The Kinda-Sorta Pilgrimage

I was going to Iowa for the first time in many years.  I felt it was absolutely necessary to proclaim the trip as a pilgrimage but there had to be more to it than just a visit to Iowa.  I knew that at some point in the past, my family came from Iowa.  I was sure that there was still family there, but I didn’t know who they were or where they were.  I also had a good friend in Iowa, but with the discovery that my friend had died, I had to give up on visiting him.  It appeared that my attempt at a pilgrimage had turned into an aimless, actionless, and therefore fruitless waste of time. 

 As I was doing some Google Maps reconnaissance of the area where the hotel was, I accidentally revealed to myself an almost forgotten mecca for coconut cream pie.  I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw that there was a Village Inn restaurant nearby.  Holy cow!  The last Village Inn Restaurant I went to was in Hays Kansas sometime in 1999, unless my son says differently, like he did when he proudly informed me that I was not the one that start the saying “cool beans” back in 1994 in Houston Texas, or the time when I thought it was so cool that I brought him back a bottle of Inca Kola from Peru to which he promptly read the label and blatantly informed me it was a Coca-Cola product.  Anyway, I had found a pilgrimage in Iowa.

 I arrived at the hotel on Monday and would be there until Thursday, giving me three opportunities to complete my pilgrimage but it was raining which immediately killed off the first day.  On Tuesday evening, I decided that today would be the day.  I felt that, for the journey to qualify as a pilgrimage, there had to be some sort of challenge to it.  In my mind, flying in an airplane and then jumping in an Uber just did not qualify.  Of course, I had flown on an airplane to get there and that is where I had to draw the line.

I was fairly sure that there would be no roaming packs of rabid gofers, charging herds of panic-stricken lizards, or oversized flocks of man-eating mockingbirds, leaving me with limited options to qualify this as a pilgrimage.  I had another look at Google Maps and Village Inn looked really close, so I decided to walk.  Like a true Pilgrim, I will walk to my destination and that will qualify it as a pilgrimage.  So I walked.  I made it to about where I thought the road I was looking for should be, and it was not there.  I was on the top of a hill and there was a church on one side and a field on the other.  No businesses anywhere, but since I had not yet crossed the street I was looking for, I kept going, and going.  After two major hills and a lot of motorcycle traffic, its like everyone gets on their motorcycle at 6:00pm, I saw some businesses ahead.  I made the planned right-hand turn expecting to see the restaurant at the foot of the hill on the left, and it was not there.  I was sweating and the gnats there were vicious.  They felt hard when I smashed their little malicious asses between my fingers.  I guess the gnats in Texas are wimpy.  All they do is buzz around together making a big gnat cloud at about the time the sun goes down, that you don’t see until you ride through it on your bicycle and get two-dozen of them in your mouth and nose and almost crash your bicycle in the ditch because of all the gagging, spitting, and general freaking out that is occurring.  Anyway, I continued down the hill and then, through a gap between two small buildings, I saw the sign.  There it was.  I was not going to die of dehydration, heat exhaustion, or gnat poisoning.  The pilgrimage was about to be complete. 

Upon taking the required selfie in front of the restaurant, to be presented to the pilgrimage verification committee that has to verify and validate stupid-ass made-up pilgrimages, I entered the restaurant.  I went straight to the pie display in the center of seating area and immediately identified the iconic Coconut Cream pie.  I was seated by the Manager himself and was almost immediately greeting by a young, tall, and blond waitress.  I was glad that she was not an air head to the extent that she could air up the tires on a school bus.  She was very attentive and interesting to talk to.  I did hear someone blurt out “oh my god, as if” from back in the kitchen, but I don’t think it was her.  The food was great and so was the service.  Her bringing out the slice of coconut cream pie was a beautiful site.  I finished it off, said good-bye and had to walk all the way back to the hotel lugging more weight and fighting off those damn gnats.

 My pilgrimage of 5 miles, and more if you add in the elevation changes, through the unfamiliar, gnat-infested streets of Dubuque Iowa, was successful.  I aint doin’ that again.