Day 20: Cloud Gate
I’ve been wanting to make that joke for almost a whooooole year. Long game lulz.
In all fairness to Nebraska and Iowa, there are, undoubtedly, plenty of hidden gems and points of interest. But, spoiler alert, it was the combination of not having any time to explore and virtually 0 interesting roadside geography that made it so lower-case-b bland.
Honestly, the scenic highlight was the rest stop I spent the night at. It was the rockiest, least flat, most interesting geography for two full states.
I had every intention of climbing the rock until I saw the you-will-die sign.
Actually, it would have been very on-brand to die from a rattle snake bite. Missed opportunity.
Oh, I lied, I did discover one hidden gem. It was at this painfully hot and dusty trucker stop. Again, mom and pop. Again, South Asian. But this one served food. And not gas station food, real food. Some of the best Indian I’ve ever had. I did write down the name, but since my notes are lost to the ages the only clue now is this photo. I think Jay Bros is the gas stop, not the restaurant.
Okay, I cheated, I looked it up- Taste of India.
Back on the road. Blasting music. Chain smoking. And then it happened again. The dreaded check engine light. Mind you, the car was still driving fine, but I didn’t want to take my chances.
I pulled over as soon as I could in I-don’t-care-where and found an auto shop. They were kind enough to do the engine reading for me.
Unsurprisingly, it was the same shit with the DPF. Thankfully, it didn’t seem to be affecting the performance. But who knows how long that would hold out.
I headed to the local Dodge dealer. They could see me… in… hold on, looks like two weeks.
I chuckled to myself. It had become a sort of gallows humor.
Did you want to make an appointment?
No, I’m good.
I figured that since it still had full power I’d, gently, take it as far as I could. Maybe when I was closer to Omaha, Des Moines, or even Chicago, I could find someone to do another manual regen for me. Ideally, same day. Seemed likelier in a larger population center.
I got back on the road. Blasting music. Chain smoking. Occasionally calling people to help me stay awake. And then, a new warning light. Ugh, here we go again. To the choose-your-own-misadventure manual. It was the oil level. Okay, that’s not bad. Another simple fix. Annoying, but simple.
It was more or less timed with dinner, so I pulled over in the next nearest populated area. I might have been all the way to Lincoln by this point. My only visual clue is that between one stop and another was the Great Platte River Road Archway.
Where between? Not sure. That’s just the order of the photos. Cross-referencing with Google Maps, the second stop could have been Grand Island, Aurora, York, Seward, or Lincoln. The place before the arch I’d stopped, to get my diagnosis, that was Kearney. Which, frankly, out of all those names is the only one that rings a bell. But I definitely didn’t loop back for the check oil light. So… who knows. It’s not actually important. This is all still Day 19, btw.
Sure, I’ll wait a year to make a joke, but I’d never deprive you of the full tale. That would be unconscionable. I’m not a monster.
All the driving had made this thing thirsty for oil. I watched some youtube videos in the parking lot before diving in, apparently, it could need new oil every few hundred miles. I guess I’d need to buy the biggest jug.
Oil filled, Matthew fed, back on the road.
I drove well into the night to the manic beats of Dan Deacon (great driving music, fyi). I drove somewhere into Iowa. Where? Um, there was a church… and some trees?
Across the street from the church there was a mid-sized field. I’m guessing it was the spillover parking for weddings and Easter. Seemed out of the way enough, so that’s where I slept.
And voila, now we’re in Day 20.
(You didn’t think you were going to get two for the price of one, did you? Welllllllll lucky you)
I didn’t stick around for too long, it always felt safer to skedaddle. My operating assumption was that behind every steeple, every mailbox, every hedgerow berm was some version of the Argyle Estates mall cop and the threat of punishment for my slumbering transgression.
I mean, I wasn’t in so much of a rush that I wouldn’t take pictures, or lie in the field and stare at the sky. About the length of a cigarette. And a pee.
Day 20 really had one goal, okay it had two goals:
Drive, blah blah
See the Bean
The Bean, better known as Cloud Gate, is Anish Kapoor’s brilliant work of public art in the shape of a giant mirrorized bean. It first came on my radar back in art school, a photography student traveled there and took some comical photos of getting flipped off by an 85-year-old man in the reflection of the bean. I had wanted to see it ever since. It has a certain gravitational pull: the scale, the shape, the reflection. Future generations of humans may wonder as to its religious significance, or ascribe it magical powers. It certainly looks otherworldly. A bit like the spaceship from Flight of the Navigator (which, btw, is getting remade by none other than Bryce Dallas Howard). (I hope they bring back Paul Reubens). Like the plateau, like Close Encounters, it was calling to me. I had to go see it.
The drive to Chicago was pretty uneventful. The ground began to undulate again somewhere in Illinois. It also became more populated. Both of which added some modicum of interest to the otherwise droning forward motion. But a moment of genuine excitement occurred when this happened:
There were about ten of these that passed me. It was exhilarating every time. It looked like a Brancusian whale had been captured at sea. In the movie version (in my head) this is the point of the trip where Paul Dano is very sleep deprived and hallucinating. The turbine blade sprouts fins, and is covered in mermaids on Spring Break, basking in the sun, tickled to briefly run away with their new Viking boyfriends. One of them blows him a kiss. He reaches out to catch it, begins veering into the next lane, and is jarred back to reality by a very loud horn. A haggard and zombie-like Dano sheepishly waves to a very angry driver. Who calls him a libtard.
Don’t worry mom, I was very well rested and drove flawlessly the entire time.
Can’t say the same for Limpy Mc Limp Face though. Fucking DPF. It was starting to affect the power now. Mostly on hills, flats could still get about 55. Then it dropped to 45. Fuck. I put the van in cruise at 45 mph and threw it into 3rd gear to see if I could force a manual regen (something I’d gleaned from my many trips to many mechanics). To my delight, it worked. For ten minutes. Then it was back to 45. Doble Fuck. But then there was construction, everyone slowed down to 45 around me, and then I was just middle herding it.
Sigh of relief.
What’s that? You need more oil? You need me to pull over where there’s no shoulder and heavy traffic? Fuck times three.
Fiiiiiiiiiinnnne.
Brat.
I let the car cool down for a bit before feeding it the finest quality of highly refined golden slime. And then I let it sit for longer. Time seemed to help with the DPF bs. I briefly considered popping off the thing the guy had shown me, but I was really reluctant to screw with it, despite his suggestion. I was also about 20 miles from Chicago. So I took the long wait to call up local Dodge dealers. Left some voicemails. Picked one and decided to give them my business whether they wanted it or not. South Oak. Whatever. Fresh out of fucks.
I did eventually get through to them, they thought they could squeeze me in. Great, cause I’m right outside.
I pulled the rig under the awning and left it running per their instructions. A crowd gathered. And I thought I was popular at the Walmart. You should have seen me here, I was like a real-life rockstar. Twentyish people all came out at once, mechanics, salespeople, customers, the Assistant Regional Manager (ahem, assistant to). They had lots of questions, I got some serious kudos, hell, one of the salesladies started hitting on me. After the fanfare died down I had to do some sweet talking to get things moving. Thankfully, I’d become pretty adept at making my case. They’d get it done within the hour.
And so I left ol’ Limpy. Must be time for food.
Strip mall across the street had a Dairy Queen. The Grill and Chill always make me think of Sev, the grandson (though older than me) of my ersatz Oregon Grandparents, Ernie and Diana. What characters. You’ll get to hear all about them in the building phase of the blog. Anyway, Sev and I would commonly exchange Grilling and Chilling as a greeting, which eventually became “the old G&C.” I’m really not sure why any of this happened, but it was amusing to us. And I guess I was just starting to miss my friends.
The meal experience was wholly unremarkable save for one strange feature— a flatscreen looping endless kitten videos set to… I don’t know, Nickelback?
What is this life.
Wandered back, we were good to go. Settled up, gave thanks, moved on.
Bean
BEAN
BEEEEEEEAAAAAANNNNNNNN
Here I come beanie baby. Eww. That sounds gross. But if I imagine it in the soft-spoken voice of my weirdo boss Eric, it’s actually super funny. To me. And like three other people. Of which you, dear reader, are likely not one. (Hi Sydney! Hi Kayleen! Bob, heyyyy!)
The car seemed to be in better spirits, so off I went, to find the mothership. And maybe Bryce Dallas Howard.
As I drove around I could tell that I was not going to find convenient (and legal) parking. So I opted for convenient. Besides, there were other cars parked there, so, safety in numbers, right? I was only going to be a few minutes anyway, 20 tops. I bet I’d get back there before anyone could ticket or tow me. And, let’s be real, who’s going to tow my landboat?
Behold, the bean
You are now going to get ALL OF THE PHOTOS I TOOK and I don’t care that it’s too many. Too bad.
There was other cool stuff nearby, like some sort of epic outdoor performance venue. And this video piece, Crown Fountain, which sadly didn’t have the water feature running (the people in the videos literally spit water onto the viewers).
Artists are so weird. I love it.
I wished I could have stayed. There, specifically, but Chicago generally. It was just so cool. Alas, I was almost home. A mere day or two more and the Reverse Oregon Trail would be complete.
I headed back to the car, not towed, not ticketed, thank you very much. As I walked up I noticed a sign, a loving reminder. I wondered how my Wilson was doing. Oh, Shim Sham.
Remember the cars I’d parked near, the ones I thought would give me cover? They were traffic cops. They had super subtle stickers in their windows, lmao, how did I not get slapped? K bye!
I got out of there right quick, didn’t want to push my luck.
Getting back to the highway was kind of incredible. Keep in mind I’ve never been to Chicago, I only know that there is the Bean and Kanye and the Obamas. That’s it. So, I’m driving this monster truck, with terrible fucking sight lines through a congested city and then suddenly I’m in some sort of weird underground network of roads unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Bizarre split lanes. Right lanes to turn left. Super tight corners. It felt like I was in a video game. And the mission was to not shear off the top of my truck. THERE WERE NO CLEARANCE SIGNS. I had 0 concept of how high the ceiling or its buttresses were. Every god damn thing looked like it was going to peel the tin right off of my rig. It was a thrilling combination of terror, excitement, focused motor skills, and putting a whole lot of trust into the universe to help me come out unscathed. The combination of Trust and Level 5 alertness got me out and into the open.
Going the wrong way.
Lol, at least I could turn around without going back into the labyrinth. Crawled through rush hour to the highway. Near the edge of town, I was able to hit 55 and sustain it. Out of Illinois, across Ohio, a shortcut through the corner of PA and into Western NY. I was trying to make it all the way to Alfred. Which, again, will only mean something to like 4 of you. It’s where I went to art school, Alfred University in Alfred NY. Five states in a day, pretty good considering. (Remember I started in Iowa)
Didn’t make it all the way to Alfred. Honestly, this is pure blackout. I have exactly 0 memory of where I spent the night, or, frankly, if I even made it to NY at all. I might have only gotten to PA. But I think I got to NY, cause I wanted to feel like I was making up time for all the ass dragging from the previous 19 days. It’s possible someone I was texting at that time has a record, but I don’t, because face plant.
Ah so. The world may never know.
2 more days. Stay tuned ;)