Just got home to Illinois

Urbana, Illinois — 3260.1 miles

Actually, that line, a variation on a theme by John Fogerty, just doesn't sound right, even though I was born in Illinois fiftysomeodd years ago: I've never quite felt any gut-level connection to the Land of Lincoln. For one thing, I wasn't here long enough for the place to imprint itself on me: before I was two I was whisked off to Maryland. And it's not like I have any relatives around here: neither of my parents had any Illinois roots.

On the other hand, there are some nice things about Illinois. For one thing, I get to stifle a giggle when I have to write to a place called Springfield (I imagine Patty or Selma sitting on the request for a week) for a copy of my birth certificate. For another, so long as you're not in the shadow of Chicago, it's sort of wide-open and innocent. (Chicago has charms of its own, but that's a tale for another time.) And while I'm not overly fond of Governor Blatherskite, not a whole lot of politicians impress me anyway. Besides, Abraham Lincoln was born in Kentucky, fercryingoutloud.

The route up from Nashville was uncomplicated: I-24 to I-57 to I-74. A little rain north of Effingham, but otherwise uneventful. One thing I did notice down in Music City: apparently almost everyone in the hotel had checked out before I did, which was 8:30 am. I mean, there wasn't even a straggler for the waning moments of the Free Continental Breakfast. (Like they have biscuits on the Continent. As if.)

Trini wrote to tell me that I'd missed a Woot-Off. Just as well. You don't want me constantly hitting F5 while driving; I might hit something else. (And someone took out a deer on 57 this morning. Wasn't me.)

Posted at 3:50 PM to World Tour '07