Jason Offut - Across a Corn-Swept Land. An Epic Beer Run Through the Upper Midwest

An epic beer run through the Upper Midwest

Jason Offutt

Copyright 2013 Jason Offutt

ISBN 978-0-87839-905-4

All rights reserved.

First Edition

Published in the United States of America

Published by

North Star Press of St. Cloud, Inc.

P.O. Box 451

St. Cloud, Minnesota 56302

www.northstarpress.com

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This book is dedicated to everyone who helped me along my journey, especially my favorite Canadian, Dave Tanner, who encouraged me to take the trip to his homeland in the first place.

This all started with a map. My wife disappears some Saturday mornings during the summer months around seven-something in the morning, newspaper classifieds in hand, and comes back with toys, furniture, clothing, and absolutely nothing for me even though she knows a rowboat or a chainsaw would be nice. All the items she buys are cheap, used, and still in good condition. Shes a garage-saler. Like all garage-salers, every once in a while she actually comes home with something good. Like she did June 1, the day I noticed Canada.

My wife pulled into our driveway and dragged from the minivan (dont judge me) the usual box of toys that would have cost $400 new, which she got for roughly forty-five cents, shirts for the kids, a lamp, and something gooda world map she bought for ten cents, a real Rand-McNally wall-filler. She also picked up a wooden frame from a different garage sale that almost, but not quite, fit the map (we lost bits of Antarctica, but Im sure the penguins wont mind). After a few days trying to avoid painting the frame, with the same hesitancy as if shed asked me to remove a dead opossum from under the porch, I finally did it and hung the map on a wall. My wife and I stood back, looked at it, and she said, You know, it makes us look smart. Why, yes, it did.

Ive always liked maps. As a child I drew maps of the farm and countryside where I lived including topographical features like potholes, road kills, and a thicket I was certain hid at least one monster. So I spent a lot of time the next month or so looking at our world map, and given that the map was as big as the front of a truck, most of that time I studied my northwest Missouri neighborhood. Surprisingly, that includes Canada. Oh, Canada. Sure, I always knew of Canada, and even have friends from Canada, but other than Rick Moranis movies and that soda no one drinks anymore, Id never spent a lot of time thinking about Canada. Its like the Dakotas: north of me, and Id never been there. Since Canada (and the Dakotas, for that matter) had never directly affected my daily life, it might as well have been Narnia. But after studying our new map, I noticed Canada was only one-and-three-eighths inches away from our house. It would seem rude not to pay it a visit, and maybe take a casserole.

Hmm, I wondered, what lies within those one-and-three-eighths inches? Every path has its surprises. Thorin and Company never expected to run into trolls along their way to the Lonely Mountain, and Arthur Dent didnt expect to be sucked up into a spaceship when he popped down to the pub. There are just things out there, waiting for us around every turn. What things were between me and Canada? I already knew of a few. Long-time Tonight Show host, the great Johnny Carson, was born and grew up in Corning, Iowa, less than an hour away from me. John Wayne was born just a bit farther than that in Winterset, Iowa, (yes, The Duke was born in Iowa, just like Captain Kirk will be). They also boast a minor league baseball team and a nationally famous haunted house. But that couldnt be all. There had to be a lot of exciting things, just waiting. The road outside my door, U.S. Highway 71, could take me the entire way to Canada. Right then I knew I was going. Even from a cursory glance at my route, I could tell this would be an amazing trip, filled with history, culture, and corn, all of which were largely forgotten by the rest of the country. I had to see these great forgotten parts of my geographic neighborhood before the world took notice and covered it with concrete. I had a week of vacation coming up. Could I spend it seeing the wonders of Midwestern back roads?

Canada sits 679.17 miles over my head like a great white stocking cap (or toque, if you will), filled with moose, lakes, hockey sticks, trees, Shania Twain, really tasty fish, and lots and lots of beer. Seems like a nice place. U.S. 71 ends in International Falls, Minnesota, right across the Rainy River from Fort Frances, Ontario. Its also an eleven-hour, twelve-minute drive, which is roughly the same amount of time it takes to load my family in the minivan (I said dont judge me) and drive to my in-laws house in Texas. It also has the benefit of being in the opposite direction.

The question was, however, how much should I plan and how much should I randomly stumble upon along my way? I went to find out. My wife works at a public library, which means I had access to all the information Id need to plan a trip of this magnitude, and I could get it from someone I could get frisky with later. So, of course, I used the Internet.

Between Maryville and Canada I would pass through a lot of little towns that could boast connections to things like bandleader Glenn Miller, the tenth best place to live in the United States, author Sinclair Lewis, presidential turkeys, and the source of the Mississippi River. Because of the interstate highway system, roads like U.S. 71 are sadly under-explored. The more treasures I uncovered, the more I wondered how many interesting sights lurked on the roadside, ready to jump out and yell, Boo.

I had to talk over my trip idea with Dave.

Daves a reporter Ive known for more than a decade, and although we have much in common, hes something Ive never beenhes Canadian. Dave has often given me valuable advice about his home country, like Ontario is really, really big, and Canadians call Canadian bacon ham. Good to know.

Dude, you have to go, Dave said when I called, most traces of an accent long since gone. Teasing at the college he attended in Missouri beat every eh and aboot out of his diction. The more Dave talked, the more I knew he was right. The lakes, the trees, the food, the friendly people it all sounded so foreign. We have all those things in the United States, of course, but while talking with an actual Canadian, our trees no longer seemed so big, our lakes so blue, our food so unhealthy, our people so nice. Carry photo ID and passport at the border, both ways, he said. The border questions are simple. Dont smuggle fruit or game or copious amounts of contraband. We may never see you again. Game? Contraband? Like Bigfoot, or maple syrup?

My route would take me to Ontario. Was there even ground in Ontario? If the AAA Central States/Providences map I unfolded on my desk is correct, Minnesota should shut up about its lakes. After crossing the border into Fort Frances, Ontario, which sits on a lake bigger than any in Minnesota, blue spots spread across part of the province like theyd come alive.

That part of Ontario is all about the lakes and fishing and going slow, Dave said. Be prepared to drive behind someone for miles. He didnt know what its like to get stuck behind a John Deere tractor on a hilly two-lane road in Northwest Missouri at least once a week. Those are slower than cooking a microwave burrito when youre really hungry. Driving? I didnt care about driving in Canada. Well, I might once I got there, but at this point I wanted to know something immensely important that Dave hadnt touched upon yet. It had nothing to do with driving or being grilled by border patrol. Nothing especially cultural or legal. I just knew that sometime after I arrived in Canada I would be hungry.