1,000 miles under my belt. After the pretty hills of Western Pennsylvania it starts to flatten out rather quickly in to the farm land of Ohio and the monotony begins to set in. It was quite grey and rainy and trying to snap shots while driving was proving to be a somewhat hazardous task but I managed to get a few.
Gas has been the silent killer. It costs about $100 to fill up the tank and it needs to be done every 250 miles. It does mean you get to stop at all kinds of interesting establishments like this one and observe the culture of the road. All these places have showers in them and you put your name on a list and they call your name over the loud speaker “Mike Reynolds, your shower is ready”
At the counter where I bought my coffee they had this large glass container filled with water and a little shot glass at the bottom. You could drop money in the water and if it landed in the shot glass you got your coffee for free. The woman behind the counter went on to explain that it went to a program to help kids with cancer and that she knew it was a good program because two of her three kids had leukemia and benefited greatly from the service. “Damn, I’m sorry to hear that” was all I could find to mutter. My dollar just kind of floated on top of the water and I couldn’t wait around to see if it would land in the shot glass as the road beckoned.
Ohio was just how imagined it – flat and farmy. Certainly a lot of room to grow and a lot of opportunity for the sun to stream through the clouds just like this:
Finding provisions of a suitable quality is proving to be more difficult in this neck of the plains. Plastic, prefabricated and preservative seem to be common threads in the culinary culture in these lands. Waistlines have been expanding. Beer choices are dwindling. Would you like corn syrup with that corn muffin? I’ve been sticking to mexican food mostly – seems innocuous and I can relate to the ingredients on some elemental level.
I made it to Valparaiso, Indiana before I had to clock out for the night at a Super8 motel. As I write this the smell of weed is wafting under my door from somewhere down the hallway. I feel like I’m back in college.
