So there we still were...

...Our money gone. Our bellies rumbling. Rest stops too few and far between. And the realization that this ride was going to be 4+ days long. Plan B was starting to suck. Dang plan B. B as in Bee-yatch.

At least we had our window seats. They were cool in the daytime, but at night in AZ, NV and places like that, you saw nothing but inky darkness outside them. Evn worse, when you first looked out them, before your eyes adjusted to looking past it, you would see the reflection of a skinny 22 year old squid staring blankly back at ya as if resigned to wasting 4 or 5 days on an uncomfortable bus. Days that the navy was charging as leave, whether you were having fun or not.

Back then I smoked cigarettes. Everybody I knew did too. Didn't plan it that way, but that's how it sorted itself out. At least, back then, you could smoke on the bus. I can't remember for sure, but I think there were designated smoking seats. Anyway, we were able to get by.

Then we got to Utah. The state that regulates alcohol sales in it's airspace. I kept telling the stewardess that it was unlikely they'd see us through the window, but apparently United Airlines has some corporate fetish for following dumb state laws. But, anyway.

With the rest stops few and far between and Utah at night through a Greyhound window so mind numbingly boring, we were really starting to want a smoke. Finally, we could take it no more. We scrunched way down in our seats, lowered our heads below seat level and sparked up a Camel Light each. Drag...hold...release...aahhhh. Repeat.

It is then that the overhead speaker erupted, scaring the bejesus out of us. PUT THAT CIGARETTE OUT! THERE IS NO SMOKING ON PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION IN UTAH. Ye gads, we freaked out, quickly dropping and crushing the offending butts. Yet the driver continued to, at least we thought, punk us out.

IF YOU TRY THAT AGAIN, I'LL HAVE TO STOP THE BUS MA'AM AND LET YOU OUT. Ma'am? Ma'am? By golly, ol' Frodo the driver had not busted us at all. Ha ha. In fact, if we felt like it, we could fire back up. If we felt like it. Which we of course did, just as we crossed out of Utah.

We've been on the bus half of Friday, all of Saturday and now all of Sunday. We had gotten to talking, more excitedly each time, about finding a bank on the lunch stop on Monday and cashing our checks. The old lady next aisle over heard us and offered up that tomorrow was _______. It was some holiday or holiday eve or something. I can't remember which day, I just remember going "OH CRAP. I bet the banks don't even open tomorrow." And the kindly wench proved to be correct.

We were in a small town in Iowa for a 15 min. stop about 10 AM. Across the street was a bank. Now Iowa, Eastern Iowa at that, was pretty near all the way to Minnesota. So we had wa-a-ay more trip behind us than ahead. Still, this looked like our opportunity. If the bank was open, that is.

We crossed the street going "please, please, please" and tried the door. It opened and there were cashiers at the windows. Come to find that they were only going to be open another hour, due to the holiday and all. We didn't care. They were open now and that's when we needed them to be open.

Wer presented our checks and our ID cards. She smiled and asked did we have an account with them? WHAT!? "No, ma'am, we don't." " Then I can't cash this." "Sure you can. We've been 3 days on a bus without money and we're hungry." "Sorry, nope." "Please?" "Nope." "But it's the government's check. Who can you trust if not the government?" And like that she smiled, said "Yeah, I guess you're right" and cashed them both. Because it goes without saying, I will not say that we were stoked. But we were. Grabbed a sack of burgers to go each and hopped back on the bus.

We arrived at Minneapolis later, well fed and resting. I had never been to Minnesota before and was intrigued. We had time to kill while waiting for our ride out into wheat field country, so we stopped in a joint nearby to kill time.

Raise your hand if you have ever been to Minneapolis. Keep them up if you have ever cruised down Hennepin Ave. Hmmm, I see.

Nothing, and I mean nothing, I had experienced in the preceeding twenty two years of walking this earth had prepared me for the freak parade that comprises the local population. Those guys and gals are another whole post for another time. But let me just say that South Florida at it's wackiest, while a bizarre place in and of itself, stil does not rival what I found on Hennepin.

Of course, we returned several times. What good is a road trip if not to be tripped out occasionally. And by occasionally I, of course, mean as often as possible.

The rest of the trip was pretty normal. A night in Mankato. The site of the oldest home foundation in (whatever) County. Unfamiliar foods and funny, lilting accents. And woods and water. Much of it.

(Before keg)

We went to a party in a wheatfield which was an experience in and of itself. In the middle of the farthest side of nowhere with nothing but fields as far as you can imagine was a farmhouse. We rolled up and were met at the door by a farm boy and his two sisters. They apparently did not get out much. The son answered the door, but the daughters, and this is very, very true, were right behind him. The one on the left pointed to Steve and said, "I've got that one", which of course meant the slower sister "got me". They were not particularly appealing young lasses, but by placing a full keg in the rec room they seemed to have a plan to rememdy that.
(After keg)

But that too, is another farm story for another farm time. Gotta go.

Me and you and a dog named Boo, out
Ramblin' Ed