Project journal

Let's call this essay "A week in the life of a sports reporter" or "How a guy in a rented Cadillac explored Minnesota for a week and had fun doing it."

Considering the price of gas, last week probably wasn't the best time to drive more than 1,100 miles around the state in a Cadillac. But the Cadillac was not my idea; it was thrust upon me.

The Star Tribune pays employees around 45 cents a mile when we use our own cars for business purposes. For this project, I wasn't overly excited about putting so many miles on my little fuel-efficient, four-door car. I also knew that if I rented a car at company expense, it would be cheaper for the Star Tribune than paying me on a per-mile basis.

So I made an online reservation for a midsize car at a rental company near my house. (I won't name the rental company, but Star Trek fans who know the name of Captain Kirk's ship might have a clue.) When I arrived to pick up the car, there was a problem. No midsize cars were available, I was told, so would I mind terribly if they gave me a Cadillac DeVille for the same price?

Hmmm. Let me think. I nestle down into Cadillac leather for five days and save my company money at the same time? Looks like a win-win to me.

The themes

As the week went on, several themes from life on the road became clear. They included the highs and lows of eating in the car, the abundance of April road kill on Minnesota highways, a sore throat that developed into a hacking cough, and a sense of gratitude for CDs.

Because the first day of this project required a short drive to a golf course in Eagan, most of those 1,100-some miles were covered in four days. The route looks a little odd, especially the Winona-to-Virginia-to-Stewartville legs. It didn't make much geographical sense to be in Winona one day, drive to the Iron Range the next day and then return to southern Minnesota a day later. But that's the way the stories and schedules developed, so we went with it.

The schedule allowed me to return home every evening instead of spending any nights in hotels. (That was another lucky break for the company, which didn't have to pay hotel bills.) But that also meant each day's drive was lengthy. It took me three and a half hours to get to Virginia, for example. I was there for two hours and then jumped in the car for the three and a half hour drive home.

En route to Brandon on Friday, west-bound Interstate 94 was closed because of an accident near Sauk Centre. All traffic was routed off the interstate, so I pulled out the laminated Minnesota map that I keep in my briefcase and wound through the villages of Meire Grove, Greenwald and Elrosa before returning to I-94 on the other side of the accident.

The routine

My routine for the week went something like this: arrive home from each assignment between 8 and 10 p.m.; sit at my laptop computer and write that day's story, usually finishing by midnight or a little later; spend a few minutes looking at the next day's plans before going to bed; wake up at 6:05 and shake my 14-year-old daughter to get up for school; see her out the door around 6:40; go back to bed while my wife wakes up for work; sleep until around 9 a.m.; walk the wiener dog, take a shower and eat breakfast; spend some time back at the computer, firming up plans for the day. By noon (give or take, depending on the day's drive) I was back behind the wheel.

As I left Twin Cities radio range, I had some options. In the Rochester area, I had the advantage of KRPR-FM, a public-radio station that plays commercial-free classic rock. It is most excellent. Sometimes I let the radio's "scan" button take me to mysterious and intriguing places, where calls went out over the airwaves alerting listeners to keep their eyes open for a lost Alaskan Husky and alerting them to the noon special at the highway diner.

I also threw a handful of CDs into the car for the week. My top three all received air time in the Cadillac: 1) Green Day (American Idiot); 2) the soundtrack to "O Brother, Where Art Thou?"; 3) Flogging Molly (Drunken Lullabies). They made the miles go just a little faster.

Now, about the food. I had one very pleasant dining experience outside the car. Along Interstate 35 on the way to Virginia, I stopped at Tobies in Hinckley for the only actual sit-down away-from-home meal of the week. I had the German Reuben with seasoned fries. It was terrific.

The rest of the week is a blur of teenage arms sticking out of drive-through windows and handing me bags of hamburgers, fries, chicken sandwiches, a burrito and a taco. That last meal was a very bad choice. If you have ever tried to eat a burrito or taco in the car, you know what I'm talking about.

Returning from Winona (or maybe it was Stewartville; like I said, it's a blur) I drove through a place in Rochester that tosses tacos and burritos through open car windows. What was I thinking, trying to drive and eat such sloppy food? By the time I pulled over at a gas station in Zumbrota to clean up the mess, I had spilled taco and burrito parts all over my shirt, my pants and the fine leather of the DeVille.

Mayo, bugs and gas

Driving through Rochester and seeing the Mayo Clinic always reminds me of an episode that took place when I was 15 years old. I was a very non-brilliant teenager, which was evident the day I rode a bicycle into a window. My hands went through the glass first, resulting in various slices and dices. The doctor at our local hospital didn't know what he could do, so I was sent to Rochester for repairs. They stitched me up and I wore casts on both hands for a few weeks during that hot summer, but I turned out OK thanks to St. Mary's Hospital and the Mayo Clinic.

I chatted with dozens of people during the week. Whenever someone learns I work at the Star Tribune, there are two standard questions they ask: 1) What is Sid Hartman really like; 2) What's going to happen with the new stadiums? (Answers: Sid is a very pleasant man; I don't know.

I found it funny that during all the lathered-up media hype surrounding the NFL draft, not one person mentioned the Vikings, their new uniforms or the draft.

I wish I had kept a head count of all the deceased critters I saw along the road. Deer, raccoon, opossum, rabbit, squirrel, lots of species were represented. But they were vastly outnumbered by the bugs that died a violent death upon the Cadillac's windshield. I would not have guessed that insects would be such a factor in late April, but every time I gassed up I had to use some serious elbow grease to scrape those buggers off the glass.

For the record, here are the prices I paid for gas: $2.79, $2.71, $2.78 and $2.68.

One final thought on this week-long trip around Minnesota: This project would be a snap in Rhode Island.