Snaking to Evansville

Monday and Tuesday off and the rest of the week, 3:30 PM - Midnight... I was ready for a little vacation, especially after a month in Jeff Foxworthy's Fantasyland. Turned fishing over, even bought the tools, but rain put a damp on that plan. Besides, fishing can happen almost anywhere and/or anytime. No, I decided to find the nearest Metropolitan area, i.e. Evansville, IN.

Evansville isn't one of the big cities you usually hear of (although Detroit is only mentioned on the more thorough lists), but I figured a Metropolitan area of 300,000 was a damn sight better than Harrisburg's 30,000 "Micropolis." Looking at Google Maps, I decided to avoid a Toll Bridge by dipping through Kentucky (adding about 2 minutes to an approx. 1.5 hour drive).

So, heading east on IL-13, I cruised the radio dial until some poppy sensation set me a-dancing. Time to blow past Equality, Shawneetown, and Old Shawneetown. Up and over the mighty Ohio, landing on Kentucky's fair shore. Now I'm getting somewhere. Or, at least, that's what I thought to myself as I encountered 4 former gas stations (I believe 1 may still sell gas now), 2 of which promised the best food this side of somewhere or other, 1 that boasted excellent liquor prices, and another that promised likewise for tobacco. Truly, I had discovered a more Native set of Natives.

Twisting, writhing, the highway cut through farm after farm, hill after hill, homestead after homestead. A freeway would most likely not fit here, or would be so lopsided, you might as well just double stack the thing. Truly a wonder that this place was settled. But, then again, the Natives have shown themselves capable of Spartan and innovative lifestyles.

One thing that frustrated me greatly, though, was driving behind a tractor on these roads. With flat straightaways about as sparse as martini bars in the Forest, I found myself crawling at 30-40 mph behind some John Deere contraption meant to save time for the farmer, but, obviously, not the metropolite on his/her way between settlements. I realized, though, that, for those tied to the land, there isn't much else to do sometimes. From sun up, until sundown, there is field after field to be worked and, unless you need something desperately in town, no need to rush much of anywhere. Their work, and life, are tied to where they live. So, there, on the highway, two cultures clashed and, for the most part the Natives won. I was forced to content myself with having a tractor set my pace. Anyway, on to Evansville.