January 11, 2016
2110 Caton
Road, Ottawa, IL
Latitude 41.37
Longitude -88.85
Elevation 608 feet
I pulled out of the garage at exactly 7:00 a.m.. Everything was in the Buick. I had made a fresh thermos of espresso, put two
sandwiches together, added them to a little cooler, and kissed my wife
goodbye. I was off on a five-day solo drive
to Florida. I headed for Route 80.
Beside me were my new 2016 Road Atlas (large type) and an
old Shakira spiral notebook. I bought
the notebook in a little bookstore in Cochabamba Bolivia while I was visiting
my son Dean. Was that 11 years ago? I guess it was. Wow. The
atlas was for figuring the route, the notebook to record what the route turned
out to be. I had no plan. I had ideas, but the weather concerned
me. There was a storm predicted for
where I was going. The most basic route
was this. Go East to West Virginia, then
go South to Florida. In broad terms I would
go South to Bloomington and turn left, then East to Wheeling West Virginia, and
turn right, then end in Tampa Florida.
It wasn’t that simple, but that was the basic idea.
It was to be a two-lane only road trip. I did all two-lane roads last year, but I
took a shorter and more direct route earlier in the year. I stopped on my driveway to get my
bearings on my I IPhone: longitude, latitude, elevation, using the handy free app “Just my
Location”. In addition to those physical
facts, the Buick’s dashboard told me it was 9 degrees. My biggest desire was to wander the hills of
West Virginia on two-lane roads. And
there was this promised snow coming from the southwest. So I caved and took to the interstate.
It was there on the driveway that I decided to go west on
80 to I 39, south to Bloomington and I 55, east on 74. I figured to follow I 74 as long as it was
making a straight line to West Virginia.
I can be a purist at times, but on this trip, I decided to be pragmatic.
Let me say at the outset that I have nothing against eastern
Illinois, Indiana and Ohio. They’re fine
states. But West Virginia called. And though it is true you can’t experience
near the America on the interstate as you can on two-lane roads, it’s not
impossible to get a feel for your surroundings from that always open, nicely
engineered four-lane highway system that carries so much traffic. It’s just harder because at first glance everything
seems the same.
I got off at Leroy for no apparent reason. I didn’t need gas, but I did need to take a
leak. I have little connection to
Leroy. Downstate relatives occasionally golf
there. For one fall I went to U of I
football games in Champaign and we would stop at the nice gas stations by the
interstate. That’s where I made
my first stop. The big new Leroy BP had
the same nicely displayed junk food and assorted items I would see on every off-ramp from there to Florida.
When I was a kid it was considered indelicate to mention you
were taking a leak in the company of others.
Women would say they had to powder their noses. In my family, men would say, inexplicably, “I
have to see a man about a dog.” Why
these things pop up in my head I can’t tell you. But after I saw that man about a dog I got
back in my car.
I might have gone back on the interstate but I decided to
cruise downtown Leroy to see how it was doing.
They’d been successful in developing new business by the highway. Maybe that success had been replicated
downtown.
It hadn’t. You can’t
tell by looking if downtown Leroy is declining or making a comeback but
whichever direction it is headed it was definitely at low ebb on January 11,
2016. Very few cars on the street. Vacant buildings, some of which may never be
occupied again. An occasional
professional office. Printed paper signs
in storefront windows. A beauty parlor. Not a diner, a hardware store, not even a
prosperous-looking bar. You can see what it once was, Leroy’s downtown. It’s hard to imagine it will ever be that
again. I guess it was a trade rather
than an addition to the town, that development on the interstate.
It doesn’t take long to scout these little towns. I took a more substantial looking street that
led out of town, which turned out to be Illinois 150, just to see what was on
the other side of town when I a sign caught my eye
Terminal Moraine
State Park
I have a thing for moraines, given that I feel an affinity for
glaciers. During my time at ISU my journey
through the required natural science credits, which for graduation I determined
would need to skirt both mathematics and chemistry, took me largely through
Geography and Geology. I took Earth
Science, Weather, and Climate. That department seemed more like history than
science. It was there I learned to appreciate glaciers. They’re predictable but unstoppable, and
relentless; leveling everything in their path.
The ultimate change agents, glaciers forever alter the world they
encounter. And when they finally end, they leave a terminal moraine, the
remains of the earth, rock, and whatever else it has amassed along the
way. I wanted to see it.
So I made my way to Terminal Moraine State Park. If I knew it was there I had forgotten. Among Illinois State Parks it’s not often
mentioned. As soon as I got away from
the interstate, on the blacktop driving between empty snow-packed cornfields,
I regretted not traveling the whole trip that way. It was frigid and sparkly. It’s flat out there in central Illinois. You have to look closely to see rises in the
terrain. I was scanning the horizon as
I turned into the park. If I was near
a terminal moraine I couldn’t tell.
There were gentle dips in the winding road that took me
through Moraine View State Park. Picnic
tables were clustered under trees in places that must be lovely in the
summer. A deserted campground appeared
around a curve. They have a little lake
there frozen solid. There was something
clustered in the middle of the lake.
Ducks, perhaps geese, were huddled together on a frozen
pond. Why would ducks sit on a frozen
lake? Patiently waiting for the
thaw? Reminiscing about better
days? It seemed odd. When I have time I’ll try to figure that out.
There was nary a soul so far in the park. Not only that, my tires were making the only
tracks on those snow-covered blacktop roads.
I was looking for a marker, a sign maybe, to lead me to the moraine, a
viewing stand maybe, something.
Rounding a corner I saw a building, tracks in the snow, and
next to the building a pickup truck. It
looked to be the park office. I parked,
walked in the open door, and found a deserted room. A counter with a scant smattering of
pamphlets and the like was by the door.
I looked for a bell. Finding none
I called out?
“Hello? Anybody home?”
From the far back, I heard he rustling of
someone moving around. A big guy in a
hooded thermal sweatshirt and a fuzzy vest appeared in the doorway. He looked surprised and asked me this
question not like he’d said it many times before but as a genuine inquiry:
“Can I help you?”
“Yeah, I’m just wandering around, and I was interested in
the moraine. Is there a place in the
park where I can view the moraine?” I
thought it a logical question, seeing as we were both standing in Moraine View
State Park.
“No, not really. The
moraine is all around. It’s this ridge
here. It runs all along, Leroy, Downs,
you know. It’s here, but it doesn’t
really stand out so you can see it.” He
sounded serious, and a little apologetic.
“I see.”
We both looked at each other.
“Well, thanks.”
“You bet. Drive
safe.”
And thus ended my first road trip diversion, A bust. I got back in the Buick and made my way
through Leroy to I 74. I had to get to
West Virginia.
No comments:
Post a Comment