You Just Like to Say Newaygo

I packed early in the morning and only forgot two things . . . important things as it turned out . . .

We left right after work and took Princess' mega-mobile. It was her gig. I was the navigator. But all I had really to navigate was "drive to Grand Rapids . . . turn right . . . drive until there is nothing . . . "

We stopped in Okemos and had a lovely dinner. Princess had a filet . . . because she is named Princess for a reason . . . I had a nice sirloin and dessert . . . although I am just as princess-y. I think I left my hat at the restaurant. If anyone goes to Stillwater in Okemos, it is burgandy and hand-knit. Please pick it up for me. It was a nice hat.

Then the serious driving began. It was 7:30 and dark. We stopped twice to go to the bathroom because we could never do that as children. Our fathers always made us hold it. For too long a time.

Grand Rapids is part of my mental map system. I feel secure in G-Rap. Even when we turned off on Leonard St. to go to the bathroom. But then we got on M-37. It was dark. And there was nothing . . . well, single wides and propane stores . . . and nothing. We were looking for 8th street and when a street came, which was a long time, and it had numbers, which was a longer time . . . it was 146th street. This was not encouraging.

The hotel we were going to stay in was called "The Shack" according to the itinerary that I had on my lap. Who books at a hotel named "The Shack"? The name was not promising. The lack of familarity was not promising. The amount of propane being sold was enormous and I did not find it promising. Princess found it puzzling. Why did everyone need so much propane? And how did you buy it? There didn't seem to be any stands next to the propane signs. Just big tanks.

There is a McDonalds AND a Taco Bell AND and KFC in outer Newaygo. And that was the last hint of connection or familiarity to our very suburban lives. Plus, at this point, I was pretty sure that "The Shack" may well be an actual shack. Or a Bates motel. And we were no where near it according to the directions and I thought we might be lost, in the dark, with insanely numbered street signs.

As I was wondering where people bought fancy underwear, Princess was wondering why everyone needed so much propane. What were they grilling? Did just everyone grill? How could they support all these propane stores? And where were the little canisters?

To calm our nerves, Princess was playing "Roll Out" by Ludacris and some "Ass like that" song by Eminem that has the word "pee-pee" in it repeatedly. This was making the lost hopelessly in the woods, broken up by single wide trailers thrown about, all the more surreal.

After about eight left turns, on roads that kept changing names . . . we saw lights and thought it was White Cloud. However, there was a giant sign that read "The Shack Inn Bed and Breakfast" with an arrow. The Shack turned out to be a compound, with four large buildings, on a lake. We had arrived. " . . . makes my pee-pee go duh-doing-doing-doing . . ." was playing in the background. I am leery of compounds. They are usually bought and built by people who eventually will (or should) be surrounded by the FBI. But we could stop driving in the dark. And we probably should cut the pee-pee music.