Yesterday consumed a heady 432 miles into my sprint, today I ticked in at 898 total miles. Detours and all.
I got off to a bad start immediately when I set my alarm for 7:15 a.m. and hit the snooze. Ten minutes, I thought. When I jerked awake again it was 8:30! GAH! I dressed and ran upstairs to eat breakfast, a bagel and some fruit. I packed some ice with my leftover dinner and waters and hauled everything back up to the car. It was an awful wet and humid morning already, this early?
I was back on I-80 in short order and tearing up asphalt until I hit the 200 mile mark and I deemed the goal worthy of eating lunch. I stopped off near Adel, scarfed down my cold chicken tenders, invested in a Coke, and chatted up my father to let someone in the family know I was still all right and heading east.
I got caught in a nasty downpour with extremely limited visibility for a teeth-grinding 20-minute run. Any flash of red ahead prompted me to tap my own breaks to maintain the distance, but I could hardly see a thing. I fretted on abrupt stops ahead and others following too closely behind. I made it out in one piece, but it was tense.
It struck me then I would be passing by the University of Iowa and their Writer's Workshop--the holy grail of creative writing programs. I had applied to their program this year and been denied. It stings because the reason for this entire road trip is to get me to school. Any of the other of the schools I've been accepted to. Writing has been a passion of mine since I first entered essay contests in New Mexico and scored not only a fire truck parade (essay about the importance of firemen), but a 2-week summer course at Shuttle Camp at the acclaimed Museum of Space History (why is space travel important?). Hmm? I'm good at something?
So it was with some difficulty I passed through Des Moines and the Iowa countryside. Struggling with all kinds of feelings. It was an uncomfortable passage and a hard one to make by myself. Right around the 300 mile mark, I figured I would take a rest stop break.
And of course this is where I stop.
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| Huh? Is that writing in the picnic structure? How unusual. What's it say? ...All the picnic structures have quotes! [Williams was not my first encounter, but he was my last. And favorite.] |
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| *Pressing on to rest stop building* That post looks weird. Oh ho, wait! It's a pencil! ...Wait a minute. |
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| *Walking* The heck is the big black--it's a PEN NIB! AWESOME! *GASP* It's the freakin' Writer's Workshop. The freakin'. Writer's. Workshop. |
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| Iowa. Iowa everywhere! Written all over the building. |
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| "COOL!" I startled the women coming out of the rest room. |
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| Map affinity. Iowa City contained the golden pen nib. |
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| There was a waistband of bricks highlighting famous writers-- fiction, poetry, playwright. A ticker sign running famous quotes from famous writers. My joy... |
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| ...and my bane. |
I. Loved. This rest stop. Even though it stirred up some unreasonable excitement and very poisonous self-doubt, I absorbed every last ornate homage to the enthrallment of the written word. I walked the paths and read every picnic hallmark; guidance from the masters. I lingered here twice the time I normally would for a rest stop break. I was back on my way, steeled to pass the University of Iowa, but still pining.
Having encountered a very tangible taste of the pure creativity the Workshop is capable of, I was in a very much starved "Please, sir," twist. Oh, to be a part of the phenomenon that set the national gold standard in writing. So hungry.
The university came and went and I did not find much contentment until I passed into Davenport and it's network of bridges. I swung south on the 280 for a change of pace. The Mississippi River awed me out of the stupor. (Thank God Michigan has great bodies of water.) I filled up the tank again a little off the beaten path of Milan and returned to 280 before it turned in to 80 again.
It was along this stretch I waffled on where to stop off for the night. I could have easily stopped in Davenport and had more time to explore, but the distance to drive tomorrow would be greater. Do I stop in Genesco a little ways out of Davenport and pony up the cost of hotels? Do I press on to Annawan or do I reach my original goal of Princeton? Would all the rooms be taken when I arrived in Princeton after 5 p.m.?
I ultimately made it to Princeton, Illinois, where I am now at the Econo-Lodge just south of I-80. I checked the fluids on the car again, still good, and called my folks to check in, rested a bit, snagged Wendy's for dinner because I'm so done driving today. I settled in to do some writing. See above.
Today was a lot harder than yesterday, mentally and physically. Since I have all these long hours to myself it invites a lot of thinking, exacerbated by failures near and dear to my heart and the continuous uncertainty of what lies in the months ahead. There's a giant junction looming that's very different from I-80 to I-94 East.
One more leg.
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