basketball arena at Marquette University!

We had beers at a brewpub packed full of people from various booze cruises on the river, then hung out at the Swingin’ Door Pub. It’s a bar I was unaware of til last week, when my dad told us he held the record for drinking atop a stack of barstools there. 14 of them, to be exact. I’m pretty sure the place hasn’t changed since he was last there in 1970 or so.

We had dinner at the Hi Hat, where we ended up hanging out with the bartender, who bought us shots. We then headed over to a place in the Ambassador Hotel called Envoy, and finally to the Rave to see the Mighty Mighty Bosstones. Holy crap, what an awesome show. We managed to get right up front, too. (Also, that building is AMAZING. I’m envious, Milwaukee.)

On the way home Sunday morning, we swung through Madison and stopped for lunch at the Great Dane in Madison. I love that place a lot, despite it being in Bucky’s homeland. Then I made Matt drive the rest of the way while I tried to stay awake in the passenger seat.

Wisconsin has a way of wearing you out.

Very early Saturday morning, we got up and headed over to the College of the Holy Cross. If you know anything about Gopher hockey history, you’ll understand why this was special torture. I dropped Matt off for his presentation, and headed for the freeway. I had two new states to visit!

I exited just north of the Connecticut border and headed over to state route 169. I wished I had my car instead of the rental, because I’d have had the best time ever on that empty, winding road.

It looked much like I expected of New England: very picturesque and oldtimey. And of course there were a million prep schools.

I made it down to the southern end of Connecticut in surprisingly little time. Having always lived in states that take several hours to traverse, that was an absolute novelty. I headed east to Mystic, and arrived at Mystic Seaport just as it was opening.

I toured a whaling ship first, then wandered around to see the shipyards.

These ladies were working on building miniatures for the town replica. They were extremely amused that I wanted to take their picture, instead of the model’s.

I don’t usually have much interest in attractions that involve docents and historical recreations, but I enjoyed Mystic Seaport quite a bit. I’d love for Matt to go back there with me. I stopped at the store to pick up the requisite souvenirs, then took a spin through the cute little town. I had to cross the Highway 1 bridge, too; I’ve spend plenty of time on that road along other parts of the coast.

From Mystic, I drove back up to the interstate and headed into Rhode Island. State #47!! I only have three left to go: Maine, Vermont, and New Hampshire. It was torture to know they were so close, too.

I got to Providence with a specific restaurant in mind. After driving around the very confusing downtown for a while and realizing I’d never find it on my own, I pulled over and got out my phone. I’d recently purchased a Motorola Cliq, and was absolutely thrilled with the travel-related features. I switched on GPS, and it led me right to the restaurant. But of course it wasn’t open til 5pm.

I did more touring of the town, but didn’t find anyplace particularly interesting. I decided to head back towards Worcester, since it was after 1pm and Matt was supposed to be done in a couple of hours.

I really loved driving in New England. Everything is so close! And it was Saturday, so there was no traffic! I stopped to see a couple little towns (including Woonsocket, just because I thought it was a funny name), then found my way back to downtown Worcester. I drove around and took a few more pictures, then stopped for gas and a delicious Dunkin’ Donuts grilled cheese. Seriously, fast food should not be that good. It’s usually not.

I had to use GPS again to find Holy Cross (it’s on top of a huge hill, but for some reason that didn’t make it any easier), but made it just before Matt and his coworker emerged from their conference. Here’s a view of Worcester from the college:

We headed back to Boston, this time with Matt driving. We made it there very quickly, dropped his coworker off at the airport, and went to our hotel to check in around 4pm. Conveniently, the least expensive hotel happened to be right on the airport property, and was also the Embassy Suites. SCORE. Our room was fantastic.

There were complicated logistics involved in the whole process, the order of which we kept forgetting: park at the hotel, check in, return the car (the rental place was almost next door), take the rental shuttle to the airport, take the airport shuttle to the T, and take the T into Boston. We were happy to learn that the Embassy Suites shuttle was able to pick us up and drop us off at the T stop, too; we didn’t have to ride the airport shuttle to a terminal.

We were in Boston by 5pm, which was much earlier than I was expecting. We got off the train and went to transfer, but the one that arrived heading to TD Garden was so packed we decided to try walking. It didn’t look far on the map, but you never really know til you’ve done it.

It turned out that it was very close. Everything in Boston seemed to be within easy walking distance. We passed Faneuil Hall on the way:

We passed a bunch of overcrowded, douchey-seeming bars (including Hurricane O’Reilly’s, which we kept referring to as Pedro O’Horny’s) and went around the corner to what turned out to be the very best bar in the neighborhood: The Penalty Box. The few reviews I’d seen mentioned the possibility of stabbing and being afraid of the bikers; it was nothing like that at all. It was just an old dive full of guys who had been going there for 40 years. They weren’t exactly welcoming, but they weren’t hostile either. We loved it.

Around gametime, we herded into the Garden (which is also a giant T stop… confusing) and pushed our way into the packed shop. Matt got a Blake Wheeler (former Gopher, who is also responsible for the greatest goal I’ve ever seen in person) tshirt, and we headed upstairs. We got surprisingly good pizza and beer, then found our seats and got ready for the game.

The Bruins were playing the Buffalo Sabres, which almost meant we got to see former Gopher Thomas Vanek as well. It was so exciting. The Bruins won handily, and Wheeler got an assist.

Oh, and there were Star Wars characters at intermission. Stormtroopers guarded the exit while Darth Vader and Chewbacca rode the zambonis. I have no idea.

After the game, Matt and I headed off in the direction of one of the best bars in Boston, according to Drinkboston.com. We used this as our guide for the whole trip, and it did not lead us astray.

Our first stop was Marliave, hidden in an alley near (what was at that moment) a burning 7-11. The place was maybe 1/3 full at 10:30pm, in keeping with all good bars. The cocktail menu was fantastic, and it was hard to choose. Luckily, we had plenty of time to look; the bartender took his time getting to us. When I asked for a glass of water, he told me he’d try to get one when he had water glasses. They were currently out.

Um, ok.

I got about halfway through my cocktail before I became fully miserable over my lack of water. I hadn’t had anything to drink since the beer at the hockey game, and we’d walked quite a bit. I was ready to leave, when they finally rounded one up. But I was so unimpressed with that bartender that we vowed to head out anyway unless we got lucky enough to be served by the other lady there, who was awesome. We wanted to try more of the menu, but not from that guy.

We got lucky, so we stayed for another round. (I appreciated the water refills, too.) While we sat there, a table ordered three long islands. The crabby bartender tried to explain that they would be very different since they didn’t have sour mix (totally understandable at an upscale cocktail bar that makes everything in-house), but they wanted them anyway. We watched as two of the long islands were returned and dumped out shortly thereafter. Haha!

We also discovered that High Life was the PBR of Boston. Every guy with a moustache and scarf there was drinking one. Strange.

Our next stop was the Last Hurrah, inside the Omni Parker House. We immediately fell in love and wanted to stay all night. They had an oldschool bar, with couches and armchairs scattered around the room. We grabbed a couch and examined their very classic menu. Sadly, our plan to stay all night was foiled by our awesome server’s announcement that at shortly past midnight, it was last call. At least we got one round in (a martini and manhattan), and a bowl of warm nuts.

Do you have any idea how much two tipsy people can be excited over a bowl of warm nuts? You might not want to know.

We decided to head next door to a bar called the Beantown Pub, just because the bouncer assured us they were still serving food. We found out shortly after grabbing a table that the kitchen had just closed. Not terribly put off by that announcement, though, we moved up to spots at the bar instead. Any good drinker knows that you should always sit at the bar if possible.

I ended up in a conversation with a guy next to us, who appeared to have been rooted to that bar stool. Grady told us his life story. The details are a little fuzzy, but they involved him living in Maine and going to school in Boston, which meant he stayed in a hotel during the week and then drove home over the weekends. He was pretty entertaining, and we were only slightly weirded out at his continued insistence that we come back to his room to drink with him. I’m pretty sure it was just the fact that drinking there was free, and nothing more creepy, but we of course did not go with him. We settled on shots instead.

Then there was the girl we named ‘Nachos’ because she kept asking us to order her nachos, not understanding the part about the kitchen being closed. And then there the sailors who wandered in and instantly had girls hanging all over them. The Beantown Pub was pretty damn entertaining.

Round about closing time, we all teetered outside and hailed cabs. The stupid T stops running at 1am. Oh, and some girl called us hicks because we got the cab instead of her. That rules.

Since my grandma passed away a couple years ago, there’s been some question as to what’s going to happen to my grandparents’ house in Menominee, Michigan. My parents go up there regularly (my great-aunt still lives nearby), and so does my uncle and his family. It mostly sits empty, though, and nobody particularly wants to live so far away. We all want the house kept in the family, but it’s a huge commitment.

Knowing a decision about that will probably made at some point, I really wanted Matt to go to Menominee. He never got to meet my grandma, so it was a big deal to me. I also wanted to see the town we visited at least twice a year for as long as I can remember, since the chances we’ll go there again are pretty slim.

We drove up Friday afternoon, with my mom and sister following an hour and a half behind us. We got up to Michigan in a little over 5 hours, and had some time to kill before they showed up with the house key. We decided to go hang out at Jozwiak’s and wait. It’s a well-known hamburger place that we used to visit as little kids (in the UP and Wisconsin, it’s totally normal for kids to hang out in bars).

Within an hour or so, we’d made friends the bartender, Addy, and made plans to meet her after her shift ended at 11pm. (This is one of the things that’s awesome about most other places that aren’t Minnesota: strangers aren’t abjectly terrified of meeting new people.) We went to the house to find my mom and sister there with my cousin Nicole and her boyfriend John. We said hi, brought our bag inside, and were presented with our sleeping arrangements: a twin-sized bed and a cot. We pushed them together, but the cot was a couple inches shorter than the bed. Argh.

We went back out and met Addy across the river in Marinette, Wisconsin, at a bar called Cappy’s. The bar was made of what seemed to be lumber scraps, and there were cages by the stage. Drinks were about $2.50 at most, and the DJ ruled. We loved it. Far later than we’d planned, we arrived back at the house in Michigan. I climbed into the twin bed with Matt and managed to maintain our very cozy situation for at least half the night.

Saturday, we got up and began the grand tour of the other Twin Cities. We stopped with my mom and Stephanie to say hi to my Aunt Pat in Marinette, then Matt and I went down to the Peshtigo Fire Museum. I’d been there years ago, and needed to revisit it, if only to verify that the before/during/after mural is as morbid as I remember. It is.

We toured the museum, and I found it to be a lot more interesting than I’d previously thought. They actually only have a few cases of stuff that was charred and recovered after the fire, and a ton of other period items. The story of the fire is horrifying: it occurred the exact same night as the Chicago fire, only it killed many, many more people. The entire town was destroyed. This terrified us a lot:

After the museum, we toured the cemetery and saw the mass grave. (There were 350 unidentified victims from the fire.) The good news about Peshtigo, though, is it’s doing well. At least til highway 29 is finished and skirts it completely.

We headed back up to Marinette to visit the Pine Tree Mall, where I’ve spent at least 2 hours of my life, since it takes about 10 minutes to see it all. It’s even worse than it used to be; most of the tiny stores have closed, because they raised the rent after Wal-Mart moved in. (Worst possible business to move into small towns? Quite possibly.)

We did some shopping at Younkers and the sporting goods store, when went over to Shopko. Man, I love Shopko.

We decided to get pasties for lunch, as well as to bring home with us. We went to Dobber’s, which my mom swears is ‘the best ever! Way better than Colonel K’s!’ and ordered two hot pasties, and a dozen frozen ones. They were out of vegetable pasties, though (we did get 6 frozen ones, thankfully), so we made a trip over to Colonel K’s anyway. Which was awesome, because the strange guy behind the counter ruled.

We stopped back at the house briefly to shove our giant bag of pasties in the freezer, finish eating, and then we headed back out to explore downtown Menominee. We made a stop at the yarn shop, which is awesome but surprisingly expensive for a small town, then wandered down Front Street.

The Waterfront Festival was in full swing, with a bad cover band playing at the bandshell, and food and beer tents set up in the park. Since we’d be down there in the evening, we skipped the festival and walked across downtown, out onto the breakwater. It was insanely humid, so there was a heavy fog hanging over Green Bay.

Having pretty much seen all of what Menominee/Marinette had to offer (at least, what they’d offered me as a child), we decided to find a place we could sit outside, have a drink, and hang out til it was time to meet the rest of the group for dinner in Marinette. I racked my brain trying to think of a place that had a patio or sidewalk seating there. We definitely hadn’t seen anything, and the one place that looked promising wasn’t open til 5. We drove out to Schloegels, and were told they didn’t have a liquor license. Finally, we accepted that the area must hate drinking in the outdoors, and crossed the bridge to Marinette. We picked a bar called Cusack’s that looked entertaining, and holy crap, it was.

There was both a Catholic school reunion and a softball team hangout in full swing. Older ladies were singing and dancing with a tambourine. A girl at the bar who looked like the trashy version of Scarlett Johansson wanted to know everything there was to know about my tattoos. The smoke was so thick, I got cancer twice. The bartender bought us our last round, just because.

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned in the last few minutes how much small-town Wisconsin rules.

Round about dinnertime, we headed down to the Rail House to meet the family. Nicole and John were already there drinking at the bar, and my mom, aunt, and Stephanie rolled in shortly after we arrived. We ordered dinner, and Matt and I split the beer sampler, which arrived on a train car.

After dinner, the old people (which included my sister) headed back to the house to wait for fireworks, while we went bar-hopping with my 21-year-old cousin and her boyfriend. We hit up the Aloha Lounge, which had a bartender of absolutely indeterminate gender, and then Corky’s, which seemed fluorescent-lit. The bartender there told us about her band, and demanded that we return after the fireworks. We said we would, knowing that plans would take us elsewhere.

The entire population of the two cities were downtown for fireworks. We found a spot, and got to Front Street just as the fireworks were starting. From our spot, we could actually see where they were firing them from the breakwater, which was awesome.

Once the fireworks ended, old people and families headed home, while the younger people headed to one of two bars on the main street. We of course picked Pirate’s Cove, an old favorite. It’s the first place I became aware of the existence of those molded plastic drop-in shotglasses, after all.

We hung out with Nicole and John, watching the place get fuller and fuller, to the point that we couldn’t move. They decided to head home for an early trip in the morning, and Matt and I went next door to see what the other bar looked like. On the way out, we kept hearing the name “Chelsea”. There was an ambulance parked outside, a crowd of people on the ground in front of the bar, and the paramedics where wheeling out a stretcher. A girl passing us announced on the phone, “Chelsea drank herself into a coma!”

Oh, Chelsea.

The Irish bar was alright, though rockin’ the upscale vibe didn’t seem to fly well in Menominee. We had a drink and headed out, stopping to hang out atop a propane tank along the way. It was the right thing to do.

On Sunday, we headed westward around 10am, making sure to stop at Seguins and Nueske’s for the required cheese, beer, and meat needs. I cried a bit leaving town… my grandparents and the fact that I may not get back there again, you know? We got home mid-afternoon, and I spent most of the rest of the day in repose on the couch. As always, Wisconsin-time requires plenty of recovery.

(Many more photos, including a tour of my grandparents’ house, are here on Flickr.)

We left town around noon and tore out of town. We arrived in Chicago around dinnertime, checked into our hotel near the airport, and then headed into town. We hadn’t counted on the ridiculously insane traffic, so we were near starvation when we finally arrived.

We’d planned on Kuma’s Corner, but there was a line out the door, so we chose Abbey Pub instead. Matt need to try their curry fries, anyway.

After eating and watching some baseball there, we headed over to give Kuma’s Corner a try. We were way too excited that they had Buffalo Trace (that’s bourbon, for those not in the know) on tap. The place was still insanely crowded, and at least 150 degrees inside, but it was still awesome. We managed to fight our way to the bar to order, and grabbed a couple of sittin’ spots on the front windowsill. We’d put our names in for a table, but decided to leave long before they came up. Before we left, though, we found this in the bathroom:

We decided to head down to Wicker Park, near Lauren’s work, so we could meet up with her when she was done at 1am. We found a spot after much searching, and then had to stop in to pick up a parking pass from her, because god forbid you just park on the streets in Chicago. The good thing was that we could leave the car there overnight, if necessary.

The streets in Wicker Park were crawling with a hipster infestation. Their numbers were kind of unbelievable. I’ve never seen so many kids who all look exactly alike while at the same time believing themselves to look very unique. We rushed through the thronging masses in search of the Violet Hour, which was owned by the same people who run Bradstreet 601 here in Minneapolis. It’s a bar known for very creative mixology and awesomeness, and we knew we could count on Bradstreet’s recommendation.

Having the address for the Violet Hour was no help; we realized that most likely it was the plain, windowless, whitewashed building with a single yellow light over the door, but we weren’t sure. We decided to go in anyway, and found a few people standing in a dark entryway, reading the rules for the place. They included things like ‘no cell phones’. There was dress code, too, though no one there was even close to fitting it. We didn’t, either, but we figured that must be ok.

The host came in shortly and grabbed Matt and I, the lucky party of two who got to go ahead of everyone else. He asked if the bar was OK, and obviously that was what we preferred anyway. The cocktail standards at the Violet Hour were definitely the same as Bradstreet, though it was a little disappointing that they were way too busy to have a conversation with any of the bartenders. That’s one of the best parts.

We left a bit later, and still had some time to kill before meeting Lauren. We decided that food was the best choice, given our current state, so she pointed us toward Flash Taco down the street. It was bad; slow, packed with hipsters, and the food was terrible. Based on about three hours of experience with it, we decided that Wicker Park sucked a lot. Regardless, I’m pretty sure we’re right.

Finally, Lauren was done with work. We met up with her there, and went to the nearest bar, directly across the street. The Flat Iron seemed to be an exception to Wicker Park’s lameness, or at least there were enough non-hipster people in the crowd there that it was tolerable. We had an awesome time.

Round about… well, I really have no idea. 3am? 4am? We walked Lauren back to her apartment, stopping at Dunkin Donuts on the way. I think I ordered three beverages. Matt and Lauren had them some very patriotic donuts!

We made it back to the hotel after 5am, and crashed. It had been a very long day.

We got up at the crack of noon (haha), and got ready to head downtown. We were smart this time, and took the hotel shuttle to the train station at O’Hare. It was a big day!

We intended to go to Hot Doug’s to get some food, so we hopped off the train at the appropriate stop and headed east. Most people would’ve taken the bus, but we insist on walking. After a mile or so, we arrived to find a line two blocks long. I’m sure Hot Doug’s is awesome, but we couldn’t wait that long.

So we kept walking. And walking. I have no idea how far it was, but it was a lot. Finally, we found ourselves at Wishbone, one of my favorite places. It was 3pm. Perfect time for brunch, if you ask me.

We revived ourselves with lots of coffee and grits, and then headed up to hop on the El. Someone on twitter had told me about the crazy paintings at the Old Town Ale House, so we had to check that out. Well, the paintings were amazing. How can you go wrong with creepy naked Sarah Palin? The bar itself was kind of scary, though: we walked in and everyone turned at stared. That’s because everyone else lived there, and we were strangers. At least the bartender was nice!

We rode downtown and walked over to Millennium Park, because no trip to Chicago is complete without a visit to Cloud Gate, aka the Bean. There were Honduras soccer fans everywhere. So awesome.

We still had a bit of time to kill before the game (and we were alarmingly sober), so we set off in search of Matt’s dad’s favorite bar. It was easy to find, and was crowded with fans. We found spots at the most oldschool bar ever, and I ordered a Manhattan and a piece of spanakopita. That’s just how I roll.

Matt went out to smoke, and came back in with Robin in tow. He’s one of Kris’ friends, and we run into him at every soccer-related event in Minneapolis. We finished our drinks and decided to head down to Soldier Field.

Even though I grew up in Chicago, I’d never been to Soldier Field!! It’s amazing, and so was the crowd.

There were a few sections of US fans at either end of the stadium, but it was at least 80% Honduras fans. That was a little intimidating, but the atmosphere seemed friendly. The US fans seemed to be doing most of the taunting, of course.

We got to see Landon Donovan:

And Jozy Altidore:

And, of course, Tim Howard. I love Tim Howard. A lot.

The game was pretty stressful, but the US team managed a win! Towards the end, some of the Honduras fans in the upper deck started throwing their beer cups onto the US fans. We were pretty glad to be in a sheltered area.

The entire crowd poured back into Chicago together. Despite the taunting and such at the game, everything was very friendly again. It was also the only time I’d be comfortable chanting “U.S.A.!” Usually that kind of behavior makes my skin crawl.

It was worth it for the deep dish.

I was pretty much dragging at that point. We wanted to go hang out somewhere for a bit, but didn’t want to make a lot of effort doing so. Thankfully, the blue line helped us decide; it was closed for several stops between downtown and O’Hare, so we decided to take the shuttle up to the part where it was back in service, and find somewhere to drink right near the stop. Then getting back on the train and to the airport when we were about to fall asleep would be as easy as possible.

The offerings at that stop looked a little bleak when we got there, but we managed to spot a couple places, and decided on the one called the Green Eye. This, it turned out, was the right choice.

The crowd reminded me of a cross between Grumpy’s and Triple Rock, which was immediately appealing. The bartender was gruff and hilarious. After we’d had a drink or two, he came over and excitedly started telling us about the movie they were about to play; apparently they have a trashy horror-film tradition on Saturday nights. It was called Poultrygeist, and it was a Troma musical. Rather than try to explain it, you should just go read about it.

Poultrygeist was as great as it sounds. The entire bar sat there watching it, breaking into hysterics and groans. We really need to get a copy so we can spread the love.

Eventually, Matt and I made our way back over to the train, and from there to the hotel shuttle stop at O’Hare.

Sunday morning, we got up bright and early and headed out for the most important Chicago tradition. It doesn’t matter that I don’t eat donuts; they many awesome breakfast foods. And good coffee.

We did some shopping at CB2, one of my favorite stores, and then it was time to head homeward. With a stop for lunch at the Great Dane in Madison, of course!

I miss Chicago! We used to go there all the time. That high-speed train between there and the Twin Cities needs to happen.

[To view the entire Flickr photoset from this trip, go here.]

Wendy, Willis, Matt and I piled in Matt’s car and rushed the hell out of town on Thursday after work. We didn’t get on the road til almost 7, but we had nothing to do but get to Chicago that night.

At one point, Matt had to decelerate from 72mph because he was so caffeinated he was seeing through time. We got to the hotel around 2am, and jumped into bed as quickly as we could.

We got up Friday morning and searched in the phonebook for the nearest Dunkin’ Donuts, because what you’ve heard about their coffee is true. We headed downtown and had a brief rendezvous with Lauren outside her work, because she had obtained a parking pass in her neighborhood and some 24-hour CTA passes for us to exploit. We drove up and parked by her house, and took the bus to Wrigley Field.

wendy found herself some reading material on the bus.

We got there really early, so we wandered around the store for a while, then crossed the street to the Cubby Bear. Of course we had to try the Cubby Blue Bombs for $4 (it made my stomach hurt for the next five minutes). The Sparks girls were there handing out samples, and of course we had to try that, too. It wasn’t great, but it was free. They came back around later asking if we liked it, and wanted free cans. Um, yes.

I lived in Chicago for ten years growing up, and had never been to a baseball game there. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve never been to any sporting event in Chicago. I was only really interested in Wrigley Field, though. It was great.

Our seats were in the second row from the top, but they were awesome. I’m glad we weren’t in the bleachers, because the sun was brutal. Our row-neighbors were from Oklahoma, and I’m pretty sure they’d never been to a baseball game before; one of them got up and made us stand up so they could wander around at least every 15 minutes. They couldn’t even go as pairs.

We got to see Luis Castillo, who the Twins traded to the Mets a few weeks ago, and also Eddie Vedder singing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” during 7th inning stretch. (Pearl Jam was playing at Lollapalooza.) I had flashbacks to 12 years ago. Also, I was excited to realize that you can see Lake Michigan from the ballpark.

The game was going well until the last inning, when the Mets scored about 500 runs. I’m not joking.

the ‘lose’ flag

We killed some time wandering around the stadium, then went to the el station. It was still crazy, but we managed to get on the first train and ride downtown to Millennium Park.

crown fountain

We had decided upon deep dish pizza much earlier, and there was a Giordano’s a few blocks up Michigan Avenue. We walked over there and found it very crowded. While Matt and I waited in line, Willis looked up another location in downtown. He called them and they said there was no wait, so we headed over that way.

After eight blocks or so, we realized that Google Maps had lied to us, and the restaurant was still several blocks from there. We ended up walking very far for that meal, but it was worth it. Not only was the pizza awesome, Franz from the Hold Steady was sitting at the next table.

We were rerouted along the way back to the train station because they had cordoned off a large section of downtown to film a movie. We asked a security guard what it was, and he said, “Batman.” We weren’t sure if that was true or not, because there was a production assistant across the street telling people it was Rory’s First Kiss. Willis looked it up, and it turns out that’s the supersecret working title for the new Batman movie. Wendy decided to stay and film some scenes.

wendy on the batman set

We got lost trying to find the el station for a while, and had to call Lauren for help. We rode up to her house, and walked over to Louie’s, the karaoke bar we’d visited the first time I stayed with her.

The karaoke was awesome but the drinks were not, so we headed to a dive called the Beachwood instead. Upon close, we went for 2am breakfast at the Hollywood Grill. It was not great at all, but it was necessary. We didn’t get back to the hotel til 3:30.

We arose very late on Saturday morning, got us some giant coffees at Dunkin Donuts, and headed toward my old hometown of Wheaton. It’s a tradition to drive through and see it every time I’m in the area.

i lived here for grades 1-5.

We drove through my old neighborhood and cute little downtown Wheaton, which is scarred irreparably by a Starbucks. We then headed to Portillo’s for lunch. I was thrilled to see that they now have a veggie sammich.

Very sleepy from lunch, we made our way into Wisconsin, with a quick stop for gas and naked ladies.

We checked into the hotel and then headed back out to pick up tickets, Wendy’s friend Rick, and grilling supplies. We arrived at Miller Field a mere hour or so before the game, in the rain, but this did not prevent us from getting our awesome tailgate on. We had plenty of company there, too. Milwaukeeans know how to party.

willis drinking a 40 from a plastic bag

that’s leftover deep-dish pizza on the grill!

wendy with a yard of berry weiss, smoking strawberry and tequila swisher sweets at the same time.
and she’s wearing a cape. yeah.

Post-tailgate, we headed toward the stadium, but were diverted at the Sausage Haus. We went in to use the restrooms, and they were blasting ‘Party Like a Rock Star’ at ear-bleeding volumes. We didn’t know it then, but this was some serious Wisconsin foreshadowing.

Miller Stadium is amazing. It has a retractable roof (which was closed due to rain, but that was alright), and is designed really well, in a way that makes me very excited for the open-air stadium here. Also, they have sausage races. We saw two of the sausages going up in the elevator, both leaning folded-over on the people in there with them. It was hysterical.

We found our seats and somehow ended up drinking Sparks again, for reasons only Wisconsin understands. Round about the fourth or fifth inning, Willis and Matt and I got up to go to the bathroom, and then decided to check out the outdoor bar. It was there we met Bobby Chicago and his girlfriend, the people sitting next to us at the game. Bobby and I both grew up in Wheaton, and he told me how everybody thinks he’s hardcore because he’s from the 187 (the zipcode is 60187). They introduced us to the Captain Bomb, and we possibly didn’t realize how long we were out there until Wendy texted, wondering where the hell we were.

We went back inside just in time to catch the sausage races and the end of the game. The Brewers had a pretty spectacular win, and we stuck around for a bit afterward watching to see if the Cubs fans who showed up just to aggravate the crowd would get their asses kicked. There were a couple people escorted out by the cops, but that’s about it. Also, it’s pretty funny to see the difference in the baseball crowds between Chicago and Milwaukee. As we all know, Wisconsin = booze.

We made plans with Bobby Chicago to meet up after the game, and headed to the store to shop. We stopped again at the Sausage Haus on the way back to the parking lot, and this time I found Wendy a son. He was laying on the floor under the sinks on one of those little-league photo buttons. She named him Jacob.

Since there was a line of traffic waiting to get out of the lot (admittedly, a very short line, but we’ll take any excuse), we decided to continue tailgating for a while. We ended up blasting Minneapolis hiphop with all the car doors open and dancing in the parking lot. After that, Rick drove us to the Safe House.

I cannot really express how awesome the Safe House is, so you should probably just go. We all whispered the password and passed our $5 to the girl in the entryway, happily escaping the customary televised ridicule of people who had never been there.

We shared a giant drink called the Mission Impossible, explored as much of the place as we could figure out how to access, went in the sound-effects phone booth, touched Burt Reynolds there, and a couple of us may have gotten up to naughty bidness in the downstairs hallway. Possibly.

We finally found ourselves sitting next to the dance floor, and then there was dancing to things like ‘Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy’ followed by ‘Crazy Bitch’ (best two-song playlist ever!), ‘Fergalicious’, ‘Sexyback’, and, yes, ‘Party Like a Rock Star’. The floor was so sticky that my flipflops kept adhering to it; I’d dance out of one of them, then have to dance back toward it to retrieve it again. There was a bachelorette party going on next to us, complete with a male stripper with his boxer-briefs on inside out (they dubbed him Skidmark). And there was also Black Derek, but I cannot possibly explain about that. All I remember was his shirt, and the fact that he was there dancing on the stairs with us.

I have no idea what time we got back to the hotel, because I was sleeping in the backseat most of the way there. I have vague memories of them getting lost, and apparently that did actually happen. Oh, Wisconsin.

Sunday morning, we slowly got our stuff into the car and headed toward Madison. By the time we got there, we had plans for at least four breakfasts, but ended up only having one. Thankfully, it was awesome: Mickie’s Dairy Bar. I’m still amused that the last time we ate there, we didn’t even notice that it was across the street from Camp Randall.

Our second breakfast was to be at a place called Bennett’ Smut-and-Eggs, but it was sadly missing. Wendy found out afterward that it closed earlier this year.

The rest of the way home, we laughed about Black Derek. I seriously couldn’t stop, to the point that it was painful. We’d be quiet for 5 minutes, and then someone would mention something about him again. He attained legendary status, and was either a ninja or Chuck Norris by the time we got home. Possibly both.

If you know a dude in Milwaukee whose name probably isn’t Derek and was at the Safe House Saturday night, you should probably have him give us a call.

[View the entire Flickr photoset from this trip here!]

We left Minnesota postwork on Thursday and headed north in the Dead Hooker. The Nodakia crew consisted of me, Matt, Cindi, Jumi, and Wendy. We were raucous. I have a video of Wendy laughing so hard she can’t see, which is bad considering she was driving.

We stopped at a few truck stops along the way, but for the most part made the 530-mile drive straight through. We pulled into Cindi’s parents’ driveway close to 2am, and headed to our respective sleeping-spots as quickly as possible, after arranging Cindi’s stuffed animals in a creepy manner so she could cuddle.

Matt and I got her sister’s old bed. It squeaked. We were careful.

Cindi’s mom made us breakfast out on the patio, and the local DJ dedicated a song to us on KCAD. It was then it was time to get in some nature before the party began. We headed west, to Theodore Roosevelt National Park, and decided to do some hiking. Since we hadn’t really planned on hiking, none of us were prepared; we had no water, and I was wearing flipflops. But I’ve been in much worse situations before.

painted canyon, in the badlands

cindi and matt on the trail

my awesome flipflop tan

We hiked down to the bottom of the canyon, wandered around for a while, then had to hike back out. It wasn’t easy. We got to the top and all had to rest for a while. It was hot and dry, and we were thankful for the warm outdoor drinking fountain.

Further west, we passed the Home on the Range for Wayward Boys:

Then we drove to the Montana border, since neither Wendy nor Jumi had been there before.

matt in montana, while we were in north dakota

we took turns riding in the trunk

We then turned around and headed to the Medora exit, to see the cute little town Cindi had been telling us about. It was full-on western. We had lunch at the Cowboy Cafe, because they served buffalo. Ick.

horse tongue!

matt’s buffalo steak

We wandered around, stopping into a few shops, and then Wendy rode the mechanical bull. We also had beers at the Iron Horse Pub, and sat out on the patio in the glorious weather. Well, I laid on the bench there. They didn’t seem to mind. It was perfect.

Late in the afternoon, it was time to head back to Dickinson. We took a spin through another part of the park first, to see the prairie dog villages (note: Jumi is scared of prairie dogs!) and look for buffalo. We didn’t see any (presumably because they’d eaten them all at the Cowboy Cafe), but we did see a very, very excited male horse. We couldn’t stop talking about it.

Back in Dickinson, it was rodeo time. I’d never been to a rodeo before, so I had no clue what to expect.

cowboy with a cellphone

We got our programs and started putting money on the riders, though none of us actually ended up settling our bets afterward. Matt opened his program and said, “hey, mine’s signed already!” Deb got very excited, because apparently that meant he won something. When they did drawings later, his prize was revealed: a championship belt buckle. SO AWESOME.

calf roping

this kid spent half the rodeo glaring at us. he was hysterical.

I’m glad I got to see the rodeo, but I’m glad I don’t have to go see one again. I kind of felt bad for the animals, especially the calves for roping.

We went to dinner with Cin’s parents at the Crunchy Kitten, where Terry couldn’t stop giggling over double-entendres. Afterward, we headed downtown (sans parents) to Uncle Ron’s Spur Bar, where crappy karaoke was in full swing.

wendy’s $3 beer

We were kind of bored with the place, so we decided to go to Army’s West instead. That may have been a mistake on a few levels.

1) a girl told Jumi they didn’t play much hip-hop there (presumably because she’s black)
2) they had long islands in pitchers that they just served with a bunch of straws
3) there was a crazy lesbian (presumably on meth) on the dance floor that scared everyone
4) they played the ‘Numa Numa’ song (which is the reason we decided to finally leave)
5) lots of potential date-rape action going on with the dancing.

ICK. However, we rocked the naked lady matching game. A lot.

Saturday, June 30, 2007 will forever be remembered as the day we invented Fuzzy Tang. Before then, I didn’t even know that sugar-free Tang existed.

We carried our creation to the Roughrider Days parade, where we met up with Cindi’s parents and uncle Mike, who’d arrived very early to save us a good spot. Since we were still early, we took advantage of the $2 long islands that Ponderosa Liquors and Wildlife Gallery was selling right behind where we sat. Very soon, we had bathroom-related emergencies, and one of the locals took us into the beauty salon to pee. We loved Dickinson.

The parade was awesome, as expected. There were Shriners in little cars, class reunion floats, Denny Halsted the rodeo clown (the two-time Canadian entertainer of the year!), gigantic tractors, candy raining from flatbed trucks, and mardi gras beads.

Also, a “you’re going to hell, sinners!” float. That was my favorite. You don’t see that much ’round these parts.

After the parade, we went to Dan’s supermarket for beverages and such, and it was there that we discovered NOBBYS, the coated-peanut snack that’s the worst thing you’ve ever tasted, and yet you can’t stop eating them. We went back to Cindi’s parents’ house for lunch, and were joined by Cindi’s aunt Rosemary, possibly the coolest old person we’d ever met. She told us she was a pimp, and called her garden hoe ‘velvet’. It was confusingly awesome.

We took a nap, and then part of the group headed to look at scary cemeteries while Jumi and I sat on the patio, knitting. Michelle, Dustin, and Gavin arrived; we played with fireworks and monkey nuts in the backyard until it was time to go back downtown for the main event.

matt’s blue balls

wendy having a time-out

gavin’s smoke bombs

We piled in the Dead Hooker and headed downtown to the Party on the Pavement. We’d heard rumors about it, and were very excited to experience it ourselves. We began at Bernie’s Esquire (rentadrinkingbuddy.com), where we played some naked ladies, met some dude Cindi went to high school with, and got ourselves nuzzled by Bernie. He’s related to her somehow, just like everybody in Dickinson.

We went down to the other end of the blocked-off street to see the band, but they were having technical difficulties. We decided to check out the Eagles Club, where we signed the guestbook, turned off all the lights in one side of the bar while trying to ride on the motorized chair installed in the stairwell, and pissed off the people at the class of 1987 reunion by visiting their special bar. Then we went to the ladies’ room and met probably the only black girl to live in Dickinson. She told us about her favorite cocktail: Hpnotiq and Grey Goose. You drink it, and all the old guys go HOLLA!

What else could we do? The bartender asked, “you know that’s two kinds of liquor, right?” Duh. We even got one of the rodeo cowboys at the end of the bar to try Hpnotiq. As expected, it was absolutely terrible. And so we loved it. HOLLA!

We took our drinks outside, and by then the band was playing. Half the city was standing in a half-circle in the street, about 50 feet from the stage. This was confusing; apparently North Dakotans don’t know how to party, but we did: We took up spots right in front and started dancing (as is my wont, I danced barefoot). The band was none other than Bismarck’s finest cover band, 7 Tall. We loved them, and were suitably outraged that they had to remove ‘Crazy Bitch’ from their setlist. It had bad words in it, after all.

the autographed 7tall setlist

After the band finished, we hung out talking to them for a bit, and then Cindi wandered off with the high school dude to do dirty things in a port-a-potty. We went back into the Eagles Club. Matt and I visited the handicapped stall in the ladies’ room together for, uh, moral support. Yeah. While he went to go use the men’s bathroom, I busied myself with digging through drawers in the banquet room. I have no idea why, it just seemed like good entertainment at the time. While we were doing that, Wendy was upstairs almost getting into a fight with the class of 1987. When the guy almost jumped on her, she knocked his drink out of his hand and took off.

DICKINSON RULES.

We returned to Bernie’s just in time for last call, then everybody piled out into the streets to stagger around, shouting at each other. We finally regrouped, and Wendy, Jumi, and Cindi headed to the NoDak Motel for a lesbian pool party (you’ll have to have one of them explain), while Matt and I went back to the house to take advantage of nobody else being around. We didn’t hear them get home sometime after 3am.

We got up Sunday morning and sat downstairs giggling about events of the previous night until we heard a weird squeaking sound coming from Cindi’s room. I went to look and she was halfway off the bed, trying to get our attention. She had almost no voice, and proceeded to throw up in a garbage can. She won at North Dakota.

We had breakfast and packed up the Dead Hooker for the return trip. We were all fairly hung over, so the drive back seemed even longer. And we had to stop and see the giant buffalo in Jamestown, of course.

We also saw the famous white buffalo, which apparently means that the buffalo burgers they ate in Medora were not from the last buffalo on earth. Just the second-to-last.

After the buffalo, we couldn’t get back to civilization fast enough. That doesn’t mean we’re not going back for Roughrider Days next year!

We left Minneapolis at 8am, which would’ve been pretty good timing had the drive to Nashville been 750 miles, a number I had in my head and didn’t bother to recheck. It’s actually 900 miles, but we discovered that a while later, which was for the best.

The drive was uneventful through most of the midwest. In Illinois, I was passing somebody doing 80 or so when I looked in the mirror to see a trooper riding my ass. I quickly moved into the right lane, looking shamed. He turned on his siren and sped by, giving me a dirty look. In all my years of speeding, that’s the closest I’ve come to a ticket on the interstate. Of course there was that time with the Minneapolis cop, but they’re easy. You just ask them out to coffee.

We survived the bleak nothingness of southern Illinois and stopped quickly in Metropolis so Stephanie could see Superman. We arrived just in time for some kind of bizarre religious Superman festival; the main street was blocked off and there were vendors selling state-fair food and cheap designer knockoff schlock. A couple hundred old people were crammed in a tent listening to gospel music. It gave us the willies, so we got the hell out of there and crossed the border into Kentucky.

In Paducah, we cruised the long strip of chain restaurants, looking for a place at which I could dine without serious after-effects. After a few tries, I discovered that TGI Friday’s had a gardenburger, and that was good enough for me. We shoved food in our mouths as fast as we could, trying not to choke while giggling over the employees’ goofy accents.

I took over driving in the dark, which I hate. I have trouble seeing, and after I braked for a port-a-potty on the side of the road, wondering if it was a state trooper, I knew it was going to be bad. Stephanie wouldn’t stop laughing at me. We arrived in Nashville around 11pm, sat in a monster traffic jam, then finally got through to our hotel in Murfreesboro, about 30 miles south of town. It was situated directly between downtown and the festival site. I’m smart like that.

As I stumbled out of the car, the front desk lady came to hold the door open and yelled, ‘REDHEAD!!!!’ I laughed. She told me about the time years ago when she dyed her hair red, and got so many marriage proposals she had to dye it back.

God, don’t I feel that pain.