Here's me, stating the obvious...
I blog.
I blog because I can, because I love it, because it's free. I can write whatever I want and "publish" it for consumption at no cost to me (other than the cost of baring my soul every once in awhile) and no cost to you, Lovely Reader (except for the cost of a few minutes of your precious time...and thank you, if I've not said it recently, for reading. It means an awful lot).
As a consequence, I don't much pay much attention to grammar, syntax, and, rarely ever, punctuation. I write just like I talk. I talk fairly fast and frequently ramble - going off on wild tangents that mean little to anyone but me in my free association brain. Sometimes it's funny to others. Sometimes it's nonsensical. Sometimes it hits home. Ultimately though, it's always me, Just Jane, saying precisely what's on my mind.
While writing about the American Gods and Roadside Attractions Tour though, something different happened. Those entries were truly a collaborative effort. By themselves, the entries would have been a bit dry, a little lifeless. By themselves, Acr0nym's pictures, while excellent, wouldn't have made much coherent sense unless you'd been there. However, between the two of us, we were able to enrich each others' stories about the very same trip so that the telling was interesting. Interesting enough for several people I know, and several I don't, to reach out to me and say, "Hey! You guys are awesome!" (I paraphrase. Moving on.)
A few days ago, after I'd written this entry, I received a voice mail message from my chosen brother, Chuck. Chuck, just so you know, was there in 2005 when I went off the deep end. Chuck was REALLY there for me when I came up for air. If it weren't for the love 'o Chuck, Just Jane likely wouldn't be here...or, at least, not the here that she knows now (so y'all can totally blame him for the State of Jane *laugh*).
Anyway! In the message he left...I totally saved it...he told me how much he loved me, how he remembered 2005 so very well. And then he asked me when I was just going to sit down and write the book already so that he and others could pay me for what I write. Told me how he loves how I write. Looks forward to when I do...
In the blog. The place I write where there is no coherence, no thought to grammar or syntax or punctuation. He just...loves what I say.
Um...hmmm.
So later, I'm talking it over with first Acr0 and then Lex and told them both I wouldn't even know what to write if I am going to write a book. Both of them said, "What do you write about now? Write that. It doesn't have to be a fiction novel." There are such things as first, second, and third drafts and copy editors who'll fix my mixed tenses and dangling participles (heh. I said dangling).
So I'm thinking about it...again.
Except there's something else to think about now too. The experience with Acr0nym - first the trip itself and then working together to put the pieces into a full story...that was really fun! I liked it a lot. It wasn't just mine. It was ours and, I think, the finished product - or at least the first draft of the finished product - was pretty good.
So we've been talking about that too. More collaboration. More trips. More pictures. More stories.
All the travel angles have been or are being done by the likes of Miss Britt and Weird U.S. among, I'm sure, countless others.
But then it occurred to me...even though these angles have already been covered, the angles are simply extensions of the basic themes of literature to begin with...themes in which there aren't many to work. In other words, it's not the theme that makes a story compelling, it's the telling of the story that's new, fresh, different.
So why couldn't we? Why shouldn't we?
We've discovered we have a unique collective "voice". He commented yesterday how interesting he'd found that my narrative was usually spot on with what he'd had in mind when he snapped the pictures even without consultation.
So why couldn't we? Why shouldn't we?
At the very worst, we, BFF's, spend even more time on the road, enjoying each others company along with the sights and stories that are inherently buried along every mile. At the best, we discover that, together, we create something that's marketable.
So...why couldn't we? Why shouldn't we?
We're in the process of answering those questions now.
Showing posts with label oh the places we will go. Show all posts
Showing posts with label oh the places we will go. Show all posts
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Sunday, October 23, 2011
American Gods and Roadside Attractions Tour: Where We Went and What We Went For
"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." -Henry David Thoreau
On the afternoon of September 8th, 2011, Acr0nym and I set out to find America or, more specifically, middle America over the course of 5 and a half days and 2,200+ miles.
Ask anyone who does not live in Kansas or Nebraska but who has driven through those states along I-70 or I-80 respectively and you'll likely hear the same song..."Worst, most boring drive. Of. All. Time."
That's not what we found.
Getting off the interstate, or being willing to detour off the interstate when opportunity arose, gave us a view and perspective of middle America that we could appreciate. We kept our eyes open to wonder and took much glee in odd things and, in so doing, saw what is often overlooked.
One of our most frequent recurring themes of conversation was the decay and desolation of Small Town, America. From that first evening, driving through northeastern Colorado - most specifically Cope and Last Chance and, later, as the days passed, Lebanon, Red Cloud, Madrid...there were so many buildings - residential and commercial - boarded up, abandoned.
We could only speculate as to the whys and wherefores about the abandonment of said places - places that had likely thrived (or, at least, gotten by) for generations. We reasoned, as we traveled roughly halfway between two major east-west thoroughfares (I-70 and I-80) that likely those local, independently-owned businesses had fallen by the wayside when Corporate America (hello again, Wal-Mart) had infiltrated within reasonable travel distances.
Additionally we hypothesized that no community in the country had been immune from the devastation of the financial collapse and subsequent recession. Farmers often depend on loans to be able to buy updated equipment, seed, and feed in order to continue operations. When the economy tanked and banks began to fail, there were no loans to be had. Everyone was running scared and financial institutions were no longer offering credit.
It's easier to overlook poverty and the consequences of the recession in the city...mostly - although it's getting harder as more and more businesses are unable to keep their doors open (I've recently seen entire shopping centers deserted). It's not nearly so easy to ignore when a community is only 200 people strong and the 2 or 3 local businesses are shut down.
What was profound, to me, as we drove through those tiny hamlets and farming communities, was that there was certainly an industry that seemed to continue to thrive. Religion. Christian. Protestant. It seemed to me that every town - Lebanon, KS, for instance (218 residents at last count) had a church on practically every street corner. I believe I counted at least 5 in Lebanon.
All praying for...what? Salvation?
Jesus Saves, y'all...by shopping at Wal-Mart, don'tcha know.
Anyway, I don't know if the economic turmoil is the cause of introducing mistrust in these communities but there seemed to be obvious evidence of it in the little things...the "pre-pay gas after 6 p.m." signs, the stolen mini Statue of Liberty plaques, the overheard gossip in the Curiosity Shop pertaining to drug use. Rural America is not immune from big city problems. Maybe it never was and I'd just never noticed before. Regardless, that's what we found.
But we found community pride too! We played "tourists" to the hilt - often announcing to people that we were tourists - and asking people about their towns, what to see, what to do, where to eat. We were taking an interest in them and their stuff. Consequently, we were treated warmly by everyone.
Sometimes, we'd get the sense that we'd made someone's day just by expressing interest. A spark of appreciation for acknowledging that they were here, that they had something to say, and that, for a few minutes, someone else was eager to listen.
What we got in return for listening was an opportunity to learn about where we were and the people who inhabit it. It was fascinating. It was fun. It was memorable.
Also? We discovered that we actually really do like each other, like spending time with each other, for extended periods of time. We discovered that we travel very well together - at the same pace, appreciating the same things. We discovered we'd do it again in a hot second...have decided we will do it again soon and already have several places in mind that have been added to the bucket list (Carhenge, we WILL come visit you!) - a bucket list that still has House on the Rock left unchecked in the DONE column.
One last thing...we discovered we make a pretty damn good team when it comes to documenting our adventures - he took nearly all the pictures, I wrote nearly all the narrative, I took the notes, he refreshed my memory, pulled out data and mapped it from the GPS, and provided several of the links.
As for Hans?
He's always ready for more adventure.
And that, Dear Readers, is the story of American Gods and Roadside Attractions Tour 2011. It took 6 weeks in the telling and 3 times as many entries as there were days to tell about. Thanks for listening.
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| Crossing under I-70 onto US 36 |
On the afternoon of September 8th, 2011, Acr0nym and I set out to find America or, more specifically, middle America over the course of 5 and a half days and 2,200+ miles.
 |
| Where we went from start to finish - GPS logs are awesome! |
Ask anyone who does not live in Kansas or Nebraska but who has driven through those states along I-70 or I-80 respectively and you'll likely hear the same song..."Worst, most boring drive. Of. All. Time."
That's not what we found.
Getting off the interstate, or being willing to detour off the interstate when opportunity arose, gave us a view and perspective of middle America that we could appreciate. We kept our eyes open to wonder and took much glee in odd things and, in so doing, saw what is often overlooked.
One of our most frequent recurring themes of conversation was the decay and desolation of Small Town, America. From that first evening, driving through northeastern Colorado - most specifically Cope and Last Chance and, later, as the days passed, Lebanon, Red Cloud, Madrid...there were so many buildings - residential and commercial - boarded up, abandoned.
We could only speculate as to the whys and wherefores about the abandonment of said places - places that had likely thrived (or, at least, gotten by) for generations. We reasoned, as we traveled roughly halfway between two major east-west thoroughfares (I-70 and I-80) that likely those local, independently-owned businesses had fallen by the wayside when Corporate America (hello again, Wal-Mart) had infiltrated within reasonable travel distances.
Additionally we hypothesized that no community in the country had been immune from the devastation of the financial collapse and subsequent recession. Farmers often depend on loans to be able to buy updated equipment, seed, and feed in order to continue operations. When the economy tanked and banks began to fail, there were no loans to be had. Everyone was running scared and financial institutions were no longer offering credit.
It's easier to overlook poverty and the consequences of the recession in the city...mostly - although it's getting harder as more and more businesses are unable to keep their doors open (I've recently seen entire shopping centers deserted). It's not nearly so easy to ignore when a community is only 200 people strong and the 2 or 3 local businesses are shut down.
What was profound, to me, as we drove through those tiny hamlets and farming communities, was that there was certainly an industry that seemed to continue to thrive. Religion. Christian. Protestant. It seemed to me that every town - Lebanon, KS, for instance (218 residents at last count) had a church on practically every street corner. I believe I counted at least 5 in Lebanon.
All praying for...what? Salvation?
Jesus Saves, y'all...by shopping at Wal-Mart, don'tcha know.
Anyway, I don't know if the economic turmoil is the cause of introducing mistrust in these communities but there seemed to be obvious evidence of it in the little things...the "pre-pay gas after 6 p.m." signs, the stolen mini Statue of Liberty plaques, the overheard gossip in the Curiosity Shop pertaining to drug use. Rural America is not immune from big city problems. Maybe it never was and I'd just never noticed before. Regardless, that's what we found.
But we found community pride too! We played "tourists" to the hilt - often announcing to people that we were tourists - and asking people about their towns, what to see, what to do, where to eat. We were taking an interest in them and their stuff. Consequently, we were treated warmly by everyone.
Sometimes, we'd get the sense that we'd made someone's day just by expressing interest. A spark of appreciation for acknowledging that they were here, that they had something to say, and that, for a few minutes, someone else was eager to listen.
What we got in return for listening was an opportunity to learn about where we were and the people who inhabit it. It was fascinating. It was fun. It was memorable.
Also? We discovered that we actually really do like each other, like spending time with each other, for extended periods of time. We discovered that we travel very well together - at the same pace, appreciating the same things. We discovered we'd do it again in a hot second...have decided we will do it again soon and already have several places in mind that have been added to the bucket list (Carhenge, we WILL come visit you!) - a bucket list that still has House on the Rock left unchecked in the DONE column.
One last thing...we discovered we make a pretty damn good team when it comes to documenting our adventures - he took nearly all the pictures, I wrote nearly all the narrative, I took the notes, he refreshed my memory, pulled out data and mapped it from the GPS, and provided several of the links.
As for Hans?
He's always ready for more adventure.
 |
| Hans gets a front row seat right on the dash. |
 |
| One last look at the sunset over Colorado. |
Saturday, October 22, 2011
American Gods and Roadside Attractions Tour: On the Way Home
Before I tell you about that last night/last half day, I wanted to clarify something. After I re-read the last Road Trip entry the morning after posting it (and, truthfully, I wondered about it just after I'd posted), it dawned on me that, perhaps, I'd implied something about the nature of our relationship - Acr0nym and me - that is not and has never been the case...
We are not romantically involved. I know to some of you - those who continue to gossip about it (it's OK, we've reconciled ourselves to the fact that some of you will not let sleeping dogs lie) - this isn't believable. I promise you though, it's true. While total strangers ask us on a semi-regular basis how long we've been married, they only ask because we've bred a familiarity with one another that's, apparently, unusual without a sex life...I mean, a sex life with each other.
But, no, seriously, folks. We do not have, nor ever had, sex together. OK? The closest we've now come to this is that, on the Road Trip, we saw each other briefly in various states of undress. Namely pajamas.
I mentioned it once back here...that this kind of road trip either kills friendships or strengthens them. It strengthened ours...immeasurably. A large part of that - a HUGE part of that - was because of that last night, driving through the dark of Nebraska, as we - OK I (because Acr0nym does NOT want anyone else to know he has actual feelings...so just [redact] any mention of it on your own, OK?) - let ourselves be vulnerable in ways people just aren't under normal circumstances and during the light of day...although sometimes they do happen under the influence of gin. Those vulnerabilities just kind of happen long about mile 1,000 when you've run out of polite conversation and shit starts to get real. Especially when it's in the dark.
I've always loved driving and/or riding in the dark. The darkness is just as much a cocoon as blankets or pajamas or silk tend to be. As a teenager, having long since obtained my driver's license, I would often announce to my mom I was going for a drive. She probably thought I was going out to look for drugs. But I didn't actually really do drugs. I was, in fact, going out for a drive...listening to a favorite cassette (shuddup), cigarette smoke billowing out my window.
I felt cocooned that last night in the Intrepid. Even though we were both tired when we'd arrive in North Platte, NE - our agreed upon stopping point - I didn't want the drive to end. Maybe that's because, in the morning I knew, the bubble would burst - our liminal bubble - and we'd find ourselves dumped off at the curb in front of our respective homes with reality knocking insistently at the door.
Even though the GPS was indicating there were 2 or 3 locally owned motels a couple of miles off the freeway, we were both tired and not particularly interested in an extended hunt for a place to stay. So, when I saw the HoJo sign, I asked Acr0nym to turn in. Room available. Good room. Possibly the nicest room we'd had and cheaper than the Crest. *sigh* I hate you for that, Corporate America.
We wouldn't eat supper. We wouldn't do much of anything beyond unload, surf a little internet, drink a little (read alotta) wine, and turn in. It was our second early-ish (just before 10) night in a row but, by then, we were ready to sleep no matter the time.
That night, Acronym would have a strange dream...a dream that something was crawling on his face. He'd awaken to find a wasp trying to spoon with him. Being the guy he is, he didn't panic loudly enough to startle me or even get me to do more than roll over and mumble something about...I don't even know what. Cows or corn probably. He just...managed to get the wasp onto a surface (pillow) that was not his face and then carry the wasp out the door into the wild.
The next morning - the last morning - would dawn gray and dreary. It wasn't unpleasant but there was something about that weather that signified to me we were on the very last leg of our journey and that there was a turmoil of mixed emotions ahead regarding the end.
We didn't have many stops planned for the day - just a couple - and the first was a mere half mile down the road. Fort Cody Trading Post right there just off I-80 in North Platte.
Now, having grown up in Wyoming, having spent time in Cody with good friends over the years, and living for the last 20 years just a few miles from the grave of Buffalo Bill, I'll admit, I am a fan. OK, let's face it, I'm just "a fan" of whatever comes across my path - the kitschier the better. And there was not one, single, solitary thing about the Fort Cody Trading Post that wasn't full 'o kitsch. But it was western kitsch of the Buffalo Bill variety and that tugged at my roots.
We had barely ducked in the door before the salesclerk announced to us that the "show" was beginning. I turned to Acr0nym, who had been there before, in confusion, unclear as to what she might have been referring. He led me back to the southeast corner of the building where there was a large diorama of hand-carved figurines re-enacting Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show along with a recorded narrative describing the various scenes. The recording was horrible and I couldn't understand a word of it but the diorama itself was simply incredible!
There was a little museum of western fashion and tools of the time along with a two-headed calf - much better preserved than the one we saw at the Wonder Tower a few weeks before...
The rest of the establishment was an assortment of western style clothes, gifts, and tchotchkes with the random oddity thrown in for good measure.
And you're darn tootin' I bought some mementos from this place *laughing*. But not the Enterprise T.P.
We'd hit the highway around 9:30 or so, a light rain would begin to fall but not hard enough to clean the 5 days' worth of summer bugs from the windshield or Intrepid grill.
About 45 minutes into our drive, we'd pull off I-80 briefly at Ogallala, NE - former home of the Sioux Trading Post (which I would have loved to have experienced back in the day) - to take the last pictures of a brilliant western high plains water tower. This one, I suspect, is my all-time favorite.
After we made a brief stop in Ogallala for morning coffee relief, caffeine replenishment, and moon pie purchase, we'd get back on the road, turning off I-80 onto I-76...almost home. I-76 would be our last out-of-town road into Denver.
We were, for the most part, quiet those last two hours on the road. I asked Acr0nym, "Are you tired of me yet?" His reply, "I'm almost ready to be done." *laugh* I didn't take it personally. I knew what he meant. I was feeling the same.
There were still a couple of relevant stories to share along our path. We'd share them and then the conversation would sputter and die out as we'd lose ourselves within ourselves.
Approaching Denver from a direction we, neither of us, rarely travel was a good way to end our trip. It meant we kept our Road Trip eyes open until the very last possible moment. I was seeing my town - our town - through the eyes of a stranger. Our surroundings were "home" and yet strangely, vaguely unfamiliar.
When Acr0nym pulled up to the curb in front of The Grotto, my neighbor and friend, modchen, stood on her balcony encompassed in a full-body plaster cast (it's better not to ask) and greeted us cheerfully. Lex came out to help unload the Intrepid. I was shaking from road weariness and caffeine.
We didn't hug or prolong the parting. We quickly made arrangements to divvy up our Road Trip bounty later, waved hurriedly at each other before he pulled away from the curb, and I ducked into the comforts of home so that we could both slip quietly back into reality.
It was over. Just like that.
And we'd likely never be the same.
We are not romantically involved. I know to some of you - those who continue to gossip about it (it's OK, we've reconciled ourselves to the fact that some of you will not let sleeping dogs lie) - this isn't believable. I promise you though, it's true. While total strangers ask us on a semi-regular basis how long we've been married, they only ask because we've bred a familiarity with one another that's, apparently, unusual without a sex life...I mean, a sex life with each other.
But, no, seriously, folks. We do not have, nor ever had, sex together. OK? The closest we've now come to this is that, on the Road Trip, we saw each other briefly in various states of undress. Namely pajamas.
I mentioned it once back here...that this kind of road trip either kills friendships or strengthens them. It strengthened ours...immeasurably. A large part of that - a HUGE part of that - was because of that last night, driving through the dark of Nebraska, as we - OK I (because Acr0nym does NOT want anyone else to know he has actual feelings...so just [redact] any mention of it on your own, OK?) - let ourselves be vulnerable in ways people just aren't under normal circumstances and during the light of day...although sometimes they do happen under the influence of gin. Those vulnerabilities just kind of happen long about mile 1,000 when you've run out of polite conversation and shit starts to get real. Especially when it's in the dark.
I've always loved driving and/or riding in the dark. The darkness is just as much a cocoon as blankets or pajamas or silk tend to be. As a teenager, having long since obtained my driver's license, I would often announce to my mom I was going for a drive. She probably thought I was going out to look for drugs. But I didn't actually really do drugs. I was, in fact, going out for a drive...listening to a favorite cassette (shuddup), cigarette smoke billowing out my window.
I felt cocooned that last night in the Intrepid. Even though we were both tired when we'd arrive in North Platte, NE - our agreed upon stopping point - I didn't want the drive to end. Maybe that's because, in the morning I knew, the bubble would burst - our liminal bubble - and we'd find ourselves dumped off at the curb in front of our respective homes with reality knocking insistently at the door.
Even though the GPS was indicating there were 2 or 3 locally owned motels a couple of miles off the freeway, we were both tired and not particularly interested in an extended hunt for a place to stay. So, when I saw the HoJo sign, I asked Acr0nym to turn in. Room available. Good room. Possibly the nicest room we'd had and cheaper than the Crest. *sigh* I hate you for that, Corporate America.
We wouldn't eat supper. We wouldn't do much of anything beyond unload, surf a little internet, drink a little (read alotta) wine, and turn in. It was our second early-ish (just before 10) night in a row but, by then, we were ready to sleep no matter the time.
That night, Acronym would have a strange dream...a dream that something was crawling on his face. He'd awaken to find a wasp trying to spoon with him. Being the guy he is, he didn't panic loudly enough to startle me or even get me to do more than roll over and mumble something about...I don't even know what. Cows or corn probably. He just...managed to get the wasp onto a surface (pillow) that was not his face and then carry the wasp out the door into the wild.
The next morning - the last morning - would dawn gray and dreary. It wasn't unpleasant but there was something about that weather that signified to me we were on the very last leg of our journey and that there was a turmoil of mixed emotions ahead regarding the end.
We didn't have many stops planned for the day - just a couple - and the first was a mere half mile down the road. Fort Cody Trading Post right there just off I-80 in North Platte.
 |
| Buffalo Bill Cody outside Fort Cody Trading Post |
Now, having grown up in Wyoming, having spent time in Cody with good friends over the years, and living for the last 20 years just a few miles from the grave of Buffalo Bill, I'll admit, I am a fan. OK, let's face it, I'm just "a fan" of whatever comes across my path - the kitschier the better. And there was not one, single, solitary thing about the Fort Cody Trading Post that wasn't full 'o kitsch. But it was western kitsch of the Buffalo Bill variety and that tugged at my roots.
 |
| Hans Gothwökkit in the jaws of a bear outside Fort Cody Trading Post |
 |
| Entrance to Fort Cody Trading Post |
 |
| Part of a smaller diorama - my favorite scene - the "Death Rack" located next to the empty "Meat Rack" EEK! |
 |
| Two-headed calf |
 |
| Hans says, "Look! A two-headed calf! What the hay?!" |
The rest of the establishment was an assortment of western style clothes, gifts, and tchotchkes with the random oddity thrown in for good measure.
 |
| One of these things is not like the other. |
And you're darn tootin' I bought some mementos from this place *laughing*. But not the Enterprise T.P.
We'd hit the highway around 9:30 or so, a light rain would begin to fall but not hard enough to clean the 5 days' worth of summer bugs from the windshield or Intrepid grill.
About 45 minutes into our drive, we'd pull off I-80 briefly at Ogallala, NE - former home of the Sioux Trading Post (which I would have loved to have experienced back in the day) - to take the last pictures of a brilliant western high plains water tower. This one, I suspect, is my all-time favorite.
 |
| Ogallala, NE water tower. I love the alien eyes! |
After we made a brief stop in Ogallala for morning coffee relief, caffeine replenishment, and moon pie purchase, we'd get back on the road, turning off I-80 onto I-76...almost home. I-76 would be our last out-of-town road into Denver.
 |
| Bittersweet Colorful Colorado |
We were, for the most part, quiet those last two hours on the road. I asked Acr0nym, "Are you tired of me yet?" His reply, "I'm almost ready to be done." *laugh* I didn't take it personally. I knew what he meant. I was feeling the same.
There were still a couple of relevant stories to share along our path. We'd share them and then the conversation would sputter and die out as we'd lose ourselves within ourselves.
Approaching Denver from a direction we, neither of us, rarely travel was a good way to end our trip. It meant we kept our Road Trip eyes open until the very last possible moment. I was seeing my town - our town - through the eyes of a stranger. Our surroundings were "home" and yet strangely, vaguely unfamiliar.
When Acr0nym pulled up to the curb in front of The Grotto, my neighbor and friend, modchen, stood on her balcony encompassed in a full-body plaster cast (it's better not to ask) and greeted us cheerfully. Lex came out to help unload the Intrepid. I was shaking from road weariness and caffeine.
We didn't hug or prolong the parting. We quickly made arrangements to divvy up our Road Trip bounty later, waved hurriedly at each other before he pulled away from the curb, and I ducked into the comforts of home so that we could both slip quietly back into reality.
It was over. Just like that.
And we'd likely never be the same.
 |
| Hans, Jane, and Acr0nym - American Gods and Roadside Attractions Tour 2011 |
Monday, October 17, 2011
American Gods and Roadside Attractions Tour: Some of My Favorite Things
When the sun rose over Williamsburg that second to last day of our trip, I didn't know what that day might hold.
After having experienced what we'd already experienced though - especially that supper on the Milwaukee River two nights before - I never suspected this day - the day before our trip would come to a close - would end up containing some of my most favorite memories of all.
As usual, the morning would start out leisurely with coffee and, for the first time for me, the interwebz (oh how I love me some interwebz!). We'd shower and shampoo, dress, pack up, and then load out all our gear. Never in a rush but always with a goal time in mind. By then, we were expert at it and could both call departure nearly to the minute.
We'd head west on I-80, back the way we'd come, only this time in morning light rather than through the cover of deepest darkness. Instead of driving straight through though, at Des Moines, we'd catch I-35 north toward Ames - home of a Giant Pitchfork and Iowa State University aka Home of Elwood, the World's Largest Cement Garden Gnome.
First stop...the pitchfork.
YAY! Big stuff! Hans liked it too (by this time, the gnome had been completely anthropomorphised and "talked" to me on a regular basis *laughing maniacally*).
Afterward, we'd make a brief stop at the office supply store (Acr0nym - always on the lookout for new pens) and the local K-Mart (where I would purchase a Trapper Keeper for impending nerdiness) before heading toward the Gnome.
We were a little nervous when the GPS told us we'd be turning into an alley *laugh*.
What the GPS considered an alley though was really the parking lot of the stadium at Iowa State University. For Elwood, World's Largest Cement Garden Gnome, is the resident of the Reiman Gardens on campus. YAY!
When we realized we'd have to pay a fee to enter the gardens - a rather steep fee, we felt, of $8 a piece - there was a wee bit of hesitation on both our parts. However, me being me and because Andy the Footless Goose had been such a bust, I insisted we go in at my expense to, hopefully, make up for Andy.
We were not disappointed.
First up? They had a butterfly emergence window where we could see any number of caterpillars (larvae) cocooned and butterflies emerging from cocoons.
Then, as we headed down the hall, we'd find the atrium and this...
We'd discover that the bumpers of VW beetles are not made of metal. Hans would not stick to them. FYI.
After we'd had our fill of the tropical atrium paradise, we'd head outside and into a grassy wetlands area where I had the distinct dawn of awareness that we might see..
This, more than anything else that day, made me the happiest. I am heartfelt in love with frogs of all sorts.
Have I mentioned just how much I love frogs? Because OMG! FROGS!!!!!
Oh. Yeah. Heh. Moving on from said frogs.
We'd wind our way back and back and back until...finally...Elwood appeared...
He was everything I'd anticipated...and more! He was HUGE!
He was magnificent, delightful, dare I say, handsome?
I was 100% soul-satisfied at having seen Elwood. The entire trip culminated in this one moment in time seeing him up close and personal-like. I don't know what it was about him that did this for me except that he was...sincerely and truly, THE WORLD'S LARGEST. Clearly. Fan-ta-bu-lous.
When we turned back toward the entrance and the Intrepid, I couldn't think of anything I wanted more from my Reiman Gardens $16 experience...
And then we spied this...
We'd been noticing some slight changes to foliage all along our route but this! This was a spectacular find! Stunning, delightful, gorgeous, divine. *sigh*
And then? Just when I thought it couldn't get any better, Acr0nym found an angel...literally...in the loveliest little sanctuary...
He would capture her in just the right light.
For the record, Reiman Gardens, even though size-wise it cannot compete with the Denver Botanic Gardens, is one of the most beautiful spots I've ever had the pleasure of visiting. Thank you, Iowa State University. You've given plenty to just this one city girl. Nature Heart = Full.
We'd stop - briefly - in the gift shop where I would purchase a frightening magnet in the form of an excruciatingly life-like spider for my beloved neighbors...one of which said he was tempted to fire his hand gun at it in fear and disgust. Oh yeah, I also purchased gummi frogs. I must have been hungry.
When we left Iowa State, we'd head west along US 30 and then south along SR 17...not a lot to see except corn fields, processing plants, and the occasional sad, little town. Still...it was lovely in its way.
And then, south of Madrid, IA, after excruciating road construction along SR 17, something quite extraordinary appeared out of the middle of the rows and rows of endless corn...
That's right. A Hindu Temple...in the middle of an Iowa corn field in the middle of literally nowhere.
All of a sudden, Elwood didn't seem so unique and of-the-awesome anymore. Not compared to this odd thing rising out of the corn in the least expected place on earth. A Hindu Temple? In rural Iowa? Really?
Yeah. It's true. It really really is true. It's there. We've seen it, documented it, researched it.
No one was there, unfortunately. I would have loved to have gone inside. Instead, we contented ourselves with pictures from the outside. That may have been just enough. Still...Hindu Temple? Iowa? AWESOME! Also? Weird.
SR 17 would take us back down to I-80 then. And we'd hardly deviate from its I-80 straightness the rest of the day.
We'd see...
And, in the daylight...
Still spooky...especially considering just how close to the road some of them really are...
It was Acr0nym who would suggest we take the detour we'd seen advertised for the only working Danish windmill in the United States. It wasn't far off our path and I, loving windmills, couldn't disagree.
So, we would head north on Hwy 173 toward Elk Horn, IA - home of the only working Danish windmill in America.
It was worth the trip - if for no other reason that for what it was.
It's funny...by the time we got to the windmill, I don't think Acr0nym and I were interested in the FULL experience of much of anything anymore. We came, we saw, we photographed the outside but, all of a sudden there was a strange sense of urgency that had not been there on days 1, 2, or 3.
We would opt not to go up inside and to the top of the windmill. Rather, we'd take a cursory glance at the offerings of the windmill giftshop (consisting of the typical Danish pride tourist crap we would have been enthralled with 2 days' prior...OK maybe not...mostly because neither of us can claim one speck of Danish heritage) and then we'd turn back toward I-80..toward other things on our way toward home.
I don't think this was because we were nearing home.
Neither of us, at that moment, seemed to be nostalgic for our respective homes. I think, and this is just my interpretation of events - Acr0nym has his own blog in which he can describe his own interpretations (you know, the one to which he refuses to update heh...dig, dig, dig) - Acr0nym and I, having found America by then, were less interested in America and more interested in what was happening in the moment, each moment, between us, in the Intrepid.
More about that in a minute - I'm trying to go chronologically.
Back on I-80, we had one more destination for the day that was 100% timed on that particular day...the World's Largest Ball of Stamps in Boys Town, NE (within the city limits of Omaha). We had just enough time to make it before the museum closed. Especially with the short cut the GPS gave us...along I-680. I wasn't paying attention...clearly.
OK, let me back up just a wee tiny bit. Prior to our departure, my sixth grade teacher, PW, now my friend on Facebook (insisting I call him by his first name...which I can't quite do without thinking it's not natural), who now lives in Omaha, posted a link to a story from the Omaha World-Herald about the decimation of I-680.
The article included this picture which sums the devastation up quite nicely...
When I saw the article, I even asked Acr0nym if this was along our route, because obviously it was impassable - even for the Intrepid.
*sigh*
So...when we got on I-680 just east of Council Bluffs, IA, I didn't really think about it much. I figured we knew what we (this includes the GPS) were doing.
I did mention it to Acr0nym but he assured me that, surely, they couldn't mean this stretch into Omaha...right? I mean, wouldn't we have seen detour signs along I-80? And then?
Then we hit the junction of I-680, I-29, I-80 and yeah, no, they weren't kidding and no, there'd been no detour signs along I-80. We were forced to turn around. No ifs, ands, or buts. All those roads into Omaha - with the exception of I-80 - were closed to us (no soup for you).
When we turned around, headed back toward Council Bluffs, we knew then we weren't going to see the World's Largest Ball of Stamps. That would become even more painfully clear when we hit rush hour traffic through Omaha. Acr0nym felt as though he'd disappointed me. By then though, I really didn't care about the World's Largest Spit Ball (for all intents and purposes). For my part, I was just glad - heart-felt glad - to be there, with him, in the moment.
We'd continue on along I-80 then. We didn't even want to stop for more Trader Joe's (having left our first stop on our trip's bounty largely untouched).
Just...Nebraska, I-80 into the quickening dusk.
We'd arrive at York (again), just at what Acr0nym calls the photographer's golden hour and head north on US 83 toward the Backyard Zoo...
A strange place reminiscent to me of my beloved Saraville (just east of Cheyenne...apparently long gone) of old...
There was more to photograph and, for Acr0nym's part, he did.
There were signs nearly evenly spaced along the fence that read....
"Don't drive like hell thru here
This is god's country sez Rog.
danger if we still had the old lone ranger.
don't drive faster then your angel can fly."
Really, Rog? You're fuckin' weird.
It was...weird. I would, had it been midnight, felt just as though I were stumbling across Saraville for the 1st or 12th time. Fearful that there was a shotgun, unseen, pointed at me for stopping in the public road to take pictures.
There was no shotgun but I did feel watched.
Yeah.
Anyway!
Here's the thing...
As we drove through York toward the Backyard Zoo, Acr0nym began recounting a story...a true story...and a story which, obviously, was full of grief. It would hurt my heart.
Later, as we would drive back along I-80 in the full darkness...peppered with distant, small town lights, we'd listen to a particularly intense episode of This American Life...one that would have me confessing my own secret, painful story full of grief and shame...slow in the reaction.
And it would hurt his heart.
Those were the moments to which I referred earlier...the moments that, unintentionally, would bring us together in this all-gone-to-look-for-America moment.
What we'd find...in 5 days, 4 nights, was...
Each other...in our Infinite Wisdom.
And that Infinite Wisdom?
Hurt.
After having experienced what we'd already experienced though - especially that supper on the Milwaukee River two nights before - I never suspected this day - the day before our trip would come to a close - would end up containing some of my most favorite memories of all.
As usual, the morning would start out leisurely with coffee and, for the first time for me, the interwebz (oh how I love me some interwebz!). We'd shower and shampoo, dress, pack up, and then load out all our gear. Never in a rush but always with a goal time in mind. By then, we were expert at it and could both call departure nearly to the minute.
We'd head west on I-80, back the way we'd come, only this time in morning light rather than through the cover of deepest darkness. Instead of driving straight through though, at Des Moines, we'd catch I-35 north toward Ames - home of a Giant Pitchfork and Iowa State University aka Home of Elwood, the World's Largest Cement Garden Gnome.
First stop...the pitchfork.
 |
| Giant Pitchfork - not certified by Guiness. |
YAY! Big stuff! Hans liked it too (by this time, the gnome had been completely anthropomorphised and "talked" to me on a regular basis *laughing maniacally*).
Afterward, we'd make a brief stop at the office supply store (Acr0nym - always on the lookout for new pens) and the local K-Mart (where I would purchase a Trapper Keeper for impending nerdiness) before heading toward the Gnome.
We were a little nervous when the GPS told us we'd be turning into an alley *laugh*.
What the GPS considered an alley though was really the parking lot of the stadium at Iowa State University. For Elwood, World's Largest Cement Garden Gnome, is the resident of the Reiman Gardens on campus. YAY!
When we realized we'd have to pay a fee to enter the gardens - a rather steep fee, we felt, of $8 a piece - there was a wee bit of hesitation on both our parts. However, me being me and because Andy the Footless Goose had been such a bust, I insisted we go in at my expense to, hopefully, make up for Andy.
We were not disappointed.
First up? They had a butterfly emergence window where we could see any number of caterpillars (larvae) cocooned and butterflies emerging from cocoons.
 |
| Is that not freaking cool?! That is alive! |
 |
| Yes, that is a lady bug painted VW beetle, as a matter of fact! |
After we'd had our fill of the tropical atrium paradise, we'd head outside and into a grassy wetlands area where I had the distinct dawn of awareness that we might see..
 |
| FROGS!!! |
 |
| OMG FROGS!!!!! |
Have I mentioned just how much I love frogs? Because OMG! FROGS!!!!!
Oh. Yeah. Heh. Moving on from said frogs.
We'd wind our way back and back and back until...finally...Elwood appeared...
 |
| Our first look at Elwood |
 |
| Hans and Elwood - brethren. |
 |
| I don't know who is handsomer here...Acr0nym or Elwood. |
When we turned back toward the entrance and the Intrepid, I couldn't think of anything I wanted more from my Reiman Gardens $16 experience...
And then we spied this...
 |
| Leaf in mid-change. Ah, Autumn, how I love thee! |
And then? Just when I thought it couldn't get any better, Acr0nym found an angel...literally...in the loveliest little sanctuary...
 |
| Acr0nym's Angel |
For the record, Reiman Gardens, even though size-wise it cannot compete with the Denver Botanic Gardens, is one of the most beautiful spots I've ever had the pleasure of visiting. Thank you, Iowa State University. You've given plenty to just this one city girl. Nature Heart = Full.
We'd stop - briefly - in the gift shop where I would purchase a frightening magnet in the form of an excruciatingly life-like spider for my beloved neighbors...one of which said he was tempted to fire his hand gun at it in fear and disgust. Oh yeah, I also purchased gummi frogs. I must have been hungry.
When we left Iowa State, we'd head west along US 30 and then south along SR 17...not a lot to see except corn fields, processing plants, and the occasional sad, little town. Still...it was lovely in its way.
And then, south of Madrid, IA, after excruciating road construction along SR 17, something quite extraordinary appeared out of the middle of the rows and rows of endless corn...
 |
| A Hindu Temple?! |
That's right. A Hindu Temple...in the middle of an Iowa corn field in the middle of literally nowhere.
 |
| Look at the detail! |
Yeah. It's true. It really really is true. It's there. We've seen it, documented it, researched it.
No one was there, unfortunately. I would have loved to have gone inside. Instead, we contented ourselves with pictures from the outside. That may have been just enough. Still...Hindu Temple? Iowa? AWESOME! Also? Weird.
SR 17 would take us back down to I-80 then. And we'd hardly deviate from its I-80 straightness the rest of the day.
We'd see...
 |
| Adair Water Tower - YAY! Smiley face :) |
And, in the daylight...
 |
| Iowa Wind Farm |
 |
| Seriously? About 5 yards - if that - from my face |
It was Acr0nym who would suggest we take the detour we'd seen advertised for the only working Danish windmill in the United States. It wasn't far off our path and I, loving windmills, couldn't disagree.
So, we would head north on Hwy 173 toward Elk Horn, IA - home of the only working Danish windmill in America.
It was worth the trip - if for no other reason that for what it was.
 |
| America's only working Danish windmill |
 |
| Hans Gothwökkit and the windmill |
It's funny...by the time we got to the windmill, I don't think Acr0nym and I were interested in the FULL experience of much of anything anymore. We came, we saw, we photographed the outside but, all of a sudden there was a strange sense of urgency that had not been there on days 1, 2, or 3.
We would opt not to go up inside and to the top of the windmill. Rather, we'd take a cursory glance at the offerings of the windmill giftshop (consisting of the typical Danish pride tourist crap we would have been enthralled with 2 days' prior...OK maybe not...mostly because neither of us can claim one speck of Danish heritage) and then we'd turn back toward I-80..toward other things on our way toward home.
I don't think this was because we were nearing home.
Neither of us, at that moment, seemed to be nostalgic for our respective homes. I think, and this is just my interpretation of events - Acr0nym has his own blog in which he can describe his own interpretations (you know, the one to which he refuses to update heh...dig, dig, dig) - Acr0nym and I, having found America by then, were less interested in America and more interested in what was happening in the moment, each moment, between us, in the Intrepid.
More about that in a minute - I'm trying to go chronologically.
Back on I-80, we had one more destination for the day that was 100% timed on that particular day...the World's Largest Ball of Stamps in Boys Town, NE (within the city limits of Omaha). We had just enough time to make it before the museum closed. Especially with the short cut the GPS gave us...along I-680. I wasn't paying attention...clearly.
OK, let me back up just a wee tiny bit. Prior to our departure, my sixth grade teacher, PW, now my friend on Facebook (insisting I call him by his first name...which I can't quite do without thinking it's not natural), who now lives in Omaha, posted a link to a story from the Omaha World-Herald about the decimation of I-680.
The article included this picture which sums the devastation up quite nicely...
 |
| I-680 just outside of Omaha, NE courtesy of the Omaha World-Herald...and spring flooding |
*sigh*
So...when we got on I-680 just east of Council Bluffs, IA, I didn't really think about it much. I figured we knew what we (this includes the GPS) were doing.
I did mention it to Acr0nym but he assured me that, surely, they couldn't mean this stretch into Omaha...right? I mean, wouldn't we have seen detour signs along I-80? And then?
Then we hit the junction of I-680, I-29, I-80 and yeah, no, they weren't kidding and no, there'd been no detour signs along I-80. We were forced to turn around. No ifs, ands, or buts. All those roads into Omaha - with the exception of I-80 - were closed to us (no soup for you).
When we turned around, headed back toward Council Bluffs, we knew then we weren't going to see the World's Largest Ball of Stamps. That would become even more painfully clear when we hit rush hour traffic through Omaha. Acr0nym felt as though he'd disappointed me. By then though, I really didn't care about the World's Largest Spit Ball (for all intents and purposes). For my part, I was just glad - heart-felt glad - to be there, with him, in the moment.
We'd continue on along I-80 then. We didn't even want to stop for more Trader Joe's (having left our first stop on our trip's bounty largely untouched).
Just...Nebraska, I-80 into the quickening dusk.
We'd arrive at York (again), just at what Acr0nym calls the photographer's golden hour and head north on US 83 toward the Backyard Zoo...
A strange place reminiscent to me of my beloved Saraville (just east of Cheyenne...apparently long gone) of old...
 |
| Lions and Tigers and Bears (or just really fake lions) oh my! |
 |
| We don't want to touch the fake giraffe, we just want to photograph its weirdness, OK? |
There were signs nearly evenly spaced along the fence that read....
"Don't drive like hell thru here
This is god's country sez Rog.
danger if we still had the old lone ranger.
don't drive faster then your angel can fly."
Really, Rog? You're fuckin' weird.
It was...weird. I would, had it been midnight, felt just as though I were stumbling across Saraville for the 1st or 12th time. Fearful that there was a shotgun, unseen, pointed at me for stopping in the public road to take pictures.
There was no shotgun but I did feel watched.
Yeah.
Anyway!
Here's the thing...
As we drove through York toward the Backyard Zoo, Acr0nym began recounting a story...a true story...and a story which, obviously, was full of grief. It would hurt my heart.
Later, as we would drive back along I-80 in the full darkness...peppered with distant, small town lights, we'd listen to a particularly intense episode of This American Life...one that would have me confessing my own secret, painful story full of grief and shame...slow in the reaction.
And it would hurt his heart.
Those were the moments to which I referred earlier...the moments that, unintentionally, would bring us together in this all-gone-to-look-for-America moment.
What we'd find...in 5 days, 4 nights, was...
Each other...in our Infinite Wisdom.
And that Infinite Wisdom?
Hurt.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
American Gods and Roadside Attractions Tour: Familiar Territory
As Acr0nym and I laid drifting off to sleep that night in Milwaukee at the Embassy Motel where the sink faucet turned on every time one of us flushed the toilet, we talked over what we'd seen so far and what we were in for the next couple of days.
Perhaps it was because the Embassy was such a dive, we mulled over just how much we'd enjoyed our stay at the Crest Motel in Williamsburg, IA the night before. I suggested, if our route was in its path and the timing was right, that we return to the Crest Motel the next night.
So, it was with the intention of returning to a familiar place with relatively nice accommodation that we would leave House on the Rock and Wisconsin all together after stopping to fill up our 34-oz cold drink cups at a roadside convenience store and saloon. We'd been in the state for just over 24 hours.
We'd pick up US 151 out of Dodgeville just southeast of Spring Green and would follow it through some spectacular Wisconsin hill country, the sun beginning its descent toward nightfall in earnest. The highway would take us, once again, to the Mississippi River - this time, its berth not nearly so wide and I, distracted by an opportunity to take photos of the motorboats racing along its course, hardly noticed we were traveling over another dreaded bridge and back into Iowa - this time, Dubuque.
We didn't stop in Dubuque but, just based on what I saw of the town, I think it's somewhere I'd like to poke my nose around in for a few hours sometime...particularly around the river. There was a quaintness about it - likely designed with tourists like me in mind - that fit in with my mood just so.
US 151 would carry us south at a diagonal as the sun set over Iowa farm country...
And we'd drive on into the dark to pick up I-380 at Cedar Rapids, picking up I-80 just west of Iowa City and on just a bit further to our night's destination...the Crest Motel, Williamsburg, IA.
It was just about 8 p.m. when we'd pull up at the office this time. The motel manager, I believe his name wasGeorge Fred, remembered us and was tickled when we told him we'd enjoyed our stay so much we'd made a point to come back. I think he was even more tickled that we weren't waking him up in the dead of night to get a room this time.
We were particularly pleased to discover "our" room was available again so it was truly familiar territory that greeted us when we unloaded and then set out to discover what culinary delights rural Iowa might have in store.
Heh.
We'd find ourselves pulling up in front of what was clearly the town's tavern - the Sundown Bar & Grill. Not much else seemed open that time of night and we were satisfied that we'd be able to get some somewhat palatable pub food and, more importantly, a cocktail.
We were only slightly startled by the sign telling us to leave our firearms outside the door. That did not deter us. It seemed rather obvious that we were safe enough if all the firearms were outside and we were inside.
Besides, we were starving. The White Castle we'd had much earlier in the day had left us long before (thanks be to Jeebus) and we were both hungry enough not to care what we ate. I don't even remember what I ate. I remember Acr0nym tried to order their broasted chicken specialty only to be told the broaster was in dis-repair and there was no chicken to be had.
But hey! My gin and tonic was good. My food, whatever it was (uh...chicken fingers maybe?) was tolerable enough not to be memorable so that was something. We were clearly outsiders - not from town - by the looks we were given but, by then, we were just plumb tuckered out and not interested in the interest shown us.
The meal was, for all intents and purposes, barely worth mentioning...except for the fact that it was exactly what Small Town, America should and did offer us for a "late" night meal and drink. Isn't that what we (OK, I) was looking for?
The rest of the evening would be spent in our pajamas, drinking wine out of the wine kidney and poured into plastic cups, surfing the web, Acr0 editing photos, me blogging for the first time since the trip began, and just generally luxuriating over a comparatively early, lovely evening...
In preparation for what would, perhaps, become my most favorite day of all.
Perhaps it was because the Embassy was such a dive, we mulled over just how much we'd enjoyed our stay at the Crest Motel in Williamsburg, IA the night before. I suggested, if our route was in its path and the timing was right, that we return to the Crest Motel the next night.
So, it was with the intention of returning to a familiar place with relatively nice accommodation that we would leave House on the Rock and Wisconsin all together after stopping to fill up our 34-oz cold drink cups at a roadside convenience store and saloon. We'd been in the state for just over 24 hours.
 |
| Boobs!!! |
 |
| Hans and the (not-so-crazy) cow |
 |
| Mississippi River Boat Races |
We didn't stop in Dubuque but, just based on what I saw of the town, I think it's somewhere I'd like to poke my nose around in for a few hours sometime...particularly around the river. There was a quaintness about it - likely designed with tourists like me in mind - that fit in with my mood just so.
US 151 would carry us south at a diagonal as the sun set over Iowa farm country...
 |
| Clearly I was becoming more comfortable taking pictures in a moving Intrepid |
It was just about 8 p.m. when we'd pull up at the office this time. The motel manager, I believe his name was
We were particularly pleased to discover "our" room was available again so it was truly familiar territory that greeted us when we unloaded and then set out to discover what culinary delights rural Iowa might have in store.
Heh.
We'd find ourselves pulling up in front of what was clearly the town's tavern - the Sundown Bar & Grill. Not much else seemed open that time of night and we were satisfied that we'd be able to get some somewhat palatable pub food and, more importantly, a cocktail.
We were only slightly startled by the sign telling us to leave our firearms outside the door. That did not deter us. It seemed rather obvious that we were safe enough if all the firearms were outside and we were inside.
Besides, we were starving. The White Castle we'd had much earlier in the day had left us long before (thanks be to Jeebus) and we were both hungry enough not to care what we ate. I don't even remember what I ate. I remember Acr0nym tried to order their broasted chicken specialty only to be told the broaster was in dis-repair and there was no chicken to be had.
But hey! My gin and tonic was good. My food, whatever it was (uh...chicken fingers maybe?) was tolerable enough not to be memorable so that was something. We were clearly outsiders - not from town - by the looks we were given but, by then, we were just plumb tuckered out and not interested in the interest shown us.
The meal was, for all intents and purposes, barely worth mentioning...except for the fact that it was exactly what Small Town, America should and did offer us for a "late" night meal and drink. Isn't that what we (OK, I) was looking for?
The rest of the evening would be spent in our pajamas, drinking wine out of the wine kidney and poured into plastic cups, surfing the web, Acr0 editing photos, me blogging for the first time since the trip began, and just generally luxuriating over a comparatively early, lovely evening...
In preparation for what would, perhaps, become my most favorite day of all.
American Gods and Roadside Attractions Tour: The House That Dreams Are Made Of
I have to admit...
I'm stuck here at the House on the Rock in describing our adventures across country. To the point that I'll bet you all figured I'd run out of steam and wouldn't continue on. But no. There is so much more to say. I've just been...stuck.
In talking it over with Acr0nym, I think I stumbled across the reason why talking about House on the Rock has stumped me. If you'll please recall, we arrived at the attraction so late in the day that we were denied entrance into roughly 2/3 of the exhibits and, given that this was why we even came to Wisconsin, the disappointment in not seeing it all and what little we did see was so hurried, I'm confused about what to say.
We saw the gatehouse, we saw the Infinity Room, we saw parts of the main house and the gardens. But there was still so much left unseen. And the parts we did see? We practically ran through them, fearful that we wouldn't get to see what little we were going to be allowed to see. An hour isn't much time to examine little details, after all. And now, looking back at Acr0nym's photographs - and please understand Acr0nym is a very fine photographer - his pictures reflect the hurry we were in to see everything. These pictures were the only pictures of our trip I felt did not capture the essence of what we saw (sorry, Acr0, but I can't imagine you disagree with me entirely in that assessment, right?).
However, we did see some of it and I have some overall impressions of the House I'd like to share with you if you're interested. I'm not going to delve into the history of the house...I trust you all know how to Google whatever it is you'd like to know.
To start, we wound our way through the little gatehouse. I don't remember much about it and what I do remember blends in with the main house so I'll skip what little I remember and blur it with my impressions of what we saw later.
After we emerged from the confines of the gatehouse, we found ourselves at the entrance of the Infinity Room. Now, if you don't know what an Infinity Room is, it's this...
And from the outside at a distance...
OK...now I have a fear of bridges. And, for me, this was a bridge connected at only one end...which makes my phobia that much worse. Combine that with the fact that I could feel the room moving and it should be no shock to you that I made it about 2/3 of the way to the window looking down onto the top of the trees...
Before I went oh-shit-if-I-go-any-further-into-this-room-I'm-going-to-vomit-or-be-unable-to-get-out. I must confess, I did not go all the way to the end. It was all I could do to BACK OUT of the room...because I couldn't even manage to turn around.
We would exit out onto a ramp that would lead us down into one of the gardens. The gardens, I must say, are so tranquil and lovely! And made that much more endearing to me by this statue of St. Francis of Assisi - patron saint of animals.
My mother, Blind Betsy, has a St. Francis of Assisi statue in her own garden marking the place where we buried the ashes of our beloved dog, Joan Bone Jovi.
Once we entered the house, the tranquility in the gardens, while the attempt to pull it through the internal structure was evident, was not present to me. I found the house and it's oddly spaced stairs, narrow passages, and low hanging ceilings to be disconcerting, dark, claustrophobic. At one point, I mentioned to Acr0nym that Blind Betsy would HATE this place...mainly because it was so dark and seemed to have no rhyme or reason to its design.
I felt trapped inside a cave-like structure...not one that is cavernous with high ceilings and echoing chambers but one that is closed in on itself, heavy on my head. I frankly couldn't breathe. The decor was largely Asian influenced and there were several stained glass windows that, while not allowing in much light, were spectacular to see. There were few actual windows in the portion we saw...only stained glass.
We saw a few of the famous automatic music machines...some that played, most were out of order...
Overall, I didn't feel as though I were enveloped in an artist's sanctuary. Instead, I felt imprisoned by rock, stained glass, and water.
Once we would emerge back out into the lower garden, however, I could see how this might be a peaceful place to exist...for a time.
As we walked back up toward the Welcome Center to leave, we'd spy a chipmunk a mere 3 feet from us. I'd never seen a chipmunk so up close and personal...
An elderly gentleman who'd been following us up the ramp asked what we were looking at. When I whispered, "chipmunk" and pointed, his face filled with glee and his own camera would emerge to begin snapping photo after photo of this cutest of rodents.
And that, Dear Readers, was it for House on the Rock. We used our full hour+ and left feeling not a little disappointed in ourselves.
Enough so that we've already decided we're going back sometime in the spring. A whirlwind trip back to Spring Green and Milwaukee. Interstates as much as possible and as fast as the Intrepid can fly. We have people to do and places to meet in depth, in detail, and, frankly, absinthe to try and buy.
Never fear, House, we will be back.
I'm stuck here at the House on the Rock in describing our adventures across country. To the point that I'll bet you all figured I'd run out of steam and wouldn't continue on. But no. There is so much more to say. I've just been...stuck.
In talking it over with Acr0nym, I think I stumbled across the reason why talking about House on the Rock has stumped me. If you'll please recall, we arrived at the attraction so late in the day that we were denied entrance into roughly 2/3 of the exhibits and, given that this was why we even came to Wisconsin, the disappointment in not seeing it all and what little we did see was so hurried, I'm confused about what to say.
We saw the gatehouse, we saw the Infinity Room, we saw parts of the main house and the gardens. But there was still so much left unseen. And the parts we did see? We practically ran through them, fearful that we wouldn't get to see what little we were going to be allowed to see. An hour isn't much time to examine little details, after all. And now, looking back at Acr0nym's photographs - and please understand Acr0nym is a very fine photographer - his pictures reflect the hurry we were in to see everything. These pictures were the only pictures of our trip I felt did not capture the essence of what we saw (sorry, Acr0, but I can't imagine you disagree with me entirely in that assessment, right?).
However, we did see some of it and I have some overall impressions of the House I'd like to share with you if you're interested. I'm not going to delve into the history of the house...I trust you all know how to Google whatever it is you'd like to know.
To start, we wound our way through the little gatehouse. I don't remember much about it and what I do remember blends in with the main house so I'll skip what little I remember and blur it with my impressions of what we saw later.
After we emerged from the confines of the gatehouse, we found ourselves at the entrance of the Infinity Room. Now, if you don't know what an Infinity Room is, it's this...
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| Photo courtesy of fineartamerica.com - Acr0nym, for whatever reason, didn't capture this image |
And from the outside at a distance...
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| Photo courtesy of city-data.com - for obvious reasons we couldn't capture this ourselves |
OK...now I have a fear of bridges. And, for me, this was a bridge connected at only one end...which makes my phobia that much worse. Combine that with the fact that I could feel the room moving and it should be no shock to you that I made it about 2/3 of the way to the window looking down onto the top of the trees...
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| Infinity Room window looking down...don't EVER look down, alright? |
Before I went oh-shit-if-I-go-any-further-into-this-room-I'm-going-to-vomit-or-be-unable-to-get-out. I must confess, I did not go all the way to the end. It was all I could do to BACK OUT of the room...because I couldn't even manage to turn around.
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| The top of the Infinity Room from an overlook accessible from the main house |
We would exit out onto a ramp that would lead us down into one of the gardens. The gardens, I must say, are so tranquil and lovely! And made that much more endearing to me by this statue of St. Francis of Assisi - patron saint of animals.
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| St. Francis - watching over the critters |
My mother, Blind Betsy, has a St. Francis of Assisi statue in her own garden marking the place where we buried the ashes of our beloved dog, Joan Bone Jovi.
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| My beloved Joanie in the garden she loved so well...such a sweet girl |
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| Another garden shot |
Once we entered the house, the tranquility in the gardens, while the attempt to pull it through the internal structure was evident, was not present to me. I found the house and it's oddly spaced stairs, narrow passages, and low hanging ceilings to be disconcerting, dark, claustrophobic. At one point, I mentioned to Acr0nym that Blind Betsy would HATE this place...mainly because it was so dark and seemed to have no rhyme or reason to its design.
I felt trapped inside a cave-like structure...not one that is cavernous with high ceilings and echoing chambers but one that is closed in on itself, heavy on my head. I frankly couldn't breathe. The decor was largely Asian influenced and there were several stained glass windows that, while not allowing in much light, were spectacular to see. There were few actual windows in the portion we saw...only stained glass.
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| One of the many sitting areas |
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| An example of the lovely stained glass windows |
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| One of the many lanterns used to light the interior |
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| One of the many automatic music machines - this one worked |
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| One of the automatic music machines that did not work |
Overall, I didn't feel as though I were enveloped in an artist's sanctuary. Instead, I felt imprisoned by rock, stained glass, and water.
Once we would emerge back out into the lower garden, however, I could see how this might be a peaceful place to exist...for a time.
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| Hans enjoying the gardens |
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| A rear view of the Welcome Center |
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| A chipmunk enjoying the lovely gardens |
And that, Dear Readers, was it for House on the Rock. We used our full hour+ and left feeling not a little disappointed in ourselves.
Enough so that we've already decided we're going back sometime in the spring. A whirlwind trip back to Spring Green and Milwaukee. Interstates as much as possible and as fast as the Intrepid can fly. We have people to do and places to meet in depth, in detail, and, frankly, absinthe to try and buy.
Never fear, House, we will be back.
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