Return to Rensselaer IN

I was going to tell this story a couple of posts ago,  but it slid past and returned to a minor bit of memory stream,  which,  lucky you all my faithful readers,  has returned full force and I will now relate.

One of the strange things about going back to the old places in Illinois is that it is familiar and a lot (more than half,  for sure!)  is not.

I recognize names like Irving Park as a street name. And Larkin which is a major road going through Elgin,  but I could not find them or remember where they might go.

I've left the Chicago area and made the turn around the lake and am heading southeast  on I-65.   There is a sign for Rensselaer, Indiana. 

Now,  let us return across 30 years and talk about what happened then...

About 1982 or so,  I was on this same road one December heading for Florida. It was 20 below zero and the wind was up too.  

The snow was drifting across the road and it looked nasty.   The temperature gage showed that the engine never got up to temperature.   The windshield never defrosted.   I had a small area that I could see through and that was about it.

I was probably swaddled in sheepskin - a good purchase if you move to the Midwest - gloves probably and a hat.  

I pull off the interstate for some gas and it was at the Rensselaer exit.   I filled up and then moved the car near the restaurant.

I had something to eat and then went back out and the car wouldn't start.  I went over to a local hotel near the cafe and got the last room.

Fifteen minutes later we got the word that the road had been closed.

I was not the only one in this predicament.   We bonded together a bit,  strangers in a flat snowy land.   One guy invited us down to a party in his room.

He had gotten the local liquor store to deliver some booze by ordering a lot.   He had a shoe box with him and he and some others wandered off to the bathroom for 20 minutes.   I'm pretty sure it was not to smoke a cigar.

We had a place to stay and food at the cafe and all things considered it was OK.   We were there for 3 days as I remember it, but it might only have been one.

The morning we could get out,  was a sunny still morning.   The ice crystals sparkled and people started to show up from the interstate.   The roads were open.   The locals were pulling peoples' cars out of ditched for carefully negotiated rates.

One last meal for me and off I went.   Yes,  the car started right up.   Probably due to some sun on the hood and it being a mere -5 degrees.

I drove the rest of the run down to Florida in one go.   It was about 900 miles and didn't seem like much.  Florida seemed warmer that year.

A more prudent man might have turned back or never bothered to go by car or just flown down.   But you are only young once or twice.

I dated a gal I met there,  she lived near me back in Lombard.  We went to a Hawk's hockey game with her and Chuck and someone else.  Only Hawks game I ever saw.

That's what came rushing back as I flew down I-65 on a sunny Saturday with temperatures in the upper 80s.  My sheepskin coat might not exist any more and the RX-7 is long gone,  but the memories are still taking up some room.