Last week I explained the rules and reasons for the “2018 Purge and Connection Tour” (T-Shirts and CDs available in the lobby after the show). Rules: No Destination. No Agenda. No time limit. No interstate highways. No GPS navigation systems (just a 2002 Rand-McNally Road Atlas and a magnifying glass). All major decisions were to be determined by a coin toss. Reasons: Purge away the things that need to be purged (we all have something). Connect with new experiences and reconnect with experiences that are not quite forgotten (again, we all have something).

After I had escaped the long arm of the law (details in last week’s episode). I continued to meander around Indiana. After about 8 hours of following the Wabash River and slowly drifting in a southerly direction, I decided a clean, comfortable bed might be in order. Since Google Maps was against the rules, it stood to reason that Expedia and Trivago were equally unacceptable. How does one find a clean, cheap room these days without using the internet? Old school — I stopped at a truck stop and asked a driver where a guy could find a cheap room without the fear of bringing home unwanted “pets”? T

hat place was the Flamingo Motel in Dunreith, Indiana. It is a true 1950s era “Motor Court”; a single story array of a dozen or so rooms, with parking directly outside each door. When I say 1950s era, I mean I don’t think anything in the place has changed since 1950. The room was clean, the bed was comfortable, and the price was $49.28 – yes, less than 50 bucks. This needed to be the third goal of the expedition – rooms should only cost $50. That turned out to be a real challenge, but more about that, later.

Dunreith, Indiana is a very small Hoosier village in the truest sense of small Hoosier villages. It has a population of less than 200 and its greatest claim to fame is being the birthplace of Jon Cryer’s mother (remember John Cryer — from “Two and a Half Men”?). However, I think folks from Dunreith should make a point of bragging about their greatest asset, Highway US-40.

Since travel along interstate highways was greatly restricted by the aforementioned rules of the road, my trusty Rand-McNally Road Atlas showed that I-70 was built parallel to US-40 – I could take US-40 east or west, without ramping onto an interstate.

What the atlas did not reveal was that US-40 is the Old National Road, the first major improved highway, financed by the federal government — our first “interstate highway.” Construction of the National Road began in 1811, heading west from Cumberland, Maryland on the Potomac River. Twenty-six years later, construction stopped in Vandalia, Illinois – when the money ran out. The National Road linked half of our nation together by threading a ribbon of roadway through villages, hamlets, cities, and towns like Dunreith.

Interesting to note, provided within the route design process, taverns were strategically stationed along the National Road to provide lodging, meals, and a full tank of oats. I can’t help but marvel at a highway project that intentionally included alcohol.

Once I had learned its historical significance, deciding to travel the National Road was a no brainer. However, the time had come for the first Decision of Consequence – which way do I go? I pulled from my pocket a solitary quarter, selected specifically for such tasks of great importance. “Heads”, I go west. “Tails”, I go east. The first coin toss of the voyage came up “Tails.”

Larry Wilson is a mostly lifelong resident of Niles. His essays stem from experiences, compilations and recollections from friends and family. He can be reached at wflw@hotmail.com.