On the Road

Sin City

While Findlay was flooding, my husband and I were in Las Vegas, traipsing up and down the Strip in 100 plus degree heat as smoke from California forest fires hazed the sky and locals talked about a water shortage. It was the opposite of weather extremes, and not without frustration halfway through the trip, watching helplessly as Findlay's woes were profiled on national news - something a newspaper reporter doesn't like to experience, nor does someone who knows her friends and co-workers are dealing with the damage while she's stuck in the desert.

And so, uncertain if my car had floated away, there was nothing to do but go forth in the wild neon yonder, spend our hard-earned cash and try to have a little fun while celebrating our 1-year anniversary a week early (we got married at the Flamingo last year). Which we did because it is, after all, Vegas.

Some people come to Bugsy's town to try to win it big, and we certainly did as such - try that is. We never win it big, or even little. In fact, we always lose. Blackjack is our main vice and the casinos that scooped up our dinero this year included the Flamingo where we stayed again, Casino Royale, Slots 'A Fun, Sahara ($3 tables!) the Orleans and the Golden Nugget. Yikes...

The Nugget is located in old Vegas on Fremont Street. We highly recommend you visit that impressively refurbished hotel if you get a chance, and browse the others in the area. Here's what Fremont Street looks like:

Gambling wasn't actually tops on our list of activities, however. We ate at at several tasty places that I'll go into more detail about in my food blog. One night, we dressed up and went to a "fancy" dinner at a swanky Italian place in the Wynn. I can now honestly say that a red dress does attract attention, even in Vegas. Thanks Calvin Klein!

The trip wasn't devoid of other cultural experiences either. We visited the Atomic Testing Museum just off the strip on East Flamingo Road.

It offers an extensive history of nuclear testing in the United States. Did you know the Nevada Testing Site, located outside of the city, conducted above-ground nuclear tests until 1992? The $10 admission is worth it, thanks to lots of interactive features, tons of memorabilia, interesting photographs and, of course, the many historical lessons offered, not to mention learned. It certainly doesn't shy away from the controversy surrounding nuclear weapons, their use, distruction and lasting affects. Issues from the nuclear protest movement to radiation affects to how testing is now conducted on a much smaller scale are covered. It even simulates what a nuclear explosion looked and sounded like to observors sitting miles away. Cool. I bought a mushroom cloud mousepad for work.

We also visited the Guggenheim Hermitage Museum in the Venetian. A $15 admission got us access to 37 "modern masters" from the Guggenheim collection. I had no idea that Pablo Picasso's 'Pitcher and Bowl of Fruit' from 1931 was so... kinky.

And we had to visit Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum, where plenty of hilarious picture opportunities abound. There's Al Roker interviewing me about my visit to the Flamingo's "european style" pool. Interestingly enough, it cost us substantially more to see wax celebrities than it did priceless works of art. Go figure.

Also highlighting our week was seeing George Carlin perform at the Orleans. Still raunchy as all get out, Carlin noted that he just turned 70, which explains why he seems to be winding down a little. His stand-up was still appropriately peppered with profanity and he insulted probably every person on the planet with some new material he was trying out on us, but he didn't seem to have that punch that he used to. Ah well, he's still awesome.

So we obviously packed quite a bit into this trip. Last year was spent doing more gawking and watching free stuff like the pirate routine at Treasure Island, so we tried to save up in order to experience some different things this year and I think we accomplished that.

- By Joy Brown, Courier staff writer

Chicago: Big City Birthday

I clambered into the Yukon -- the only leather-padded, reclining way my father was willing to travel -- with one Daddy, one son and four diet Cokes to drive through the night from Whitehouse, Ohio to Chicago earlier this month. I have made this trip several times, and I must say: Driving at night with just a few random semi-trucks is the way to go, provided you can stay awake or have the blessed chance to chat with your usually reticent papa for five straight hours.

We descended upon my mother -- in town as a voting member of the ELCA Churchwide Assembly -- at the Hyatt Regency at 151 E. Wacker St. at 3 a.m. like gypsies, complete with brown paper bags under our arms. (I was mortified to discover my father had packed his toiletries in such a manner but was thankful the ungodly hour presented only one pair of valet eyes to behold them. I paid him $5 to keep quiet.)

I would rarely do this, but our hotel really was beautiful: Click here for a slideshow of images, although only the first few showcase the impressive atrium. My son, Gabe, was less impressed. There was no swimming pool anywhere in this sky-scraping multi-towered building, and he was unsuccessful in brow-beating us into paying the "discount" $25 access to an athletic facility a block away just to go swimming.

Instead we took him to Shedd Aquarium, where everything from frogfish to beluga whales were swimming around. The periodic dolphin shows are wonderful, although the aim is more educational science and less theatrical Sea World. The best part about the show in the Oceanarium is the illusion provided by the building's ingenious circular design, situated right on Lake Michigan; the dolphin pool spills over the edge near windows that provide an endless view of water. There are more than just aquatic creatures among the 24,000-plus animals here, including birds, spiders and the weirdest looking shield-tail agama I've ever seen in the Lizards and the Komodo King exhibit. We had a wonderful lunch right there at Shedd's fine dining restaurant, Soundings, which features sustainable seafood and locally grown organic produce. I had the best seat in the house, in the corner with windows that overlooked both the lake and the downtown skyline.

After lunch we headed just down the street to Adler Planetarium, where we tilted our heads back and rested our exploding knee caps during a most instructive lecture on constellations. Admittedly this place held more interest for my son, who turned 11 that very day, than either myself or my dad. Gabe would have gladly stayed there all day, especially once he found the robotic moon rover that visitors can program by computer and then watch roll over rocks and bump into walls.

But he was turning 11 after all, and such a momentous occasion called for a fantastic experience at Mike Ditka's, the former Bears coach's restaurant. While one does not have to check her ovaries at the door, this is truly a man's man kind of place, with sumptuous yet muted decor, dark wood detailing, and sports-themed artwork everywhere. Waiting for my mother to arrive after a day of national church business, Dad and Gabe sat at the bar sipping scotch and micro-brewed root beer, respectively, while I accidentally spilled the best $12 dirty martini with blue cheese-stuffed olives I've ever had all over my birthday boy. What a milestone -- his first alcohol abuse. Upstairs the attendant in the women's room helped clean us both up, and when we returned to the bar there were complimentary replacement drinks awaiting us, "on the Coach." Upon my mother's arrival, we were comfortably seated in one of the smaller dining rooms and waited on by efficient, courteous staff. We enjoyed pot roast nachos, lobster bisque and steaks even better than our own farm-raised beef. My son ordered, and devoured, calamari and rack of lamb. That's how you celebrate 11.

We would have enjoyed the nearby observatory in the John Hancock building -- one of the five attractions on our City Passes, THE way to do tourist-type things and save money -- but we were too full, too tired and too loaded down with hats and T-shirts from the restaurant gift shop. Instead we chatted with the valet as we waited for our truck, learning that our night was a rare exception to Mike Ditka's typical presence at the restaurant. The fireworks exploding over the city that night weren't really arranged for Gabe's birthday; a display is presented over Navy Pier every Wednesday and Saturday night during the summer.

The next day we visited Field Museum and the most complete T. rex skeleton in the world: Sue. We probably could have spent six or seven days exploring the myriad exhibits here, but we made do with dinosaurs, Egyptian mummies and dirt. Yes, dirt. We were "shrunk" to microscopic size and plunged into a tunnel for a bug's-eye view of what's underground. Take a virtual tour to learn about beetles, roots and conservation.

For lunch, we went to Navy Pier via water taxi, providing a welcome breeze and water spray in such sweltering heat. We took "Gotta Go" there and "Wai Wai" on the way back; after seeing another boat named "Andale," I suppose the whole fleet is christened for whatever means "get me there quick." We met my mother for yummy fare at Riva's Cafe and then enjoyed a stroll through the magnificent Smith Museum of Stained Glass Windows. We shopped a little, but it was mostly overpriced tourist kitsch and we bypassed it all. 

While Dad rested at the hotel, Gabe and I walked across the Chicago River to the Tribune Tower, one of my personal must-sees in the Windy City. Designed to be the "most beautiful office building in the world" in a 1922 contest, its cathedral silhouette is formed with stones plucked from famous sites all over the world. But more importantly, carved into the walls of the newspaper lobby are several quotes pertaining to the freedom of the press and the importance of watching one's government like a junkyard dog. I made Gabe read every single one.

We then flitted down Michigan Avenue, the "Miracle Mile," the Land of Serious Shopping. We picked up some birthday gifts at the Lego store, which was impressively stacked with life-sized statues of R2-D2 and Darth Vader made completely from Lego bricks, and a thank-you gift at Hugo Boss for our family farm sitter tending dogs, cats, goats and "all creatures, great and small."

We then bid my mother adieu and headed back east, regrettably through daytime traffic and construction delays. Chicago is a notorious pain to navigate, but I have been remarkably lucky -- and decidedly aggressive while driving a big truck -- and have always gotten through there just fine.

My only caveat: This was an expensive trip. Apart from the elevated train, which my father wasn't about to get on, or walking, which my father wasn't capable of doing, getting around town is pricey, especially when you're using the valet everywhere you go. At least the water taxi was fun too. But such an expense is SO much better than driving around trying to find a parking place. We of course took the standard tourist approach to the city, which is solely purposed for making a lot of money, but it was an easy way to keep three generations happy at once. I've hung out in Chicago before with far fewer funds and still had a good time, but I'm glad to have had this kind of experience as well.

Still, it's only a teeny fraction of what Chicago has to offer. Art museums can be one vacation all to themselves. Funky ethnic neighborhoods, lake cruises, sporting events and deep dish pizza are also signature experiences. Gabe has decided that each double-digit birthday (11, 22, 33, etc.) should be declared a "Big City Birthday," and I bet he just might find himself in Chicago again one day. I hope we're invited.

By Rebecca Conklin, Courier online editor

Hank's Place: Dearborn, Mich.

A Visit to Greenfield Village in Detroit

If you enjoy history, you will really like the historically significant buildings that are located there. If you enjoy looking at yesteryear, you will appreciate "the way things were," and if you are looking for a special day trip, you will find the two hour trip to Dearborn to be about just right. There is indeed, something for everyone at Greenfield Village.

As part of "The Henry Ford," Greenfield Village is primarily a collection of historically significant buildings. But don't think that you will simply wander from place to place just looking at them.  Along the way, you will find the streets to be crowded with horse-drawn carriages, old Model Ts and period cyclists riding high wheel bicycles. Don't forget the Village's inhabitants who stroll the streets in period costumes, eager to pose in a picture for you.

The Village is divided into several major areas; there is a railroad section, a farm section, one for industry, one for "Porches & Parlors" and one featuring Henry Ford himself. There are some others sprinkled in to make an interesting mix. Among other things, you will find a small railroad roundhouse where the Village's railroad equipment is displayed & maintained, Henry Ford's first factory for the production of automobiles, Thomas Edison's Menlo Park Laboratory and the H.J.Heinz house.

On the green, you might find a period baseball game. At one of the school buildings, you might also be treated to a (very short) day in class or you may wish to pause reflectively in the New England church in the Village. If you are interested in a little more adventure, how about a ride in a restored Model T, a jaunt around town in a horse-drawn carriage or even a short trip on a paddleboat steamer? Don't forget the ride around the Village on the steam powered passenger train.

In terms of practical considerations, the streets & sidewalks are all paved so that those with strollers or wheelchairs will find it easy to get around, and it shouldn't be messy should a brief shower accompany your visit. Food & drink are available there and there is also gift shopping as well. Additional information about Greenfield Village and the rest of The Henry Ford complex can be found at their Web site:  www.thehenryford.org. You will surely find this to be a great way to spend a summer day.

By Dan Merkel, electronic sales representative

Portland, Oregon

So I packed up my stuff, kissed my dog goodbye (wiped my lips on my shirt sleeve) and headed off on vacation last week.

Now, while I actually got on the plane last Tuesday, this little trip to Portland, Oregon to see some old friends started months earlier.

My little fandango began way back in March when my friends Brian and Lisa decided to escape northwest Ohio and move to the Pacific Northwest for the culture and scenery. Naturally, I spent the several months immediately following their departure talking about going out to visit them while not actually doing anything about it.

I put off the trip off to finish up a project at work before taking off because I didn’t want it sitting over my head, so it was sometime in May before I got down to the excruciating exercise of shopping around the Internet for airline tickets.

I spent weeks visiting Web sites like Travelocity.com, Orbitz.com, Expedia.com, DoyouthinkI’mmadeofmoney?.com and Justbuytheticketforgod’ssake.com several times a day.

I put in every variable I could think of to try and find the cheapest fare possible. What if I fly out of Toledo? What if I fly out of Detroit? What if I leave and come back on Tuesdays? What if I leave on a Wednesday but come back on a Saturday? What if I fly out of Toledo but stop over in Cincinnati? What if I fly out of Detroit but have no layovers? What if I stay only four days? What if I stay eight days? What if I wear green on the flight? What if I have a nervous breakdown trying to figure this all out and wind up spending all my money on Xanax?

Jeez-o-Pete! Do you remember the days before the Internet when you just bought tickets from a travel agent? You walked in, they told you what they had, and you bought it. There was no haggling over price; no bickering over layovers. Take it or leave ... and smile while you write that check, mister!

Still, once I had the ticket, the waiting for the date of departure to roll around was even worse than ticket shopping. And of course work has been as slow as all get out ... with the Ohio Legislature on break and the city government shifting into its usual summertime low gear ... so naturally the days just crawled.

Then, of course, I was running about 45 minutes behind schedule the actual day of my flight, so I was rushing around like a chicken with my head cut off.

Now I always request a seat in one of the emergency exit rows because you get more leg room and sometimes there’s only one seat to the aisle, but alas, the airline gods did not see fit to grant my request even once during my entire trip.

When I boarded the plane for the final four-hour leg of my trip to Portland, I was hopeful that I might be the only person in my row, but two great big giant bubbas showed up at the last minute and plopped down next to me.

AAAAAAAwwwww, &#$%!

But I’m hear to tell you the guy sitting next to me was the kindest ... and freshest smelling ... person I’ve ever met! Sitting next to him was probably more pleasant than if I had gotten my solitary seat on the emergency exit row.

So I hunkered down in my seat and quietly waited for my legs to go numb during the on-flight movie. Have you ever noticed they always play the most G-rated, non-offensive, i.e. boring movies on airplanes? Sadly it was no surprise when the movie came on and I discovered it was called something like "Flippity Floppity, the Happy Bunny Goes to Joyful, Candy Coated Love Land."

There are moments ... not many ... but there are moments when I seriously question why I gave up drinking.

When we landed, I bid farewell to my newfound, sweet-smelling friend and got juiced for my vacation to finally start.

Now, the time I actually spent on the ground in Oregon (it’s pronounce Or-a-gun; heaven help you if you pronounce it Or-a-g-on out there, you’ll never hear the end of it!) was spectacular.

I dined at some great restaurants (the trick is to ask locals where they eat), hiked Mount St. Helen’s, visited Crater Lake and got caught up on the lives of some of my dearest and closest friends. As an added bonus, an old college roommate of mine just happens to be living in Portland these days with her husband and son, so I also got to spend time with them.

And on top of that, I even had time to finish up two books I’ve been reading for the last 200 years: "A portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" by James Joyce and Jack Kerouac’s "Mexico City Blues."

And oh, there’s a book store in Portland called Powell’s that is, and I’m not kidding you, one city block wide and three stories high! Every time I walk into a normal bookstore I get discouraged about all of the wonderful books out there I still have yet to read, but walking into Powell’s made me want to simply tie a rock around my waist and throw myself into the Willamette River!

But, I didn’t, and after a week of pretending like Ohio didn’t exist, it was time for me to return to my life. I’m sure Brian and Lisa threw a party when I finally cleared out. Having been a host numerous times myself, I know it’s always nice to see house guests, but it’s always nice to see house guests go too.

Once inside the Portland airport, Murphy’s Law kicked in. Somebody already had checked in under my name so I had to go a special counter to get that straightened out and convince them I don’t need to pay $50 to check my third bag because I, in fact, had not checked in one bag yet!

Well, on the way to the special counter, I forgot my CD case at another counter, got my situation straightened out, and made my way to an escalator that promptly took me to the parking garage.

Once back inside, I noticed my CD was gone, went back to the original counter I had been at and retrieved it.

After that I went to get in line to go through the metal detector when some some extremely uptight-looking woman cut right in front of me!

Halfway through that line, I realized the person at the special counter did not give me a boarding pass for my layover in Cincinnati, so I got out of line and spent the next five minutes explaining that I was not, in fact, trying to elude the metal detector.

Back at the special counter the guy told me I would get a boarding pass in Cincinnati, I had everything I needed for right now and would I please go away because he was very busy.

I went to get back in line for the metal detector and some teenager cut right in front of me this time.

Then they tore apart my carry-on bag because the X-ray machine showed I had a container full of liquid. The dastardly eye contact solution didn’t make it past that crack squad, but I was allowed to keep it because it was less than 12 fluid ounces.

So I made my way to a magazine shop to kill some time and then go to board my plane. Unfortunately, that’s when I discovered I had misplaced the one boarding pass I was given.

The lady at the counter joked, "Oh well, we can’t let you on the plane then!"

HAHAHAHA! Keep it up!

She then promptly printed me out a boarding pass not only for Portland but also for the one I needed for Cincinnati, which comforted me on some level.

Once I was on the plane, I was seated next to a little old lady who must have been about 105 and wasn’t going to give up an inch on the shared arm rest for love nor money! The movie on the flight back was "The Eternally Prepubescent Looking Sensitive Boy Gains Valuable Insight Into How Smoochy Girls Think."

When I all was said and done, I made it home alive.

Now, I know everyone says they love to travel, but, in general, I kind of hate it. It’s stressful and expensive and I know this sounds weird but my feet always hurt when I fly. I don’t know what it is, but my feet ache when they come within 100 yards of an airport.

Douglas Adams, author of the "Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy" series once wrote that it can hardly be a coincidence that no human language in the history of mankind ever came up with the phrase, "Pretty as an airport." Buildings, he reasoned, are meant to reflect the general mood of the people inside them and people in airports are usually in ugly moods.

Amen, brother.

Nope, I don’t think I’m going to venture past the local fishing hole for my next vacation. You see, I know a place with all the comforts of home: It’s called HOME!

By John Graber, Courier reporter