We amused ourselves on our trip to Indiana a few weeks ago by reading the signs that tell you how much further you have to your destination. If you are traveling in New England and your destination is Dunkin' Donuts, congratulations! You are never more than five miles away from where you are going.
Unfortunately, on this trip we were not traveling in the Northeast, and our destination was not Dunkin' Donuts. Our destination was Indiana, which was 584 miles away. Even more unfortunately, we had to drive across the entire state of Ohio (motto: "Who Would Believe a State Could Be So Boring?"), which alone is 1,953 miles.
But the good transportation people of Ohio, anxious to do their best to get us through their state with no accidents involving cows, put up helpful mileage signs like every 500 feet, telling you how many more miles until, based on their extremely careful calculations, you will go crazy.
They are probably also afraid that if they do not continually remind you how much farther you have on your extremely long trip across their extremely boring state, you will forget where you are headed.
Passenger: We've been driving forever...where are we going again?
Driver: Uh, Maine, isn't it? Wait, there's a sign...no, Dayton! That's right, Dayton!
Passenger: Are you sure it wasn't Dunkin' Donuts?
But what these Ohio transportation people -- who no doubt fly everywhere they want to go -- don't realize is that when you are driving on such a long trip, it is really not very reassuring to watch the number of miles to your destination decrease by only two miles with each successive sign. You might as well be traveling to Russia, because that's what it feels like when you see these signs:
Russia: 173,986 miles (9,694,821,374 km)
Russia: 173,984 miles
Russia: 173,982 miles
Dunkin' Donuts: Next right
Russia: 173,980 miles
Russia: 173,978 miles
No wonder so many people end up at Dunkin' Donuts. They just want to be, finally, at a destination. They don't really care which destination.
This also no doubt explains why it takes 6 days for mail to get from our house to Joe's family in Illinois. The mail truck watches those signs go by, mile by agonizingly slow mile, until it can't take it anymore. It just breaks down, crying. It is towed by a team of mules to a recovery site, where it receives depression counseling ("Now, tell me, when did you first notice this condition coming on?" "I'm not sure...somewhere between mile 9,635 and 9,633! Oh, boo hoo hoo!"). The mail that was being carried by the truck is transferred to several bikes and wagons driven by young boys, which also explains why the price of stamps keeps going up: Those boys are constantly wanting newer models.
When you think about it, those mile signs explain a lot.
But back to our topic. Where was I? Oh, yes, 384 miles east of Wilberforce, Ohio (which is not made up, anymore than its neighboring town of Goes is made up).
Once we were out of Ohio and into Indiana (motto: "Be Glad You're Not in Ohio Anymore!"), the interesting signs shifted from destination miles to clever river names. These were some prize-winning names! The first was Mad River, which inspired Joe (remember, we had just crossed the great expanse of Ohio) to burst into a spontaneous, twisted version of "Moon River," the lyrics of which are probably best not made public.
After this came Big Blue River, the color of which -- surprise! -- was not blue. But we figured maybe it is connected to the Pacific Ocean, because in Hawaii I was once told that the government proudly spends several hundred million a year on Ty-D-Bol to get the water just that shade of blue. Alas, the Big Blue River in Indiana looks nothing like Ty-D-Bol, or the Pacific Ocean for that matter.
But the best, most clever river name was saved for last. The State River Namers, in an attempt to achieve immortality in the Annals of River Naming, christened it "Nameless River."
We bet they came up with that name while crossing Ohio.
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