I can't hear you anymore

Well... it's been boring. No catastrophic failures. No suspicious noises (from the car at least). And no speeding tickets.

Topics of road trip conversation have included:

Female rabbits going on “Bunny benders” (don't ask)

Those poor bastards burdened with “adulthood”

“Hey! There's an RV / Mobile Home MUSEUM in Illinois/Indiana! Let's hit that on the way back!”

and...

“How much of the corn plant is really used in producing ethanol?” If you saw the volume of corn fields that we've seen, you'd understand the urgency of this query.

As an added bonus: We passed a gigantic manufacturing facility for Barilla pasta. Wayyy cooler than Reagan's birthplace.

In short; We are in the middle of Iowa.

We're staying with an old grade school friend of mine (a guy I've known about 40 years), and his frightfully gifted family. The brain power in this building is a little intimidating. Even his young children are on some higher plane. I'm totally digging it. His kids created an “F Bomb Parking Only” banner. That's the first thing we saw as we rolled in to their driveway. Dinner was exceptional. Fresh beef, fresh corn (as if you had to ask), potatoes, and jalapeno sausage. Fresh baked cookies for dessert.

This road trip gig is pretty alright. 

I've decided that Indiana is my least favorite state for driving, so far. Even the rest areas are like mid 1960s YMCA bath houses. 

I've had a headache since 5:30am, thanks in no small part, to an infernal piece of hood trim, that sounds like a bottle rocket strapped to my temple at any speed above 45 mph. We were at it for 13 hours today. 

Duct tape helps.