From the Back of Cack, Part Two

DAY TWO:1

Until we woke up on the second day of the excellent adventure, I had not been completely sure of the role that Bruce and Chip were playing in our excellent adventure. My dad called them ‘booster rockets’; they were mainly there to get us away from2

Detroit quickly.3

At first, I didn’t thing my dad, a veteran rider (Ha-Ha) would need any help to leave the house. My butt, which was sore by the second day, said otherwise. Bruce, apparently runs Excellent Adventures like an army commander runs his military school; fast, hard and with little or no time to dilly-dally.4

My dad runs them like Hello Kitty does a tea party. He claims that we would still have been trying to find our way out of our sub-division without Bruce.5

Whatever the role they played, this was Bruce and Chip’s last day with us, and I was going to miss them.6

We woke up and ate some breakfast (the most uneventful meal of the day). After that, we rode until we passed the Mississippi river. We rode closer to Davenport, and my dad started yelling at me to get out the camera. I notice that there is a lot of flooding (that’s probably why he’s yelling for the camera), and think:7

DAMN! That storm’s was doing crap all the way out here? (long string of swear words, some of which don’t really exist yet).8

Unfortunately, our camera is a piece of crap, and it turned off after only one picture. My dad still blames me for the crappy pictures, though. I just blame it on poor genetics.9

Anyways, we ride on until we see signs for the Iowa 80 truck stop—which tell us quite proudly that it is the largest in the world.10

We pulled over, and I think Chip crapped himself. He is a trucker, you see, and to a trucker, Iowa 80 is like heaven. Don’t get me wrong—I loved it too. There were a couple semi trucks inside (I don’t know how they fit through the door), a great food court (just looking at some of the food there made me have heart pains, though).11

There were also—and I have absolutely no idea why—THREE cases selling swords, daggers, brass knuckles, etc.12

We went out back, hopped on the bikes and left.13

Around two hours later, we were riding along some dirt roads in Madison County. Bruce pulled over, so my dad and Chip followed.14

“Why are we stopping?” asked Chip.15

“I just want Phil to lead for a while.” I looked at my dad, and felt a slight uneasiness in my stomach. Another one of Cack’s distinguishing features (and another reason to bring Bruce along) is that it has no dashboard. My dad ripped it all out—from the odometer to the speedometer and fuel gauge—just so he would have a little bit more storage space.16

Bruce, however, believed that my dad was a little more like him, with his gauges and thermometers and maps and what not. My dad did not make his navigational deficiencies obvious to his friends, either.17

My dad, bless his A.D.D. heart, attempted to remember an elaborate plane laid out by Bruce. My dad once forgot that we had a cat, and only remembered after he had been petting it for an hour.18

We ended up just following signs telling us that they would lead us to the Bridges of Madison County. These had apparently been in a Clint Eastwood movie with the creative name ‘Bridges of Madison County.’ I am a devoted fan of Clint, but he should NOT be in ROMANCE FILMS. And, as it turned out, the Bridges were not even remotely interesting. They were thirty feet long (possibly less) and I could not take my eyes off of the shirtless flabby man mowing the lawn.19

It was like a car wreck that was so horrible I couldn’t take my eyes off of it.20

I believe it was then that Bruce realized that my dad was a dimwit, but it may have been a little later. Eventually, our sergeant got us out of a long dirt road maze, and back onto the freeway.21

The Missouri river blew my mind. I am a writer, so I am not usually at a loss of words.22

I am now, however. The river itself wasn’t anything special, but it was what it represented. My dad said it was the start of the true west for him, but to me it was the start of Away.23

I capitalized the ‘A’ in Away, but I am not sure if I should have. Away seemed then like a physical place, such as Nebraska or Wisconsin, and I loved it. Now, however, I realize that it may have simply been a state of mind, such as Nirvana.24

Either way, Away was one of the coolest places I’ve ever been/mindsets I’ve been in. I felt no more ties retarded ‘Michigan’ (the coldest state in the U.S., September through May). My normal ‘routine’ was no longer with me.25

Nothing else of interest to the reader happened that day.