Part Two: In which strange strange things happen when the sun goes down.

Ruthlessness, determination, a strong chin... these are the qualities of a good driver.

I was disappointed in Indiana because there was nothing to take a picture of. We crossed most of the state, and I was about to give up, when something magical and totally unexpected occurred. A man—nay—a sovereign, mystical entity, graced the eastern edge of the state with his name. And that name is…

…Tom Raper.

But that was just the first billboard, and certainly the most modest, as well. What followed was another, more dynamic billboard. And another, which in turn preceded yet another. I-70 fell under the barrage of an advertising campaign unlike anything we’d seen before, comprised of colorful, persuasive slogans in conjunction with a recreational vehicle salesman who obviously knows the shock value of his own name. Jon and I were excited enough to rouse Josh from his backseat slumber, and the laughter did not stop for a good long while. And the billboards continued until we finally reached Richmond, Indiana, the home of Tom Raper RVs, as indicated by the message on the town’s sentinel-like water tower. It was clear to all who was pulling the strings in this burg, and we felt it was our duty as human beings to pay a visit to Tom Raper’s domain. Unfortunately, we were still grossly behind schedule, and Tom Raper RVs would sadly reside in our rearview mirror… at least until we stopped by for the visit we promised ourselves we would make on the return trip.

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Josh's backseat slumber.

After miles and miles of horrible, unending desolation, we at last made it to Ohio, but that didn’t mean the desolation was stopping anytime soon. We did find the lost city of Dayton amidst the vast emptiness and ate at a Chinese restaurant on the outskirts, where our discussion centered on the film UHF. The waitress said I could have got my chicken fried rice without vegetables because she noticed I stopped eating the vegetables. I'm not a big vegetable fan, so I must have stopped eating them when I realized I wasn’t hungry anymore.

It wasn't Huron, specifically, but it was a start.

The drive between Dayton and Toledo is rather hazy, mostly because I was in the backseat and asleep for most of it. What I do remember, however, is the Ohio Turnpike between Toledo and Highway 13 to Huron. Driving the Ohio Turnpike at night was a very eerie and emotionally trying experience, like one of those dreams that’s not really scary, but is very troubling and makes you rethink important things. You will notice this after driving miles and miles and suddenly catch yourself beginning to question whether you’re actually getting somewhere or if you’re stuck in a time loop and keep repeating the same stretch of road over and over again. The Ohio Turnpike may or may not end, even though the road map said it did. It literally seemed like a road to nowhere, a pitch black abyss with the headlights being the only (and I mean only) illumination. It was as if the turnpike existed separately from our universe, like the contents of a black hole. Jon and Josh were seriously considering U-turning in a break in the barrier between the eastbound and westbound sides of the road, but it said on the back of the ticket we got at the toll booth that the penalty would be… well, lots of money. Instead, we settled on just taking the next exit we found and making due with wherever it landed us.

It landed us in the lap of possibly the rudest toll booth attendant on duty in the United States at the time. Of course, it was very late and all, and the toll both guy had the look of a cranky old man, but still.

“Would you happen to know how to get to Huron?” Josh asked after paying the toll.

“Go left on Highway 13.”

“And that will take us to Huron?”

“Go left on Highway 13.”

“Uh… okay. Thank you.”

There was brief speculation on whether or not to trust the frightening old man, but it was then noted with the help of the road map that turning left on Highway 13 would, in fact, take us to Huron, and not drive us off an incomplete bridge and into Lake Erie or anything like that.

In the wee hours of the morning, or perhaps in the middle of the day in a ghoulish nightmare realm, (to this day, we’re not really sure) we reached Huron. Driving into town, we spotted several people walking along the side of the road, and Tim was with them! There he was, Tim Nicolai, the man we’d come so far to—oh, wait, it wasn’t Tim, just a guy shaped like Tim.

I was excited to finally be at our destination, but I also realized I was quite exhausted. Surely this town had something in the way of lodging, right?

Our first stop was a seedy establishment called the Gull Motel. We rang the doorbell and were greeted by a cranky and half-asleep woman, who was also one of the scariest looking women I have ever laid eyes on… moles, warts, curlers in the hair, etcetera. She informed us that one room was available, but it only had one bed. When we shook that option off, her level of annoyance noticeably increased and she told us there was also a Comfort Inn in town. We promptly departed before she murdered us.

While the Gull’s unsavory atmosphere resulted in a cheap and tempting price for a room with one bed, we decided the Comfort Inn was our best bet, as it at least had a room available with two beds. Unfortunately, an amusement park called Cedar Point in nearby Sandusky (the very same Sandusky from Tommy Boy) and the scenic lakeshore resulted in insanely high room prices for this particular Comfort Inn. But we were not going back to the Gull to wake up the frightening lady again and end up face down in the pool, so we reluctantly forked over an abnormally large amount of currency in order to spend the night.

After unloading all of our valuables in the hotel room, Josh and I headed back down to the lobby while Jon proceeded to take a rather substantial dump. We had an entire day to kill before Tim’s play started the following evening, so we scoured the lobby for brochures and other information while sucking the juice machine dry and politely conversing with the extremely kind and helpful (and not imposing like Scary Lady) front desk attendant, who filled us in on why the hotel was expensive and provided us with a lot of info about the surrounding area. And, according to both the fools on this trip with me, this front desk girl had eyes for me, but I didn’t notice anything.

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