The Minnesota Moonshine
Foaming at the mouth to get out on the road, we leave at 6:30am. We shall go via Grand Rapids, Crosby, Brainard and all points Coen Brothers.
Outside Bena we both exclaim at once, ‘There’s a car behind us!’
The train lines run parallel to the road and it’s impossible not to stop every mile or so to stand in the middle of the perfectly photogenic straight tracks with your arms outstretched. At this rate we shall still be in Minnesota for a month, we need to plough on. Early favourite place name is Ball Club – whose population seems appropriately to number around two.
We stop in Hill City for breakfast to try and recover from the first of many extreme emotional moments: The Judy Garland Museum in Grand Rapids.
It was early. It was closed. We put our noses to the window and gawped. Then, the lady caretaker came out and we asked when will she open. Back of the net!
‘Oh I just love your accents, you’ve come so far, come on in.’ This will be a pleasant and recurring pattern.
The museum of Judy Garlandness is a simple and wonderful place, her childhood house with a gift shop and yellow-lino-roads tagged on. We were alone as Ashly threw a few jazz shapes on the stairs where Judy performed as a two year old, it was also very moving – as proven by our bold efforts at holding back the tears on several occasions – most of which failed. Go there.
Hill City breakfast: I’d wager a vital body part we were the only European tourists who’d ever been there. Ever. I take Ashly’s photograph with her head up an enormous bears bum. Folks stare, and rightly so. The people in the diner are discussing turkey farming, ‘Oh Ya, that’ll affect the turkey market; if you’re into turkeys you should look now.’ I wonder what they mean.
Brainard is of course Fargoland. It also seems to be the pro-life capital of Planet Earth. It would be a sensible business plan to manufacture anti-abortion and pro-God bumper stickers here. You could not fail. ‘Choose Life – Your Mom Did’ seems to be number 1 with ‘God Spoke – Bang! It Happened’ not far behind. Oh, and loads of stuff about loving guns. Really loving guns.
Favourite billboard advert so far: Pipe Bending Matters. Well, I ‘spose it does! Ya Margi…
The Foshay in Minneapolis is a majestic throwback to the 20’s, its 35th floor bar is suitably named ‘Prohibition’ in keeping with the whole place; and it also serves the deadliest cocktails known to man.
That would account for my having to walk Ashly gently around a four block area of the city as she staggers, utterly pissed, after one innocent looking yellow cocktail. It’s so bad she accidentally uses nail varnish remover as mouth wash. She sobers by dinner, and The 112 Eatery is fine, though I doubt Ashly can taste anything. Never before has one person got so drunk on so little liquid.
Oh, and now we have a real car. A splendid huge white thing.
