Nowhere, Minnesota

“We can stop in Hannibal,” Carrie-Bri motioned to an upcoming rest stop. “Before we enter the wilderness.”

Indeed.

Never before had I witnessed such endless expanse of farmland and paint-peeling farmhouses: three stories of nothing left. Driving a straight shot north for Rochester, Minnesota, Mom and Carrie had picked me up just before nine o’clock for the seven-hour stretch.

To launch the trip, Carrie read me texts from Rose, recommendations on pick-up lines to use on the doctors at the Mayo Clinic.

“Excuse me, doctor. But I think I have a fever, and you’re the only cure. That will confuse them.”

Typing up another book in the back seat, balancing my laptop on a 45-pack Cheez-It box. My breakfast, by the way. And lunch. We went cruising down pavement into No-Man’s-Land.

Iowa came quickly. Inspiring names such as “Skunk River” and 190th Street, or even the exceptionally creative 355th Street, crossed our path as the highway seemed to become narrower and narrower.

Minnesota. By this time, the ground looked like Oreo blizzard – vast open stretches of shallow hills and powdery snow.

Also by this time, Carrie had had about enough.

“Who puts a stop sign on a highway? Is that some kind of joke they do for the out of town people?”

Meanwhile, my Puck would be supervised by Gloria after school hours. There was always something up. Yesterday, he laughed a little from the back seat as we wound our way back home through Ladue.

“Mickey showed me how to fake-slap today. I fake-slapped Ricky. I said I was sorry. But he didn’t accept it.”

So about an hour after Puck had been picked up from school, his mama entered Rochester, Minnesota on that biting cold Wednesday afternoon. Checked in at a dinky little 1920’s-era motel. Recorded our podcast. Mom and Carrie picked up Culver’s fried fish sandwiches, fries, and soda while I edited the episode. Realized there was no wifi. Everyone so tired we went to bed before 8:30.

End Day One.