WILLISTON, NORTH DAKOTA
We passed a sign, lonely on the dry, dirty yellow grass of the plain, reading something like “You can’t hide from God.”
It wasn’t a warning, a threat or an obvious hint to behave as you should. Out here, it’s simply reality.
In this part of the world, you can’t hide from much of anything. This is northern central US, acres and miles and counties and states of low, bumpy land…the prairie of Western movie fame. It looks great on film (lots of depth for those wide angle shots of Matt movin’ ‘em to Montana), but it can feel quite empty and lonely. This probably helps explain the taciturn and quiet way of locals from around these parts.
You don’t really get cityscapes or suburbs on the prairie. Municipalities, such as they are, tend to look a lot like Williston. This town was probably perfect western movie scenery a century or so ago; it’s easy to picture twin rows of clapboard buildings on either side of a dirt road Main Street. Modern Williston hasn’t grown too much wider than that; downtown has the feel of someplace not entirely permanent and not exactly making a good living. The one department store, obviously a fixture of the place for many decades, was still and nearly unoccupied when I stopped in for a coffee this morning. Under the old tin ceiling, in front of the racks of not up-to-date merchandise, the co-owner of the store’s café concession struck up a small conversation with me. What did she think of Williston? I asked during our little talk.
“Mmmm,” she said, in that way people do when working to think of something inoffensive to say. “God loves everyone. People here are nice.” She was originally from Oregon, and her tone and care indicated that for her, her home state easily wins the comparison.
Williston did grow, a bit. There’s a stretch of highway branching north and a little shift left from Main Street. This has the usual American shops and food troughs – Radio Shack, Arby’s, KFC, etc. etc. Giving this could-be-anywhere-in-the-USA scenery a small pinch of local flavor is the a few warehouses selling farm goods and oil extracting equipment. Like the prairie town it likely always was, farmin’ is apparently still a ripe business here. Same goes for oil – according to the taxi driver who gave me a ride through this landscape to my motel, people involved in the Black Stuff are doing pretty well and the local economy is that much the better for it.
But the oil money doesn’t seem to drip down to the town’s economy. The shops feel and look a few decades out of date, and only a few people wander around downtown. The neighborhood is Williston’s geographical center, but that’s where its significance seems to end.
I’m here for less than 24 hours. Tomorrow is another vault across the plains, 12 hours west to Whitefish, Montana. God bless us humble travelers…if he’s not too busy keeping watch over prairie ghost towns like Williston.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Sunday, October 28, 2007
It's gettin' cold out, yah?
ST. PAUL, MINNESOTA
My trip isn't exactly a pure cross-country run. My first bit of cheating was to fly out from Boston to near the midpoint of the country, namely St. Paul/Minneapolis (hey, gotta save some time and money somehow). I'm staying with my friend Alex, once upon many years ago also a colleague at the Prague Post, where I was a scrub freelancer and he was (sucker!) a staff reporter. The years have been good to him save for an awkward bout with tendinitis in the hands (smacking a keyboard for a living will do that to you). I was relieved to see that he's ended up with a fantastic woman, an Iranian-born opthamologist originally from Nebraska. Sanaz is, I would imagine, pretty much the only Nebraskan eye specialist active in this country with Persian ancestry. But the US is pretty frickin' big, so it wouldn't surprise me if I'm wrong.
Despite the success of his relationship, Alex asked me to write that he's spent the past few nights engaging in noisy, wild sex with several local nubiles. He hasn't at all, but as a friend I have to do my best to shore up his fragile, confidence-hungry ego.
Global warming has hit Minnesota like it has everyplace else, but like a lot of northern places you can feel winter starting to bite here. Though it's not freezing yet, the wind stings a little and that little survival cortex of my brain keeps nagging me to stay inside. This was easily accommodated Friday and yesterday by the handy Skyway, a great name for a very smart concept here in the Twin Cities. Since winter is usually mean and long, the city elders in their wisdom created a network of above-street-level passageways linking much of the downtown areas of both St. Paul and Minneapolis. So you can cruise around entirely indoors, which comes in handy when you want to, say, bar hop in January without suffering frostbite. Although I would imagine it exists elsewehere, the Twin Cities were the first place I've encountered this type of transportation. I walked around in these tubes more than was strictly necessary because, well, they were the SKYWAY and I thought the concept was pretty cool. Plus, you can't beat that name, eh? It sounds so futuristic and hopeful.
Funny Indoor Experience #2 was the inevitable, the unavoidable, the unbelievable Mall of America. This, as all you shopping mall groupies will know, is the largest facility of its kind in our galaxy. It's the size of several airplane hangars and has every classic American chain store known to man...plus some you didn't know (there's a shop that only sells flavored peanut butter products, for example, and trendy place for kids where they can design their own teddy bears). In the middle, as if flavored peanut butter outlets and several dozen Starbucks weren't enough, is - get this - an AMUSEMENT PARK, complete with scary roller coaster and flume log ride. We couldn't quite find the entrance to the roller coaster, Alex, Sanaz and I, so we contented ourselves with simply walking around and browsing in some of the chains. Although surrounded by millions of dollars in commerce and several football fields of merchandise, all I bought in the end was a t-shirt and a gift for the wife. I guess the heavy sales atmosphere and adventure rides didn't have much effect on my buying habits in the end.
Still, I'm sorry we didn't make it to the roller coaster.
Oh, I also scratched another "gotta do this typically American thing" off my list yesterday. The Typically American Thing in question was...Denny's! This, the dark-minded and uninformed might not realize, is the classic US breakfast chain, almost up there in our mythology with baseball, hot dogs and automobiles the size of shanty towns. It's famous for the Grand Slam Breakfast, a tray - sorry, plate - stuffed with eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes and several other unhealthy foods that probably don't belong together. I shied away from the Grand Slam, instead getting an American Slam (the difference is immense, I tell you). One side option was grits, a traditional dish of tasteless mush from our Southern States. But for tasteless mush it was pretty good. Or maybe I was just so satisfied with the eggs, bacon and sourdough toast that it didn't matter. I helped Alex and Sanaz with their pancakes too. Ah, America, land of Monster Food. Bring on the sausages!
My trip isn't exactly a pure cross-country run. My first bit of cheating was to fly out from Boston to near the midpoint of the country, namely St. Paul/Minneapolis (hey, gotta save some time and money somehow). I'm staying with my friend Alex, once upon many years ago also a colleague at the Prague Post, where I was a scrub freelancer and he was (sucker!) a staff reporter. The years have been good to him save for an awkward bout with tendinitis in the hands (smacking a keyboard for a living will do that to you). I was relieved to see that he's ended up with a fantastic woman, an Iranian-born opthamologist originally from Nebraska. Sanaz is, I would imagine, pretty much the only Nebraskan eye specialist active in this country with Persian ancestry. But the US is pretty frickin' big, so it wouldn't surprise me if I'm wrong.
Despite the success of his relationship, Alex asked me to write that he's spent the past few nights engaging in noisy, wild sex with several local nubiles. He hasn't at all, but as a friend I have to do my best to shore up his fragile, confidence-hungry ego.
Global warming has hit Minnesota like it has everyplace else, but like a lot of northern places you can feel winter starting to bite here. Though it's not freezing yet, the wind stings a little and that little survival cortex of my brain keeps nagging me to stay inside. This was easily accommodated Friday and yesterday by the handy Skyway, a great name for a very smart concept here in the Twin Cities. Since winter is usually mean and long, the city elders in their wisdom created a network of above-street-level passageways linking much of the downtown areas of both St. Paul and Minneapolis. So you can cruise around entirely indoors, which comes in handy when you want to, say, bar hop in January without suffering frostbite. Although I would imagine it exists elsewehere, the Twin Cities were the first place I've encountered this type of transportation. I walked around in these tubes more than was strictly necessary because, well, they were the SKYWAY and I thought the concept was pretty cool. Plus, you can't beat that name, eh? It sounds so futuristic and hopeful.
Funny Indoor Experience #2 was the inevitable, the unavoidable, the unbelievable Mall of America. This, as all you shopping mall groupies will know, is the largest facility of its kind in our galaxy. It's the size of several airplane hangars and has every classic American chain store known to man...plus some you didn't know (there's a shop that only sells flavored peanut butter products, for example, and trendy place for kids where they can design their own teddy bears). In the middle, as if flavored peanut butter outlets and several dozen Starbucks weren't enough, is - get this - an AMUSEMENT PARK, complete with scary roller coaster and flume log ride. We couldn't quite find the entrance to the roller coaster, Alex, Sanaz and I, so we contented ourselves with simply walking around and browsing in some of the chains. Although surrounded by millions of dollars in commerce and several football fields of merchandise, all I bought in the end was a t-shirt and a gift for the wife. I guess the heavy sales atmosphere and adventure rides didn't have much effect on my buying habits in the end.
Still, I'm sorry we didn't make it to the roller coaster.
Oh, I also scratched another "gotta do this typically American thing" off my list yesterday. The Typically American Thing in question was...Denny's! This, the dark-minded and uninformed might not realize, is the classic US breakfast chain, almost up there in our mythology with baseball, hot dogs and automobiles the size of shanty towns. It's famous for the Grand Slam Breakfast, a tray - sorry, plate - stuffed with eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes and several other unhealthy foods that probably don't belong together. I shied away from the Grand Slam, instead getting an American Slam (the difference is immense, I tell you). One side option was grits, a traditional dish of tasteless mush from our Southern States. But for tasteless mush it was pretty good. Or maybe I was just so satisfied with the eggs, bacon and sourdough toast that it didn't matter. I helped Alex and Sanaz with their pancakes too. Ah, America, land of Monster Food. Bring on the sausages!
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Ducks and balls
WATERTOWN/BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS
Could I be the good luck charm? My ego would like to think so. Two of the three times I've been in Boston, their baseball team the Red Sox has made it to the World Series (i.e., the set of games that determines the year's champion). The Red Sox in the Series is a Big Deal here, becuase for much of the team's existence when it got to the playoff stage it dropped dead nearly at the finish line, coming home with nothing save painful memories of a collapsed season. This changed, seemingly forever, in 2004 when they beat my favorite team, the New York Yankees, in a playoff series they had no right to win (hey, I'm biased) and advanced to victory in the Series.
The city is Red Sox-mad now. The team is a constant and enduring topic of conversation, and everything will come to a head tonight - the Series starts this evening, and the first two games are at the Sox's home of Fenway Park.
Fenway's a great stadium; unlike most other professional sports facilities in this country it's actually in the heart of its city. It's a grand old box of a structure with a famously towering wall in left field (appropriately named The Green Monster) and a lot of Ye Olde Baseball atmosphere. I saw it yesterday because I took the Duck Tour.
The what?
A "Duck" is the nickname for a DUKW, an innovative land/sea assault truck used extensively in World War II to land troops on beaches unreachable by conventional landing craft. Several of these sturdy vehicles made it through the horrors of war into easy semi-retirement as tourist buses in Boston. The idea behind utilizing these crafts for tourists - besides the certain cost advantages - is that the tour route can incorporate water. So the Ducks drive around the areas of interest in the city, then dip into the Charles River for a while, then finish their route on dry land and road.
Boston's a windy place and rain was threatening yesterday, so the Coast Guard slammed a big no down on the aquatic parts of the Duck Tours. Which didn't really matter; even without the water, the Ducks paddle along for a good two hours past all the famous Boston sites. Prudential Center, Beacon Hill, the Common, the State House (whose front gate only opens when the governor leaves office, when troops are decomissioned, or when the President visits), Fenway, etc. etc. etc. Of particular interest to history geeks like me were the many Revolutionary War Paul-Revere-Rode-Here places. Paul Revere did, in fact, take his famous ride down the main street in Charlestown (across the river from Boston proper), although your history books lie - he actually warned that "the REGULARS were coming", i.e. the Army. As everyone in town considered themselves British at the time, the famous words "the British are coming" wouldn't have meant anything.
Today is gray and the clouds look pregnant; the important thing this means for Boston on this special day is, uh-oh, the Game might be rained out. And the city really, really wants their Red Sox.
During the Duck tour yesterday, as we cruised through the alleys surrounding Fenway, we saw a line of tents occupied by hopeful fans aiming to get some of the tickets the team holds for release just before game time. My favorite was the guy with a sign behind his tent reading "no photographs please - my boss thinks I'm sick".
For his sake alone, I hope the weather dries up for the game.
Could I be the good luck charm? My ego would like to think so. Two of the three times I've been in Boston, their baseball team the Red Sox has made it to the World Series (i.e., the set of games that determines the year's champion). The Red Sox in the Series is a Big Deal here, becuase for much of the team's existence when it got to the playoff stage it dropped dead nearly at the finish line, coming home with nothing save painful memories of a collapsed season. This changed, seemingly forever, in 2004 when they beat my favorite team, the New York Yankees, in a playoff series they had no right to win (hey, I'm biased) and advanced to victory in the Series.
The city is Red Sox-mad now. The team is a constant and enduring topic of conversation, and everything will come to a head tonight - the Series starts this evening, and the first two games are at the Sox's home of Fenway Park.
Fenway's a great stadium; unlike most other professional sports facilities in this country it's actually in the heart of its city. It's a grand old box of a structure with a famously towering wall in left field (appropriately named The Green Monster) and a lot of Ye Olde Baseball atmosphere. I saw it yesterday because I took the Duck Tour.
The what?
A "Duck" is the nickname for a DUKW, an innovative land/sea assault truck used extensively in World War II to land troops on beaches unreachable by conventional landing craft. Several of these sturdy vehicles made it through the horrors of war into easy semi-retirement as tourist buses in Boston. The idea behind utilizing these crafts for tourists - besides the certain cost advantages - is that the tour route can incorporate water. So the Ducks drive around the areas of interest in the city, then dip into the Charles River for a while, then finish their route on dry land and road.
Boston's a windy place and rain was threatening yesterday, so the Coast Guard slammed a big no down on the aquatic parts of the Duck Tours. Which didn't really matter; even without the water, the Ducks paddle along for a good two hours past all the famous Boston sites. Prudential Center, Beacon Hill, the Common, the State House (whose front gate only opens when the governor leaves office, when troops are decomissioned, or when the President visits), Fenway, etc. etc. etc. Of particular interest to history geeks like me were the many Revolutionary War Paul-Revere-Rode-Here places. Paul Revere did, in fact, take his famous ride down the main street in Charlestown (across the river from Boston proper), although your history books lie - he actually warned that "the REGULARS were coming", i.e. the Army. As everyone in town considered themselves British at the time, the famous words "the British are coming" wouldn't have meant anything.
Today is gray and the clouds look pregnant; the important thing this means for Boston on this special day is, uh-oh, the Game might be rained out. And the city really, really wants their Red Sox.
During the Duck tour yesterday, as we cruised through the alleys surrounding Fenway, we saw a line of tents occupied by hopeful fans aiming to get some of the tickets the team holds for release just before game time. My favorite was the guy with a sign behind his tent reading "no photographs please - my boss thinks I'm sick".
For his sake alone, I hope the weather dries up for the game.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Please find a better name for this blog...and win a hat!
AGAWAM, MASSACHUSETTS
I was never very good at titles. Hard evidence of this is above, just over the cars that make up the U.S. flag. "Road America" was, honestly, the best I could come up with. Even for someone with no title talent, that's pretty lousy.
That's why I'm calling upon you, my trusted bloggy friends, to come up with a better name for this contribution to Internet literature. So I am formally announcing, as of right this moment, a CONTEST. Yes, the lucky winner will receive 1 (one) Los Angeles Dodgers baseball cap once I land in LA and get my act together. The contest starts NOW and ends November 2 at 12 noon (U.S. Pacific time, of course, or 21h for the central European types out there, or 3:00 pm for the East Coasters). Our expert panel of judges* will critically evaluate every entry through a rigorous 15-step process (17 steps if hung over), and will select the best entry from all received. Runners-up will receive nothing save for random scraps of gratitude, and the satisfaction of knowing that they contributed to improving the title of this blog.
Either post your entry directly in the COMMENTS section of this blog, or send it to my email (as you are likely reading this blog only because you know me, you should have my email in your address book somewhere). Again, contest starts this very instant, and ends November 2.
Good luck. And here's to hoping you win the hat and raise your hands in triumph.
* In other words, me
I was never very good at titles. Hard evidence of this is above, just over the cars that make up the U.S. flag. "Road America" was, honestly, the best I could come up with. Even for someone with no title talent, that's pretty lousy.
That's why I'm calling upon you, my trusted bloggy friends, to come up with a better name for this contribution to Internet literature. So I am formally announcing, as of right this moment, a CONTEST. Yes, the lucky winner will receive 1 (one) Los Angeles Dodgers baseball cap once I land in LA and get my act together. The contest starts NOW and ends November 2 at 12 noon (U.S. Pacific time, of course, or 21h for the central European types out there, or 3:00 pm for the East Coasters). Our expert panel of judges* will critically evaluate every entry through a rigorous 15-step process (17 steps if hung over), and will select the best entry from all received. Runners-up will receive nothing save for random scraps of gratitude, and the satisfaction of knowing that they contributed to improving the title of this blog.
Either post your entry directly in the COMMENTS section of this blog, or send it to my email (as you are likely reading this blog only because you know me, you should have my email in your address book somewhere). Again, contest starts this very instant, and ends November 2.
Good luck. And here's to hoping you win the hat and raise your hands in triumph.
* In other words, me
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Hittin' the highway...soon
AGAWAM, MASSACHUSETTS
I'm the kind of person who usually doesn't do things quickly. What's the rush? I returned to the US ten days ago; the plan was to attend my sister's wedding then eventualllllllly make my way westward to New Home in Los Angeles. New Home tenancy begins November 5, so I have that much time to get there.
Meaning that I can take the slow boat to my destination. And I am, yes I certainly am. My vessel will be a mutant combination of Amtrak trains and cheap flights, putting me in a mix of not particularly well traveled or popular places (North Dakota, Montana) and big cities that have attracted some degree of fame and tourism (Minneapolis and Seattle).
But that boat doesn't leave for a while. Thursday is the flight to Minneapolis; in the meantime, I'm at my dad's place in Agawam, Massachusetts, generally relaxing and learning how to properly spell "Massachusetts". Because America is not a particularly deep or thoughtful society, it's easy to get re-adjusted to life here. And those old Americanisms are already starting to creep back into my life. The other day I mowed my dad's lawn, my first lawn mowing gig since about 1994. The smell of freshly cut grass and the purr of the two-cycle motor...all I needed was some apple pie and a football game on the TV to go along with it. But yesterday's grinder sandwich and today's Giants game should come pretty close to satisfying that need.
My next stop, before Lewis & Clarking to the opposite side of the country, is Boston. I'll stay for a few days (and collect a pizza won in a bet with my ex-girlfriend), hang out with a few people I knew from Prague, then hit the airport for the Minneapolis hop. In Massachusetts, all anyone can talk about is Boston's baseball team, the Red Sox. They have a history of going far but not quite all the way, which changed when they won the World Series (i.e. the championship) in 2004. Will they repeat this accomplishment this year, or die at the last minute as per tradition? Sox fans are secretly worried about the latter possibility; me, I'm just happy to watch suspenseful baseball. The final game in the pennant series is tonight; the World Series starts on Wednesday.
I'm the kind of person who usually doesn't do things quickly. What's the rush? I returned to the US ten days ago; the plan was to attend my sister's wedding then eventualllllllly make my way westward to New Home in Los Angeles. New Home tenancy begins November 5, so I have that much time to get there.
Meaning that I can take the slow boat to my destination. And I am, yes I certainly am. My vessel will be a mutant combination of Amtrak trains and cheap flights, putting me in a mix of not particularly well traveled or popular places (North Dakota, Montana) and big cities that have attracted some degree of fame and tourism (Minneapolis and Seattle).
But that boat doesn't leave for a while. Thursday is the flight to Minneapolis; in the meantime, I'm at my dad's place in Agawam, Massachusetts, generally relaxing and learning how to properly spell "Massachusetts". Because America is not a particularly deep or thoughtful society, it's easy to get re-adjusted to life here. And those old Americanisms are already starting to creep back into my life. The other day I mowed my dad's lawn, my first lawn mowing gig since about 1994. The smell of freshly cut grass and the purr of the two-cycle motor...all I needed was some apple pie and a football game on the TV to go along with it. But yesterday's grinder sandwich and today's Giants game should come pretty close to satisfying that need.
My next stop, before Lewis & Clarking to the opposite side of the country, is Boston. I'll stay for a few days (and collect a pizza won in a bet with my ex-girlfriend), hang out with a few people I knew from Prague, then hit the airport for the Minneapolis hop. In Massachusetts, all anyone can talk about is Boston's baseball team, the Red Sox. They have a history of going far but not quite all the way, which changed when they won the World Series (i.e. the championship) in 2004. Will they repeat this accomplishment this year, or die at the last minute as per tradition? Sox fans are secretly worried about the latter possibility; me, I'm just happy to watch suspenseful baseball. The final game in the pennant series is tonight; the World Series starts on Wednesday.
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