Midway in the MidWest

We've traveled 6 days, from Oakland, CA to St. Cloud, MN. This morning we are driving into the sun towards a VW mechanic in Minneapolis. There seems to be some unwritten law of trips that a little ways past the mid-point, things become the most difficult. We remembered this yesterday and took comfort in the idea that this bump in the road was just that: a bump, not a long steep hill we'd never see the other side of (read: we are still getting to Maine in time to earn the well-earned name leaf peeper - and who wouldn't want to call themselves by such a ridiculously cute name!?).

The van has developed what appears to be an oil cooler seal leak, which can apparently get suddenly worse without warning (read: lose all your oil at once while driving). Adam determined this problem while we adjusted to the morning light in the Wal-Mart parking lot of Bismarck, North Dakota with some commiseration and guidance from our friend Hans and our mechanic back in Santa Cruz, Peter at Volks Cafe. Adam has been keeping an eye on a small transmission fluid leak since we left. Seeing oil spattered all over the pod and back hatch of the van gave us some alarm about the transmission, but it turned out to be motor oil. Since North Dakota is not known for its VW mechanics (I don't remember seeing one VW on the 94 in this state), we opted to limp a little bit (keeping the engine below 3400 rpm) the 420 miles to Minneapolis, where we were headed to visit my gramma.

As we drove pulled up at a stoplight in Fargo, two burly blond guys in a ford pulled up a long side us, elbows and toothy grins hanging out the window.

"Cal-i-FOR-nia!" one exclaimed in high-pitched drawl.

Imagine the stereotypical bumpkin accent. Now exaggerate it as if you were on South Park. But this was for real.

Adam and I just looked at each other in amazement.
"Did that just happen?"
"I think he was exaggerating..."
"No, I don't think so!"
We became giddy with laughter, incredulous.

Somehow, 400 miles of highway 94 took us 12 hours. We left Bismarck at 1 pm and arrived, extremely tired and about as irritable as possible, at 1 am in the Wal-Mart parking lot of St. Cloud. How did you average only 33 miles per hour?!, you ask.

Well, it could have been the extra 80 miles and 90 minutes we drove because I left my purse at the fabulous restaurant where we had a scrumptious, slow food movement dinner in Fargo. The dinner was worth the 90 minutes (mouthwatering fig-glazed pork chop and spring vegetables, the fluffiest, most tangy-sweet cheesecake I've ever tasted, delicious roast chicken, chocolate mouse that hits your tongue like a knee-weakening kiss...), but going back for my purse was most certainly NOT. Perhaps it was because we had to stop every 60 miles to check the oil level. Perhaps it was the fact that we were traveling about 25 mph slower than we have been. This all adds up fast.

Luckily, the shop where we're headed this fine bright morning is called Good Carma. And, our befuddled timing in arriving in the Twin Cities means I get to see my gramma a little bit longer than I thought I would.