Travel in Plague-Time

How worried should I be about driving from Northwest Minnesota to Boston, then flying home? Teresa and I feel healthy, but we're both in the over age sixty at-risk group. New case numbers and deaths had stabilized in the Midwest and the Northeast. But there were warnings the virus would spike again as Fall approached. Wouldn't it be prudent to stay home and wait this thing out?

Yes it would. But the call of the old New England home and of family outweighed prudence. On July 25, with our masks, our gloves and our alcohol hand wash, we decided to take our chances. We had not seen our three boys or our four grandchildren in a year. Also, my parents house had been sold and there would be a family gathering on August 1, to celebrate the place that had witnessed so many good times in all our lives.

We spent the first night with our friends Alex and Nancy in Apple Valley south of Minneapolis. Alex and Nancy had downsized to a condo and Alex wanted to send his 1994 Ford Ranger pickup to a good home. He said I could have it. We didn't need another truck, but I knew my boys could make use of it, so we planned to load a bunch of stuff our kids had left behind and haul it East. Alex had taken excellent care of the Ranger and I was confident it could make the 1,400 mile trip.

The governor of Minnesota had just ordered that masks be worn by staff and customers in all businesses in the state. After leaving Alex's Sunday morning, we stopped at a convenience store in southern Minnesota and I was heartened to see everyone was obeying the law. A bit later I stopped in Iowa where there was no mask requirement and it was jarring to see all the bare faces.

That afternoon, the truck began leaking transmission fluid and we had to spend a couple of days in Dubuque to get it taken care of. Dubuque is an old river town built out of red brick along the Mississippi. The downtown was partially gutted in the 1960's, before people realized the future lay in preservation.

There were lots of restaurants near our downtown hotel. The trick was finding one with a patio. The (masked) staff at the hotel recommended a place a few blocks away, a sports-bar-brew-pub sort of place. They had set up a few tables along the side of their building. We were the only one's out there. All the other customers were inside, fairly distanced from each other.

I felt sorry for the unmasked waitress having to hike back and forth from the kitchen to our table. We enjoyed the view of the ornate brick buildings as we munched our supper. While waiting to get the truck into the shop the next day, we hiked along the river dike and through the quiet downtown. We found the amazing funicular railway that runs up the steep bluff to where the wealthy reside. If you're ever stranded in Dubuque, be sure to ride it.

We found a transmission shop on the west side of town near the busy mall. We had to stay at a motel out there another night. We got take-out at a restaurant. Mask compliance was like at home in Roseau: food and lodging places had masks, all other places, pretty much no masks.

We ended up having to leave the truck in Dubuque for repairs. We rented a small SUV and transferred our sons' treasures into that, and continued our journey. Just to note, we spotted our first Biden sign in Bellevue, Iowa along the Mississippi. We crossed into Illinois with plans to stop in Indiana for the night.

We were taking two-lane highways to avoid Chicago traffic. but I drifted a bit too far north and we crossed from farm country into the far southwestern suburb of Plainfield. As we drove along the main street I noticed a curious sight. People were sitting on the sidewalk in lawn chairs or in restaurant patios drinking beer. Parked along the street were beautifully restored classic cars. Then I noticed a sign. We had just beaten Plainfield's Tuesday evening Cruise Night by about twenty minutes. It would have been fun to stay, but we had miles to go before we slept.

Now we were caught in the vortex of Chicago rush hour. We gave up the two-laner and jumped on the crazy Interstate. Drive fast or die. We found a hotel online in Elkhart and a restaurant with a patio. Bacon Hill it was called. There was no hill, but lots of smoked meats. Our waitress wore a mask. There was plenty of space between the tables.

The Elkhart motel staff was masked, including our hostess in the breakfast nook. Back in Iowa the hostess had dished up our food and poured our coffee. Here in Elkhart we helped ourselves. Teresa asked the hostess how case numbers were locally. "Oh, I don't pay attention to that," she said before removing her mask for a good cough. Hey, we had asked for this by leaving home.

We took the Interstate across Ohio and when traffic got heavy we went back to two lane roads in  western Pennsylvania, an area the snooty New Yorkers call Pennsyltucky. It's beautiful country and there's a cool little town out there called Wellsboro where we've stayed before. We were making for there when we got to Coudersport on the Alleghany River, also a cool old town. We saw a nice looking place along the road. It was an older place but the sign said "You'll feel like you're home." It had good online reviews so we booked it. They also gave me a veteran's discount. That doesn't happen in the bigger places.

After checking into our "home" for the night, we went downtown for take-out. There was a big home-made sign on the common that said: "Trump Vote Early Vote Often." The base wears its heart on its sleeve. Back at the motel, there was a crew of what I took to be frackers ever present in the lobby, stepping outside from time to to time for a smoke. We had been time-warped back to pre-Covid days here in Coudersport. It wasn't a good feeling. The breakfast hostess did not have a cough, but she didn't have a mask either.

We hurried on through PA and back onto the more sterile Interstates of NY and MA. These last two states suffered greatly at the beginning of the pandemic. They've gotten their numbers stabilized and they have faith in the mask. Massachusetts' number had ticked up slightly and we had heard from a friend back home that as of August 1, the state was ordering a two week quarantine for all out-of-state visitors. I don't know how they're enforcing that rule. This isn't China. We crossed the state line with a day to spare.

With all of its restrictions, the citizens of Massachusetts have decided how much risk they can tolerate. Mask compliance in all businesses is 99%. (I once forgot my mask while picking up a pizza. I felt terrible.) But people go to the beach and restaurants. Many people on the street or even driving wear their masks. Many don't. Even though we had traveled several days through a danger zone, family and friends were fine with hugging us. Some weren't. Some family members didn't come to the celebration of our parent's house on August first. I can understand that.

Finally: the flight home. Delta emailed that they were sanitizing their jets like crazy and that the middle seat would be empty, though the flight was otherwise full. Logan airport in Boston was certainly empty compared to a typical summer Monday. All the food places were shuttered, but you could download an app to have food delivered to your gate.

The Minneapolis airport was quite different. People were not socially distancing at the busy food venues, though everyone did have masks on. Minnesota has not been hit as hard as Massachusetts. Maybe the George Floyd killing distracted them. Yet it was Massachusetts that had as many "Black Lives Matter" lawn signs as Pennsyltucky had signs for 45.

I have no grand conclusions to draw other than it's a crazy world which promises to get even crazier as the months come on.

"Grandpa, you're soon out of this mess. What about us kids?"