My first impression of Minnesota was the result of a thirsty detour to stop and get a drink. Not much came up on the GPS search, except for a place just off Highway 52 called ZZ Tap. We pulled up to a hole in the wall with no lights and nobody inside. It had closed for the evening. I kicked some loose asphalt and licked my dry lips. Looking to the right I noticed a dated sign that said, “Family Dining.” This dive was called the Canton Pub & Supper Club. Just so you know, it didn’t live up to either part of its name.
A rush of road trip excitement fizzled in my joints as we walked through a foyer of wood paneling, poor lighting, and rusted signs hanging on the wall. One of them said “No poem was ever written by a drinker of water.” Stale smoke hovered over the bar, where a man in a baseball cap stared intently at an electronic lottery machine that seemed bizarrely out of place. I hoped we had entered into a slice of rural reality known and appreciated only in this sparsely populated part of America. Turns out it was merely a space to hold a deep-fryer and a fridge full of Pabst Blue Ribbon. I wouldn’t be surprised if the waitress/cook used the yellow slime under her fingernails in place of butter on Katie’s grilled cheese sandwich. She was nice and talkative with us until I whipped out a credit card to pay for the meal. “We don’t take those,” she said through clenched teeth. The way she turned on us, you would think her whole family had been murdered by a wild pack of blood-thirsty credit cards.
“Is there an ATM on this block,” I asked sheepishly.
She glared at me with her arms crossed. “Five miles that way,” she growled.

After tapping into my emergency stash of cash to fund a tasteless meal that probably eroded my intestinal lining, we got back on the road in the direction of the twin cities.

“Okay,” Katie said to me. “No more pit stops at places with names like ZZ Tap.”

That’s what I sang as we drove past the Illinois state sign this weekend. It actually made Mark laugh, he only laughs at one out of every twenty songs I come up with so I thought I should share it with you. The ’s’ is silent of course.

As you read in Mark’s Sunday post, we’re in Illinois visiting his family. Everyday I think “Oh no, what am I going to write about to make the readers think this is the most exciting time of my life?” You see, I imagined that by this point of the trip we would have mountain climbing, horseback riding, finding hidden waterfalls where we camp for days, and discovering delicious restaurants in cities we never visited before, all under our belts. Sure, we have found some good restaurants (Cleveland was surprisingly delicious) but we haven’t done much of the other romanticized road trip activities. Well, we haven’t done those yet, but believe me, if mountain climbing, horse back riding and waterfall camping do not happen on this trip, I’ll continue road tripping until it does. So far it’s been a drive through Amish country, a drive through RV country (apparently lots of RVs are built in Indiana) and a visit to Mark’s family (both sides of his family, to be exact). All of these destinations were planned out before we ever left Montclair, and have forced us to rush past peach orchards, winery tours, and Saugatuck, Michigan to arrive on time. Well, we’re left Monticello, Illinois and Mark’s family this afternoon and we’re headed towards Chicago, but believe me when I say that hanging out with Mark’s family beats waterfall camping any time!!! I mean, really, how could we sleep with a loud waterfall crashing down behind us anyway? I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe we’ll just opt for a day trip to a secluded waterfall we stumble upon after throwing Samantha out the window and getting lost (Just kidding Samantha, I love you and need you).

I believe Mark told you about our first day or two here in Monticello. In my story, we open after a night of sleeping at Uncle Lee’s country house. Originally we were to stay in the ‘Little House’ over at Aunt Louise and Uncle Larry’s, but the basement flooded (come on rain, leave Illinois alone already) and we moved to higher ground. We slept in the T@b and it felt pretty damn awesome waking up with a red barn and horses in the background the next morning.

This is Rosco, a handsome mutt with his own super large dog run, shed/house and pool. Before we met I heard he was a huge dog who would eat Mister. It turns out he’s not as huge as that other Rosco I know, and is as sweet as his twin Lennon (Kate’s dog).

I think they might have been Mules. That white one and one of those brown guys are in love, and it’s also a little creepy because the white one is so small, she’s got to be too young for him. But a couple of serious cuties nonetheless.

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“Cleveland can’t be this boring,” I told Katie as we cruised through the deserted streets of the city, looking for an interesting place to stop and spend our time. “This whole place is completely vacant!” I programmed the coordinates for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame into the Mio GPS, knowing it would lead us down by Lake Erie. I figured that, since the Hall of Fame was already closed, there’d at least be some cool hang-out spots in that part of town. The closer we got to our destination, the more uncannily quiet and lonesome the streets got. In front of us was a city packed with skyscrapers, warehouses, stores, places of worship, restaurants, basketball courts, even its own Little Italy — but not a single living person in sight.

We rounded the final bend and began our descent to the lake. A makeshift stand of Cleveland Browns football jerseys and merchandise by the side of the road caught my eye. “Uh oh,” I gulped. The realization of my mistake hit me like a disgruntled linebacker. “The Browns game is ending! The stadium is right there!!” Panic gripped me. I gripped the steering wheel. The empty streets suddenly gushed with football fans — I think every single resident of the city of Cleveland was in attendance at that football game. They took over the streets in droves.

The scene was absurd. I was the only idiot stupid enough to be driving through downtown Cleveland on a Sunday evening during football season. Ours was literally the only car on a major street swollen with pedestrians.

So Cleveland has some life after all.

Yesterday was filled with ups and downs. First, let’s go over a list of things I’ve eaten since the morning of the first day of this road trip. I started off with some Reese’s Peanut Butter Sticks, courtesy of our pal Kevin Dunphy who stopped by the night before with a big bag of candy for our going away present. The first year I was friends with Kevin he gave me his left-over Halloween candy for my birthday, what a guy! And the list goes on, somewhat in order: Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk, Doritos, Chipwich, cottage cheese with sugary fruit, Pop-tarts, cheddar cheese crackers with peanut butter, cheesy hash browns, peach pancakes with whipped cream, french fries, cinnamon roll, cheesy eggs with potatoes, Taco Bell, then I decided to go healthy and eat some watermelon chunks from Wawa, followed by an entire bag of king sized M&M’s. So, looking over that list, it seems I’m going to get real fat on this road trip if I don’t change my eating habits ASAP. I started today off with an English muffin and more watermelon, progress.

Yesterday we said goodbye to my dad up in Milford, Massachusetts. We didn’t have time to see him before we left, so we made Milford, a place we’ve visited many times, our first stop for the trip. It was nice because it was a good way to ease into a three and a half month road trip. The visit was a success as usual, even though we didn’t get to enjoy the area as much as we should have (our own fault, too busy to research what to do in Providence!) When we visit him it turns out the best days usually don’t involve much sight-seeing, just hanging out with my dad and telling jokes. Up until two years ago I never really hung out with him like a pal, but now it’s always a great time and I consider him a good friend. Not a best-friend-forever-tell-him-all-my-secrets friend, but someone who knows me pretty dang well and forgives me for being a crazy, inconsiderate beeword when that side of me comes out. You have that side too right? Or some kind of side? I can’t be the only one.

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I take the risk of revealing to the world my own tinges of insanity when I say that I’ve dreamed for years about visiting Rhode Island.  I’ve never known much about the state except that it is the smallest of 50, but something about it has been tantalizing my imagination for quite some time.  I would lay awake in bed at night and imagine riding a bike down side streets and alley ways, past stores that sell salt water taffy, and coasting down hill as the foamy ocean grows larger on the horizon.  I imagined that, in the evenings, I would bring my guitar to the beach and play through the sunset.  Why did I choose Rhode Island as the setting for this dream of leisure?  I can’t really say — it just seemed right.
Today I finally got to experience a little bit of Rhode Island in real life.  Katie, Robby (Katie’s dad), and I cruised into Providence this afternoon after gorging ourselves on a late breakfast at Cracker Barrel.  From afar, Providence is gorgeous.  I wiggled in anticipation from the backseat.  By chance we pulled into a parking spot by the Rhode Island School of Design.  The campus was spread across green fields and dotted with paved hills and ornately decorated fences separating the street from old American architecture.  Young artists walked in pairs on the sidewalks, occasionally splitting up to let young artist joggers whiz by.
The three of us bumbled down a steep hill to the RISD Museum of Art, where the friendly ticket booth operator gave us all student discounts.  Nine dollars later, we were face to face with creations from the likes of Picaso, Cezanne, Rodin, Gauguin, and one of my personal favorites, Henri Rousseau.  In another gallery, Robby found what he called “the first historical evidence of the game ‘Rocks, Paper, Scissors.’ ”
By the time we got out of the museum the sun was feeling just right on our shoulders.  We stopped for a little while on the Riverwalk.
The three of us had a good time watching people go by — “Oh, I’ll bet he’s a professor, look at those glasses!”  “Are they twins?  I think they’re twins.  They must be; they look exactly the same.  They’re twins, Dad.”  The time ticked by as we enjoyed the weather and Robby rested his cramped calf muscles. The sun was already beginning to set on our short day-trip to Providence.
It was Robby who expressed his desire for a beer, but Katie made the decision to find a friendly hole-in-the-wall place to soak up some local color.   More walkers passed as she used her iPhone to search for a good place. Lots of walkers in Providence, some dudes on mopeds and vespas:  happily, Providence seems like an environmentally conscious city.   The people take the time to talk with you, too  — even if you just ask them for directions or advice.  Very friendly vibes.   Eventually, Katie found a place with great reviews.  We plugged the address into the Mio GPS (what a great way to navigate an unfamiliar city) and headed to the other side of town.   When we pulled up in front of the place, though, there was a shadowy figure sitting on a lone bar stool just outside of it .  Despite the fact that all the other people we saw and talked to seemed so cordial, we all agreed that this suspicious character sitting in the dark might be the one guy in the city to throw razor blades at our eyeballs.
We didn’t have another address, so we hung our heads out the window and looked for good places.  The city streets forced us into the financial district.  We got tired of one-way streets and abundant stop signs, so we sighed and settled for a mostly vacant  sports bar named Finnegan’s Wake.  The sun was really sinking at this point, and we were disappointed to have to conclude our day at a place with mediocre beer and no people to talk to except staff.  The menu is printed on the placemat so you have to stare it the whole time you’re there.  One of the appetizer items sparked my curiousity and, after about an hour of thinking about what it might be, I had to ask the waitress.
“So, uh, what’s a stuffy?”
“You don’t know what a stuffy is?”
“No, I guess I don’t know.”
“You can’t be from around here.  I’ve never met a person who doesn’t know what a stuffy is.”
It turns out that it is just a clam stuffed with breading and stuff.  Big deal, New England.
We finished up and headed home.  It was a fun day with good company, but I am disappointed that we only got a glimpse of the personality that Providence has to offer.  My dreams of Rhode Island will remain romanticized, it seems, because I still feel I have yet to tap its true potential.  You’ll continue to lure me for much longer, Rhode Island.  I’ll get you one day.