We arrived in sleepy St. Cloud around 1am, Friday, December 10th after diving 1,065 miles since leaving Sevierville around 6am. Due to weather and road conditions we had not established any sort of commitments to accommodations, as we were uncertain how far fatigue and weather issues would permit us to get. At some point around 9pm when we made a fuel stop in Wisconsin rumours began to circulate that the highway patrol intended to close the interstate due to icing issues. We began debating whether to make arrangements to board up there at Wisconsin Dells, or strike on for as far as the state troopers would allow. With the primary objective being arriving at St. Cloud and acquiring the beastie, we grabbed some Red Bull and forged on, daring the state of Wisconsin to stop us at their own peril! After several furious, white knuckle hours of driving in an all out blizzard we hit the Minnesota state line, and a break in the storm. From there on in to St. Cloud was pleasant, albeit tiresome. The last hour or so of the blizzard we found rejuvenation in the form of a classic Country & Western radio station, belting out Hank Williams Sr., Patsy Cline, Bill Monroe, and a host of Grand Ole Opry legends. Mind you, it isn't my typical musical selection, but when faced with the monotony of white out conditions since Chicago, it was a nice interruption to our routines to hear the old stuff for a change of pace. As we neared Minneapolis the sounds of Old Nashville faded out of range, and our new priority became landing somewhere for the night. The primary factor in our selection was distance to location of snake, which would determine how much time we would need the next morning to find their house. After searching around, we found several hotels where within 10 miles of the address for the snake. At 1am we hit the parking lot of a Days Inn, and I began intense negotiations for an agreement on what I was willing to pay for 6 hours sleep. After about 6 minutes of bantering, I and the bleary eyed host of Pakistani origins determined $45 was the take it or leave it cost for a few hours of rest. Another Red Bull and I might have badgered them down to $25, but I was already on the ropes so I caved in.
The next morning we bolted out the door at 7am to close in on our objective. With the aid of the GPS, and the spot on directions of John, the fine Minnesotan we were meeting to transfer ownership of the beastie from, we arrived at our destination. It wasn't until we had secured the Jeep in John's garage that I realized how weather worn our ride had become. The once light green hue of the ole Cherokee was now a frosty white haze barely recognizable to its original form. We were now approximately 26 hours from leaving home, and despite the weather and traffic obstacles, we had made it. As much as I had prepared for the mission, once I actually laid eyes on the beastie in person it took my breath for a moment. I had been fighting a cold since the day before we left, and the fatigue of the mileage the day before was wearing me down. Seeing an 18 foot, 250 pound Burmese Python face to face took my legs out from in under me for a bit. Our host, John, a retired law enforcement and paramedic quickly diagnosed my condition, and scrambled upstairs to fetch me a remedy. John missed his calling, he should have been a Doctor/Pharmacist, cause he cured my ills right fast! I went from flat footed terror mixed with a borderline flu to bouncing around John's basement hugging the beastie and trying to reassure her she would be fine. After a quick review of her handling and care we wrestled her into the canvas bag that would be her mobile habitat. The critical component to her care is maintaining a temperature of 85 degrees or higher. The terrain we would be covering bare no resemblance to the tropics, so we retrofitted the cargo bay of the Cherokee to replicate the warmest climate possible. John scattered about a dozen packets of hot hands around the piles of blankets we had arranged for her. We cranked the heat as high as it would go, then lumbered the heavy canvas bag into the cargo bay. From a distance it must have appeared we were hauling a dead body out of John's basement, and I imagined by the time we opened the garage door the entire police force of tranquil little St. Cloud would be distributed guns drawn to confront an alleged homicide. I suppose the wear and tear of the hard miles, the hazy residue of multiple cold remedies and energy drinks, and the effects of John's remedy had me a little delusional, because we had no surprises once the garage door rose. We bid our host a fond farewell, and promised to some day meet again when we had more time to actually visit and learn more of John's fascinating story. But for now, it was time to score some breakfast and then roast the pavement toward Springfield, Illinois. We took John's recommendation and checked out the Copper Lantern. It was FANTASTIC! From there Bobby took the wheel for a while, and I pondered the logistics of smuggling a 250 pound Python into a first class luxury Hilton in Springfield. I was fairly certain that not only was the hotel limited in it's "pet friendly" accommodations, the idea of an 18 foot Burmese Python was completely incomprehensible to the establishment's management staff. I had plenty of time and nothing of consequence to distract me through the vast nothingness of Iowa.
Somewhere in the neighborhood of 7ish we crept into the pristine surroundings of Springfield, massive beastie riding comfortably in the cargo bay. What I hadn't counted on as we lurched into the driveway of the Springfield Hilton was the startling presence of Valet parking and a Bell Hop. I am accustomed to the spartan, pedestrian service of your run of the mill Super8. Out of professional courtesy, I had obliged the hospitality of my good friend and owner of the opulent Springfield Hilton, since he had insisted on accommodating us with a complementary room on our journey. I had not disclosed the nature of our adventure, only sharing the ambiguous detail that we were "picking something up off Craig's List for Bobby" as the reason for the road trip. At this point I was driving, thus I was the one charged with making up a firm reason this courteous young lad could neither park the Jeep, or take hand of our belongings as was his duty and responsibility. He was rather insistent on performing his assigned task, claiming it was Hilton policy to afford every guest the highest level of customer service. I wanted to explain that I was sure he probably wasn't presently earning "hazardous duty pay", and I would feel real bad if our very hungry, cranky from 572 miles of pot hole infested Iowa ate him. But I doubted that would be the most advantageous strategy. So I simply explained that I would have absolutely none of that, I was getting a free room, in a wonderful hotel, and I just couldn't accept having someone else expend the energy to carry my belongings. After what seemed an eternity, someone in a Mercedes pulled up behind us and began laying on the horn for me to get my salt covered, nasty heap out of his way. I dismissed the chap to get about his duties for that fellow instead, I would see to my junk alone. Sometimes it is handy to have some jerk like the guy in the Mercedes around I suppose. Once inside the expanse of the parking garage we prowled around until we discovered a secluded, dimly lit space as far from other cars as we could manage. Bobby decided to stay and keep the beastie company while I trudged into the plush, formal surroundings of a 5 Star luxury hotel. I can see why they were very insistent on managing the transport of my belongings, because this place is so massive it took me two flights of stairs, two elevators, twelve drunken convention goers, and three wings of the hotel to get from the car to the front desk. Once I arrived at the check in counter I realized what must have been going through the clerks mind. See, I have been working in lodging for twenty years, and have had the privilege of accommodating everything from statesmen, entertainers, folks of well heeled means, all the way to down and out drifters paying me in single dollar bills and loose change. I glanced down at my attire and realized I was most likely falling into the "loose change drifter" category. Better still was the mystery of my room being complimentary, which I feared would produce a more magnified scrutiny. So here I stood, a bleary eyed, sleep deprived, road weary, reeking of beef jerky, pistachios, and flat cheerwine, wearing a rumpled Missouri Football tee shirt and stained Red Sox hat. I had to be severely questionable as to having the financial means, or honorable intentions, worthy of taking board at a refined establishment such as this. Regardless of my appearance and unorthodox encounter with the Valet, I was quickly registered and handed the key card to a complimentary suite on the top floor. I scurried back through the maze to my Jeep, wondering if Bobby would already be partially digested by his new "pet". Having gotten us through the first level of security, I knew we still had a heavy burden ahead getting the Python through the lobby to our room.
We commandeered an abandoned luggage cart, scoped out the surroundings to make certain we weren't being watched, and wrangled the canvas clad beastie and all of our belongings onto the rickety device. My mind was racing through various scenarios as we awkwardly steered the cart through the gauntlet to our room. I imagined hotel security was waiting around every corner, waiting to pounce on us. I pictured being trapped in the elevator with some ill behaved brat poking at the canvas bag, causing Minne to start wriggled about fiercely, and our plot unravelling. We must have looked like the Beverly Hillbillies, two lumbering hicks dressed like vagrants, steering a ramshackle cart loaded down with a cumbersome, wriggling canvas bag, our belongings tied along the shaft in Kroger shopping bags, and a random space heater nestled on top of a pile of blankets, with the shifty eyed look of two delinquents attempting to smuggle a porn magazine out the drug store. Amazingly, we arrived unmolested at our suite and began preparing Minne for her temporary habitat in the palatial lavatory of our room. At this point I am starving, and eager to founder at the Bennigan's downstairs in the lobby. I don't bother to freshen up from the road, since the Python has sprawled the entire length of the bathroom floor, preferring to leave the beastie to some much needed peace and quiet. Downstairs I feast on pot roast, mashed potatoes, and anything else I can get my hands on. Early on in the meal had grand visions of perhaps exploring Springfield since it was still early in the evening. By the time I finish though the many miles and limited sleep begin to take their toll, and we both agree to adjourn to the room. At this point, I would like to share my impression of the fine establishment that is the Springfield Hilton. It certainly had the feel of exclusivity and privilege one might expect from the Hilton chain. With it's unique, rotund style architecture, I felt as though we were exploring the Death Star. Since we were sneaking around where we probably shouldn't have, I felt even more like we were in the Death Star, and a battalion of Storm Troopers were probably already searching for us. On the elevator we were joined by a motley looking character who, like us, had the look of not belonging there. After a few moments, the stranger broke the silence by claiming we had the elevator going up, when he had expected it to be going down. He seemed rather annoyed by this, but then casually offered to sell us some marijuana, as I suppose a gesture of alleviating the strained, weary expressions on our faces. We declined, and he jumped off at the next floor, no doubt looking for someone in need of a prescription. It made me wonder if before the night was over we might be joining this fellow again at the county lock up, both parties guilty of smuggling forbidden contraband into the hotel. I pondered which transgression would garner the stiffest penalty. If the crime were measured by street value, our pal on the elevator was in more trouble, if it were measured by the pound, it was Bobby and I that would be screwed. Anyways, it was by now very urgent to be retiring for the night. We got back to the room, and I decided it would be nice to grab a newspaper, and do a little reading to unwind, and take my mind off of things. I had already took my boots off, so since I was only going as far as the lobby, and I couldn't possibly risk appearing any worse in comparison to the legitimate hotel visitors, I ambled into the elevator in socked feet. Much to my disappointment, there were no newspapers in the lobby. I was advised by one of the Valet attendants that the nearest one was outside, down the block from the hotel entrance. I debated abandoning my quest and returning to the room, but I really wanted a local paper, since it is my custom to familiarize myself with the location whenever visiting a new place. So out into the street I go, a shoeless destitute in uncharted territory, alone. At the end of the block I find a stand of newspaper boxes, all empty. I spy another stand all the way down the back end of the hotel, on the corner of the next block. I have already traveled this far, why not? So I venture across the street and down that block, where I find an ample supply of papers. As I start back I notice over my shoulder a slow approaching car, a beat up baby blue oldsmobile. The passenger window rolls down, and I spot my long lost friend the drug rep from the elevator. He tells me to come over to the car a second, he wants to show me something. I dismiss his request, dart across the street, and scurry back to the secure environs of the hotel. The olds follows me all the way to the entrance, then does a u-turn, and speeds away. I had already decided in my mind if they were going to rob me, I was going to tell them I had a large canvas bag with thousands of dollars stowed away in the lavatory of my suite. I count myself lucky I didn't have to employ that strategy. Once I get back to the room, I abandoned my reading intentions and go straight to sleep.
The next morning we strike out early to again avoid any awkward encounters with the hotel staff. Again we meander the halls with the same rickety luggage cart, having secured it in our room for the night rather than giving it back to the lobby, fearing a shortage in the morning. When I check out at the desk, the clerk advised me that a massive winter storm was bearing down on the area, and it might be a good idea to get back to Tennessee as soon as I can. At first I ponder the notion she seemed very determined to expedite my departure under false pretenses. But when we stop to fuel up down the street we discover a flurry of excitement has consumed the community, and folks are scrambling around gathering vital supplies as if an invading force was just outside the border waiting to besiege them. I asked the store manager what all the fuss was about, and he said the weather folks had them pegged for a storm like no other in a few hours, and they were expecting all manner of catastrophe in it's wake. Both Bobby and I began to realize if these mid westerners, who should be well familiar with snowstorms were petrified, then we best be making haste for home! We passed up on an eat in breakfast, choosing the standard road diet of twinkies and red bull again. We hauled snake butt through the remainder of Illinois, and Kentucky, stopping only for fuel and junk food. We hit Bobby's parent's driveway around 6pm Saturday, having burned up 2,232 miles of asphalt since Thursday morning at 6am. Once I got home, I found out the street prognostications of impending doom had been accurate. The storm everyone had been fearing had struck, dumping enough snow to collapse the roof of the Metrodome in Minneapolis, rendering the Vikings homeless for the rest of the season. It appears we escaped at just the right time, which further gave me a sense of accomplishment. Minne, I am pleased to report, has settled in nicely as Tennessee's newest, and largest known predator, in her habitat at Bobby's house. I check in on her from time to time, and while it is very unlikely, I sense she realizes the bond we share on our quick journey across the frozen terrain of the Midwest.
