Day 8 - The Frost Heaves of Vermont

 Day 8 marked the final day of the museum tour portion of the cross-country adventure as we were to set arrive at our ultimate destination, Shark Week IV.  With great anticipation we departed from Utica and set out for the location in New Hampshire where the event was to take place. 

Our group’s size had diminished somewhat.  We had lost four members and three bikes due to “irreconcilable differences,” but we had gained one member who resided in the area of Utica.  We had also planned to rendezvous with another Shark Week attendee who had experienced a chance meeting with Kenny the previous day.  However as he awaited on the side of the road for our perpetually late crew to show up, the local law enforcement, evidently suspicious of lone bikers waiting on the side of the road, suggested that he “move along, sir.” 

After many days of rain, cold and gloom, we were happy to experience blue skies and relatively warm weather.  We were happy and Vermont beckoned.  Initially the ride through Vermont was quite beautiful.  Lush green forests, classic New England settings featuring cottages and white spires on churches, and the sight of families enjoying ice cream makes you feel as if you’re in a Norman Rockwell painting……uh, if Norman Rockwell featured large loud motorcycles and grimy bikers clad in leather in his paintings, of course.  As we took in the beauty and savored the experience, the trip seemed to be as fulfilling as a Hells Angels toy run.  Until we hit the frost heaves, that is. 
Frost heaves are as native to Vermont as maple syrup and fat guys making ice cream.  They are formed during the winter as ice in the soil beneath the road’s surface expands and swells upward, causing the surface to become…..let’s say uneven.  And the winter of 2014 had been exceptionally harsh.  Riding the frost heaves is an experience that is indescribable…….but let me try.  Imagine yourself being shot out of a canon…..only to reach a trampoline at the end of the canon, which hurls you back onto the firing mechanism, which fires you into the trampoline again.  Then imagine yourself holding onto a jackhammer and trying to keep it under control…..a 900 pound jackhammer, that is.  Oh, and while all of this is going on, the canon is rolling from side to side.  Imagine that all going on at the same time and you have some idea of what riding a motorcycle on the frost heaves is like.

Frost heaves give the roads of Vermont a certain "texture."

The results of trying to traverse these asphalt monstrosities included broken horns, bolts that backed out, steering that was permanently altered, and one attendee even experienced the loss of a filling – for real!!  Fortunately the frost heaves gave way to the beautiful town of Montpelier where we rendezvoused with what remained of the Gypsy Tour, a similar, but more civil version of the Museum Tour group. 

After a delicious lunch the combined Museum/Gypsy Tour made the final push toward Gorham, New Hampshire, eager to reunite with old acquaintances’ and to make new ones.  Spirits were high, the roads were exceptional, and the frost heaves were in the cracked pieces of what remained of our rear view mirrors (while some of us were steering at very odd angles).  As we neared Gorham we came around a bend in the road and spotted a sight that could not have been more perfect - a rainbow whose end seemingly dropped straight into our destination. 

The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow is Shark Week IV

We smiled at the welcoming sign.....until we remembered that rainbows mean…..rain.  As we got closer the rainbow’s end steadily moved away from our intended location, only to be filled by a large dark cloud.  With reluctance we pulled to the side of the road and donned the rain gear…..again.  Sure enough, the rain poured down on us with all of an intensity of biblical proportions, but magically it cleared just two miles from the Shark Week assembly point, the Town and Country motel.  We entered the parking lot to find dozens and dozens of Road Glides and dozens and dozens of people who had apparently partaken liberally of the local freshly tapped brew.  Hugs and kisses from people we didn’t even know were shared, and we realized that all of the trouble and challenges that we had endured had been well worth it.  We had arrived at Shark Week IV.  In the next edition of the blog we will describe some of the weeks more memorable occurrences.

Day 7 - Communication Breakdown

Day 7 was to be one of our more interesting days.  A visit to Niagara Falls was planned, followed by a visit to the Anchor Inn in Buffalo, where one of God’s greatest gifts to man, the buffalo wing, was created.  Then it would be on to Utica, New York.  Interesting it certainly turned out to be.  

The group crossed Ontario with little trouble and no arrests.  Before long we came upon “The Falls.”  For those who have not had the opportunity, a visit to Niagara Falls in highly recommended, for not only can one experience “The Falls” but also “the falls,” as in “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!”  More on this in a minute.  First, it must be understood that a group of eleven large loud motorcycles (one with a trailer) trying to find a parking space in a tourist area can be a bit of a challenge.  Parking near the falls was priced at $15 to $20, and since we had already made a major donation to the state of Michigan, we were more interested in preserving our funds.  RayGar solved this problem by leading us to a spot that not only accommodated the large group but was also free of parking fees.  One problem – it was approximately two kilometers away from The Falls.  As Canada is on the metric system we only knew the distance in kilometers, and judging by the length of time required to access The Falls from our parking spot, two kilometers was concluded to be approximately 13 ½ miles.  The ride across Ontario was shorter than the walk to The Falls.  After trudging back and forth, many of us having to stop for food, water and shelter multiple times along the say, we reassembled in the parking lot, most of us several pounds lighter at this point.  As we tried to replenish the oxygen and fluids in our bodies we observed an elderly lady crossing the parking lot with what appeared to be her younger family members.  This family, evidently anxious to get their hands on the imminent inheritance, had seen fit to drag Grandma to the parking lot, 13½ miles away for “some sightseeing and a nice refreshing stroll to the falls.”  As we watched, Grandma stumbled on a curb and commenced a slow motion rollover onto her back on the sidewalk.  With arms and legs flailing she looked rather like a large blue turtle attempting to right itself. 

Disillusioned family members bid the bikers an unconvincing thanks.

As the family members stood looking - apparently the countdown to riches had begun at that point – several of the bikers in the group rushed to assist her.   This may not have been a good thing.  Whether she was more frightened by the fall or by the sight of several large leather-clad, bearded bikers with chains hanging off of them is not clear, but in the end she was hoisted onto her feet and was able to proceed on her way.  Or so she was at our last sighting.   

Having spoiled the family’s plans for sudden wealth, it was time to climb back on the steel steeds and attempt to reenter the U.S.  It was at this point that we discovered that communication might not have been carried out to the degree necessary to make our trip an efficient one. Communication is important when a large group such as ours is traveling together.  What’s said is not always necessarily what is understood.  Take getting gas for example.  The group had filled the tanks of the thirsty machines prior to entering Canada on the previous day, for fuel in Canada is approximately $13½ dollars per gallon.  Or so it was rumored (Canadian money is metric too.)  However some of the group, those whose machines were a bit thirstier than others, ended up stopping just before visiting The Falls (and the falls) to add a bit of gas to their tanks, ensuring their ability to make it to the U.S. side.  The plan was to stop as soon as we got into Niagara Falls, New York, and fill back up with the much more affordable brand of fuel.   As we sat on the Rainbow Bridge awaiting reentry into the U.S. we watched the fuel gauges get lower and lower, for crossing the Rainbow Bridge is slightly less time consuming than a geriatric cricket match.  

Crossing the Rainbow Bridge at glacial speed. 

 Thanks to security concerns, entry into the U.S. at this particular border point has slowed considerably, and while we enjoyed the view of The Falls from this vantage point, even gazing at the amazing view of  The Falls can become tiresome after a point.  It took the better part of an hour for all of us to pass through, but eventually we all made it across the border.  Even RayGar made it without being subjected to abuse.  However, we decided that the visit to Buffalo and the Anchor Inn would have to be sacrificed if we were to get to Utica by midnight. With heavy hearts and growling stomachs the group set off in the direction of Rochester…..without gassing up.  It had  been asked if we were going to stop for gas, and the response was yes, of course.  This is where communication gets a bit fuzzy.  Just as the little old man in the car who leaves his left turn signal on indefinitely intends to turn left……eventually, so is the intention to stop for gas.   

A spare can of gas saves Winnie.

Some of us had failed to get the memo that the immediate stop on the U.S. side had been eliminated, and as the city of Niagara Falls gave way to farms and vast expanses of fields it occurred to some of us that the plan to fill back up on the U.S. side had been altered.  Ron was the first to fall victim.  Winnie coughed, sputtered, and fell silent as she depleted her mix of American and Canadian fuel.  

Luckily one forward thinking member of the group had a spare tank of gas, which allowed Winnie to limp to a “station.”  Station is being kind, for the small shack had but one pump, one bathroom, and very little room for eleven bikes and fourteen people.  Perhaps we had stumbled onto a clue as to why we were perpetually hours and hours behind schedule. We did, however, manage to get all of the tanks full all at the same time.

With full tanks all around we set off for Utica…..and trouble ensued.  Details won’t be portrayed here, but suffice it to say the once again communication issues resulted in some “challenges” to the group’s progress  Some memorable quotes were uttered, another delay occurred and we each learned that all people in a group of eleven bikes do not necessarily adhere to the same style of riding.  With that understanding we made our way to Utica where once again we arrived after most restaurants had stopped serving, so it was time for another parking lot session - this time without the pizza. 

Enjoying happy hour - on the sidewalks of Utica, New York.

The group was only one day from its final destination.  But reaching Maine would prove to be more challenging than expected.  More in the next edition of The Oreo Expedition……

Day 6, Part 2 - Exploring The Mitt

Day 6 part 2 marked the full assembled group that would travel to New Hampshire; approximately eleven bikes and fourteen people.  Seeing as how at the time of this writing the events are more than three weeks old, the following events may or may not have really occurred.  

What is known is that near the end of Day 6 we eventually came upon and crossed the Mackinac Bridge, which links Michigan’s Upper Peninsula with the Lower……well, it was often referred to as “The Mitt” by RayGar, which is probably better than calling it “the place everyone leaves for vacations.”  Our hope was to reach the bridge in late afternoon or early evening, allowing us to enjoy the thrill of crossing one of the world’s longest suspension bridges  It is officially billed as “world's longest suspension bridge between anchorages,” which seems to be a technicality to allow it to be distinguished from “the world’s longest suspension bridge between two dead bloated whales” or “the world’s longest suspension bridge between two states that are really the same state.”  Nevertheless, we were looking forward to getting to the “Mighty Mac” and crossing it.  Instead this is what we saw:

The Mackinac Bridge as seen by the weary riders.

Somehow we had fallen approximately eight or nine hours behind schedule – a theme that would come to personify the entire trip despite speeds routinely exceeding posted limits by…..ummm considerable margins.  We managed to get to our hotel on “the mitt” just before it closed (the hotel, not the mitt), tired, hungry, and thirsty.  With virtually no restaurants open (because even late shift cooks have to sleep sometime) it was decided to order pizza and of course garnish it with some beer.  Off went RayGar and some of the crew to fetch some beer from the local beer supplier….where they were promptly identified by local law enforcement as…..trouble.  Mostly because they were riding large loud motorcycles in the wrong direction…. on a one-way street…..in the wee hours of the morning...with foreign license plates.  With flashing lights ablaze our crew pleaded that they were unfamiliar with “the mitt” and the sympathetic officer allowed them to go on their way allowing the rest of us law abiding types to enjoy a parking lot pizza and beer party….until the fellow guests lodged complaints about the loud obnoxious people out in the parking lot.  By that time most of the goods had been consumed and the patrons had either drifted to their rooms or passed out.  Either way our Official First Day of the Museum Tour had concluded.

On the following morning it was decided that since we had traveled all the way up to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula without enjoying the site of the Mackinac Bridge, perhaps we could see it during the day.  After all we were only a beer run away from the bridge.  So we traveled back to the bridge, crossed it again, ending up back on the U.P. (as the locals – and now we) refer to it.  It should be mentioned that crossing the bridge demands a fee.  Four dollars per motorcycle in fact.  And if you’re pulling a trailer, as one of our tour members was, then it is six dollars.  Two bucks per axle.  It doesn’t matter that your axles are mere inches wide – two bucks per axle.  Now that we had crossed the bridge, it was time to continue our journey – which meant…….crossing the bridge yet again.  

Significantly lighter in the wallets, the riders prepare to cross the Mackinac Bridge yet again

Given the number of bikes (and trailers) in our group we estimate that our entire tour contributed roughly $216 to the state of Michigan thanks to bridge crossings alone.  Whether this money goes to the U.P. or “The Mitt” we’re not sure, but it very likely exceeds what we estimate is the total that the city of Detroit has been able to collect in taxes over the past year, so we left feeling positive about our experience.  

After this it was on to visit a unique area of The Mitt, referred to as The Blur of Trees, sometimes known by those who travel through it at reasonable speeds as The Tunnel of Trees.  The Blur is a 27 miles stretch of highway that is enclosed by a canopy of trees.  It has all of the attractions that motorcyclists love - curvy road, picturesque landscape, and unpredictable cage drivers that routinely cross the centerline in a 180 degree turn.  Since getting behind on our schedule had become a problem on the tour, RayGar took it upon himself to urge us on through the trees at a speed that likely would not have been okayed by a sympathetic officer.  Luckily we had a special high speed camera available that gives an approximation of what the Blur of Trees looks like when one is not traveling through it like Wiley Coyote riding an ACME rocket.

Special high speed camera catches the
trees that form the Blur of Trees

Having survived the Blur of Trees we looked at our progress and determined that despite RayGar’s expeditious attempts, we were still behind schedule.  Options were discussed and it was decided that not only would the All Bacon restaurant be sacrificed, but so too would be the thumb of The Mitt.  Such are the complications that come with such a journey.  This allowed us to reach the evening’s stop in Sarnia, Ontario only four hours past the scheduled time.  Perhaps we might have been a little earlier had not a certain RayGar been identified as a suspicious entrant at the U.S./Canada border.  While the entire Museum Tour party sailed through immigration without a problem, poor RayGar was asked to “please pull over to that inspection station, sir.”  Speculation that he answered questions such as “where were you born” and ‘what is your purpose in Canada” with “I'm just here for the syrup” remains.  While the rest of us looked on, RayGar’s bike was completely unloaded, every bag opened and we’re pretty sure we saw a pair of Mounties with whips, chains and fishnet stockings.  Eventually the “inspection” was concluded and we were all on our way to the evening’s rest in Sarnia. Day 6 had mercifully come to a close......

Day 6 - Day At the Museum

The museum tour officially began with our arrival in Milwaukee and the subsequent day's visit to the Harley Davidson Museum.  Our crew that had assembled in Omaha, plus several other Road Gliders making their way to Maine, had consolidated at the Ramada Inn in downtown Milwaukee and we numbered approximately 13 bikes and 18 persons.  The museum has been over 100 years in the making and only recently was opened to the public.  For all but two of our assembled crew this was the first visit to this hallowed place.  Our museum tour leader, Raygar (Had Mr. Garvin been born in the sixteenth century, he would most definitely been a Viking - quite possibly one of the Berzerkers - so he shall be referred to in future posts as "Raygar," as in Raygar The Horrible.) in an effort to make our tour an efficient one, had requested that the tour members depart the hotel early in the morning so that we could get to the museum before they opened, thus avoiding a line.  That time was 8:00 a.m.  The tour members dutifully complied, assembling promptly at 7:45, riding all of three blocks in parade formation to the museum, and indeed we avoided any lines.......because the museum does in fact not open until 9:00 a.m.  On the plus side we got some of the choicest parking spots one could ever ask for and plenty of chances to gaze at and take pictures of the famous Hill Climber statue that sits in front of the museum. 

The Hill Climber statue and an intruder.

Oh, we took pictures.  There was, in fact, nothing else to do but take pictures.  We might be able to start out own museum of the statue in front of the museum, we took so many pictures. 

Finally the museum opened, and we ventured in to view the items on display.  For the true Harley enthusiast this is without doubt the place to go.  The early history of the Harley-Davidson Motor Company is surprisingly well detailed in its presentation, and the evolution of the bikes from the first crude model, most of which pieced together and displayed in a gleaming case, to the models presently being offered are laid out in superb fashion.  If you love Harley and everything associated with the "Harley Lifestyle," a visit to the museum is highly recommended. 

After our visit, which was only about three hours, too little time, really, we were summoned to depart.  But before vacating the city of Milwaukee it was decided that we should make the trek over to Harley headquarters, several miles away from the museum.  The headquarters building is located in the exact same location where the very first Harley was put together by William Harley and the Davidson brothers.  A trip to headquarters for the Harley rider is essentially a visit to the biker Mecca.  One can pose with the bike on the corner for a unique photo that is sure to constitute the bikers version the family Christmas Card.  With our large group it was decided that the tour members would line up, riding to the photo spot one by one, where yours truly would snap a photo, then shoo the member away, allowing the next member to pose similarly. 

At this point it must be explained that not all bikes on our little tour were in fact Harley-Davidson motorcycles.  Ben, our youngest (and by definition most naive of our members) saw fit to ride his Triumph on our little tour.  As the tour members took their turns getting highly desired photos taken at the biker mecca, Ben, showing no regard whatsoever for the protocol of the bikers, dutifully took his place in front of the Harley-Davidson Bar and Shield sculpture, apparently believing that he was in fact riding a Harley. 

What's wrong with this picture?

It is believed that much like the stories of young children who have been raised by wolves actually believe they are wolves, Ben, having spent so much time with real bikers, apparently believed he was also on a Harley.  We didn't have the heart to tell him otherwise, and we allowed him to have his Triumph photographed in front of Harley headquarters.  The security guard standing nearby could only shake his head in total disbelief. 

Finally we were able to escape Milwaukee where more tour members on the way to Maine joined us at Doc's HD of Shawano County.  Doc is clearly a disturbed man, for this is not your everyday Harley dealer....unless you consider having a museum, a lighthouse, and a zoo normal fare for a motorcycle dealer.  And don't forget the Harley powered picnic table and the famous Timeline Motorcycle, which seats ten people and has one each of the motor company's different engines.  This is an actual working bike that was ridden into Sturgis in 2009. 

The Timeline motorcycle is just one of Doc's bizarre creations. 

We were too stunned to spend any more time at this wonderland and decided that we had to get going so that we could get north so that we could view and cross the Mackinac Bridge, the famous bridge that connects Michigan's upper and lower peninsulas.  But you'll have to wait until the next installment when we present the Michigan portion of our adventure. 

Lost A Friend Today

I lost a good friend today.  When you go on journeys such as the ones I've enjoyed on my motorcycle you tend to get close to those who have shared the experiences with you.  Four years ago, when my first long trip on the Roadglide was being planned, I knew I was going to take in the first gathering of the Roadglide.org forum members as part of my 48 state tour of the U.S.  The event had only recently been dubbed Shark Week, a take-off on the meeting of the owners of Harley's "shark nose" model.  In search of a traveling companion, I had come across a golf club head cover that resembled a stuffed shark, so I decided to purchase it and strapped it onto my tour pack-mounted travel suitcase.  I decided that my companion was a female and obviously my female companion needed a name.  My bike had a name and the woman in my GPS had a name.  (I believe I have a mild case on anthropomorphism, a tendency to assign names to inanimate objects.  I say mild because although my motorcycle and GPS have names, my socks, underwear and drinking cup do not have names……OK, although the cup may occasionally be referred to as "Sippy" now and then, that does not necessarily constitute a name.)  One more name assigned to an inanimate object couldn't exacerbate the disorder that much I reasoned.  So she was dubbed Sigourney, a name that carries the noble meaning of "conqueror."  Originally intended to imply winning the intended cross-country rally that initiated the first trip, this seemed appropriate.  Plus it rhymed with Journey.  So my companion was assigned the unique name of Sigourney.  She even became my avatar on the internet forum that is the genesis of these annual gatherings.  Sigourney was a happy traveler, her tail wagging happily as we would slice through the air.  She would lift her head and take in the air as it rushed by.  She obviously enjoyed rolling across the country on the Harley as much as I did.

 Children in cars would wave to her as I passed by and parents would take their childrens' pictures with her in our journeys.  She would travel to  every shark week with me faithfully and the people at the event would greet her by name.  She was as much a part of Shark Week as donuts and firewood.  And she was on her way to her fourth event.

And then it happened.  I went to the bike today and she was gone - nowhere to be found.  Her tell-tale red bungie cords gone as well - missing without a trace.  Somewhere between Omaha and Milwaukee she took leave.  All of our traveling companions looked for her, but none were able to locate here. 

I am actually saddened by this.  How does one become attached to what are essentially a couple of pieces of cloth sewn together to protect a golf club?  I suppose it's something along the lines of Tom Hanks and his volleyball companion Wilson in the Castaway movie.  Psychologists probably have some explanation for this.  I don't really care.  All I know is my loyal companion is gone and the journey somehow seems a little bit less complete.  Here is the last known photo of Sigourney.  She looks rather good against the backdrop of the Rocky Mountains, don't you think? 

We will forge onward and we will have fun I'm sure.  But it would be awfully nice to have my inexplicably close inanimate companion along for the fun.

The Stop Sign Tour of Whitewater, Wisconsin

Whitewater is a wonderful little Wisconsin town, home of the University of Wisconsin at Whitewater.  It is populated by 14,505 people and it has 27 streets and 127 stop signs.  We know this because we came upon every one of them, some of them twice.  The Omaha crew had elected to forgo the crowded interstate, opting instead for the scenic route that would allow us to enjoy some twists, turns, and two lane fun.  That seemed like a good idea, and indeed it was a much better alternative than the super slab.  Until we reached the town of Whitewater, that is.  On a map it appeared that the highway would take us directly through the town.  Unfortunately what's on a map does not necessarily reflect what's on the planet's surface. 

Highway 59?  Go left and/or straight.

Such was the case in Whitewater, where home-made detour signs directed us slightly off of the intended route.  And then slightly more…..and even more slightly more.  At every decision point there seemed to be a stop sign.  And indecision.  When we had passed the same lemonade stand and the same yard sale three times it occurred to us that we were not making any headway.  Beatrice, the stern woman in the GPS who tells us where to turn, grew so agitated that she eventually blurted out, "I give up, YOU figure it out!" and the magenta "go this way" map turned into the image of a pretzel. 

Stop signs abound in Whitewater

The water tower enjoyed our antics

You know it's bad when the town water tower is laughing at you. 

The only thing missing was cobblestones (insiders will understand that reference).

Eventually women in housecoats  tiring of the endless noise from our exhaust pipes, emerged from their homes (trailing infants who were holding their hands over their ears) all of whom were gesturing in one general direction that we assumed was the path out of town.  Fortunately we finally exited the town and were on our way to Milwaukee, home of Harley Davidson, Miller beer, and the worst lederhosen since Colonel Klink.  More about that in next day's edition.

Day 4.5/5 - Travelodge, One Star

As Day 4 drew to a close, the crew, riding through yet more rain, decided that with the sun going down, it would be advisable to park the iron steeds for the night.  We found ourselves in the town of Sterling, Colorado.  We were planning on meeting new riding companion Curtis and wife Lisa in the morning, who were coming from the Loveland, CO area.  They were planning to stop for breakfast in the town of Sterling, so the decision was made to grab a local room.  Plenty of hotels to choose from here, so we cruised over to the area that included the always reliable Comfort Inn and the always affordable Super 8.  Upon pulling into the common parking lot for the two hotels, we discovered a hidden gem, a Tavelodge.  Perfect for us, for it would might allow us to obtain some rooms that would permit us to park the bikes near the door.  Bikers prefer this alternative for a couple of reasons; one, it is easier to cart one's belongings between bike and room and two, it allows one to better keep an eye on the bikes.  The Travelodge looked a little more run down….OK, a LOT more run down, than the Super 8, and in fact the sign on what was left of the office instructed potential guests to check in at the Super 8.   Rooms were available at both locations, but Megan, the front desk girl, let us know that the rooms at the Travelodge were twenty dollars cheaper.  Perfect - better access AND twenty dollars cheaper.  A no brainer!!

No brainer can be interpreted in different ways.  One interpretation is that no contemplation is required in making a decision.  That would not apply to us in this case.  Instead it is more appropriate to identify the crew has having no brain among the three of them.  This was evident upon pulling up to the rooms as we came upon our evening's next door neighbors, three…..ummm "working" persons who were evidently relaxing after a hard day of work by consuming a case of beer…..each.  One of the workers was sprawled on the concrete sidewalk with his head resting on the concrete threshold to the room door, beer balanced on his stomach, and multiple empty beers in piles,  all folded in half and half-heartedly crushed, no doubt for collecting in plastic bags and taking to the recycle center....to afford the next night's beer.  The other two workers were poster boys for what not to do with tattoos.  The three of them looked at us with a mix of curiosity and haze.  Welcome to the Travelodge.  It went downhill from there.

We saved twenty bucks by opting for the Travelodge, whose pool was closed "for cleaning."

Upon entering the room we found that only half of the lights worked, the hot water handle in the shower was inoperative and the air conditioner blew warmer air into the room than what was available outside.  One of the pillows had blood stains on it, and spiders had constructed a mosaic on the wall that served as the only available wall treatment.  We also found that the toilet was running so slowly that flushing proved to be the Travelodge equivalent of residing along the Mississippi River in the spring.  Off to the Super 8 front desk to ask for a plunger.  Our friend Megan was there trying to check in additional arrivals (who had the good sense to opt for the Super 8), while a gentleman resembling Jack Nicholson's character in The Shining stood at the desk complaining that his room had no towels.  We suspected that he needed towels to clean up after that evening's axe murders.  While trying to attend to that, she also asked us what we needed and we delicately asked if there was something available, a plunger perhaps, to address our problem.  She frowned and said she didn't believe they had one.  This seemed a little strange to us, for 200 room hotels probably had plumbing problems from time to time.  At that same time, another worker came by the desk and Megan asked her about the availability of a plunger.  The other worker responded by saying that housekeeping would know.  Upon calling housekeeping she discovered that a plunger was available from the hotel "up the hill" and they would be bringing one down.  We asked if we should wait and she said sure, we could wait, but not favoring the image of walking all the way back to the room with plunger in hand we asked if the person "up the hill" might drop it by the room.  Megan responded with a yes…..we think.  Back to the room we went, awaiting our plunger, leaving behind the axe murdered, who was making no headway in obtaining towels for his room.  Five minutes, ten minutes, and eventually an hour went by and no person bearing a plunger arrived.  We called up the front desk (surprisingly the phone worked) and the response was "oh, I didn't know Megan was supposed to take care of that."  After waiting another hour, we decided that the plunger was not going to arrive, closed and locked the door, and uneasily drifted off to sleep.  Whether Jack Nicholson ever got his towels in unknown. Somehow we suspect that he might have gotten a plunger though.

Day 4 had presented us with a mounting number of "interesting experiences" and we still had 14 days to go.  We can't wait to see how much better it gets.