Last Day: Illinois Ill-Omened

There was literally nothing interesting about our last day. We woke up late since the motel alarm clock was reversed PM to AM, but we got going quickly. We learned that Iowa can claim rolling hills and forested countryside enough to be more interesting than Nebraska or Illinois, which was a welcome relief, at the time, from endless miles of cornfield. Driving through Nebraska is like playing one of those really old video games where they keep replaying the same scenery and you really can’t be sure that you’re not looping through the same few moments of the space-time continuum and not making any progress at all and probably will be stuck in this enmaddifying cycle for the rest of your life and you don’t care if you never make it so long as someone ends the madness!!!!

Hmm.

Our entry to Illinois was ill-omened. After hundreds upon hundreds of miles at 70mph we were now instructed, as a truck with a trailer, that we had to drive ten miles slower than all other traffic. Thinking to cut down on distance, we took I-88, the Reagan Memorial Highway – and _Toll_ Road, as it turned out. We paid – sit down for this – _$5.35_ at the first tollbooth, which I’m pretty sure is a form of extortion. Our money bought us a thirty-mile trip through single-lane construction at 45mph, and Katie had to keep the phone from me after encountering a sign saying, “Thank you for driving the Reagan Memorial Highway. Any comments? Call…etc.”

But the trip ended with a homemade barbecue rib dinner at my parents’ place, everyone safe and workably sane. It remained an adventure despite the stress and time constraints, and the difficulty of leaving our old home. On the way we listened to three books on tape, played a number of hangman games, nearly died a few times, and saw such remarkable road signs as “Eagles on Highway” and “Occasionally Blinding Dust Storms.”

I would also at this time like to recommend the Edwards, CO, rest stop at exit 163, which featured fine, clean and modern facilities in a lovely mountain setting.

For a transcript of our in-transit conversations please send $4 and a SASE. You’ll hear me use such words as “buffufalo,” “falafelo,” and “cry-my-crikey.”

Lastly, after checking the contents of our truck at the journey’s end, I need to thank our good friend, Blake, whose spatial and structural skills were instrumental in the shiftless packing of our belongings. If you ever need a good man to help you load a truck, look up Blake, and tell him Brad and Katie sent you.