The Traveling Blues Ends with Talentless Bums
Day 2: Travels with Wally and Company: The Westward Excursion
Day 2 — June 24, 1988 Heron, Ohio to Newton, Iowa
After waking shortly after sunrise, I peered into the camper mirror on the door and rubbed my face. Oh, I needed a shower. A thin haze hovered over the river. The ground was moist. I felt renewed, especially after my breakfast of hot oatmeal and orange juice. It was already waiting for me. Talk about super service!
At exactly 7:30, we hit the Ohio Turnpike. Another day of continuous driving commenced.
Around noon, we stopped at a rest area. Mom — also known as the “Mo-Jammer,” treated to a dozen Dunkin’ Donuts. The drive labored on, but our spirits were still high. I played an assortment of tapes — Simon and Garfunkel and Mamas and the Papas — The Beatles — The Monkees — The Eagles — and Barbara Streisand. I had to appease the tastes of all — which meant little Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, and The Who. Streisand was for the Mo-Jammer. The running joke on her live album was “You’re all my friends!”
“Yeah — paying $1,000 a ticket,” I replied. “I’ll be your friend, too, babe!”
Other bands, and mixed tapes, I kept safe in my travel case when others dozed off and I could slip in The Doors as the dry cornfields passed by.
Two hours later, we stopped for lunch. Once we entered Indiana, once again we ate ham and cheese and Pringles potato chips. It’s amazing how affordable a trip can be for a family when packing a lunch! How much was this trip gonna cost my mom?
Soon, the Windy City loomed in the distance — especially the Sears Tower in the clouds. We avoided most of the traffic through Chicago and continued along Interstate 80.
At 3:30, we crossed the Mighty Mississip’ and entered Iowa. Noelle told us we had crossed into Central Time, and so we gained an extra hour of daylight. That meant, of course, another hour of driving time.
The drive grew tiring. Everyone became irritable. The topography was “boring” — and how much “soft rock” can one actually take? Who made me the Lord of the Radio, anyway?
The things that kept us occupied were arguments over the music — I turned down the volume when The Who sings “who the fuck are you” to not upset my mom. Dave almost always sat with Noelle in the back because the Noelle and Wally Chapstick backseat combo was not a good mix. I don’t know why. Dave was the “go-between” — the buffer zone.
Not sure if that’s just the role of the Middle Child.
A tan started on my right arm. The afternoon grew hot in the July of the Middle West. The air conditioning in the Ardvarkk Van did not work well. All of these things combined together — the heat, the crampiness, the irritability — all proved imperative factors for stopping.
At 5:30, we stopped in Newton, Iowa, and pulled into Shar-Jay campground. It was directly next to the Interstate. As soon as we settled and set up, we headed straight for the pool. I was the first one there, staking out my territory with a lawn chair. The water was clean, warm, and refreshing — the perfect medicine for The Bowne Family Driving Blues.
The case, however, proved to be chronic. So much driving on this vacation! How many miles would this gasoline gas travel? That’s what my mom always called me. Nevertheless, one became used to driving. Being on the road soon became a way of life — a habit hard to break upon returning home.
After dinner, I returned to the pool to rest and catch some sun. I was disappointed to find “no action about,” but that was one thing — women — I wanted to avoid. My mind needed to clear to “think things out” — and plan ahead for my future.
I wanted to discover: Who is the real Walter Thomas Bowne, Jr.?
The heat — and the numerous amount of flies back of the camper — were two reasons why the others soon joined me. Too many little kids were running about. How can one enjoy the pool and read Lord of the Rings — Return of the King with so many kids? Could some orcs eat them?
I gave up. I just watched the people around me. It’s funny. People are people, right? Wherever you go, especially in the U.S of A., people are the same. I guess there are some things that make us all Americans — this idea of personal freedoms and liberty and doing your own thing, man.
Sure, there are many races and religions and creeds, but always in America, there seems to be a single thread that holds us together. We laugh, sing, cry, drink beer, as in Jersey or in Iowa or in Wyoming, and without politics, it would be pretty damn amazing.
After we came back from the pool, my mom remembered that the lady at the office said that her child’s rock band was going to “play later tonight.” When The Mo-Jammer told me this, I wanted to check out the band! Hell, I didn’t know they had rock music in Iowa!
Anyway, my mom and I heard the music from the camper. Was I all that impressed? It was 1980s heavy-metal — not Led Zeppelin or Deep Purple, not my type of music, but it sounded too professional for a bunch of teenagers from Iowa.
(Was my East Coast, New Jersey snobbiness showing?)
We soon found a group of dudes mocking their instruments, playing phony cords,m and lip-synching the words to a record.
It was pathetic!
Such talentless bums pretending to be real musicians! My family was real musicians! I wanted to see and hear real live music! Even bad music played from the heart and initiated by desire is much better than pretending to play good music, even as bad as Cinderella or any garbage 1980s heavy metal band.
Oh, what a night!
More adventures coming! Look for these stories on The Masterpiece:
