a windblown left side

if winging it doesn't work, wing it harder

Well, it was inevitable. You all knew it was going to happen. In fact, most of you are shocked that it took this long to happen. That's right, I got horribly lost while driving to visit Steve a few days ago. Actually, "lost" isn't quite the right term, because I knew where I was, I am just an idiot and somehow got over three hours off track. What should have been a simple and pleasant five hour drive turned into a high-blood-pressure, stroke-inducing, eight-and-a-half hour disaster.

How did this happen? I'm not really quite sure. All I know is that I stopped to get a quick bite to eat sometime in the afternoon. I apparently turned my brain off, then got on the highway and drove for approximately one hour. When I suddenly turned my brain on, i.e. starting looking at road signs again, I realized I had been driving on the wrong highway for the entire time. So, to correct my error, I tried cutting across to the correct highway via a state road. It was going well, until I found out that the road I needed to take was closed. Then I was the unwilling victim of a extensive back-country tour as I followed mile after mile of slow winding detour. I eventually got on the correct highway and continued on my way. In the early evening, I decided to stop and get a veggie burger. I got off the highway, went to Burger King, and then traced my steps back to the highway to continue my journey. But oh no. There was no way to get on the highway going north at that location. I drove around the town for about 20 min looking for a way to get on to highway going north. Lots of places to get on the highway going south, but nothing satisfying my apparently strange and unique desire to travel any further north than that crappy town. I eventually went south on the highway for 5-10 min and turned around at the next available exit. Ugh.

But all's well that ends well, and I got to party with Steve & Friends at a hotel with a water park inside it. That was fun, but the people at the hotel were strangely secretive about the room numbers. I don't know if this is normal, but they wouldn't tell me the room number over the phone, even though they knew what the room number was because we got the last available room. Also, when I checked in, they wouldn't even say the room number to me out loud, but instead would point to a sheet of paper that had the room number printed on it and looked at me with raised eyebrows as if they were imparting some national security code red level secret to me.

The next day, we rocked out Duluth, Minnesota like rock stars. Duluth was fun, and had lots to do, including eating at an awesome mexican restaurant (because Minnesota is where you go for mexican food), thrift stores (one shirt+ one pair of shorts = $12) and other fun stuff. It's a cool looking little town. My favorite thing about Duluth is that most businesses find the need to post signs on their entrance informing customers that guns aren't allowed in the building. Except one store that had a big sign that said "GUNS WELCOME" and yet the store wasn't even remotely related to firearm sales, repairs, or accessories. You better hold me, because I'm scared.

Although the waterpark/hotel was fun, I couldn't afford to stay at it alone the next night. I also couldn't stay at Steve's camp, because visitors aren't really allowed. I figured I could find a free campsite, but I hadn't really planned ahead and looked one up before I left, and the only campsite Steve & Friends knew about was about 1/2 hour out of my way. Since it was getting dark, it became more and more crucial that I find a place to stay. We asked a Subway employee about local campsites, and the only help he could offer was the fact that Walmart lets people sleep in their cars in the Walmart parking lot. After a long dileberation, I decided against that, and decided to drive the three hours down to Madison in order to sleep somewhere that didn't offer rock bottom prices on a wide variety of merchandise. Of course, Doc was working that night and had her phone turned off, so she didn't know I was coming. Her boyfriend/my best friend's brother/ the guy that hit Matt with a skateboard Shawn had informed me that she

a) was actually in Madison (you never know)
b) she was at work, and would be until about 2 am
c) the restaurant she works for is called the "Weary Traveller." How ironic.

So I headed down to Madison with no way to contact Doc or any idea of where her restaurant was. I got into town at about 12:30am and called Danny to help me get directions online, but he was actually going to a party on a Saturday night. Whatta jerk. So I stopped at a gas station and looked up the place, and then got directions, and about a half hour later I actually found it, surprising Doc to no end by just showing up and demanding a place to crash. Planning schmanning is what I say. Of course, that's the same spirit that has had me on the phone begging Danny or my dad for help for most of this trip. I may be an idiot, but I'm an idiot with a cell phone and contacts with fast internet connections.

Posted by Ben at July 27, 2003 04:54 PM