Days 1 & 2 -- to Laramie, Wyoming

Dear Natalie,

Of course this would happen. Time passed and you got older. We took our first family road trip when you were 8 years old. Since 2009, we’ve driven more than 30,000 miles together — through 49 U.S. states. 

Gah! The memories! Remember the bear that got in our way on the Harding Icefield Trail in Kenai Fjords National Park? Remember how that cast member at Disney’s Fort Wilderness got all verklempt when he announced that we could stay in a cabin for free after our Teardrop was stolen, and then I started crying, too? Remember when Charlie got beaned by the beads those guys threw off the balcony at Larry Flynt’s Hustler Club on Bourbon Street? Good times!

And now you’re 17. You’ve got college in your sights. And to prepare, you summoned all your pluck and mettle to enroll in a six-week Pre-College summer program at the Rhode Island School of Design, hundreds of miles away from home and just as far out of your comfort zone. You’ve been there for two and a half weeks so far.

Since then, the four of us have embarked on a journey to the Pacific Northwest — without you. We are sad that you aren’t with us. But we so proud of you. We hope you are challenging yourself, embracing adventure and having a fabulous time. We hope you are making new friends, trying new things and making new memories — pushing yourself in your painting, exploring different neighborhoods in Providence, trying on your new independence!

We appreciate — look forward to! love! — your calls, FaceTimes and texts. It’s nice to be in close contact with you and to know how you’re doing from day to day. Please keep it up! While we are on the road, please know that it’s not the same without you, and that you are always in our thoughts. For our part, we’ll keep you updated via The Blog. Be sure to check back often.

We are a day and a half into our trek to Crater Lake National Park. The original plan was to leave on Tuesday — today — and to get to Oregon by Thursday. I don’t know what I was thinking when I sketched out this itinerary, because only a few days ago I realized that driving 2,100 miles in three days was too ambitious. (In the past, I’ve capped our long days of driving at 600 miles; that’s about all you guys could handle.) 

Anyway, even though Dad and I got back from California late last week, and even though Charlie and Clare got home from a two-week stint at Camp Tecumseh on Saturday, even though we had to clear out all of the furniture from the kitchen and family room so that the wood floors can be refinished while we’re gone, and even though it had been two years since I had assessed the state of the Teardrop and its contents, and even though the house was a hot mess of dirty laundry and suitcases and half-eaten camp snacks and Napa Valley souvenirs and smelly sleeping bags … I pushed through and we left half a day earlier than planned. 

Clare had to get her braces checked yesterday at 2:30. Somehow everything was packed by the time we left for the orthodontist, and we were ready to pull out of the driveway as soon as we got home. The head-start allowed us to get to Iowa City by nightfall. So by this morning, we already had 350 miles under our belt. 

Gram and Gramp, Aunt Sue and Uncle Peter and Will and Kate met us at the iconic Hamburg Inn #2 near downtown Iowa City and we spent an hour or so catching up over slices of pie mixed into milkshakes (the house specialty) before we headed to our hotel. If we had had more time, we would have spent the night with Gram and Gramp, but we wanted to get an early start in the morning, so it was easier to keep the visit short and say quick good-byes last night.

As we got ready for bed, we wondered about your day. You had FaceTimed us earlier, while you were waiting for the fire department to investigate a fire in your dorm. You seemed rather casual about the whole situation, so we're not too concerned. We hope you are safe and settled back into your dorm room. One thing, though: You said you evacuated the building with your goldfish. Uh, fish? You have a fish? And how are you planning to transport him back to Lafayette in August?

We were on the road by 7:30 this morning. Our objective was simple: get on Interstate 80 and drive west. No turns. No detours. No exits. For 750 miles to Cheyenne, Wyoming. So we put Charlie in charge of navigation to make sure we wouldn't get lost. 

The boy promptly fell back to sleep and slept the rest of the way through Iowa. He missed out. Unlike in Indiana, with flat fields of corn that pass by the car windows in a blur, Iowa corn covers gently rolling hills that tumble off into the distance. The perfectly spaced rows highlight the contours of the landscape, so that it looks like a giant green zen garden raked with the occasional swirly flourish.

After Iowa came Nebraska, which seems to have less corn, fewer hills and more broad, open ranchland. Dad texted his friend Mark, who grew up in Omaha, and Mark — as Mark does — immediately responded with a lunch suggestion.

We had been planning on eating cheese and crackers in the car to save time. But when we discovered via Google Maps that there was a Runza right off I-80, just a few miles away, we couldn’t pass it up. 

A runza, it turns out, is a meat, onion and cabbage-filled pastry. The recipe comes from German and Russian immigrants. So, of course Charlie was on-board. Runza the restaurant, we discovered, is a tidy Nebraska-based fast-food chain offering the traditional meat pockets along with standard American fare: burgers and chicken strips (meaning Clare was on-board, too). 

As you probably know, the recommendation from Mark checked off all the boxes to get Dad on-board, as well: local food, meat pies and essentially a dare from Mark Dietrich. So we pulled off the highway and beelined to the nearest restaurant. Charlie, Dad and I ordered runza  sandwiches, which we all thoroughly enjoyed. A greasy, doughy delight.

Nebraska is a very, very wide state. And almost 500 miles (seven hours) later we were crossing the border into Wyoming. 

Of course, to pass the time, the conversation in the car took turns into the crude and bizarre. Dad commented that a fart trapped under a blanket is worse than an actual fart because it's confined before it's released. I argued that that's the definition of an actual fart, so how could a fart trapped under a blanket be even worse? That went on for a while. (It's a topic that could only have come up after three of us consumed something called a "runza.")

Gee, Mark, thanks for the heads-up! (It DID feel like monkeys were doing gymnastics in my large intestine for a while after lunch.)

Our goal was to make it to Cheyenne tonight. But honestly, we blinked and drove right past it. Wyoming's capital takes up only four I-80 exits. So we continued another 50 miles or so to Laramie, home of the University of Wyoming. We drove almost 800 miles today. After about 12 hours on the road, we're exhausted. We’ve settled at a Hilton Garden Inn tonight. It’s nice to hear that you’re keeping busy working on art and watching conspiracy videos on YouTube! Keep it up!

I love you to the moon. Take to you soon.

Love, Mom
xoxoxoxoxo