Road Trip Diaries

We got straight to the hard work of enjoying ourselves this morning, because we had an urgent place to be by one o’clock.

First though, we had to visit Dubuque’s funicular railway, because the Terrace Motel people were very keen that we should see it.

We went up, we took in the view…

… and we went down. At the office at the top, they have a noticeboard with postcards of other funicular railways around the world. Neither Aberystwyth, Bridgenorth, nor the Centre for Alternative Techology in Machynlleth (with its water powered funicular) are represented, but submissions are invited, so I may well send some postcards when I can find some.

Our one o’clock was never far from our minds, and we got straight back on the road. We couldn’t risk wasting time on a proper breakfast, so we bought donuts and drinks from a gas station, and munched on the way. Debbie was taken by the "God Bless America" wallpaper in the gas station restroom, and took a photo.

We’re in the parts of America that keep Bush in power; where you see roadside boards reading "Pray and Vote to End Abortion". That and corn; lots and lots of corn.

Passing by the Field of Dreams, in Dyersville, having never seen the film, we arrived in Waterloo by 12:30. We stopped in a gas station to ask directions. The attendants had no idea, but two dizzy but friendly teenage girls were very helpful. Guessing we were British, they said "but why would you want to come to Iowa?". The answer is obvious and simple: the John Deere Tractor Factory and its one o’clock factory tour.

We coached directions out of them. At the start of the conversation, they didn’t realise that John Deere had a presence in town. By the end, they had given us accurate directions to the office. We made it with ten minutes to spare, but it turned out we were at the wrong place. A nice lady phoned the assembly plant for us, made sure they had spaces, asked them to wait for us, and gave us directions. With seven miles to cover in ten minutes (we saw a "One in four babies dies of Choice" bumper sticker on the way), we were bound to be late, but all we missed was a bit of video introduction.

I wasn’t sure whether photographs were allowed on the tour, but nobody else was taking any, and the last thing I wanted to do was cause someone to spot-weld his arm by startling him with a flash, so I didn’t take any. I just got a poor exterior shot.

We got to see them building 7020 series, 8020 series and the awesome 9020 series tractors from a comfortable vantage point on a seated trailer pulled by a little John Deere utility vehicle. They seem to use a lot of their own vehicles around the factory, although many workers go from place to place on pedal tricycles — often personalised with stickers on the back of the seat. Our guide and driver was a retired factory supervisor, and he knew his stuff.

Every vehicle is built to order, and carries a serial number with it throughout assembly, so they can built on the right options on each one. It was a light time of year, and I think it was lunchtime (some workers were in a cubicle eating sandwiches and playing cards), so it wasn’t the hive of activity it probably is some of the time.

In the gift shop, afterwards, Debbie asked me if I wanted a miniature toy tractor. Of course not. I want a full-size 500HP 9620 with heated leather seat and ActiveSeat™ for a smooth ride. I’d cruise around Leamington in it on Saturday nights, using my Field Vision™ lights to impress the ladies ("light an area the size of a football field"; "like having a miniature arc welder attached to the front of your tractor").

I had to make do with a baseball cap and a foam beer bottle insulator.

We had a very late lunch in adjoining Cedar Falls. I had an omelette, Debbie had lasagne, and for once it was a very sensible meal all round, if unconventionally timed.

On the road again, we sat on the straight, flat, fast, US-20, a divided highway, until Debbie noticed that the dashboard was reading "LOW FUEL WARNING". A little panicked, we turned off the air con to conserve fuel. It wasn’t comfortable. An exit sign promised "gas", so we turned off, relieved. Our new road ran perpendicular to the 20. We drove, and drove, wondering where this petrol was. Seven miles later, we came upon Grundy Centre, and the gas station we’d been promised. The biggest relief was putting the air con back on, and we bought drinks to celebrate. I’ve been greatly enjoying having gas station coffee in my cup holder.

We have stopped for the night in Fort Dodge, Iowa. We’re in a Country Inn on the town’s main strip mall. Since our lunch was so late, we decided to eat in the room. We bought junk snacks from the gas station next door, and we bucked the system by walking through the Sonic drive-through burger joint.

Now we’re watching Friday 13th part VI - Jason Lives on the American Movie Classics channel. It’s drivel, but it has a nifty Bond homage at the start…

Later on we put on Fox News to see what was going on with regards to the London bombing investigations. I was appalled by the alarmism being incited, and the rabble rousing. We had a man advocating racial profiling using completely nonsensical logic to defend it:

"Every terrorist attack on American soil has been committed by young men of Middle Eastern race."
"The Oklahoma bombing was not, nor was the Washington sniper."
"That’s true, but they were not Islamic terrorist incidents"

Right. So the ones that were committed by young Middle Eastern men were committed by young Middle Eastern men. Very helpful.

We also had an interview with some foreign correspondence with experience in Jerusalem and other hotspots, claiming that the precautions they took there may now be appropriate in London: don’t take the bus or tube; if you must go to a coffee shop or restaurant, stay away from the door (where a suicide bomber is most likely to detonate) and windows (where glass shards may injure you).

I don’t know about Jerusalem (allegedly a very small "downtown" area — I only have Fox News as a source on this), but in a city the size of London, even if bombings became much more common, this represents horribly flawed risk assessment. You’re still more likely to get run over by a bus than get blown up while riding one.

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