Into the West - First Report

When I was drawing up the itinerary for this trip into the West, I decided that after my first night in Indianapolis, Indiana, I wanted to travel a little further than Des Moines, Iowa, on day two, but not so far as Sioux Falls, South Dakota. So, I looked on the map of Iowa, tracing my finger along I-80, which cuts straight across the midsection of the state. About four inches west of Des Moines, my finger pointed to the small town of Walnut, Iowa. I grew up in Walnut, North Carolina, so my choice was made. I got on the Internet and found out that Walnut, Iowa, is famous for antiques and that it had at least one motel to serve all those hunters of the antique and collectible in west central Iowa. It is thus that I write this morning from the Walnut Super 8.

On Monday morning, I kissed my wife good-bye and drove my son to school. After a brief stop by my office, I hit the road. Normally I like to travel the blue highways, the two-lanes and such that show me a world different from that available to travelers of the interstates, but I have a need for speed on this trip. So, I took I-26 to I-81 to I-75 to I-74. I rolled along with a good bit of energy that morning, not stopping for lunch until around 1:00—Steak 'n' Shake in Georgetown, Kentucky.

Somewhere in the neighborhood of 2:30 that afternoon, I crossed the Ohio River. I never do so without thinking of slaves like Frederick Douglass and Harriet Jacobs—although he was in Maryland and she in North Carolina—and fictional Sethe, from Toni Morrison's novel Beloved. I was almost across the river before I knew it, in a matter of seconds, really, riding high above the wide water on a bridge of steel and concrete and passing from one state into another (Kentucky into Indiana on I-275, I think). I try to picture a slave, worn, weather-beaten and terrified, coming alone through the Kentucky woods to stand on the southern bank of the Ohio. Hopefulness and hopelessness must have blended strongly as he or she looked across the river and saw not just another state and not just the passage from South to North but freedom. The picture is dark and emotional, but I never try to avoid it.

My drive from Indianapolis to Walnut was fairly uneventful, except for four moments worth mentioning. First, when I stopped for gas in Bloomington, Illinois, I realized that a fill-up was costing me about as much as my lodging for the night. At the Motel 6 I paid $41.39 and at Super 8 $48.03; at the pump I paid $40.05.

Second, I crossed the Mississippi River, which, for me, is a different experience from that of crossing the Ohio. The Mississippi represents the passage from the East, in which I've always lived, into West, to which I have a romantic attachment. I don't think of the West as the place of cowboys and Indians or as the scene of the grand and difficult and dark struggle to tame a continent, although I'm sure these things play into my feelings. I'm drawn to its wide open spaces and its rugged mountains, both so different from the Appalachian mountains where I grew up.

Third, when I was on the job market, looking for a teaching position, I got some brief but exciting interest—any interest was exciting at the time—from Grinnell College, a fine liberal arts school in Grinnell, Iowa. Sometime around 6:30 in the evening, I came upon the I-80 exit for Grinnell. I was looking for a Subway and one was listed for the exit. Passing the Subway in a gas station by I-80, I drove into town and found the campus, which was bigger than I had imagined. It was a beautiful place—quiet streets, well landscaped yards and walkways, interesting buildings. Sitting and eating supper at another Subway just down the street from campus, I couldn't help wonder what living there would be like. Nice to think about, I guess, but I couldn't imagine it being better than what I have in Tennessee.

Fourth and final, I got lost in Des Moines. Not lost, really, but off track. I was listening to an unabridged recording of David McCullough's 1776 and thinking this and that when I suddenly noticed a sign telling me that I was on I-35 and that I was so many miles from Kansas City. I was supposed to be on I-80 and so many miles from Council Bluffs. When the next exit finally came, I took out my map and found that I could take a couple of my beloved blue highways and get back on track. At the exit, I took Highway 92 west about 14 miles and then US Highway 169 north about 13 miles. Then I was back on I-80 and heading for Walnut, having lost only 30 minutes or so in the ordeal.

Yesterday's drive from Indianapolis to Walnut was over 500 miles and took me from around 10:00 in the morning until 9:30 in the evening, all stopping included. A time change from Eastern to Central was involved in there somewhere as well. Today's drive will be much easier. Because I couldn't find a place any closer to Rapid City, South Dakota, than Mitchell, I'm looking about around 260 miles and some four hours of driving.

As Peewee Herman and others have said, "That ol' highway's a-callin'!"