Written by Matty J
Sunday August 30, 2009
When, in the course of human events, an individual is presented with an opportunity to put his mark, not only on the trek of a merry couple’s nomadic jaunt across this great land, but also upon the infrastructure of American society as a whole, it is his duty and rite to take upon this task. This is the burden I now bear.
J and J were kind enough to change their travel plans and allow a wanderer to join them on their travels. Perhaps their incentive was to add an extra driver to the mix, but you know what they say, when opportunity knocks make lemonade.
We leave Chicago promptly at midnight and begin what will assuredly be the most difficult and trying drive of the trip with Jenny behind the wheel. I take over for the dreaded 2am-6am shift, with Jenny as my loyal co-pilot, and Jay lumbering through sleep in the back seat. As any veteran of a long transit odyssey can attest to, a sleep-deprived individual searches their soul and opens a bag of emotions as a defense against heavy eyelids. Jenny and I had such a conversation this morning, as if this habit had never disappeared from our days on long crew trips.
Our first misadventure was around 4:30am at the I-80 truck stop, which holds the lofty title of the world’s largest and boy was it! We are talking Kanye’s ego big. They have the requisite restaurants and gas station, but add in the chrome shop, movie theatre, laundry, dentist, chapel, and other fixings, this was truly the most divine of all truck stops in the world. We come back to an unlocked car and are relieved to find Jay still tuckered away safe and sound.
Corey Hug, Nebraska’s prodigal son, informed us that no trip to the state would be complete without a gut-busting trip to Runza’s, a local fast food chain that was part White Castle, part like diarrhetic. The house sandwich, also called the “Runza,” was like eating a hot pocket and your mom’s sloppy jo’s in the same encased wrap. We are... RUNZA!!!
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Fort Collins finds us in the friendly hands of Mike and Amber, a soon-to-be married couple with historical ties to Jay’s high school days. We inhale a few fish tacos, burritos, and margaritas at La Luz then over to CooperSmith’s Brewhouse for some tasty ales and some Poudre River talk. Big props to Mike’s two pizza shops, Mama Roni’s, and their unmatched jumbo pizza rolls. Truly a culinary masterpiece
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After nearly 20 hours of driving, we are welcomed into the city of Colorado Springs by what can only be described as the most gracious and heartwarming ass-kicking of the liver one would want going on an hour of sleep. Our gracious host and bartender Eric, one of Jenny’s dear friends from the old country of Flint, would not be satisfied with a little chit chat followed by the sleep induced comas we were all looking for. After a half dozen at his home, a palatial pad we are calling home for a few days, we embarked on a booze cruise of the city that included a traditional Irish pub, “Jack Quinn’s”, a Sunday night bikini contest final where I was to meet my future wife Darlene, “Gasoline Alley,” and finally to the bar where I had my first ever Jameson & ginger & mountain dew, “Good Company.”
Twenty-six hours and five states later we were rewarded with some of the best sleep of our lives.
Matthew Stipe is a contributing blog writer who works as an international playboy and interpreter for the perpetually stupid.
Jenny were getting ready for a trip to the grocery store (to get the goods for McHuggins, a breakfast specialty patented not by Mickey D’s, but by Joel’s roommate Corey Hug). Ted Kennedy’s funeral was on the TV. Clear skies in Chicago, but our now-former home, Boston, was crying on the black umbrellas. One of Joel’s neighbors and all-around-good guy, Michael, stopped by and told us how he works for a Kennedy and that we should check out Teddy Kennedy’s speech at RFK’s funeral. It’s quite a speech, and we’ll try to link it to the
JN
