US Tour Week 2: WY NE IA MN

2006-10-04

Dear Friends,
Follow the Jonsson-Goods as they meet virtually every kind of weather known to the Plains in Week II.....!

Thursday Sept 14. Utah to Wyoming:
It has been a week. I awoke in our resort room above Salt Lake City after too little sleep, an anxious gotta-get-moving feeling overtaking me at 5am. David seemed to feel the same. It was also our day to bid farewell to Childcare Heather and Bassman Nate, who have so enriched this trip. They had the entire trip to Newberg OR to make in the one day...

The day brightened as we made our way down from the mountain fog, and a short visit in Salt Lake City afforded us the opportunity to eat breakfast on a nearby picnic table, shore up enough tea for the morning and view the exterior of the Mormon Tabernacle. Sorry they hadn't booked me - or did I remember to ask..? We returned to the scene of the kid-fest that had taken place at Leslie Chevalier's in Ogden and scooped our kids, left hugs and Summerland Sweets Syrup and deepened friendships. We knew we wouldn't get far this afternoon, but planned to make it to Rock Springs before the camp-sites ran out along the highway.

Now, I admit I was told about the wind in Wyoming - serious gales that tip over semis, and for which there are roadside shelters. I also admit that the sky was darkening when we noticed that trucks had inexplicably parked off the highway, hugged up against the low cliffside. We pulled into the most pathetic KOA I have ever seen - a gravel parking lot - and after paying a (discounted) $20 for the privilege, pulled out our awning over a picnic table, had the Coleman out and ready to make supper. The sun was going down and the rain starting to spatter as the wind began to pick up. Then, without so much as a warning blast, the wind threw us a huge underhand pitch and the awning shot into the air, up and over the camper rooftop! Suddenly the rain was pelting down and Deej and I in our mid-summer shorts were running around outside trying to rescue the contorted awning. Nicole was, meanwhile, throwing up into a bucket in the upper canopy (an early-tour stomach flu). We were completely soaked and freezing in minutes as we tried to tie the awning back into its rolled-up position, and haul the picnic table stuff back into the (crammed, as you can imagine) camper. To our credit, the grown-ups stayed calm and collaborated on a gourmet meal of mango peach salsa eggs (David insists I record this menu), beans and Linnea's baby potatoes on the indoor propane stove. Patrick moved into helper mode, Nicole threw up tidily, and Isaac, when asked after dessert if he wanted more chocolate said, "No. I'm sleepy." and went to bed.

Friday Sept 15. Wyoming to Nebraska:
We awoke to a miserable low cloud hanging over the Wyoming hoodoos. The windstorm over, Nicole's personal storm had also abated, leaving her in low ebb all day.

Highway 80 cuts a long swath from west to east through Wyoming and Nebraska, leading us through cliff valleys, sheared off desert-dry mountain ranges, occasional grey mud-pie stack formations. Sometimes it truly looks like the Sinai Mountain range that I used to describe as long lines of clay clods that had been thrown aside by a dissatisfied potter. And sometimes the perfect lines of tan sandstone-like rock are suddenly illuminated by red and yellow dry foliage standing out to the eye in the same way a tinted old photograph stands out almost real.

We drove all day from 10 to 8:30, with the cloud and battering wind, David with his eye over his shoulder reporting on whether we were ahead of the storm or falling back into it. It did seem the perfect day to just be driving. Our morning routine is for Patrick and Nicole to do their Road School studies, which we brought from the Homeschoolers Association, and for Isaac to do his own work beside Mom at the back. After lunch, the kids break out the computer for a bit of time each, and then they often sit in the back sharing headphones together, listening to the couple of CDs they have brought with them. We hear them quietly singing together "We are the champions, my friend.."

By the dark of evening, we reach our goal of Ogallala. After a stop at the gas station and my discovering that the fit-together state-shaped fridge magnets of the US could all be bought at the one place (and holding off in the face of the stupid $100 expense for all of them - whoa, keep breathing, Linnea!) we get back in the van to find a campsite. Battery is dead. David calls AAA while Linnea doles out peanut butter, honey and pumpkin seed sandwiches. Two guys show up looking straight out of Deliverance, their sub-woofer speakers pounding out a song so loud it can't be heard; they are the local AAA representatives. "Hm," says one, after jolting the battery back into existence. "Looks like just a bit of bad luck." Our battery is apparently fine and the alternator, too... Two weird nights in a row. Wind has come up with last night's sudden ferocity again. It's OK; we left the awning in the dumpster in Rock Springs.

Saturday Sept 16. Nebraska to Iowa:
So, it wasn't until Kearney, Nebraska, when David attempted to restart after gassing up, that the engine showed us how wrong we were. Apparently it wasn't just dumb luck that stopped our battery the night before; it was dumb battery. The kids were utterly triumphant that the fall-back position was that I would take them to that infernal McScottish place for lunch while David found a place open on Saturday to purchase a new car accessory. As they finished off their meals, Deej and I proceeded to wrest the front passenger seat away from its moorings to free the old battery (nothing's simple in a VW). The old one came out, leaving behind it a beach of rusted casing sand and holes.

When I finally managed to call Barb Nish, our host in Des Moines, and advise her that we were going to be late, it was past suppertime. With a new battery charging our way across the great plains, we felt confident about the future - fools that we were. Omaha, Nebraska and yet another gas stop. As the children and I pile back in to the van after a Mario-ball throwing game, David throw his head into his hands; the van won't start again. One more boost (well, it's one way of making friends...) and we head off, baffled and blaming the alternator. It seems we can drive short distances and re-start without difficulty, but long drives somehow drain us (a poor parable for a tour like this one!) In Council Bluffs, we pull in to a Cracker Barrel - a restaurant I know from my travels in the south - and feeling like a little southern hospitality, we order a supper of chicken and dumplings or roast beef and mashed potatoes, greens, the works. We thank our server like she was a long-lost cousin.

It wasn't just the events of the day that were weighing on me. By the time we came out of the Cracker Barrel, it was dark, the humidity like a sea creature. I literally felt the sweat pouring off my eyebrows. A woman coming through the door of the restaurant remarked to my casual weather observation, "Oh yes, they said there'd be a tornado tonight." We drove through the dark like the Enterprise making its way through an ion storm - electricity all around us, arrows of lightning piercing on all sides. Most strangely of all, and most spooky, was the rainless sky - just buffeting wind and lightning. And either there was no thunder at all, or it was so omnipresent that it couldn't be distinguished from the roar of the road at night.

We arrived at Nancy Wright's house in Des Moines and she forbade us to sleep in our pop-up camper. "You'll have no canopy in the morning," said she. So, we trooped the little ones indoors with beleaguered gratitude. It smelled like Hawaii outdoors. I rose twice in the night to shut the window to the screaming wind.

Sunday, Sept 17, an enforced day off in Des Moines:
The Spirit moves in mysterious ways. Knowing that we would not be able to get our alternator looked at until Monday, we were faced with a sabbath to rest in. However, it was an early morning, nonetheless, as we packed ourselves over to Heartland Presbyterian Church to share in worship. Barb Nish and clergy colleague Mark Davis were more than flexible in inviting us to join them in their service - not the least of which because almost every e-mail Barb and I exchanged over the week leading up to it came too late for the other to respond to. However, this church has been worshipping with a jazz music style, for which they credit their liturgical flexibility on the fly. The worship was a wonderful mix of great theology and fast-paced, spirited music. Barb herself (despite a divinity degree!) is a hot jazz pianist, plus she is supported by a group of musicians of all kinds, including their bassist Ben Mars, who is about to leave for Juliard.

The sense of hospitality was amazing. By the time the scripture about following Jesus had been well taken apart, drinks and conversation shared, advice given, and CDs cleared off the table, we found ourselves with an offer from Nancy to stay the night again and eat a roast beef dinner, the phone number of the local VW dealer (from his friend in the congregation), and free passes to the local Y pool. All of which we availed ourselves.

Monday, Sept 18, Des Moines toward Minnesota:
Well.... the thing is... the electrical stopped acting up. So, David and I whispered to each other (so the van wouldn't hear) that we might consider just driving and seeing if that extra power loss wasn't just a fluke. I know it's not a professional approach to mechanics, but it's my Dad's. "We'll wait till it happens regularly," says my Dad, and eventually the thing breaks down outside the Waterloo Esso. Not so with me; when it went for me, I was out on some godforsaken, frozen highway bringing people back from skiing in the dark or something... But, I digress! Suffice to say that it's genetic and I agreed to carry on up the highway, in the general direction of the very top of Minnesota.

While finally figuring out a solution to my ubiquitous wireless problems at a rest stop (the rest stops have had free wireless!), we met up both with a man in desperate need of gas money (I believed him) and another man eager to hear where we were from and where we were going. We are now quite used to people stopping us to ask about our travelling - either because they have such fond memories of a camper and their kids or because our "Little Guy" trailer is so unbearably cute. People point as they drive by, they outright laugh at us sometimes - and they strike up a conversation in parking lots. This man encouraged us to go to Mason City and see the home of Meredith Willson, creator of the musical Music Man, then to cut across to Clear Lake, have Goodies Ice Cream ("best in the state!") and to visit the Winnebago factory for a tour at 9 o'clock the next morning. Such a clear itinerary could not have been handed out by the army, so we promptly did all those things! He was right on all counts, especially the ice cream. Bonus: a Frank Lloyd Wright designed hotel mid-town Mason City, in mid-restoration.

At about supper time, we parked in the local supermarket parking lot, popped the top and listened in the humid camper as the rain began to gently fall. David was cooking when a stranger and his son drove up alongside us, and I figured another trailer-conversation was about to take place. Instead, it was Al, a local guy who, with a slightly concerned look on his face, invited us to park in his driveway for an overnight, instead of in the supermarket parking lot. We told him we were just cooking supper, but that his offer sounded very helpful. OK, I told him this. I guess when I have been so generously hosted for days and days in a row, I lose my fear of strangers and sort of just trust whatever comes along. David looked up from over the pots with raised eyebrows. But, it was done; we were to find Al and family that evening, after Goodies ice cream and sleep in the comfort and safety of residential Clear Lake.

Of course it was dark by the time we found it, with difficulty, and Al and perplexed wife with miniature dog had given up that we would come. As we paraded in the door (Isaac bolting around and around the circular livingroom to kitchen halls) to use the bathrooms, I made friendly conversation with the wife: "So, you must be used to Al inviting strangers home overnight..!" "No," she said, with more fervour than I might have hoped. She was clearly uncomfortable with the circumstances, ouch! I scurried the kids back out to the van and when David joined us a bit later, he chuckled to me, "I think Al feels sorry for us. He simply could not get it out of his mind that we were going to sleep overnight in the Fareway parking lot! I guess we look poor to him." David said he kept asking if we had food, anywhere to sleep in there and such. However, it was no surprise to me that, though they had said they would leave it open, their back door was locked overnight. As is my custom, I got up to relieve myself twice in the night and had to donate to a backyard tree. Think we'll find a campsite next time!!

Tuesday Sept 19, Minnesota:
How beautiful Minnesota is! I can say this because it reminds me most clearly of New Brunswick, with its rich deciduous trees, all beginning their fall melt from yellow into orange and red. Our day began with the same morose cloudiness we have seen for the last few days. But, the weather does not hamper or frighten you when you are in a van-camper as it does when you are cycling or tenting. We arose early - in fact inviting the children to drive in their pyjamas before breakfast - so we could make it to the Winnebago factory for their 9am tour. And I must admit we were a funny sight - a little VW in the parking lot of the Winnebago lot, our top popped up so I could boil water for morning tea. The kids changed and downed some cereal and joined a group of well-heeled grown-ups for a video presentation in a fancy showroom with a stripped-down Winnebago chassis. Then, we were transported in a bus with our protective glasses in hand to see some of the - what - 26 football fields of production buildings for these fancy campers. Our view was a birds-eye one, lining a catwalk overhead while forklifts transported heavy equipment all over, up and down, women stapled carpet, walls were reinforced with steel bars, panelling was ironed and attached... Isaac did not appreciate the experience nearly as much as I had hoped, and his greatest fun was locking the bathroom cubicle so that I had to climb under the toilet to get to him. But, the opportunity to see the order in which a product is made, and the different jobs that people do on the line was really worth the visit!

We ended our day in a little RV park near Moose Lake, almost shut down for the season, with a most accommodating grandfatherly type bringing us most everything we needed, for a ten buck overnight fee.

Wednesday Sept 20, International Falls MN:
A wonderful, unhurried morning of collecting large snail shells along the lake's edge and slow departure with picture-taking at the Swedish store's big decorative horse was suddenly catapulted into high gear when Linnea realised she had left her jacket and camera back at the campground. So, our arrival at Faith United Church in International Falls was received by relieved churchfolk - late again.

Jill Kirsten Warner and I have been writing to one another since she attended a concert we had given in Fort Frances, Ontario, 3 years ago. She has been putting together a project that would connect churches with musicians writing theology that reflects the Emerging Christianity (with a beat!) called Tributaries of Faith (http://www.TributariesofFaith.com), so it was a treat that she invited us to come to her congregation to sing this time. Of course there was a contingent of Knox United Folks from "the other side", so the night was full of Canadian and American voices and great energy.

Our host, Liane Llehtinen, is an operatic soprano, so there was lots to talk about, in between eating her most fabulous Minnesota-German recipe: Meatloaf with bacon strips laid over the top. Her partner, Richard, describes International Falls-ians as "feisty", which is saying something when you have moved from California. "When people around here don't like something, they let you know in uncertain terms," This is not the usual description of Minnesotans, however! When I shared with friends that some people were finding my How-to-Host-Us-In-Your-Home-Thank-you page somewhat circumlocutive and excessively, graciously obfuscating (OK! I talk too much and too sweetly!!), they laughed and said, "But that IS Minnesota..!" See - I told ya this felt like home!

Till next week,
Linnea

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