Today was Wrong Turn Day, and it started out with a big one: I missed my exit to go to Great Falls and wound up on the road to Helena, the state capitol of Montana, instead. Ok, I said to myself, as long as I'm here, why not drop by the state capitol? So I followed the signs - or thought I did, and wound up not at the state capitol but at the Helena skateboard park. So again, let's make the best of this, and I spent a couple hours hanging with the skaters and repeatedly falling on my face. I did make it to the state capitol after all, but only by misreading the directions to the hotel. Apparently I can only get to where I need by failing to go where I want. How Zen of me.

Now listening to: "Left-Handed Way" by Tara Key

Photo by Great Beyond via Flickr/Creative Commons

Shamrock, the misanthropic cat who owns my aunt and uncle, sees me as a meddling interloper and himself as just the cat to do something about me. So I spent about eight minutes actually asleep and the other seven hours and 52 minutes of "sleep" wincing every time he attacked my socks. (He also ran headlong into the wall; I'm not sure what he thought he was doing but it explains why he's such a weirdo.) I went into the kitchen to make breakfast for everybody, and turned on Yellowstone Public Radio in time to catch the remembrance of Ed McMahon on Morning Edition. And the weirdest thing happened the moment we heard "Heeeeere's Johnny!": Shamrock started purring and rubbing up against my leg. Public radio calms the cat. Who knew?

My uncle took the day off work to take me golfing. I need to work on my backswing - specifically, the way I manage to hit the ball with it more often than with the swing itself. I sent more golf balls into the pro shop than the hole. It's not every day a golf pro's advice to his charge is to "just stop swinging, seriously."

Now listening to: "Bed of Roses" by Screaming Trees

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How nice to be driving a hybrid again, even though it's not my own car, it feels a lot more familiar than the RV my boss rented for me. And driving to a familiar spot: Billings, Montana, home to my aunt and uncle. They seem good, although they got a new cat, Shamrock, who really doesn't like me. At first he just hissed when I tried to pet him or even just walk nearby; then he'd hiss and run into his hiding spot - a little cutout hole in the base of my aunt's favorite wicker chair. He's stopped hissing, but if I'm nearby he runs over to my aunt and starts making this noise that sounds like whispering; it looks like he's tattling on me. When he's not taking offense at my being alive, Shamrock sleeps on top of the living room couch. This is where I'll be sleeping, assuming he doesn't try a counterattack in the night.

Now listening to: "Here I Go Again" by Whitesnake

Photo by colbs via Flickr/Creative Commons

Doctor Lemon is finally here! He pulled up just after breakfast with my new rental car, a sweet-looking black Ford Fusion, which will get me to northern California and the friends I'm supposed to pick up. The secretive doctor will drive my RV back to... well, he wouldn't say where - "it's a midwestern city with an international airport, that's all you need to know," he explained - and then he'll head back to company HQ in New Hampshire. Eventually we'll all be rich.

"But first," says Doctor Lemon, "this vehicle must be properly equipped." And the only "proper" way to equip the RV was to get the largest size drink from every restaurant in Sturgis, in alphabetical order. So that was my day, driving a giant RV into like 20 drive-thrus and angle parking spots. We ran out of gas at Taco John's and had to be rescued, but managed to get to every place in the (online) phone book before dark.

"I can see why Otis hired you, Marcus," Doctor Lemon said as we drove away from Wingstreet restaurant. "You can be dogged and tenacious. You will find this handy when society is reborn."

"Thanks, Doc. So what do you say we break open a few of these super-size sodas before we head out?"

"These aren't for drinking. They block transmission frequencies. This vehicle has almost certainly been bugged and I don't want to be overheard on my return trip."

"Oh."

"Remember, Marcus: without security there can be no stability. Without stability there can be no innovation. Without innovation there can be no revolution. Without revolution there can be no security. Otis H. Basketry knows this well, so should we all."

"Also, hate leads to anger and anger leads to suffering."

"What?"

"Sorry, Doc, Star Wars reference."

Now listening to: "Shoot Out The Lights" by Richard and Linda Thompson

Photo by dallas123 via Flickr/Creative Commons

DOCTOR LEMON WHERE ARE YOU. See, I can't leave the hotel because Doctor Lemon, the man Otis H. Basketry sent to trade cars with me in Sturgis, doesn't have my phone number. Nor do I have his, so I can't go sightsee and wait for his call. So I spent another day watching movies and was so confused that I watched "Hannah Montana: The Movie." And actually sort of enjoyed it. Hurry up, Doc!

Now listening to: "Daphnia" by Yo La Tengo

Last night I dreamed that my car, who I last saw in a parking garage in Detroit, was calling out to me. "Find me, Marcus..." it cried. "I'm here, waiting for you." "Where is here?" I asked, in my dream. "Where do I look?" Sure enough, that was the moment the dream changed into a scene where I was running through a candy factory filled with eight foot tall Peeps, and they chased me until I was cornered and then forced me to take large bites of their sugary coating. Freaky.

Weirder still: my annoying cousins back in California, the ones who left like 700 screaming voicemails on my phone last summer because they were bored, have found my new cell number AND found out about my missing car. So they took one of those "voice-masking" kid toys and called me pretending they'd taken it.

"Marcus... listen carefully. I don't - er, we don't want to do anything rash about your car. If you leave a thousand dollars with your cousin - I mean, the perpetrators we will bring your car back. Do not contact the authorities. We are the authorities. We are also in charge, and we are in control. We want the money - or ELSE! (click)"

Spent the rest of the day taking it easy and watching movies in my hotel room. They showed the original "Taking of Pelham 123," which was cool. Not used to sitting still like this, though - part of me wants Doctor Lemon to hurry up and get here so I can get back on the road. Or at least to take my cell phone and smash it with a hammer.

Now listening to: "Run Devil Run" by Paul McCartney

I drove to Sturgis, South Dakota, to get peace and quiet. Am I the only person in the world who's ever said that? Truth be told, there's lots of peace and quiet to be had when the big motorcycle rally isn't in town. There were a few dudes who thought they were showing up for the rally, and when they realized they were early, tried to goad the town into racing them anyway. They even challenged me to a race in my rented RV. "Come on, dude!" they yelled, begging as much as threatening. "Race us, you chicken... please?"

Speaking of the RV: my car, which vanished in Detroit, doesn't seem to be reappearing, so my boss, Otis H. Basketry, is renting me a Ford Fusion to get me to California, where I can buy a new car. He's also sending another staffer to Sturgis to pick up the RV. This fellow goes by the name of Doctor Lemon and refuses to tell anyone his actual name. I have to stay put in Sturgis until he shows up.

Now listening to: "Roseville Fair" by Bill Staines

Photo by ambergris via Flickr/Creative Commons)

Drove up to Mount Rushmore with Bill and Jason, who decided they're going to be a two-man acoustic punk band. They bought a guitar in North Dakota and were writing songs on the road, which you could probably discern from the titles: "Goin' To Mount Rushmore," "Ridin' In Marcus's RV" and the popular singalong favorite, "Let's Stop For Some Cheetos and Mountain Dew in Redig, South Dakota."

Great Aunt Strawberry did not ride with us to Rushmore, and I was almost glad of it, except that I still didn't know what insanity she might unleash on the park. I was right to fear this: while taking a few scenic photos of the mountain, I heard a loud airplane buzz coming from overhead, and then, two words repeated, over and over, each time said with more exasperation than before: "STTTUUUUUUUPPPPPIIIIIDDDDDDD PAAAAAARRRAAAAACCCCHHHUUUUUTTTTEEEE!!!!!!"

Then we watched Strawberry float down and land on George Washington's nose.

Apparently her "stupid parachute" opened too early, and rather than skydiving down most of the way, she floated. You could have called it dainty, if she hadn't been yelling the whole time. According to Aunt Susan Gordy, "Strawberry is drawn to Mount Rushmore the way Richard Dreyfuss was drawn to Devil's Tower in 'Close Encounters.' The first reunion we did, she made Teddy Roosevelt out of mashed potatoes, and it's snowballed a little more each year since." Strawberry's annual crazy antics mark the traditional end of the Gordy family reunion, which is mostly fine by me. Sadly, it's not nearly the end of my road trip.

Now listening to: "Get Down, Brother" by Mickey and the Soul Generation

Photo by rachaelvoorhees via Flickr/Creative Commons)

Great Aunt Strawberry's done it again; she is now the first person to have a bucket of Gatorade dumped on her in Theodore Roosevelt National Park. Originally she wanted to be the first person to have a monkey dump a bucket of Gatorade on her, but, North Dakotan monkeys being in somewhat short supply, Bill and Jason had to do it instead. Tomorrow we'll be at Mount Rushmore, a place Strawberry "loves," for the big family event. I wait in fear and anticipation for what she'll do there.

Visited the North Dakota Cowboy Hall of Fame with some of the other relatives, all of whom are more low-key than my current travel companions and therefore a nice change of pace. But, alas, a guy in the tour group did ask if the world of rodeo would have been different had Joe Chase drawn Figure Four instead of Whiz Bang at the 1956 Dickinson Match of Champions. Can't I go to a hall of fame without someone asking a complicated, obscure question? Then again, he wasn't asking for chimps to dump sports drinks on him. Maybe I just need to be more patient.

Now listening to: "Every Which Way But Loose" by Eddie Rabbitt

Photo by MsPatt via Flickr/Creative Commons)

Bill and Jason Gordy have been riding with me in the rented RV (my car still has not been found in Detroit!), and now Great Aunt Strawberry, the most eccentric of an eccentric clan, is now riding with us. Now I know why no one in the family felt like explaining why she was so unusual: she's happy to do it herself.

"Marcus, did I ever tell you about the time I paraglided over the White House? Mrs. Carter was in the house at the time."

Having just met her the day before, I hadn't heard this loony story, but like the rest of the Gordys, Strawberry is sure I'm a part of the family and always have been. I'm pretty sure she would've told the story over again even if I had heard it before. Strawberry considers herself the "#1 Patriot in Minnesota" and displays her love of country by performing various odd feats near national landmarks. Along with paragliding over the Executive Mansion, she claims to be the first person to rollerskate down Pike's Peak, box a kangaroo at the Warren G. Harding Home in Marion, Ohio and sing the rock opera "Tommy" in its entirely at Hoover Dam.

Here's what else Strawberry likes to do: sing at top volume in the car, and never the song that's on the radio. Bill and Jason thought this was hilarious and goaded her to sing longer and louder, so I turned up Prairie Public Radio when they started a loud chorus of the theme from "The Greatest American Hero." There was a good piece on Morning Edition about eating gluten-free. Side note: when my boss, Otis H. Basketry, was a presidential candidate, he used to break down crying in his speeches talking about people who can't eat bread. "They miss out on so much," he said, wiping his eyes. "Who is a bigger victim than the man who can afford bread but cannot eat it?"

Stopped at Bonanzaville USA for some fun and history. I liked the barbershop - apparently the barber was also the town's police officer, so he'd have to run off and arrest somebody in the middle of your shave. Strawberry somehow closed the door to the prison building wrong and got stuck in there. Bill and Jason only let her out after she sang a raucous chorus of "I'm Too Sexy."

Now listening to: "Red Rubber Ball" by Cyrkle

(Photo by Dan Rochman via Flickr/Creative Commons)