5/14/2013. - Day 49 - Illinois: Land of the Troll Toll. A trip down Memory/Mann Lane. And peace in the Red Room.

5/14/2013. - Day 49 - Illinois: Land of the Troll Toll. A trip down Memory Mann Lane. And peace in the Red Room.

We were moved to action very early this morning due to our departure time of 10:00AM sharp. There were showers to be taken, bags to pack, suitcases to be carried out (at least 7 if you ask Grandpa), and last rounds to make in the house to ensure it was "viewing ready." The Bridger's have been in Naperville for several years, and have long been the good friends and traveling companions of my grandparents who have visited them often in Illinois. This is the first time I have ever met the Bridger's, and the last time I will see their home. They are relocating to the Northeast so it is a very strange series of firsts and lasts.

As I sit down to pack, somehow I am again wondering how I fit all of the things I have brought in into the bags I have also brought in. It seems that I cannot possibly get all of my belongings back into these suitcases so I must have accidentally gone shopping. We all make mistakes...

Where is the lane option for "neither" or "confused"?

When everyone is packed into their respective vehicles, we start the caravan: Bridger's, me, Grinden's. I'm not paying attention and almost miss the first turn into the gas station just a few blocks from the Bridger's house. This is not a good sign. Soon after the gas station we start a round of tollways and I sense things are not getting off to a good start. At the first toll, I hesitate because it wants change, and of that I have none. I look ahead at Bridger's and back at my grandparents, trying to figure out how to mouth "what do I do?" before getting honked at by upcoming tollway goers. I'm so shaken from the experience that I don't take stock of the signage and instructions, and just blow through the next tollways because it seems like the only way through and thus a good idea. It was most certainly not a good idea.

The caravan continues onward and upward, then diverts briefly from our main route to stop at yet another eatery. All meals are strategically planned out in this company. We dine outdoors on a patio overlooking a scenic almost rural area with a river running below. After a hearty meal, "good byes" and "so longs" are exchanged. Sadly, I'm not sure when I'll enjoy the company of the Bridger's again; but I will see my grandparents in a few days when we rendezvous back in Duluth.

I am alone again, back on the road, but closing the gap between the unknown adventure and the quite comfortable zone of my previous existence. I have several routes to choose from which will all eventually take me to Minneapolis, my destination for the night. I am toying with the idea of driving through River Falls, WI, the original hometown of my family. I do not remember where the house is, but I remember what surrounds it. I remember a big hill that goes around a curve, cutting through rocks that are sprinkled with white dust. I remember the road that runs by the house, where people were always driving by too fast. And I remember the house, blue, with a small garage and big pine trees. It was on Mann Lane.

Surprisingly, using Google to find "Mann Lane" in "River Falls, WI" ends up being a hole in one. Mann Lane is not a long lane, and it's a quick detour if I choose to go that way. From there I could easily hop over to St. Paul, and then make my way to Burnsville to see the Schwanke's, the next friends to visit on my list.

The sun shines down from above, warming the pavement and the miles tick by. I have sort of a jumble of emotions at this point. As I near the tail end of my trip, I find myself longing for it to go on and on. I also feel bouts of anxiety as to what I will do when it ends. Where will I be? What will I do? There is no plan beyond my return to ND. There is no job waiting, no errands I need to run. Just empty space. A small amount of excitement is still present in my heart, if only from the freedom of having absolutely no direction for so long. It's mixed in with the other emotions -- the thrill of the open road and the knowledge of an eventual conclusion to this particular adventure. They make up a weird concoction: Emotion stew. That's what I'm having for lunch.

I have subconsciously made the decision somewhere along the road to take a trip down memory lane, or in this case, Mann Lane. As I near River Falls, I consult Google for further instruction. Sometimes in life I like to think I know everything. Lots of times in life I get subtle and not so subtle reminders that I don't. Life is like that and God sends us reminders when we need to be knocked off our high horses. God knows everything, of that I'm sure. But I think He's in cahoots with Google, too. I mean how else does Google have all the answers? I feel like God was like, hey you, here's a fancy algorithm for knowing EVERYTHING--use it wisely. And then the nice people at Google started doling it out to us in amounts big enough for our small minds to comprehend without exploding.

Considerate of them if you think about it. More solo road trip reflections...


Google shows me the way to Mann Lane and I can see the house from memory. I try to match it as I drive down a dirt road that leads through fields and seems vastly unpopulated. At the end of the dirt road there is a humble structure and after studying it I am sure this is the house. It looks different, smaller and less prone to adventure than I remember from childhood. It's a strange thing to revisit a place you once lived and to see it in a now reclaimed state; no longer yours but still filled with your memories.


After making a few passes by, I explore the surrounding roads and easily find the hill and that cuts through the rock the I remember. The grade is extremely steep and it looks just the way I remember it driving along as a kid. It's very surreal to be here, almost living in a memory as a ghost just passing by things I used to know.

Checkmate.

As the sun begins to dip lower and lower into the western horizon, I head for St. Paul. The twin cities always seem like an endless tangle of highway to me, one that goes on and on for hours. Today the drive is not quite so busy, and I make decent time getting to Burnsville.

The Schwanke's have a townhouse here, which I have not gotten to see yet. This trip has been a fun way to get to see everyone's homes and neighborhoods and get snapshots into their lives that I wouldn't ordinarily get. I arrive at the townhouse and enter through the front door and am greeted by the smell of dinner. Tessie has made homemade chicken noodle soup. She continues to work in the kitchen as Tyler and I sit down at the table with their dog Lola shuffling around by our feet. Lola examines me as the new visitor and then keeps an eye on us in the kitchen. Lola and I met when she was recently adopted by Tessie and we are quite comfortable with each other. Many of my stops have had creature comforts and I like getting to know that aspect of my friends' lives.

It feels good to be at my next "home". Each stop has been so cozy. Now sitting here with Tyler, in a house they have made a home, I realize that I very much want this. I say aloud that this point where they are, it's like the goal we are all working towards. I mean one day you are single and running around with no idea what direction you are going, wondering if you will ever find that someone that God has planned for you or if He even has someone planned for you...And then you are married, you have a house and a mortgage, you have a dog and a routine and a companion and there you sit in your kitchen that you painted red, at a table sharing a meal together each night before you settle onto the couch for a little TV and then retire to your bed. I guess there are some folks who would view this as boring or unhappy; but to me it's perfect. It's consistent and all the pieces are there and they just fit and things flow. Right here, in this red kitchen in Minnesota with my friends Tyler and Tessie, it's perfect.