A story for the grandchildren

I don't wake up early on Fridays for just anything, but this was a special occasion.

Minneapolis/St. Paul was calling.

Dave's dad was there on business, and we went up to see him and Dave's mom. We'd never been west of Madison together, and Minnesota was all new. It was supposed to be this really cool road trip with cool scenery and a fab end destination, the Mall of America.

But when I suggested one route, Google Maps suggested another, leading Dave to cry "But Google says!" like we were 5 on a playground and I was telling him to eat dirt. We ended up taking Dave's route.

Fine, right?

Well.

We were supposed to take a giant left turn in Wausau. We didn't so much. Click on that link. See Wausau? See how it's just a straight shot to St. Paul? Well, we decided that was too easy. Rhinelander ... Now that's where it's at.

What "it" was, was a scene from any bad horror movie that involves a 2002 map with pen and highlighter all over it, a rustic road with salt residue on it, blinding sunlight, Erin singing Justin Timberlake, an urge to go to the restroom, cobweb gas stations and a wolf. Yes, there really was a wolf. Dave saw it.

Our getting lost was humorous at first. But then the urge to see anything that looked like civilization as we knew it (i.e., an interstate, a highway, or a McDonald's) took over, and I kept waiting for the Bates Motel, or at the very least a chain-saw wielding man.

Instead, we found Highway 29 in a very anticlimactic moment. Not nearly as exciting as a chain saw, but we had some serious Malling of America to do. I couldn't afford to be chopped into pieces.

Well, we couldn't really afford to go shopping much, either, but that is another story.