Wednesday - July 26, 2006

The heat at evening had grown ever more oppressive, so we cracked the windows a bit to let some breeze flow through the car while we slept. As a result, by sunrise, we heard an occasional car driving past what the street signs listed as "Old 22." Given our accommodations, the sound of wheels on pavement provided the nicest alarm clock we would expect. After some of the necessary business of the morning, we transformed our car from a temporary lodge to a vehicle once more. Yet again, I was grateful for whatever inspiration led me to pack enough pillows and blankets for just such an eventuality.

We drove back a few miles back to the town of Hamburg where I'd spotted the diner a few hours ago. Sure enough, the place was nearly packed with locals - along with one fellow whose wireless mobile phone receiver attached to his ear reminded me of a Borg drone. Waitresses danced back and forth, trading jokes and mild barbs with their customers while the guy slinging eggs and home fries talked about his imminent retirement to everyone within earshot. This is one of those diners that seeks to be a "diner," with a jukebox and pictures of 50s icons. But the food and morning banter is genuine. We relaxed into the local vibe, finished our tiny breakfasts, and then turned toward the first planned stop of the day: Roadside America.

As I said in yesterday's entry, this is one of my three favorite tourist traps. The other two are the Field of Dreams site(s) in Dyersville, Iowa, and Wall Drug in Wall, South Dakota. I'd been at Roadside America only once, but the memory of that visit stuck with me. Thus, I was delighted that we could return this site to our itinerary after we nearly deleted it yesterday. This place is dedicated to Laurence Gieringer's desire to craft a miniature version of his ideal world, with railroads and fields and mountains that connect tiny villages, bountiful farms and thriving towns. Set within 6,000 square feet, Roadside America offers a chance to look at a time capsule of America, complete with tiny cars, moving trains, and even some waterfalls.

This place is all about the details, and there are thousands of them. Some of my favorites: a little girl who stares pensively at an ice cream parlor. A sign reads: "What could she be thinking?" Then there's the house that has caught on fire, its walls burned to ruin. A sign instructs parents to warn their children about the dangers of fire. Finally, I couldn't help but laugh at the sign that simply said: "Press the button to operate donkeys" How many times do you get a chance to "operate" a donkey? If you're curious, the button causes the miniature beasts to turn their heads back and forth.

By the end of our tour around the miniature land, a fellow in the window that overlooks the room began the "Night Pageant," an unapologetically religious reminder of Gieringer's belief that America is literally blessed by God. The lights dimmed while "stars" appeared overhead. Religious music and slides segued to Kate Smith's rendition of "God Bless America," and then the lights returned. Visitors clapped and stumbled into the gift shop. Vienna admired the kitsch, the whimsy, and the detail, and I was so glad to share this place with her. But soon we had to rejoin the interstate that seems to be invisibly located just over the horizon from this town. Traffic was light as we zoomed through Harrisburg and then south toward Baltimore.

Our next big stop is Washington D.C. Both Vienna and I are suckers for the nation's capital. We could make it this afternoon, but we've decided to enjoy a needed vacation from our vacation. After completing half of our planned trip through the country, it's time to rest. That's why we booked a "Kabin" at the KOA that serves D.C. and arrived at about two. Our afternoon is dedicated to swimming, writing postcards, enjoying a tasty meal in town, and watching a movie on my laptop. During these breaks I sometimes feel a bit guilty, as if we should be doing more to merit all the planning and effort that's gone into this trip. But Vienna and I agreed that we'd both gotten a little batty from so many days on the road.

For hours at a time we seem to speak only about navigation, or we play endless variations of about six inside jokes that have emerged over the past twelve days. Only this trip would inspire us to laugh uproariously when I ask Vienna the number of our next exit and receive an answer in two separate digits before we both say the letters F-O-X in unison. Only recently do we find it hilarious to repeat a line from The Simpsons in a pseudo-Charles Bronson voice every time we see a bike: "So, you don't like the old time bikes, eh?" Similarly, we find ourselves reciting the lines when Bart and Abe go to Bronson, Missouri, instead of Branson: "Hey Ma, can I have some cookies?/No dice/This ain't over." Don't try to make sense of it, there's no logic to these jokes. After a while, our notion of reason bends to the miles of highway that lie before us. Clearly, we needed a break. And a chance to wander among the trees and join children splashing in a pool is sometimes far more pleasant than yet another completed item on the itinerary. So we slowed down for the evening and went to sleep as the crickets began their chorus.