Eighty on I-80, Part 2

Hello all, it's the next leg of the trip!

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.

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.]

*Pressing on to rest stop building* That post looks weird. Oh ho, wait! It's a pencil! ...Wait a minute.

*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. 

Iowa. Iowa everywhere! Written all over the building. 

"COOL!" I startled the women coming out of the rest room. 

Map affinity. Iowa City contained the golden pen nib.

There was a waistband of bricks highlighting famous writers-- fiction, poetry, playwright. A ticker sign running famous quotes from famous writers. My joy...

...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.

Eighty on I-80, Part 1

Hello all, it's not quite the weekend, but I don't think I'll be posting over the weekend. So here we go!

With school around the corner, I haven't been able to delay on a decision any longer. Except I still kind of am. Graduate school is a heck of an investment, but the jobs that I'm interested in pursuing would not be attainable without a professional degree. Even so, I'm doing what I can to drive the costs down. I'm still waiting on a few things, but I'm running out the days as I sprint across the country.

So to all my friends in Hawaii, I miss you all already!

To all my friends in Colorado, I'm sorry to have missed you these last couple of days as I've been plotting out trip stops and shopping for yet another 1200 mile road trip. Because what kind of summer would it be if I didn't travel 10,000+ miles? This time I'm ripping eastward from Denver.

Packing up this morning, I said good-bye to my father and brother at our old house in Colorado (which is a freaky story in and of itself) and ran down to I-70 before boarding I-76 for the long haul out of Colorado. Once you get out of the Denver cityscape, the plains get, well, plain. There's not a whole lot to see out east.

I've driven to California from Colorado/New Mexico multiple times and the corridors through the American Southwest are breathtaking--every rest stop is an overlook into a dramatic canyon or sprawling desert brush. Painted Desert, Sonoran Desert, Monument Valley. I mean, stunning. Middle America is very much about farmland--be them corn or cows; which I have no problem with, but I predict another 400 miles of plain plains.

Denver to York, Nebraska is about 430 miles on an I-76 to I-80 route. The interstate dances with the Platte River in crossings north to south and back again several times. You'll mostly share the road with semis and other wanderlust-ridden adventurers. I got caught in five or six construction areas which slowed the 75 mph hurtle to 55. Nothing too awful, but it does take a bite out of time when you're running a 400-mile (6-7 hr) day.

Lunch in Colorado at Julesburg.

Since I'm rolling on my own, I have to entertain myself--either by belting out to my favorite songs or counting how many semis I pass. Today, I ate on the Coloradoan border of Julesburg and passed into Nebraska in some surprise I was already out of the first state in line.

I stopped off at a rest stop in mid-Nebraska (Cozad) and chatted with the tourist guide there who told me a little about Nebraska's history. Carol pointed out the pioneers' trail to the south of the Platte and the Mormon trail north of it. The Cheyenne Indians weren't too happy about the pioneer expansion and a tribe of them attacked a caravan near Cozad as well as the trains that were coming through. Lots of death and fighting over Nebraska.

The Cozad rest stop off I-80 E, Nebraska.

I have a deep love of maps and I'll pore over them every chance I get. Especially in transit. This map positioned outside of the rest stop building indicates where we are along I-80.

When I mentioned I was surprised at all the lakes I'd been passing since crossing the stateline, Carol also told me Nebraska sits on the Ogallala aquifer--the high water table is perfect for irrigation and farming. Makes a lot of sense. Armed with this knowledge, Nebraska became a little more than a flat stretch of cornhusk.

The Great Platte River Road Archway near Kearney, Nebraska, I loved the metal-worked wings.

I hurtled quickly through the thick waist of Nebraska until I reached York and its blessed hot air balloon signaling I was done for the day.

The Yorkshire Motel had rooms available and I booked a $57 'basement' room that included free wifi and a continental breakfast. My staples for most of my travels. The motel clerks, whom I assumed were a husband and wife (owners), told me if I skipped over to The Kitchen and flashed my room key, I would get 15% off my meal. Sweet! They handed me a menu and I settled on the chicken tenders.

Unloading and checking the vehicle fluid levels (since it hasn't been driven in awhile and my family and I had had problems the day just prior to leaving), I lugged my things down to the room and rested about an hour before surfacing to eat.

The colorful mural outside my basement bedroom window of the Yorkshire Motel in York, NE.

The Kitchen had a contemplative menu with plenty of bang for your buck delights. I did order the chicken tenders and ate one of the four, intending to save the remainder for a cold lunch tomorrow. I had a lovely salad, vegetables and mashed potatoes with a great biscuit gravy. All very good!

A storm rolled in during the evening and shut off the power briefly, I worried my car would suffer hail damage, but it got a shower instead which sluiced a number of bug casualties from the front. Works for me.

Tomorrow, Iowa and Illinois.