The day we went out towards Philadelphia, Michael Jackson died. Thus our tour of the Rust Belt was by default and involuntarily set to the FM tune of Michael Jackson, country, and Christian pop songs. There was a brief musical reprieve when we became ensnarled in jumble of Chicago traffic and construction. Rolling along at the speed of a stagecoach in 94 degree heat, we were at least compensated by some energetic Middle Eastern and African folk ballads.
They made me crave a big old schawrma sandwich, however—not a convenient craving for a vegetarian or dinnertime in small town Ohio. Our own dining option in the Ohio river town (Perrysville??) was a “Mexican restaurant” that looked like any brick bar in northern WI or Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Heavy metal blasting, neon beer signs nailed into brick walls, Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” clips playing on flat screen TVs tuned to CNN. The local beer, presumably made with Lake Erie water, tasted suspiciously like Budweiser. My bean tostada showed up beef. Sigh.
I had counted at least 20 deer grazing along the interstate in the 50 or so miles before our 10 pm dinner stop, so we opted to stay in rivertown. Never again will I stay in a hotel 60 yards from the freeway, in a room next to a slamming exit door. I got little sleep, and very grudgingly ate my continental muffin and grimaced through a few desperate sips of instant coffee.
Hopefully this day of our trip will be better. The carnival of horrors that was Gary, Indiana haunts me hundreds of miles later, inspiring unwelcome thoughts on the sacrifices of industrialization. Maybe Gary is what many parts of China now look like.
Northern Indiana had otherwise been surprisingly idyllic and rural, western Ohio like the bottom of a flat frying pan.
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