i A A The Michigan Daily - Friday, January 14, 1994 - 3 On the roadwith Joni Mitchell, cherry slushies and Jack Kerouac A Daily staff reporter takes a tongue-in-cheek look at a Fantastic Voyage' across America's roads EAR GRAND LAKE, Colo. - It was snowing. Like the road trip which preceded it, this was another day that was not going as planned. Having ditched the idea of going skiing again, and Dwight and Vic as well, we braved the treach- erous roads of Northern Colorado to visit ORacky Mountain National Park. We drove as far as we could into the park, got out and looked around. Seeing the Colo- rado River and the many ski trails along it, we decide to go cross-country skiing. "Having been directed to numerous rental agencies, among them snowmobiles and lawn care equipment, we headed to a golf course, where, once again, we are directed to another store. , Finally, we make it to downtown Grand Lake, to the ski rental place across from the restaurant and the lake, and we got our skis. The difficulty in getting skis reminded us' of our difficulty getting to Colorado in the first place. Students are already gearing up for roads to all-points civilized and similarly points uncivilized for "spring" break in February. But for those who have not taken a road trip, getting there truly is "half the fun." And the following account is one testament to that statement. December 18, 2:30 p.m. I have been awake for several hours. Impatient to leave Ann Arbor and fretful because the bank was closed and I am now facing the prospect of leaving on the trip without any money, I decide to call my fellow travelers, Max and Dwight. Neither are home. I begin to panic. 4 p.m. Max having arrived, I hastily pack, inadvertently choosing to bring a seventh pair of jeans along instead of a pair of boots. Minutes into the trip, I realize that I have forgotten my boots. We trudge on. Jack Kerouac in hand, we leave from Ann Arbor, travelling on Interstate 94. It begins to snow. A good sign. After all, it is December and this is the first snow we have seen. There would be much more snow. 4:21 p.m. We see our first accident, a tractor trailer jack-knifed in a large unwelcoming ditch. Max asks where the term "jack-knifed" comes from. Dwight says it has something with Swiss Army knives. The all- purpose knives come complete with a plastic toothpick that falls out constantly. In this case, the driver reaches down to pick up the toothpick - having just finished a fine truck- stop meal - and consequently, the truck careens into the ditch. Little did we know, this incident was fore- shadowing of things to come. 5 p.m. We stop in Albion, Mich., at our first of many Burger Kings. After recently breaking off from the Pespico Corporation, Burger King has decided to offer free refills oq 811 of its many fine Coca-Cola products. We take full advantage of this feature, stopping a half dozen times before leaving the state. However, coupled with the many trips ,to roadside bathrooms, this proves to be del- eterious to our progress. 515 p.m. Every trip needs its requisite sing-a-long. Lionel Ritche's "Say You, Say Me," comes on. We say it together, naturally. -5:30 p.m. Dwight does Baryshnikov-esque pirouettes coming out of the Philips 76 gas stion bathroom. He tells Boris, the cashier, demand has dropped off at the birthplace, it is no longer open 24 hours a day. "I say we camp out 'til morning and be first in line to see Reagan's grave," Dwight said. Puzzled, I promise to stop at the John Wayne birthplace in Desoto, Iowa, which is coming up. 12:56 a.m. Now 521 miles from Ann Arbor, we pass over the North Skunk River in central Iowa. To pass the time, I ask about Max's prostate. 1:50 a.m. We reach Desoto. John Wayne's birthplace is - alas - also closed. Dwight rails about the collapse of civilization. "What is this world coming to? Next, we'll see them close EuroDisney world," he said. Max says he thought we were going to see John Wayne Bobbit's birthplace. 1:55 a.m. Before leaving DeSoto; we spy another convenience store and deli. The Kum & Go. We laugh. While not Zingerman's, Bob "I'll take a full rack (of ribs)," become equally well-worn. Max puts in "Grateful Dead: The extended dance mix." 3:30 a.m. We are still in Iowa. After countless Burger Kings, we stop at a truck stop diner. Petrol and Protein. Dinner with the great unwashed. Dwight walks in late, having slept a few minutes in the car, thought we were already in Nebraska, and loudly said, "I'm glad we're not in a hole in Iowa." About an hour and a half later, Nancine Taylor brings us our waffles. In reading the menu, we come to an irrefutable conclusion: Every restaurant has the same breakfast spe- cial - eggs, toast, coffee and links or bacon for $1.99. Later we learn there is a federal law that requires this. "Well what else do you want for breakfast: curly fries?" Dwight sniped. 5 a.m. We pass a semi, and nearly get hit. "We almost died," Max yelled. I ask if there is Crunch 'n Munch in the backseat. 5-10 a.m. Much like the dream sequences in Alfred Hitchcock's "Spellbound," the hours drift by, because, well, sometimes I was asleep. But the road kept on. 10 a.m. As we talked about Nebraska, the cornhusker state, I mentioned that road condi- tions were ideal. "These are some pretty straight roads." Minutes later, adjusting the radio to Nebraska's own 89X, we hit a stray highway marker and plunged into the ditch at 75 miles per hour. But we didn't flip over. I was screaming, the earth was quaking and my mind was shaking but I refrained from using the brakes. And somehow - like a beacon of heavenly light - Max awoke from a dream of world peace to save us. He put his right hand on my shoulder and whispered calmly to me: It's okay, I've got you. "You've got me! Who's got you?" With the strength of Superman, I managed to guide the car back onto the shoulder. 11 a.m. We arrive in Cheyenne, Wyo. Eating breakfast at Arby's, I propose a toast, "Here's to love on my terms, Jedediah." "Who the hell is Jedediah," Dwight grumbles, eating his curly fries. 1 p.m. As we near the end, something about the majestic Colorado Rockies reminds us of America's greatest propaganda tool, the Wonder Twins - Zan, Jana, and Gleek - and other members of the Hall of Justice. We try to name the members of the Legion of Doom. "Braniac." "Lex Luthor." "That upside down Superman." "The Gorilla Dude." And of course, everyone knew, "Solomon Grundy." But what were his powers? It remained a mystery. It is snowing harder now and the only light comes from the moon, which seems much farther away when seen above the 75-foot-tall white pine trees. We are on cross-country skis and still miles away from the car, the road, civilization and beyond. At some point - this was my first time on skis, mind you - the skis came off and I began walking down the long and winding trail, sore from running into nearby trees. The slope had been so steep that I had been sweat- ing earlier and visions of Jack London's "To Build a Fire" danced in my head. To trudge on was, indeed, a test of mettle. In the quiet beauty of the peaceful mountains, I thought of what Jack Kerouac wrote in "On the Road." He talked of "having to understand the impossible complexity of life." Away from the road and society, as the phrase echoed across the trees and mountains, I turned to the most basic thought of all: survival. Beyond all else, the seemingly im- portant problems and travails of modem life, we must endure from day to day, month to month, and year to year. Until we no longer survive - and then we die. My skis growing heavier and the wind growing cold, I reached the end of path, yelled to my friend, and left the barren woods of Rocky Mountain National Park. While this sounds, admittedly so, like the philosophical ramblings of a 20-year-old adrift and grasping for answers to questions that have none, it is exactly the stuff that taking to road is made of. To find answers to questions all. If not, to have a few laughs in the process. . * Later, Dwight returns to this subject. "Things are getting smaller all the time. And mini-Ritz Bits, mini-Oreos, and now to tread on that sacred cookie - the wind- mill - it's unconscionable," Dwight said. As part of the miniaturization of our society, we discuss the release of the 1966 film "Fantastic Voyage," starring a 20-ish Racquel Welsh. Later we discuss more about Welch than the movie. 6 p.m. I discover that I have been sitting on a banana the entire trip. Al- though now soft and mushy, it is still edible. Having decided against eating the banana, we stop at a road side gas-grocery- pharmacy-orama. Central to roadside stores are bad country tapes and bad T-shirts - all for only $4.99. Tapes like "The Chiltins' Greatest Hits" and "Conway Twitty - The Bootlegs" sell well under the hot glare of the turbo dog heat lamps and the constant rattle and hum of the fountain drink machines. Max remarks, "Hey, someone could do their Christmas shopping here.... And get a raspberry slushie for the road." We opt for the slushie. 7:47 p.m. Something no doubt of impor- tance happened at this time, but my notes are undecipherable. One clue is a large red ketchup stain on the page. 8:57 p.m. We are now in Joliet, Ill., home to the Blues Brothers. At this point Max plays "Joni Mitchell: A Six Hour Celebration." To which Elwood might say, "We gotta get the band back together." Sipping another refill at the local Burger King, we discuss with Night Manager Joe Hazlewood the hot tourist spots in Joliet. "You can visit the jail if you want. They R:.. Simms, says "We slice a good beef tongue1 sandwich." 3 a.m. We begin talking about divorce, and I mention my fascination with the term, "Splitsville." Perhaps it is the hour of night, or the extended time imbibing fumes from the automobile, but I find this term extraordinarily amusing. Later in the trip, the terms, "Thank you, Mr. Wizard," and ' k ': C f