Riders Block - Day 3

Iowa to South Dakota

When people who don't live in Iowa are asked to conjure up images of the state, most would probably picture nothing. Not nothing as in a blank mind but nothing as in vast fields of nothingness. It isn't because they have never been and can't visualize the state, it is because they assume that there is nothing there and this is why they picture flat nothingness, stretching on for ever.

This uneducated assumption of Iowa is basically true; there really isn't anything there. It has a few large cities like Des Moines and Sioux City but for the most part is covered with flat farms and small rolling hills. The state is a little over three hundred miles from east to west, that is, from Moline, Illinois to Omaha, Nebraska is about a six and a half hour trip in a vehicle that goes little over fifty miles an hour. The people of Iowa whom I encountered in restaurants and gas stations were mostly very friendly and pleasant, enjoying their quiet, hard-working lives in America's heartland. At a local farming town where I refueled, I saw a couple of kids, the oldest no more than fourteen, driving around in their own mud-splattered truck.

The actual State of Iowa is not so friendly and tried without success to throw me out of it. The sky was mostly grey for my east-west trip and I had been hearing reports all morning on the radio about rain. It finally came down outside Davenport and rained heavily for sometime. The worst of the unwelcoming weather though was the strong, north-south winds that flew in across the plains and crashed into the sides of my top-heavy vehicle, trying desperately to push me off the road. I would get hit with a ferocious gust and feel like my RV was going to tip over. I gripped the steering wheel, white-knuckled, and actually crossed myself because I was convinced I was going to flip onto my side in a ditch. After about forty-five minutes or so, the winds died down and I entered the Loess Hills so the gusts were not as bad.

It took all morning to drive across the enormous state and when I finally reached the western edge, I hit the flat plains of the Missouri River valley. It is like somebody leveled the area around the highway with a bulldozer and suddenly the endless, slow ride through Iowa becomes a smooth, pleasure cruise with plenty of corn to spare. Only miles from Omaha, Nebraska, I take I-29 north up the valley to Sioux City, Iowa. The city itself has a particular odor that does not suit it and has several factories that creep along the Missouri. I eat at a sandwich shop and get some coffee around 4 or 5 in the evening.

I scurry over the border into South Dakota and drive into Sioux Falls. I decide to stop outside the city at a rest stop but worry about the gas stations that will be open at this time of night. I venture off the road some five miles at one exit when I am running low, and find a small town, surrounded by enormous ranches, pushed back far off the highway. I stop at a local grocery and gas station where it is obvious to everyone that I am from out of town. I stop later at a brightly lit town to buy some beer and cigars. I must admit, I did something I never have before, which is drink and drive at the same. I start to grow tired after two beers and inhaling a cigar when I hear this commercial come on the radio:

Hey you! Driving drunk. Better get on the phone right now and call your lawyer and your bank and your bail bondsman. These are just a few of the people you'll need to get you out of the trouble you are about to be in. South Dakota police have set up sobriety check points all along this road, so watch out!

I started to get incredibly paranoid and pull over to hide the empty bottles and stick the unopened beers far in the back of the RV. I finally come upon my chosen rest stop near Presho, South Dakota, about half way through the state. The night is freezing and I bundle up for some very cold sleep.

Riders Block - Day 2

Ohio to Iowa

Ohio is vast and highly urbanized. It is the seventh most populous state in the union and has three major cities and several smaller ones that are still big by many standards. Everyone knows Cleveland and Cincinnati because of their representation in major league sports, but the capital, Columbus, is actually the biggest city in the state, which gives you a sense of the size of these important urban centers.

Never-the-less, a seemingly unending portion of the state is farmland and in September this means that the plains are covered with long golden stalks of dead corn plants. There are a few hills here and there to give the ride some character, but mostly the state, at least the northern half, is flat. Between the industrialized areas and farms are colonies of new, vinyl-sided houses with four sides and absolutely no dimensions.

I stopped at a state park east of Toledo to take a look at the vastness of Lake Erie. On the very edge of the lake, I could see objects on the thumb section of Michigan's mitten and the arm of Ontario that scoops down and butts against Detroit. They are factories that begin below the horizon but protrude far enough above to make out. The beach was nice but the water looked murky, I avoided putting my naked feet in for fear of what the years of pollution must have done to the un-circulating water.

Indiana is quaint and quiet for the most part. Farms of wheat and corn and soy stretch endlessly along interstate 90 in the far northern section of the state. I cut from the highway down route 20 in a cold sweat, fearing I am going to run out of gas. I haven't seen a service sign for miles and I take my chances by skidding off the highway and shooting down a local road, a main road, that must have some station to provide the hard-working farm equipment with fuel. With the needle teetering on empty, I come across a pleasant station and fill up. I am so taken by the scenery along local road that I venture down it another twenty miles or so before hooking up with 90 again near South Bend. I find a couple of Amish settlements along the way; men and woman dressed in colonial garb and horses pulling large black buggies. It's interesting to see these people interacting with modern society, each group respectfully declining to be part of the other.

On the outskirts of Chicago, I take I-80 which leads me south of the gridlock instead of straight into it. I toy with the idea of seeing one of the many people I know in Chicago, possibly staying at my cousin's house in the suburbs. But I know this will conflict with my tightly organized schedule and I decide to head for Iowa instead.

I am relieved I choose to skip Chicago and continue on my way because the sheer size of Illinois is incredible. The suburbs of the Windy City sprawl out in all directions for hours, like a virus slowly enveloping surrounding areas. After that, the corn fields regroup and conquer and digest the rest of the state. It is dark when I cross the border into Iowa. I arrive in what is called the Quad Cities; four cities as one would assume, grouped together along the Mississippi. The farthest city west is Davenport and I stay at a cheap Motel 6 which is populated mostly by Latinos who are milling about each others room and talking on cell phones. I eat a dinner I quickly regret at a small diner and then head back to sleep on the only mattress I will see in the five long days.

Riders Block - Day 1

New York to Ohio

Not having a job provides a person with a lot of time and little money. That's why when the precarious job of driving an RV to Idaho in the hopes of making a few hundred dollars intrigued me greatly. I decided to take the opportunity to get out of New York and be by myself for a while.

I picked up the RV which was 22 years old and kind of a hassle to drive. It has had problems with the transmission since it was purchased by my friends out west, but they seemed confident the car could make it. The cab is the size of an average truck with a heavy overhang that can fit about three sleepers. A quick step up from the cab there's a swivel chair and a long couch as well as a small davenport with a picnic-like table in front of it. Towards the back are all the amenities needed to live in a vehicle (of course, none of them worked) including a sink, stove, oven, fridge and bathroom with shower. I didn't attempt to use any of the fixtures and preferred to urinate at rest stops or in a bottle I kept in the back of the RV.

I let the car go at its own speed during most of the first day, which was usually around 45 or 50 miles an hour. Unfortunately, at this speed, and since I wasn't able to leave until about 1 o'clock, it took me all day to get out of New York. The western half of the state stretches on and on, and is the same mix of rolling green hills and mountains, small towns and broken down farms and long empty stretches of grass. Finally, after becoming more comfortable, I pushed it up to an average of 55 to make up some lost time.

Around Pennsylvania the land flattened out as I picked up I-90 which rides mostly along the coast of Lake Erie. The sights were fairly bleak through eastern Ohio as well and the sun set before I reached Cleveland. I ate at a small bar outside the city, devouring a whole plate of wings which surprised me greatly. It was only one of several unhealthy and wholly unsettling meals I would eat along the way. I took a slight detour and got lost in a pleasant suburb of Cleveland before getting back on the highway and spending the night at a rest area west of the city. The night was cold and my one wool blanket wasn't doing the trick, but I was so tired I ended up sleeping well.