After setting out, our first destination was Champaign, IL. Actually, the first place we want was Savoy, IL, where Andy's mom lived for a few years, and Andy spent one summer. After that, it was off to find a Steak 'n' Shake. Andy had the 5-way chili, which wasn't great, and Amy had a tremendous burger. Of course, we both downed shakes and left pretty full.
Amy: I used to go to Steak 'n' Shake when I lived in Florida as a young'un. They had these hot peppers that my brother Dennis used to eat, and then
he'd drink my water with a look of sheer terror in his eyes. Then he'd offer one to me. "They're not that bad," he'd choke, tears running down his cheeks.
Andy: I dunno, I just thought the bottle of peppers on the table was really gross, so I had to move it to another table. They really were repulsive.
Amy: Wimp.
While trying to find a Steak 'n' Shake, and Parasol Records, we stopped at a gas station, and Andy went in to look for addresses in a phone book. Meanwhile, Amy decided to get a newspaper, on her ulterior mission of collecting newspapers from our trip for her journalism class.
Amy: I made a trip to the garbage can to dispose of the first round of trash, and noticed a man in the car parked facing us lookin' at me with big ole mean eyes. He was slumped in the passenger seat, and I decided to ignore him while I purchased my periodical. After I deposited my 35 cents I felt rather than saw him loom up behind me. "Let me get one of those! Let me have one!" he cried eagerly as I slammed the door to the box shut with a resounding, "NO." The man was stunned. "Why not?" he asked. I started back to the White Cloud trying to be tough, yet get my ass to safety as quickly as possible. "Because...because it's illegal," I finished firmly. Illegal? As I hopped in the van, I heard him begin his tirade, replete with small dance movements to illustrate his disdain. "Ho! Fuckin' ho! Fatass bitch ho'!" I smiled at him warmly from the safety of the Cloud and thumbed through the paper, sweating profusely and wishing Andy would finish his errand inside before I had to take the part of Michael Peters in the "Beat It" dance.
Andy: I didn't know what had happened outside, but while I was hunting for the address, I heard the guy come in and say to his friend "Man, gimme 35 fuckin' cents, willya?" He was pretty annoyed. I'm glad no caps were popped.
After lunch at Steak 'n' Shake, we made our way to the Parasol house. Parasol is a record label and mail-order distributor run by some swell Champaign folks, and you can just walk on in and browse through their selection of records and books, all the while hoping there are no small creatures lurking in the paper and detritus of running a label lying around on the floor.
Items purchased:
Our next stop:
Horse poop in Arcola, IL