Travels with Joy - Part 2 Detour
A soft noise awoke me from my sound sleep. I looked around and got my bearings. "Right", I thought, "I'm on my way to Illinois, and this is nice hotel." I got up, showered and dressed, then got my girls out of bed. My mother was already up and busy at her crossword puzzle. I liked this place. We had had a nice swim in the indoor pool the night before and were on our way to what would probably be a decent breakfast. Under other circumstances, I might have stayed around and visited this little part of Kentucky, but we were on way home to Illinois, and nothing was going to stop us.
After breakfast, we packed the car and headed north to Lexington, Kentucky, and then northwest to Louisville. Our trip was fairly uneventful, even through Louisville, which is usually a deathtrap. After crossing the Ohio River, we stopped for lunch for a sit down meal at a place called "Cheddars". The girls loved the 6ft by 3 ft high fish tank that separated the eating area from the bar. I loved the high ceilings and the paddle fan with 8 fans rotating slowly. It reminded me of a paddle boat on the Mississippi River. With full stomachs, we piled back into the car and headed in the direction of Indianapolis, Indiana.
When you drive from Louisville to Chicago, you have to drive through miles and miles and miles of endless, flat farms. Now, I love flat, farm country, but there is something dreary about Indiana farms. Perhaps, it feels this way because of the hours and hours I've spent in the car driving through Indiana on my way back and forth to more interesting destinations. Maybe, it's the noisy truck stops and Johnny Cash blaring from the juke boxes in those places. For whatever reason, I don't like Indiana. When I was a child on our way to Florida, we couldn't wait to get through Indiana to see the beautiful hills of Kentucky, and when we were coming home, we dreaded the miles of straight, flat, boring fields and dull looking farmhouses along the way.
As we drove around Indianapolis the same boredom I felt as a child overtook me. "I hate Indianapolis" I said to my mother. "I wouldn't choose to live to here. Give me that lovely Tennessee countryside we drove through yesterday. I think I would like to retire to Tennessee." I looked off to the right and could see the silhouette of buildings that made downtown Indianapolis. "Look, girls," I said "You can see the city." Then my eyes caught the license plates of the cars around us: Michigan, Illinois, Minnesota, Ontario, Wisconsin. I knew where those cars were going, and I knew what road they had to take to get there. It was the same one we were taking, and we were all going to arrive on the outskirts of Chicago at the same time--evening rush hour.
I envisioned the scene: all the cars, mini-vans, semi trucks, pickup trucks and RVs from the entire Midwest all meeting together on I-294 at the same time and my little mini-van right in the middle of it. I imagined miles of highway from Gary, Indiana all the way to the north side of Chicago, three and four lanes, bumper to bumper. Then I thought of country roads and Illinois farms, "Hey, Mom, is there a way we can cut over to Illinois and miss all the traffic?" She studied the map quickly. "I-74" she said as we sailed past the I-74 exit. "I don't care," I said, "We can turn around and go back."
At the next exit, I pulled off, found a gas station and stopped the car. "I'll fill the car, while you study the map." By the time the tank was full, my mother had an alternative route. We filled up on snacks and coffee and took off in the direction of I-74.
Interstate 74 is a well-kept, moderately traveled road connecting Indianapolis, Indiana to Peoria, Illinois. We planned to take it as far as Illinois state highway 47 and then head north to a small town about 5 miles from my sister's home. It would take us 4 to 5 hours. The 70 miles or so to 47 seemed to fly. We exited the smooth highway and began our drive down the bumpy, old state road. It was obvious that it hadn't been repaired in a long time. There were ruts and cracks. We hadn't traveled 1/4 of a mile when I saw the sign: Road Closed. "Great," my mother said, "a detour." I didn't seen any detour signs. I popped an audio tape of Nancy Drew and the Mystery of Lilac Inn into the tape player and proceeded down the road.
We drove on for about an hour when suddenly the traffic slowed to a stop. A bright, orange road sign said it all: Road Closed. "Where's the detour sign?" I said. There wasn't one.
The cars in front of me were turning to the left down a narrow, dirt and gravel road that appeared to traverse a cornfield. "Detour" my mother sang. The cars seemed to know where they were going, so I followed. Dust began to fly and the traffic slowed to a crawl. "Girls, wake up. We're in a cornfield." I said laughing hysterically. "Detour," my mother sang.
We followed the string of cars to an intersection of dirt roads in the cornfield. An elderly man was standing at the crossroads arranging a bright, orange road sign. The sign read "road closed". The string of cars was turning right. I rolled down the window. "Will that take us to 47?" I asked, "Yes, Ma'am" the man replied. I followed the string of cars through more cornfields. One car after another turned off at farms and other side roads. "I hope we're going in the right direction," I thought.
Before long, the string of cars was down to a pickup truck, an SUV and us. On and on we went. "Detour" my mother sang. We came to a busier road, and the pickup truck turned to the left. The SUV had it's right turn signal on. "I'm following that SUV" I said. The SUV turned, and I followed. A car was coming, and there really wasn't time for me to get out in the road, but I floored it. "I'm not going to loose that SUV," I said. I barely made it before the little sports car rammed into me. "Mom, my daughter said from the back seat, "That was fun." "I didn't want to loose that SUV," I explained. We followed the SUV as it turned one way, then the next. Soon we spotted a sign that said, "To 47". "Yes!" I said. "I knew that SUV take us back to where we needed to be.
We drove on for another 3 hours listening to Nancy Drew. "When are we going to get there?" My youngest asked. "Soon" I replied. We did arrive soon. The trip took us 5 hours. We stopped at a local restaurant to eat before descending on my sister. As we climbed out of the car I realized that though I was tired, I wasn't stressed. The detour made me laugh, my mother had pointed out places where her grandfather and uncle lived, and I had enjoyed the Illinois countryside. The 5 hours seemed more like 2 or 3. We were thankful the trip was finally over, but I was thankful to be home again.
After breakfast, we packed the car and headed north to Lexington, Kentucky, and then northwest to Louisville. Our trip was fairly uneventful, even through Louisville, which is usually a deathtrap. After crossing the Ohio River, we stopped for lunch for a sit down meal at a place called "Cheddars". The girls loved the 6ft by 3 ft high fish tank that separated the eating area from the bar. I loved the high ceilings and the paddle fan with 8 fans rotating slowly. It reminded me of a paddle boat on the Mississippi River. With full stomachs, we piled back into the car and headed in the direction of Indianapolis, Indiana.
When you drive from Louisville to Chicago, you have to drive through miles and miles and miles of endless, flat farms. Now, I love flat, farm country, but there is something dreary about Indiana farms. Perhaps, it feels this way because of the hours and hours I've spent in the car driving through Indiana on my way back and forth to more interesting destinations. Maybe, it's the noisy truck stops and Johnny Cash blaring from the juke boxes in those places. For whatever reason, I don't like Indiana. When I was a child on our way to Florida, we couldn't wait to get through Indiana to see the beautiful hills of Kentucky, and when we were coming home, we dreaded the miles of straight, flat, boring fields and dull looking farmhouses along the way.
As we drove around Indianapolis the same boredom I felt as a child overtook me. "I hate Indianapolis" I said to my mother. "I wouldn't choose to live to here. Give me that lovely Tennessee countryside we drove through yesterday. I think I would like to retire to Tennessee." I looked off to the right and could see the silhouette of buildings that made downtown Indianapolis. "Look, girls," I said "You can see the city." Then my eyes caught the license plates of the cars around us: Michigan, Illinois, Minnesota, Ontario, Wisconsin. I knew where those cars were going, and I knew what road they had to take to get there. It was the same one we were taking, and we were all going to arrive on the outskirts of Chicago at the same time--evening rush hour.
I envisioned the scene: all the cars, mini-vans, semi trucks, pickup trucks and RVs from the entire Midwest all meeting together on I-294 at the same time and my little mini-van right in the middle of it. I imagined miles of highway from Gary, Indiana all the way to the north side of Chicago, three and four lanes, bumper to bumper. Then I thought of country roads and Illinois farms, "Hey, Mom, is there a way we can cut over to Illinois and miss all the traffic?" She studied the map quickly. "I-74" she said as we sailed past the I-74 exit. "I don't care," I said, "We can turn around and go back."
At the next exit, I pulled off, found a gas station and stopped the car. "I'll fill the car, while you study the map." By the time the tank was full, my mother had an alternative route. We filled up on snacks and coffee and took off in the direction of I-74.
Interstate 74 is a well-kept, moderately traveled road connecting Indianapolis, Indiana to Peoria, Illinois. We planned to take it as far as Illinois state highway 47 and then head north to a small town about 5 miles from my sister's home. It would take us 4 to 5 hours. The 70 miles or so to 47 seemed to fly. We exited the smooth highway and began our drive down the bumpy, old state road. It was obvious that it hadn't been repaired in a long time. There were ruts and cracks. We hadn't traveled 1/4 of a mile when I saw the sign: Road Closed. "Great," my mother said, "a detour." I didn't seen any detour signs. I popped an audio tape of Nancy Drew and the Mystery of Lilac Inn into the tape player and proceeded down the road.
We drove on for about an hour when suddenly the traffic slowed to a stop. A bright, orange road sign said it all: Road Closed. "Where's the detour sign?" I said. There wasn't one.
The cars in front of me were turning to the left down a narrow, dirt and gravel road that appeared to traverse a cornfield. "Detour" my mother sang. The cars seemed to know where they were going, so I followed. Dust began to fly and the traffic slowed to a crawl. "Girls, wake up. We're in a cornfield." I said laughing hysterically. "Detour," my mother sang.
We followed the string of cars to an intersection of dirt roads in the cornfield. An elderly man was standing at the crossroads arranging a bright, orange road sign. The sign read "road closed". The string of cars was turning right. I rolled down the window. "Will that take us to 47?" I asked, "Yes, Ma'am" the man replied. I followed the string of cars through more cornfields. One car after another turned off at farms and other side roads. "I hope we're going in the right direction," I thought.
Before long, the string of cars was down to a pickup truck, an SUV and us. On and on we went. "Detour" my mother sang. We came to a busier road, and the pickup truck turned to the left. The SUV had it's right turn signal on. "I'm following that SUV" I said. The SUV turned, and I followed. A car was coming, and there really wasn't time for me to get out in the road, but I floored it. "I'm not going to loose that SUV," I said. I barely made it before the little sports car rammed into me. "Mom, my daughter said from the back seat, "That was fun." "I didn't want to loose that SUV," I explained. We followed the SUV as it turned one way, then the next. Soon we spotted a sign that said, "To 47". "Yes!" I said. "I knew that SUV take us back to where we needed to be.
We drove on for another 3 hours listening to Nancy Drew. "When are we going to get there?" My youngest asked. "Soon" I replied. We did arrive soon. The trip took us 5 hours. We stopped at a local restaurant to eat before descending on my sister. As we climbed out of the car I realized that though I was tired, I wasn't stressed. The detour made me laugh, my mother had pointed out places where her grandfather and uncle lived, and I had enjoyed the Illinois countryside. The 5 hours seemed more like 2 or 3. We were thankful the trip was finally over, but I was thankful to be home again.
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