Road trippin'

What's this?


Well, yea it's corn, but what's it doing here? Let's try again.
Ok, what's this?

You'd better know where that pic is.
How about:


Really, if you don't know that picture, you don't belong here (or anywhere for that matter). One more chance:

BAM!

I finally made it to the Field Of Dreams in Dyersville, Iowa! If you're a baseball/Field Of Dreams fan, then there's really no excuse for not making the trip out to see the movie site, which still exists in perfect condition, just as you remember it from the movie, except for the fact that in late September, the corn is a bit brown. Ok fine, there's one excuse for not going: it's Iowa. Really, has anyone here ever been to Iowa? If you think there's a lot of corn along Rt. 6 leading into BG, you ain't seen nothing yet. True story, Iowa's 2 biggest exports: corn and the smell of cow shit.

My plan for the trip was to drop my girl at the Minneapolis/St Paul airport at 5:30pm and start the drive down, camp, and finish the drive in the morn', following the Mississippi River most of the way. Well, after an amazing sunset drive along the river, I got to my expected campground around 9 or so. Well, seeing as it was a Sunday night and business is a bit, er, slow (or nonexistent, the lady laughed at me when I'd called to reserve a site) I was the only camper when I arrived. As I got out of my truck to grab a permit, one Ursus americanus walked right in front of my car... No pictures exist as I froze where I stood.

The common practice for dealing with black bears is to make yourself look large and make some noise to scare it off. Right. You draw as much attention to yourself as possible when there's a bear 50 feet away and not another human for miles, I'll be right behind you. By the time I finally exhaled and moved again, the bear probably figured I was dead and not a worthy opponent. Look, I've been fairly close to bears before, on the AT, but when there isn't another person for miles, it's pretty easy to lose your nerve around something 3-4 times your size with claws.

Moving on, the next day, I drove from La Crosse, Wisconsin to Prarie Du Chien, WI (not a chance you're pronouncing that correctly) and into Iowa. The drive down Wisconsin was a bit distracting; just to my right was the Mississippi, and man, it's HUGE! Seriously, even Rocky Colavito would've needed to string together 7-8 good throws to clear the river. I took some pics from the side of the river and also some from 500+ feet up. The magnitude of the Mississippi is ridiculous compared to the Cuyahoga, you know it's bigger, but until you're actually there, you have no idea.

After crossing into Iowa and driving past nothing but cornfields, horses and cows for hours, one passes New Vienna ("The eNVy of Iowa"), about 4 miles before the turnoff for the FOD site. After the turn, you're still 3 miles short and the goosebumps which overtook your arms hours ago are staking claim to your legs and making your chest sweat like George Costanzo eating Kung Pao.

Finally, there it is: besides the HOF, Wrigley & Fenway, quite possibly the most sacred site still accessible to baseball fans today: The Field of Dreams. There's nothing around for miles; no highway, very few people, but suddenly, the setting for the climactic scene of the movie:


There were people from Texas, Illinois and PA there, playing catch or just taking pictures. Thinking, "Well, it's the Field Of Dreams, how do you come here and not play catch?" I had my glove. As soon as I set foot on the grass I realized my error: you don't play catch with just any stranger here. This is a place fathers and sons visit, hell even close friends. But playing catch with some kid from Texas just because he also has cow skin sewed around his fingers? I don't think so. Again, sacred.

Eventually I left, but not before savoring every possible second I could from that place. Even though it's simply a baseball diamond in the middle of bumfuck Iowa and no bigger than most High School diamonds, there's a feeling that if you leave now, something big is going to happen as soon as you're gone and you'll miss it. The field calls out, begging, "Don't go. Sit a couple more moments; we built it, you came, share the beauty, share the joy. 'Live the magic, Have faith in simplicity, and Always dare to dream.'"

Perhaps the biggest shock of the entire day? At the field was a register for all the tourists to sign (registers are something with which I've become very familiar, after my time on the AT), and the pen waiting to be used by all? A Tri-C pen. That's right, a Cuyahoga Community College pen sitting at the the Field of Dreams in Dyersville, Iowa! I laughed aloud.

I really don't know how to end this post; since the movie came out in '89, I realized that a trip to the site was a requisite in my lifetime. Yet, on arrival, I realized I'd forgotten the most important factor, my father. It's like winning the lottery but then finding out that socialism has finally won out and money isn't worth anything anymore. I'm lost. Sorry.