Travels with Mimsy: Part 1

Disclaimer … This is not a literary work like Steinbeck’s “Travels with Charlie,” just a few musings of Mimsy’s first real vacation and our first post-retirement road trip.

In many ways, we were traveling old paths … a road trip to Sanibel Island, Florida, a route we have taken many times before. But chapters have turned, we are leaving from a new location, a new route, on a pace with minimal deadlines, a future undefined, but underscored by solid old paths; years of love and commitment.

October is a wonderful time for a road trip, the trees in the heartland are just starting to turn, the temperatures have dropped, and the skies seem just a little bluer.

The first day was a mixed bag. Several internet sites informed me that the first leg of our journey should take 7, maybe 7 1/2 hours. They did not take into account numerous road construction sites and a horrific wreck that all but closed the highway for an hour … other parts of the day were delightful. We traveled south down interstate 55 then cut across at Cape Girardeau, Missouri into the farmlands of southern Illinois. Those two-lane roads provided the best vistas of the day. The skies were a brilliant blue, dotted with minimal white puffy clouds whose existence served only to provide contrast to the azure hues behind them. The sun backlit the fields and low rolling hills as plumes of dust generated by combines and tractors reminded us that the food we purchased so neatly wrapped in grocery stores is a product of someone’s toil and sweat.

This brief journey across rural America also underscored that we were weeks away from a major election. Political signs and banners sprang from the edges of cornrows, houses, and small businesses. These are clearly people who are passionate about their politics. Every office from the President of the United States to the local circuit clerk was in evidence. If dog-catcher was an elected position, I have no doubt that we would have seen signs springing up alongside the highway extolling the virtues of various dog-catchers … “Vote Fred for Dog-Catcher, he can corral 3 Pit-Bulls, a feisty Chihuahua and 2 Airedales before you can say Dog Gone.”

I can also say with certainty that if the presidential election were held only in southern Illinois, Donald Trump would win in a landslide. We counted only one pro-Biden sign amidst hundreds of pro-Trump banners.

We ended our first day in East Ridge Tennessee just south of Chattanooga. This destination was chosen not by chance or geographical location, but by pizza. East Ridge is home to Portofino’s Greek and Italian restaurant. Years ago we made a stop at the La Quinta at East Ridge, we often travel with our pets and La Quinta’s are dog friendly. As is our custom in Poppy’s family we end our days travels about 7 or 8 o’clock p.m. Mrs. Poppy and whoever else is traveling with us (kids or grandkids) start the preparations for closing that day and organizing for the next. My organizational skills are limited, but I excel at foraging for food. I returned that night with pizzas from Portofino’s. I can’t speak to anything on their menu other than their pizza … a yeasty, doughy, bubbly concoction of cheese and pepperoni goodness. Since that first night, we make every effort to end our travels at East Ridge for the sole purpose of eating Portofino’s pizza in our motel room.

Did I mention the construction delays and the highway closing wreck?

We checked into the East Ridge La Quinta at 9:45 … Portofino’s closes at 10. We had Wendy’s that night and were thankful for it.

Peace, Poppy