June 18, 2006
Travels with Me: In Search of Indiana
Lately I've been reading Steinbeck's Travels with Charley: In Search of America. I love it. It makes me want to get out and see things and talk to people. So yesterday I was bored. I have been shopping. I've cleaned. I've internetted. Now what? So I decided to take a trip. I looked at the Atlas to see where I could go. I've been south, and I've been east, but so far I hadn't been north. Plus, there looked to be a lovely little lake up near Monticello (which I have subsequently found out is pronounced with an "s," not a "ch"). I bundled up some CDs, my camera, and my book and headed out. Steinbeck took his French poodle with him, but I didn't have anyone to take along. Just myself (but I rather like it that way).
My first stop was Brookston. It's a little town that reminded me of Plains, Montana. Although, I think Plains is bigger. But the railroad ran along its edge and just as I was leaving it barrelled through with the loudest whistle I had ever heard. I remember when I first moved to Plains. I would lie in bed at night and the train would come through and shake our whole apartment. I dreamed of trains.
There was a really cute little diner/ice cream shop. I meant to go inside, but I chickened out. I'm always chickening out about stuff like that.
I parked by this building which for some reason, I just loved.
And walked along the street towards this mural. I like it when towns celebrate themselves on walls.
When I headed in the other direction, I came across the Liars Bench. I wish there had been the old patriarchs of the town sitting there, chatting about politics, the weather, corn. That's where I thought they shoud be, but they weren't. No one was there.
Maybe I should've gone into The Other Place. I bet I would've found them there, but again, chicken. Steinbeck had a dog to initiate conversation. Let me remind you, I didn't.
So I moved on from Brookston and kept towards Monticello. The closer I got, the more I saw signs like this:
I was getting excited. I pictured a sandy beach with some hot dog stands and maybe a churro or an ice cream cone. I thought I'd buy a snack and sit down on the beach with my book and do some people watching. I also planned to investigate that sweet looking boat. A nice cruise down the river would do me just fine.
My introduction to Indiana Beach was the parking lot. Teenaged boys in swim trunks lounged on/in a camero. Families gathered around coolers. The smell of grilled hamburgers wafted through the air. I turned down Of Montreal because it seemed to be drawing some stares. And then I saw this:
Apparently, Indiana Beach is an amusement park. No sandy beaches, except with an additional purchase. I decided to park anyway and take a walk across the bridge so I could get a closer look.
The rollercoaster goes right under the bridge!
They had a nice little map to guide you around the park.
For a while there I stood at the other side of the bridge and debated about going inside. It wasn't too pricey. Part of me liked the idea of meandering through a 'musement park all alone and finding some quiet corner in the noise of it all to read my book. I figured there would be hotdogs inside (and the map does promise some elephant ears and dip-n-dots). I don't know why I didn't go in. Instead, I got back in the car and went in search of some postcards at various gas stations. I couldn't find any. I drove through the town and had dinner while I read my book. The old men were gathered in the McDonald's drinking coffee, and it made me kind of sad. Sad at myself that I ended up there. Sad that the old men were there instead of on the Liars Bench. Sad that I didn't talk to anyone my whole trip. But happy that I could be out there driving around, seeing new things, listening to music and singing along.
"Perhaps we have overrated roots as a pyshcic need. Maybe the greater the urge, the deeper and more ancient is the need, the will, the hunger to be somewhere else." --- John Steinbeck
Posted by kea at June 18, 2006 03:07 PM