Funneling Through To Indianapolis

By Ric Larson 

As a native Detroiter, I've seen many tornadoes, rainstorms, 
hailstorms, and firestorms (oops, I'm sorry, that's another 
subject!). I didn't expect much in the way of weather from 
Indianapolis, aside from the typical sauna-like heat and gray 
skies, which we fun-loving Midwesterners refer to as suicide 
skies. But whoa baby, God must have been in a real foul mood the 
night we arrived, or He'd been on the job too long. 

I landed along with my colleagues from SHAREWARE UPDATE at 
beautiful and congestion-free O'Hare International Airport on a 
flight from San Francisco. First of all, I was tickled pink to be 
at O'Hare again. If there is anything that can go wrong at an 
airport, it always seems to be at O'Hare and always when I'm 
there. I had an inkling something must be wrong because the sky 
was darker than my present financial situation and it was only 3 
o'clock in the afternoon. Most flights were canceled or in the 
process of being canceled due to tornado warnings in the area. 
So what else is new? I thought. Tornadoes were invented in 
Chicago, along with deep dish pizza, so we would have something 
to eat before we got sucked through a plate glass window. 

Our flight to Indianapolis was canceled and the tickets were non-
refundable, so we had no choice but to rent a car. The rental  
companies were deluged with deranged businessmen looking for a 
way to get to where they were going so they could close that 
career deal. We ended up with a Buick LeSabre that the clerk 
guaranteed would easily fit six people. A Buick LeSabre? I can 
see a Roadmaster or a Range Rover, but a LeSabre? No way. I own a 
1990 Skylark which is comparable and there isn't a way on God's 
green earth that six people can fit into it COMFORTABLY. Anyway, 
we squeezed ourselves into the Starkist can and made our way to 
Indianapolis. 

We proceeded through Chicagoland at the breakneck speed of a 
tortoise, inhaling the bus fumes and trying to endure the wicked 
humidity. Before we knew it, we saw the " Welcome to Indiana" 
sign and in only 160 miles, sitting cheek to cheek, we would be 
there. The countryside was, how should I say, sparse, but the 
weird Bud Sadler made the trip a laugh a minute. (Ask him 
sometime about Tourette's syndrome). I thought I heard rumbling 
sounds coming from the car, but I realized it was the collective 
sounds of our stomachs begging for Hoosier food. We stopped at a 
down-home place called Grandma's Restaurant and Truck Stop. 
Grandma wasn't there but the simulated spaghetti dinner was. And 
boy, were we in luck, it was all-you-could-eat night. Somehow 
they forgot to drain the water from the spaghetti before they 
added the sauce. Maybe there was a water conservation policy in 
this county. After savoring this feast of gastronomical delight, 
Tom Knackstedt decided to freshen up in the men's room. Tom 
didn't leave Grandma's with a good impression because someone 
stole his $200 prescription sunglasses. I'd like to have been 
there when the thief tried them on and found they were 
prescription. I think Tom would've liked to have been there too, 
only with a .44 magnum. 
  
Then the real fun began. On our way out of Grandma's, the light 
show started. Like I said before, I've seen lots of storms in the 
Midwest, but this one was Grade AAA, one that definitely   
impressed my Western friends. Magic Veil all the way. 

The sky was lit up like night air strikes in Baghdad. In fact it 
reminded me of a Pink Floyd concert I once saw in the 60s. The 
lightning bolts were absolutely riveting, long and violent. At 
times it looked briefly like daylight, I could even see cows. 
Believe me they were bummed. We kept cruising in our rolling 
lightning rod, when a bolt struck the pavement just inches from 
our back bumper. Thank God that car had a good suspension, 
because we all jumped up in unison, smacking our heads on the 
roof, and crashed down again into seats that felt like you were 
sitting in a big hand. Then the rain and hail started, as if the 
lightning wasn't enough. 

We finally arrived at Adam's Mark. Bud and I checked into our 
room about 10:30 PM and immediately became extremely thirsty. We 
decided to go out and find a store that sold malt beverages. 
Before we left we noticed that the television station we were 
watching said that there was a tornado warning in our area, just 
before it abruptly went off the air. I assured Bud that this 
happens all the time in this part of the country, and that we 
should not allow an act of God to prevent us from completing our 
mission. 

As we were trying to drive to a store, the trees, it seemed to 
us, were growing in a strange position. Like they were on top of 
a magnetic field or something. They were bent all the way over 
and were shedding their limbs on the roadside. We saved tire wear 
on the car, though, because the wind was blowing so hard we were 
driving on two tires instead of four. Finally, we found a place 
called Elvin's Curve Inn that sold the beverages we were looking 
for. Elvin's looked like people curved in there a few too many 
times in the past. The patrons were mean, tough-looking pool 
sharks with tattoos that said Dad, with an arrow through the 
heart. And they were the women. 

The odyssey ended when we arrived back at the hotel to see people 
standing and milling about. They stared at us with incredulous 
looks that said "Are you guys nuts or something?" Bud and I went 
up to our room to quench our thirst. We didn't find out until the 
next morning that the hotel evacuated the other guests to the 
basement while we were gone. Hey, we didn't know.

I can't wait to go back to Indianapolis next year. Maybe there'll 
be an earthquake or something.