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.
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