A Blog Along The Lincoln Highway

We partake of the freebie breakfast in the motel this morning. Cereal and some microwaveable munchies. Yogurt. Sometimes, like today, in Marriott hotels, they also have slippery, already peeled hard boiled eggs. I ate one of those.

Before we get back on the interstate, Bob wants to go and see the overflowing Mississippi again. It’s just a few miles from our Moline motel. “It was so awesome last night, I just want to go and see how high it is again.” We drive into downtown Moline, go to the riverside park, and find the river totally contained. It’s high, but not overflowing or dramatic in any way. Bust.

Then we get on 1-80 across Illinois. Drive drive drive. I’m sure there’s lots of stuff to see and discover, but none of it along the interstate. I’m in the backseat. We keep a log on the inside of a shoebox lid, listing all of our mileage figures for each day. It’s kept in the pouch behind the front passenger seat. We expect that tonight will be our final entry for this trip.

I write a bit on my computer in the backseat. I pull out Roadfood and see if there are any interesting potential lunch stops. There’s one just on the western border of Indiana — in Hammond, Indiana — called Phil Smidt’s. The Sterns make it sound important and amazing. Bob said he’s salivating just hearing about the frog legs, and the “half-and-half” of perch and frog legs sounds pretty buttery and unusual. Bob can see Calumet Avenue on the AAA map, so we’ll get off at that exit and give it a try. I think I had better check to make sure they’re open today. On my iPhone, I find their website and there’s a closing notice, although it just says “will close the doors” on Saturday, October 20. No year. I call the 1-800 number listed there: 1-800-FROGLEG, and it doesn’t go through. We’re getting off the exit. There’s all sorts of road construction going on along Calumet Avenue. I find a newspaper article about the possible re-opening of Phil Smidt’s, so I know it’s closed. There will be no gooseberry pie today. Maybe never again.

We do a U-turn in the middle of the orange barrels, get back on the fast road, and we decide we’ll drive into La Porte where we’ve eaten twice before on the last trip. There’s a classic old lunch place with counter and stools called B&J’s American Cafe. Bob and I both think we wouldn’t mind eating there again. Good soup and decent sandwiches. And it’s on one path of the Lincoln Highway, so we could say that we didn’t spend the entire day on the interstate.

Soup of the day is beef and asparagus. Dark, deep and tasty. Bob and Glenn both get the Hawaiian Chicken salad with coconut fried chicken. I get the olive cheeseburger. But it’s the kind of place where you have to taste dessert. Bourbon Pumpkin Pie for Glenn & Berry again for Bob. Rhubarb crisp for me. A la mode. Good but way too much lunch. One of the waitresses remembers us from last year. “Weren’t you doing something about the Lincoln Highway?” Good memory!

I drive east out of LaPorte, staying on Lincolnway, Route 2, almost to South Bend, when we find our way back onto I-80. We’re all zonked. Tired. And full. I don’t drive for long when I ask for someone else to take over. Glenn has been snoozing in the back seat, so he agrees to get back behind the wheel.

The last few hundred miles are the worst. We all admit to mixed feelings. It’ll be nice to be home, familiar this and familar that. Loved ones. But the wacky business of the road is delicious too, and we’re not totally tired of it yet.

We’re happy to pay off the Indiana toll and zoom into Ohio. But Ohio is Toledo, then faraway Cleveland, and we’ll have a stretch of Pennsylvania Turnpike too. When thinking about travel, I always remember a line from one of Milan Kundera’s early books: (I’m paraphrasing but it’s close) “The most beautiful thing in the world is the horizon on the day that you begin a trip.” One of the worst things in the world has got to be the Ohio Turnpike as you finish a long journey.

We work as a team on some crossword puzzles. Glenn is quick to write in anything that fits. I’m more cautious. Bob loves crosswords and doesn’t want to be disturbed when he’s absorbed in the boxes and ACROSS and DOWNs.

We listen to Bob Dylan’s Theme Time Radio Hour on my iPod. I borrowed a friend’s CDs of the broadcasts, and they’re fun to listen to in the car. The songs are tied to a theme — this one was “Maps” or “American Cities” if you will — and some tunes are familiar and current while many are old and bluesy.

Against our own rules, but for speed’s sake, we grab a quick sandwich at a Panera at one of the rest areas along the turnpike. Not bad for chain food.

Eager for activities that may make the minutes go faster, we cut a track for one of Glenn’s video blogs. Bob shoots me as I drive. Glenn directs from the back seat. One take.

Finally, we see signs for Pittsburgh. Pay the Ohio toll. Go a mile or so and pay a Pennsylvania toll too. A woman working at one of the tollbooths hollers, “I love Fred Rogers!” I yell, “Thank you!”

After the tollbooth, the orange barrels start. The road is limited to one lane, it’s like driving straight into a tense and deadly video game. Welcome home!

We make familiar territory. Cranberry Exit. I-79. Downtown Pittsburgh. Up past the arena onto Bigelow Boulevard and into the WQED bunker. Home.

When do we go again?