Soft porn Bible studies (day fifty nine and sixty)

The race started an hour ago and we're still sitting on the suburban sofas talking to Katie's grandma. She bought pineapple cheese for the bagels, didn't think about cream cheese. I cannot wait to be old, when my actions will raise mild exacerbation and bafflement. Sunny mews constantly, worrying for attention. I cannot wait to be a cat, when I can sleep most of the day, and spend the rest being petted. Katie turns her back as we reverse out the drive- tears were appearing in her wide eyes- I'd have been the same. It's left to Grandma to wave smiling farewells at us. Farewell to Illinois. The flat plains are replaced by more flat plains as we cross into eerie Indiana. This prairie is never ending. The only entertainment is the place names. Slight alterations in the orange sign, green sign, blue sign hegemony. Jamestown, Lebanon, Farmer City, Belgium.

The truck stop is a true truck stop. Portly men with hubcap thighs (only on the right leg) and stick shift biceps. Inevitably bearded, distended bellies full of corn dogs, and juju fruits, they make use of the facilities, laundry and showers. They check out the radios and steering wheel covers, looking for ways to make the dirge slightly less dire, even if it's only for a day of novelty, before it doesn't even stand out as new anymore, it's just part of the whole cabin, something that's always been there, unchanged. They clear out the detritus of food wrappers and cups, layers built up, archaeology. There's that Junior Mint I dropped a week ago, crisp crumbs coating. "Professional drivers only." 10,000 miles has to be the qualification mark, right? I swagger to the restrooms, ballooning my stomach and nonchalantly rubbing my three year stubble. I pass the glances from the trucker in a sideways squeeze. All I need is a CB radio.

The airport at Champaign is empty and smaller than all the others- twinprops land occasionally. The only activity in the terminal is someone replacing the towels in the bathroom. The Alamo lady looks half asleep. She only wakes up for the once a week customer. Otherwise she sits on standby, decommissioned and waiting in her cradle. Sleepwalking eastwards, drowsy eyes faltering- I want her naptime.

If the distance divides in half each time you move closer, you never reach your goal. Infinitesimally small infinite divisions of time until the end of time. This is the way it goes on road trips. Talk to you never.

Hallelujah. I think I had an epiphany five minutes ago. And on the sixth day, they went to the Creation Museum. And they observed, and they saw all, and proclaimed that it was bad. Never has so much willful misinterpretation and distortion of true science been concentrated in one place. This is by far the most lush and luxurious museum we have been to. There are a thousand better ways to spend the money, and none of them involve associating evolution with genocide. On my trip to the museum I learnt that cavegirls sat eating carrots next to velociraptors, and that penguins wandered freely in the Garden of Eden with chimps and dinosaurs, iguanadons were allowed on the Ark, and that life descends from a creation orchard, not an evolution tree. Ranting is an unappealing habit, i will stop....NOW.

Everyone was unfailingly polite, and held doors open, and the children were seen and not heard. I am going to hell, straight after I walk through the gritty urban realism exhibit with siren playing over tannoy system to show what happens when you sin. And here endeth the lesson.

Cincinnati airport is our third in two days, and like a claustrophobic, we never get on a plane. Alamo maintain their incompetent record with enviable success. They do not allow long term rentals. Shirt patterns hug sandalled holidaymakers in their travel wardrobe - we escape as Oscar growls the pedal surges, cornering onto backroads at Columbus as Times New Viking pour fuzz headrush riffs into our speakers. This is Amish country. Do you have an image in your mind? Rolling hills, barns, and bearded fathers driving bonneted mothers and daughters and son in horse driven carriages, in simple garb in simple lives in simple homes? Big tick, smiley face in red pen on your paper. Cows wander the fields- Ohio is green and wooded, all shades of green, verdant, buildings places perfectly for photographers and paintings. It makes me think of a quainter version of Kent, or Devon. The only vague nods to tourism, and commercialism, are the cheese factories and furniture shops- centuries old industries. The Amish live the simple life I desire. One day a fashion designer will appropriate their look for a collection, and it will all be ruined. For now we pass through, neck crushing into shoulders on reverse camber overbrow hillbends. I've missed these sweet curving roads, straight into my heart.