Iowa

Iowa - State #36
         
          "I hate hate hate Temecula       
          On a level that's almost moleculah"

This is one of several rhymes I invented with my friend Eric Birnbaum to keep ourselves laughing and sane during our days in the travel industry.

I'd never been to Temecula.  I don't know whether I really would hate it on a level that's almost molecular. Temecula was once described to me by friends who'd been there as a decidedly lackluster town where one building housed the local fine arts center and the town jail.

But never mind: I'm not trying to discuss Temecula. 

I'm here to discuss the state of Iowa.
         
           "I hate hate hate hate Iowa       
           And if you ask why, I'll reply, 'Uh, duh'”

As I mentioned earlier, I find something to love about most places-- but one place I've been which rubbed me all the way the wrong way is the state of Iowa.*

My Arrival
I arrived in Iowa on public transit: a city bus. I boarded the bus in Omaha, having “detrained” from Amtrak's California Zephyr a few hours earlier.

My departure from the train began with the sleeping car attendant’s cheerful wake-up notice: "YOU HAVE TO GET OFF THE TRAIN NOW!!"  

Several slapstick minutes ensued as I hastily packed and tried to locate my wallet and was essentially thrown off the slowly moving train onto the siding along with my bags. 

The Zephyr chugged away.

I sat awhile in the sad modern one story Amtrak station situated between Omaha’s TWO rail palaces. In the station’s molded plastic peace, I located my wallet in my luggage and tried to unjangle my nerves.

Dauntlessly, I then proceeded out to catch a local bus to cross the river--- and discover Council Bluffs, IA.

Council Bluffs
The name Council Bluffs conjures  an image of an earnest windswept hamlet perched high above the mighty Missouri.

The bus instead deposited me with my wheely in what appeared to be a forlorn industrial park. I'd misjudged my stop and was still about a mile from my destination.

In the still June morning, everything was flat (no bluffs). There was no view but everywhere that there wasn't lawn there was asphalt.  I saw a Bass Pro megastore. I saw an Applebee's. I saw a strip club.

I wended my way to the distant Hilton Garden inn.
When I found it, I was surprised to discover it was connected to a casino, and on the far side of the casino, another undistinguished hotel.

This entire gaming complex sat beside a large factory which, given its smell, served to produce any number of noxious chemical concoctions used in agriculture. 

The “Iowa Way”
It was early so I didn't expect I'd get a room right away. I did get something unexpected-- big time front desk attitude. I acknowledged my early arrival and acknowledged I knew that being assigned a room would be a courtesy.

I believe the charming reply I got was, “Well, you'll have to wait.”

I parked myself on an ugly lobby couch and sipped nasty lobby coffee. After twenty minutes of looking cheerfully expectant as several parties arrived after me and received rooms, I opted instead to look sullen and irritated, hoping the front desk would give me a room just to relieve themselves of their view of me.

After two hours, there was an apparent shift change. 

I stepped up and asked the new desk clerk “Yes yes, I know I'm terribly early but might be assigned a room?”

The new clerk fairly quickly found me a room.

"Memories of your Stay in Iowa"
I recall that there might have been in issue with the room key and the need to exchange it for another key but why make that part of the narrative? 

Why continue to tell of going to eat at the casino buffet and discovering , that unlike most casino food  outlets, this one was extravagantly expensive?

The die of my Iowa experience had been cast in that lobby and for the next 24 hours there was no way I could learn the love this place.

I woke next morning, had the lobby breakfast included in the room rate, grabbed my bag, checked out and was soon waiting for the city bus back to my comparatively beloved Omaha.

Did I Give Iowa a Chance to Unspool her Charm?
One night does seem like short shrift and I believe I haven't fully enjoyed some states in which I passed only one night. 

Texas definitely, Utah almost certainly, very likely Arkansas when I get there. (I intend to “cross-river-one-night”  on a return trip to Memphis).

But, Iowa…. No. Girl, you had your chance and you showed me all kinds of ugly.

Who can say what rural dystopian shocks would await one in yet another night in Iowa?

Next up: I'll discuss some place I found charming. I haven't decided which-- most places I've been qualify.

* This account is not the experience I had two years earlier when I crossed the Bob Kerrey Pedestrian Bridge from Omaha into Iowa in 100° heat and posted on Facebook these words: I am abandoning this expedition into Iowa. Iowa is uninhabitable.

Self Assessment
This piece wasn't written cold. It's an account of actual occurrences, really its composition involved deciding how much of the history of a bad bit of travel I wanted to share. I'd begun composing it on a walk and sat down to write. This slight effort took just over three hours to complete-- it seems to make sense that a piece about a place remembered bad memories would inspire a written piece which can be completed briskly . I'm sure it will need some cleaning up.