It was time to leave the tundra, if only for a few days. Yes, I know, April is finally here and robins have returned. But I usually figure on another ten days of bland weather in early April.
I just received an email from former MHS classmate, the "other Big Al," Hixson that is, who resides in Wisconsin's Northwoods near where the original "Big Al," Capone, that is, had his hideout and break from his Chicago "business" operations." Al tells me that he was snowed in - again. While shoveling snow he hears a nearby crash. It was his neighbor's garage caving in from weight of snow on the roof. Yep, things are tough all over, especially in the North Country.
I toss some gear into my GMC, already cluttered with winter's paraphernalia, and head out of town on another dreary day. I like to stop at this Japanese restaurant in Dubuque and start the trip with some sashimi. Sounds weird, I know. But I love that raw fish. But the joint is closed for reconstruction.
So what - doesn't matter, it's just good to be on the road. Down US 151 to Iowa Route one and through Mt. Vernon. Even that picturesque town looks dreary this time of year.
Then it's to I-80 and west to Des Moines. The countryside looks drab, sort of a washed-out brown. A few farmers have been in the fields preparing them for planting. Farther west, whaddaya know - the sun starts to shine.
At Des Moines, it's south on I-35 to Bethany, Mo. where I stop to gas up. As dusk falls, south to Kansas City where it starts to rain. It turns to intermittent drizzle as I head west to Emporia for the night.
Next morning, it's drab, dreary, and colorless. The Flint Hills are usually scenic with colors that change throughout the year. But with the haze, visibility is only a few hundred yards. It's like traveling in a bubble, the herds of beef cattle beyond range of sight.
Once past the Flint Hills, the dreary landscape is relieved a bit by rich green patches of winter wheat that is now several inches high. The temperature remains in the upper 30s with a brisk north wind.
I roll into McPherson, a prosperous looking town, and step into their excellent coffee shop on the corner of Main and Kansas Streets. Last time I was there I had some of the best apple pie ever, besides my mother's, that is. I note that there is no pie, and ask Julie at the counter about that. "Only Friday is pie day," she politely informs me. So I have an alternative breakfast dish with coffee.
I grab a seat by the window and watch the traffic roll by. Julie refills my coffee mug and I climb into my GMC and head west on U.S. 56 along the route of the old Santa Fe Trail. At Great Bend I stop at Dillon's Supermarket and partake of their salad bar, making a pretense of eating healthy while traveling. After gassing up, I head west again, temperature remaining in low 40s, still cloudy but improved visibility.
One thing about traveling this time of year is that roads are good, but no tourists to crowd the roads, and no bugs to gum up the windshield.
I reach Dodge City, turn off, and roll down Wyatt Earp Boulevard - no particular reason, just to say I did it. Then back on U.S. 56, southwest to Elkhart and the Oklahoma Panhandle where the sun emerges. Bright sunshine, blue sky, and wide open roads to Boise City, then south across the Rita Blanca National Grasslands, into the Texas Panhandle and Dalhart, where I gas up.
It's now dark and the attendant informs me that it has been windy and colder than normal, temperature in low 40s. I cover the rest of the corner of the Panhandle, and roll into New Mexico and Tucumcari where Kathryn and Michael have a room ready for me at the Historic Route 66 Motel.
Next morning it's my usual huevos rancheros at the Pow Wow Inn. Then an hour to Santa Rosa on I-40, and south on U.S. 54. Temperature is mid 40s, bright sunshine with a brisk south wind. In a couple hours I reach Carrizozo and make my ritual stop at Roy's Old Fashioned Ice Cream Parlor and Gift Shop.
On a previous trip I had learned of Roy's death. His niece, Sandra, from Arizona, happened to be there that day and I had promised her I would send her the several columns in which I had mentioned Roy. As she lives in Arizona, I don't figure she will be here today.
I walk toward the shop and notice a car with Arizona plates. Maybe she would be here. Sure enough, I enter the shop, Sandra recognizes me and thanks me profusely for having sent her those columns. She will include them in a history she is compiling of Roy's life.
I grab a stool at the counter. Sandra informs me that Roy had always designated Friday as "banana split day." He had always loved making them and she was carrying on the tradition in his memory. So of course, that's what I have.
As Sandra places it before me she says, "Wait, before you take a bite I want to take a picture of you with that banana split and put it on Facebook for Roy's Old Fashioned Gift Gallery.
As I enjoy the banana split, Sandra informs me that she is in line for a grant from the New Mexico Historical Society to repair and maintain this historic building in which the business has long been located.
One could take interstate highways down to southern New Mexico. But why do that? You never know how you might touch peoples' lives when you take roads less traveled.
- John Waelti's column appears every Friday in the Times. He can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
I just received an email from former MHS classmate, the "other Big Al," Hixson that is, who resides in Wisconsin's Northwoods near where the original "Big Al," Capone, that is, had his hideout and break from his Chicago "business" operations." Al tells me that he was snowed in - again. While shoveling snow he hears a nearby crash. It was his neighbor's garage caving in from weight of snow on the roof. Yep, things are tough all over, especially in the North Country.
I toss some gear into my GMC, already cluttered with winter's paraphernalia, and head out of town on another dreary day. I like to stop at this Japanese restaurant in Dubuque and start the trip with some sashimi. Sounds weird, I know. But I love that raw fish. But the joint is closed for reconstruction.
So what - doesn't matter, it's just good to be on the road. Down US 151 to Iowa Route one and through Mt. Vernon. Even that picturesque town looks dreary this time of year.
Then it's to I-80 and west to Des Moines. The countryside looks drab, sort of a washed-out brown. A few farmers have been in the fields preparing them for planting. Farther west, whaddaya know - the sun starts to shine.
At Des Moines, it's south on I-35 to Bethany, Mo. where I stop to gas up. As dusk falls, south to Kansas City where it starts to rain. It turns to intermittent drizzle as I head west to Emporia for the night.
Next morning, it's drab, dreary, and colorless. The Flint Hills are usually scenic with colors that change throughout the year. But with the haze, visibility is only a few hundred yards. It's like traveling in a bubble, the herds of beef cattle beyond range of sight.
Once past the Flint Hills, the dreary landscape is relieved a bit by rich green patches of winter wheat that is now several inches high. The temperature remains in the upper 30s with a brisk north wind.
I roll into McPherson, a prosperous looking town, and step into their excellent coffee shop on the corner of Main and Kansas Streets. Last time I was there I had some of the best apple pie ever, besides my mother's, that is. I note that there is no pie, and ask Julie at the counter about that. "Only Friday is pie day," she politely informs me. So I have an alternative breakfast dish with coffee.
I grab a seat by the window and watch the traffic roll by. Julie refills my coffee mug and I climb into my GMC and head west on U.S. 56 along the route of the old Santa Fe Trail. At Great Bend I stop at Dillon's Supermarket and partake of their salad bar, making a pretense of eating healthy while traveling. After gassing up, I head west again, temperature remaining in low 40s, still cloudy but improved visibility.
One thing about traveling this time of year is that roads are good, but no tourists to crowd the roads, and no bugs to gum up the windshield.
I reach Dodge City, turn off, and roll down Wyatt Earp Boulevard - no particular reason, just to say I did it. Then back on U.S. 56, southwest to Elkhart and the Oklahoma Panhandle where the sun emerges. Bright sunshine, blue sky, and wide open roads to Boise City, then south across the Rita Blanca National Grasslands, into the Texas Panhandle and Dalhart, where I gas up.
It's now dark and the attendant informs me that it has been windy and colder than normal, temperature in low 40s. I cover the rest of the corner of the Panhandle, and roll into New Mexico and Tucumcari where Kathryn and Michael have a room ready for me at the Historic Route 66 Motel.
Next morning it's my usual huevos rancheros at the Pow Wow Inn. Then an hour to Santa Rosa on I-40, and south on U.S. 54. Temperature is mid 40s, bright sunshine with a brisk south wind. In a couple hours I reach Carrizozo and make my ritual stop at Roy's Old Fashioned Ice Cream Parlor and Gift Shop.
On a previous trip I had learned of Roy's death. His niece, Sandra, from Arizona, happened to be there that day and I had promised her I would send her the several columns in which I had mentioned Roy. As she lives in Arizona, I don't figure she will be here today.
I walk toward the shop and notice a car with Arizona plates. Maybe she would be here. Sure enough, I enter the shop, Sandra recognizes me and thanks me profusely for having sent her those columns. She will include them in a history she is compiling of Roy's life.
I grab a stool at the counter. Sandra informs me that Roy had always designated Friday as "banana split day." He had always loved making them and she was carrying on the tradition in his memory. So of course, that's what I have.
As Sandra places it before me she says, "Wait, before you take a bite I want to take a picture of you with that banana split and put it on Facebook for Roy's Old Fashioned Gift Gallery.
As I enjoy the banana split, Sandra informs me that she is in line for a grant from the New Mexico Historical Society to repair and maintain this historic building in which the business has long been located.
One could take interstate highways down to southern New Mexico. But why do that? You never know how you might touch peoples' lives when you take roads less traveled.
- John Waelti's column appears every Friday in the Times. He can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
