So here we are in Ohio. It seems as though much has occurred. While we really have had no plans, our intentions seem to be changing and evolving as events unfold. The intent to write each day, diminished almost immediately as driving 12 hours took a toll. I swear there is an Imp that sits on my shoulder and drives an ice pick into the base of my neck after about six hours of driving. When I sit and type, it comes back and jabs again.
The last two day of driving became a blur. It misted on us through Nevada and Utah. Wyoming was mostly mist with some light showers. Nebraska, Iowa, Illinois, Indiana and Ohio gave us rain and thunder storms. Did you know that every mile you drive you collect 100 bugs on the front of your vehicle? Also, bugs planted on your vehicle at 65 mph will steadfastly remain in place even when you proceed at 65 mph through a driving rainstorm. One would think the rain should have an eroding effect upon insect carcasses or at least the splat which once was a carcass.
Nebraska brought us into corn country. Iowa upped the ante. The price of 87 octane gasoline in Iowa was around $2.35. But the cost of 89 octane gasoline with 10% ethanol was a nickel to a dime cheaper. Why you ask? And, inquiring minds did want to know! The state of Iowa subsidizes the cost of the 89 octane to boost sales of ethanol. That’s right folks, the ethanol market can’t make it on its own, so the state spends tax dollars to ensure the continued production and use of the product. Meanwhile, indigent Mexicans can’t afford the rising cost of corn flour.
Where Wyoming was rolling grasslands, except for the area north of Flaming Gorge, Nebraska became some what flatter fields of corn. Iowa was much more undulating then Nebraska. Another interesting thing about Iowa was in the area around Cedar Rapids. It is hard to imagine how much of it was under flood waters last winter/spring. A lot of flood repair is still in progress on the roads and the bridges.
Carol could not remember ever being in Iowa. As we rolled across the Might Mississippi and into Illinois, she commented that she had landed at O’Hare once, so she had been in Illinois. I don’t believe that changing planes at any airport actually qualifies you for being in that particular state. Regardless, this time she was in the state for real. I-80 took us across the northern part of the state; across the Fox River which flows south from Wisconsin; south of Chicago proper and into northern Indiana. If you thought we had left the corn behind in Iowa, think again. Corn was prolific along the I-80, as was soybean.
We rolled on through the Boilermaker region of Purdue University and into Fighting Irish territory at South Bend. Was there corn? As high as an elephant’s eye and as far as you could see, row up row of corn stood tall towards the sun, but on this day only catching rain. Indiana also gave us our first toll road, the Indiana Turnpike. As I gently nudged our 102 inches, not including the mirrors, of width in to the toll lane, all of 10 feet wide, Carol thought it was a good time to look at the floor. The toll ticket we received was a matrix of vehicle classes, possible exits and cost of participating. Not having any idea what class we might be, we continued merrily down the turnpike, watching the industrial areas of Michigan City, South Bend, et al. become the rows of corn we had become so accustomed to seeing. As the eastern boundary of Indiana drew nigh and Ohio was on the horizon, the toll booth and our time of reckoning approached. The smiling Jack at the toll booth lightened out load by a mere $16.75, sending us merrily on our way towards the Ohio Turnpike, where yet another toll booth stood proudly erect, awaiting our arrival, to issue yet another hall pass to be paid somewhere down the road. (Jill, if you’re reading this, it’s late and I’m not going to proof it!)
Two more hours of driving and $6.75 later, we were off the turnpike on our way to our friends, Tom and Michelle. They have a lovely home, on several acres, in North Ridgeville which is just southwest of Cleveland. From here it is a mere 125 miles into Pittsburgh. So the plan is to disconnect the Dakota, using it to ferry Christy into Pittsburgh and school; then return to North Ridgeville and spend some time with them.
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