Two Weeks on the Road
It’s been a long two weeks, and while I could have updated with thoughts of Vermont I found myself too tired to begin logging my impressions. Having just returned from further travels, from mountains to flatlands, I find myself with so many impressions I don’t know which to share, and which to leave alone.
Vermont is beautiful. I fear my description would fall short, but try to picture rolling mountain vistas covered in lush timber, occasionally broken in a valley by the appearance of a small town, its steeple perhaps poking from the trees. Imagine roads winding through this, lacking in the distractions of billboards, advertisements and towers. Imagine, in fact, a view so pristine as to make it easy to believe no one actually lives there at all. I think the reality of this sunk in when I passed a sign on the side of the road warning in universal pictorial form to beware of moose crossing. If it weren’t for the winters, I’d be tempted to change my address. Actually, if my own home in Chattanooga ever gets too big for my comfort I think I’ll make Vermont my home. With some cross-country skis, a little extra work and a wood stove, those winters can be just as fun. I was sorry to have to leave.
My second trip was to the flatlands of middle America, and naturally it was far less pleasant than the first. Well, the scenery was anyway. I flew in to Chicago, and that alone rubs me the wrong way. The traffic leaving the airport and Chicago environs left brought an unusual amount of cursing and then I realized that most of the roads required I pay a toll. I was glad to have some cash on hand, but there were no receipts for tolls, and I knew I’d be paying a good deal by the time I was through. My first stop; Rockford, Illinois.
What can I say about Rockford? A pleasant enough town, I learned that it had lost all the initial industries that it was built around, and now its claim to fame seems to be the gardens. The locals take their gardening seriously, and several garden parks there were dedicated to bringing international attention to the region. Unfortunately, it rained the entire time I was there, and so my plan to pedal in my free hours with a rental bike to some of these gardens was thwarted. I was left with a dinner at the C***** theater, which to my mind was a crowning jewel for the city.
The theater was apparently built based on the salesmanship of a flim-flam man ala “The Music Man,” and was built on the cheap at the end of the 19th century. It had been restored over the past few years after a fight to save it from becoming a parking lot, and truly was a treasure to see. The original paint remained, as well as artwork and most of the seats. The organ was played by a master, and he obliged my and a wonderful lady from Nebraska’s desire to hear Phantom of the Opera. It seemed the perfect setting for that play, or even for a real Phantom to haunt the denizens of this town.
My next stops were in Indiana, and were unremarkable aside from getting lost. Had I thought to find my compass, perhaps I would have avoided that, but as it stands I circled Elkhart, Indiana three times. Elkhart is known for two things, each draws in their own right it is the RV capital of the world, and it is Amish Country. Indeed, as I was leaving the area I dispensed with the interstate and enjoyed the opportunity to see the Amish horses and buggies trotting down the road and the simple heartland farms and farmhouses along SR 6 on my way to my next appointment in Defiance, Ohio.
Defiance. A name like that catches the imagination and certainly my contact there had already embodied the town in my imagination. I was not disappointed in her or the town. A nice downtown area with some historical parks and background, I could see potential for a great relaxing getaway town, and from my conversation with her it has hope of becoming such. I might have explored deeper had I not had to motor on towards the next town, the next meeting the next trip. Time defied my ability to delve into the history of this town. It’s the home of Sam Hornish Jr., film location for “The Prize Winner,” origin of the Johnny Appleseed story, fort town for the Indian Wars, former Canal Town… Ok, I wanted to learn more.
Still, after that trip I was happy to be back home in my own Chattanooga on the banks of the Tennessee River, nestled in the mountains.
Vermont is beautiful. I fear my description would fall short, but try to picture rolling mountain vistas covered in lush timber, occasionally broken in a valley by the appearance of a small town, its steeple perhaps poking from the trees. Imagine roads winding through this, lacking in the distractions of billboards, advertisements and towers. Imagine, in fact, a view so pristine as to make it easy to believe no one actually lives there at all. I think the reality of this sunk in when I passed a sign on the side of the road warning in universal pictorial form to beware of moose crossing. If it weren’t for the winters, I’d be tempted to change my address. Actually, if my own home in Chattanooga ever gets too big for my comfort I think I’ll make Vermont my home. With some cross-country skis, a little extra work and a wood stove, those winters can be just as fun. I was sorry to have to leave.
My second trip was to the flatlands of middle America, and naturally it was far less pleasant than the first. Well, the scenery was anyway. I flew in to Chicago, and that alone rubs me the wrong way. The traffic leaving the airport and Chicago environs left brought an unusual amount of cursing and then I realized that most of the roads required I pay a toll. I was glad to have some cash on hand, but there were no receipts for tolls, and I knew I’d be paying a good deal by the time I was through. My first stop; Rockford, Illinois.
What can I say about Rockford? A pleasant enough town, I learned that it had lost all the initial industries that it was built around, and now its claim to fame seems to be the gardens. The locals take their gardening seriously, and several garden parks there were dedicated to bringing international attention to the region. Unfortunately, it rained the entire time I was there, and so my plan to pedal in my free hours with a rental bike to some of these gardens was thwarted. I was left with a dinner at the C***** theater, which to my mind was a crowning jewel for the city.
The theater was apparently built based on the salesmanship of a flim-flam man ala “The Music Man,” and was built on the cheap at the end of the 19th century. It had been restored over the past few years after a fight to save it from becoming a parking lot, and truly was a treasure to see. The original paint remained, as well as artwork and most of the seats. The organ was played by a master, and he obliged my and a wonderful lady from Nebraska’s desire to hear Phantom of the Opera. It seemed the perfect setting for that play, or even for a real Phantom to haunt the denizens of this town.
My next stops were in Indiana, and were unremarkable aside from getting lost. Had I thought to find my compass, perhaps I would have avoided that, but as it stands I circled Elkhart, Indiana three times. Elkhart is known for two things, each draws in their own right it is the RV capital of the world, and it is Amish Country. Indeed, as I was leaving the area I dispensed with the interstate and enjoyed the opportunity to see the Amish horses and buggies trotting down the road and the simple heartland farms and farmhouses along SR 6 on my way to my next appointment in Defiance, Ohio.
Defiance. A name like that catches the imagination and certainly my contact there had already embodied the town in my imagination. I was not disappointed in her or the town. A nice downtown area with some historical parks and background, I could see potential for a great relaxing getaway town, and from my conversation with her it has hope of becoming such. I might have explored deeper had I not had to motor on towards the next town, the next meeting the next trip. Time defied my ability to delve into the history of this town. It’s the home of Sam Hornish Jr., film location for “The Prize Winner,” origin of the Johnny Appleseed story, fort town for the Indian Wars, former Canal Town… Ok, I wanted to learn more.
Still, after that trip I was happy to be back home in my own Chattanooga on the banks of the Tennessee River, nestled in the mountains.
posted by WarKitty at
7:46 AM
