May 22, 2002

Give me a genuine problem and I'm your girl. Hand me a little disappointment and I fall to pieces.

I spent most of today weeping into my suitcases, into my steering wheel, into my rhubarb custard pie. I'm such an inconsolable titty baby I make me sick. Anyway, now I'm all nekked and watching cable at a motel in Auburn, Indiana, and I'm done crying, I think, but I have one of those whopper crybaby hangover headaches that just kills.

Hm. Which makes me wonder, why not make it a real hangover? There's a convenience store about 100 yards away. I think I'll put my clothes back on and go get me a little nip....

...Well, it turns out Auburn convenience stores don't sell beer. Luckily, I bought one of those dip-it-yourself little bottles of bourbon at the Maker's Mark tour, so I'm covered.

If I were clever, I'd've realized I was forewarned about the potential suckiness of my visit, but I just assumed Jason was being a Gloomy Gus and that my natural charm would smooth things over and pave the way for FUN!FUN!FUN!

But after an unfortunate homemade haircut, three crushing days of feeling like the jerk pest kid sister, a Princess Babycry meltdown on the phone with a sympathetic Rebecca, and then still feeling lonesome and unwelcome when I woke up, I decided to cut my losses and beat it out of town.

[At least I learned something about pussyfooting. Even your best friends won't speak plainly when they think you won't want to hear it (something I should have learned long, long, long ago), so keep your ears peeled for hints and ask pointed questions when they crop up. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I always assume that my friends, knowing I am dense as a rock, will be direct. They rarely are.

Note to self: be more direct, thereby inspiring plain speaking in those around you. I'm sure I'm just as oblique in real life, although I'm very frank in my imagination.

Second note to self: nothing good can come of chopping vegetables while angry.]

Anywho, by the time I choked down my supper and wondered where I could get one of those darling, airy little starched white bonnets with the dangling ribbony ties that the girls in the kitchen were wearing (I was dining in Amish country), I started to feel very forlorn, like I'd run away from home and wished I could go back but knew I couldn't. Ah, well.

Instead, I headed for Auburn so I'd be close to the Duesenberg Museum, the next stop on the northern Indiana leg of SuperTour 2002, which has turned out to be far more lonesome than I'd envisioned.

Indiana's pretty country, especially on the little farm roads, and the tidy farms and wide barns and occasional horse and trim black buggy look lovely and serene and majestic in the twilight. I especially liked the winsome pale blue barns; they made me want to cry.

Getting lost again and again between the Studebaker museum and the Village Inn (a 30-minute trip that took me 2 hours) also made me want to cry, but for very different reasons. (Actually, it did more than just make me want to cry; I had to keep pulling over and bawling into my hands.)

After the Duesenberg Museum, tomorrow's activities include a tour of Sechler's Pickles, the RV Heritage Foundation Museum, the NY Central Museum, a buggy ride and a hearty supper at Amish Acres, and possibly a tour of Walter Piano and/or one of the Elkhart County RV factories and a gander at the World's Largest Egg. The egg's out of the way, so it's the first off the list. In fact, it's officially off the list right now. There was supposed to be a Seyfert's potato chip & pretzel factory tour, but they're gone; and Perfection Bakeries no longer offers tours. Tours seem to be going the way of the buffalo: so far, about three quarters of my planned stops no longer give tours.

After Indiana, my plans include southern Wisconsin, and hopefully a short, less icky visit in Chicago. I'm also hoping for a couple drinks there, one with Rebecca's charming Paul and one with Miss ChaCha. After that, down through Illinois, with roadside stops aplenty, St. Louis, then Kansas City to see Kelly Sue. The Chicago-to-Kansas City route is all mapped out, since it's the course I was originally going to take to Chicago. All this extra alone time should give me a chance to work up my goofy travelogue, which will doubtless interest no one but me.

05.10.02

[posted the next morning]