Good morning from scenic Dayton, Ohio. We got in late last night, so I can’t speak to much of why it’s so “scenic,” but from what I saw of the bluffs and the trees, it is. I love a city with bluffs and trees. Probably because I’m partial to my native St. Paul, which has both. Which leads me (I kid you not) to my next point: isn’t it funny how when we travel (or at least, when I travel) we admire or gape at or disparage sights based on where we’re from? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said “This or that looks like Minnesota,” often with an air of disappointment, because for heaven sakes I’m driving cross-country! I want vast scenic differences! It’s not your fault, Ohio.
This post, by the way, will cover what happened yesterday. I meant to write it last night, but you know how comfy hotel beds are, and how tempting they are after thirteen hours on the road.
The drive yesterday from Minnesota to Ohio was punctuated by two primary events: 1. I ate a McDonald’s egg McMuffin for breakfast that made me feel, for the next eight hours, like I had a softball-sized ball of grease roiling in my stomach. It was awful, and the likes of Tums, Coke, and pretzels (to soak up the grease) were of no avail. I really should know by now that McDonald’s never ceases to have dastardly effects on my innards. No worries that I’ll forget again: I think yesterday served to build up a strong aversion. 2. The van began to act up whilst we were on the seven-lane freeway in the traffic-y Chicago area. I pointed out to my Mom that our family, not unlike the Griswolds, never ceases to have car trouble on road trips. She didn’t think it was very funny. Anyway, luckily there’s a Chrysler dealer in Dayton that was willing to have a look. It was a loose battery cable, apparently, which would explain the flickering of gauges and the random bursts of hot air from the vents.
Today, after I shower and clean up the contents of my suitcase–which always seem to end up strewn about the room–we’re heading over to see the Wright Brother’s flying field. Then it’s off to Virginia, which I feel certain will not “look like Minnesota.”
P.S. I know I’ve neglected to talk about the Killers concert. I’ll write about that soon. Right now, I’m under the pressure of a looming check-out time.