Indianapolis was something of a homecoming. It was the first stop where I’d spent any significant time previously. It’s also the home of my friend Bob, on whose shoulders I place the blame for these annual mega-trips. Thus, I had some perspective (and lots of pictures from last year) so I could actually look at things with my eyes rather than with the camera.

I miss fall. It was always my favorite time of year when I used to live in places with discernible seasons. So it was pretty cool to see (a) trees and (b) trees with multi-colored leaves. It takes so little to make me happy. Sometimes.

After a couple of thrift stores (including Bull Winkle’s where I managed to find the missing link in my set of Flintstones mugs from McDonald’s) and a pretty decent used bookstore, we did the southeastern Indiana tour along US52…

 

…which led ultimately to Cincinatti. I’d never been to Cincinatti. It brings to mind images of a really repressive social climate and of scrappy little AM radio stations. Actually, it seemed a fairly interesting place with a sort of seedy urban aesthetic I really liked. Reminded me a little of Pittsburgh. Definitely worth a longer look next year.

 

The evening brought a quick trip to a bar or too. At the 501 Tavern, I had a brief conversation with a crowd of lightweights who thought I was completely nuts for dribing around the country when I could have spetmy vacation flying to really “fabulous” places. They were pretty much irredeeemable and I moved on to this strangely endearing sort of mega-club (whose name I forget) where I spent a few minutes chasing a boy who looked completely out of his mind. I didn’t catch him. In retrospect, I think I’m glad…

Odometer: 85758

 

Minimal sleep. Hit a few thrift stores on the way out of town. And then I was off through the wilds of eastern Iowa and central Illinois, onward through Peoria and Champaign/Urbana. I had another Chick-Fil-A moment in Moline IL.

Finally I hit Indiana, where I had no idea what time it was (Indiana does not recognize Daylight Savings Time). Bob and Cody were waiting, as was my suite at the Renaissance Tower. There was TV Land on cable, White Castle a few blocks away and things were about to start getting more interesting with less driving and more things to see.

Never again will I drive from San Francisco to Indianapolis with only three stops.

Odometer: 85056

 

I’d never been In Nebraska or Iowa before. I’d imagined that they’d both look a lot like Kansas. I was pretty much right. I flew through Nebraska at 85-90MPH. This day was all about speed and distance too: over 650 miles in one day. My biggest impression of the state were of the cute boys in all the rest areas (alas, none of them cruising). Of course, cruising these rest areas would be difficult, thanks to the perpetual noise of the weather radio. Sounds just like a police radio. Smart move, huh?

Another big Nebraska memory would be of the strange yellow liquid sprayed on my car from the back of some truck. It came out in a big stream. There were horses in the truck. What am I to assume?

Crossing over into Iowa, I was pretty pissed to find the speed limit reduced to 65MPH for no apparent reason. I was amused by the rest areas described as “undeveloped” (no toilets) and “modern” (several toilets). I was astounded to find a 100KW college radio staion in Council Bluffs (trust me…this is a strange thing…)

 

And then there was Des Moines. The Bob Damron guide lists Border’s as the town’s “gay bookstore”. The newspaper still prints the addresses of people who write letters to the editor. Gas is 85 cents a gallon.

Actually, large parts of Des Moines looked almost seedy. There’s something about those midwestern grid cities that I really love. They have a certain grit which is all but impossible to find here in Disneyland. They grew really big in a really short period of time and had peaked by the 1950s; this history makes a pretty interesting looking city in my view. Plus there’s good neon.

 

There are apparently four or five queer bars here. Only one of them, Blazing Saddles, appeared to be open. It was scary: a huge collection of retail queens (CK this, Tommy Hilfiger that, Ralph Lauren something else) and the smell of cologne was vomit-inducing. Blecch…

Motley Crue was scheduled to appear on Wednesday. The tempatation to stay was great.

Odometer: 84407

 

Up at 6:30. On the road by 8 after breakfast and two new tires at Les Schwab. Today was all about distance. Minimal stops. Minimal sightseeing. I barely stopped in Salt Lake City, although I managed to hear no less than four Rush songs while in radio range. The proliferation of headbanger stations had begun most dramatically with Ozzy Osbourne as I crossed the Great Salt Desert. It pretty much never ended through the entire trip.

Lunch at the KFC “all you can eat” buffet in Evanston WY. Passed the Continental Divide at the 100-mile mark.

And then there was snow. It wasn’t falling from the sky, nor piled up on the road. It had, however, accumulated on the ground and I started to worry that maybe I was travelling a little late in the season. As it turned out, I continued to “ourun” the weather for the next two weeks.

I bypassed Laramie, where Matthew Shepard’s funeral had taken place two days before, and made my way to a bed at the Motel 6 in Cheyenne. The Motel 6 on the west side of town. The Motel 6 next to the train tracks. The Motel 6 next to the very noisy train tracks.

Dinner at a Chick-Fil-A in a very frightening mall. All the customers were white. All the kids had severe acne. The sandwich was great. The waffle fries sucked, as usual.

 Odometer: 83835

 

Long day. Minimal sleep from the night before. I actually managed to get on the road relatively early, fueled by the excitement of spending a night in Wells NV. OK, I’m lying. I was fueled by nothing but full-strength, high-caffeine Coca Cola Classic.

There is absolutely nothing exciting about Wells, and not too much exciting about northern Nevada in general. Once you pass Reno, all civilization pretty much ends, and the scenery is not exciting enough to compensate.

I did, however, come to two realizations on I-80. The first was that”Starry Eyes” by the Records may well be the most classically perfect pop song of the past twenty years. The second was that the vibrations in my car were probably not due to my 90MPH speed.

The second realization proved costlier than the first. Two new tires in Wells. This completed the set I started on the way back from Vegas in the spring. What is it about Nevada highways?

Dinner at a very sad-looking casino, which actually had a pretty passable cafe. The TV news from Salt Lake City featured THREE stories from North Carolina, solidifying my opinion that Utah is pretty much interchangeable with my home state.