roadtripping.

Funsters ISO kitsch: a trip to the grooviest motel in Wisconsin.

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I've done that before, I'll confess, only once, but that one time was enough to teach me that I'd make a lousy car thief. I am incapable of breaking in to a vehicle. Fortunately I'd left the window cracked open an inch, due to the (it's not the) heat (it's the humidity). I left Daniel standing guard while I ran into the Big Boy for help.

"Hello!" I said, cheerily. "I'm from Canada, on a wee roadtrip for the long weekend, and we've been hearing your ads on the radio about the 99 cent strawberry pie, so we thought we'd stop for lunch, and I locked my keys in the car. Do you have a wire coat hanger I could borrow?"

Sure enough, they had one, already straightened out and re-bent just for breaking into cars ("You better bring it back," they warned). All we needed was expertise! Luckily, we spotted a fellow heading over to his own car. He saw us and smiled, shaking his head.
"Hate when that happens."
"Excuse me," I piped up in desperation, "would you be a car thief with a kind of good samaritan streak? I'm not having any luck."
Sure enough, he came over and, after much struggling with the coat hanger and the handle, we kind of gave up and he pried the window open enough for Daniel to cram his arm inside and unlock it. We gave him a pack of our weird cigarettes, and unwound over lunch.

It wasn't until two days later that we heard about the "Taste of Chicago" festival, cause of the massive amounts of tourist (or "touron" for "touist + moron") traffic that blocked our way as we buzzed through the windy city, also known as the city of giant bunny buildings. Am I the only person who thinks that the Sears tower looks like a giant rabbit? I find that hard to believe.

In any case we made it through Chicago in ninety minutes or so (you'd never make that kind of time here), and were soon headed northward to Milwaukee through yet more construction, and a startling number of dead deer, in addition to what may (or may not) have been coyotes.

Milwaukee does not give off the Lenny'n'Squiggy vibe I expected. Milwaukee is cool. Daniel once again found exactly the exit we wanted, bringing us straight to the historic Third Ward, where charming renovated warehouse-type buildings spill well dressed café patrons. We settled on Sauce, a very shwanky and stylish wee resto, straight out of the pages of *Wallpaper. And the bartender was cute, and friendly too. Wish we had time for more than cocktails (or in my case, iced tea - oh, the perils of being designated driver). But we were nearing our destination: The Gobbler.

Strangely, nobody else seemed to have heard of it.

We hit the road just after sunset, traces of light fleeing the sky as quickly as they could. We needed gas and spotted a Target, so took another wee detour. Tarzhay is somehow cooler, or at least less vile, than other discount chains. Yes, it still smells like the cheap rubber of cheap shoes, and most of the products originate from distant lands with dubious labour practices. But they have those great ad campaigns, in the pages of nyt, no less. and they carry Hello Kitty gear. way cooler than skanky K-Mart with its skankier Martha Stewart. We stocked up on local root beer (a very Wisconsin thing, apparently) and snacks, ready for a pink and purple Gobbler pyjama party.

If only.

We took our appointed exit off the I-94. We headed south, headed north when we thought we'd missed it, then south again, searching. We ended up in Jefferson, at a convenience store, trying to get directions from a clerk who clearly thought we'd lost our minds ("It's called the Gobbler! They have shag carpeting!"). We eventually coaxed the phone book from him, and found a listing for the *new* Gobbler. We called. No answer. Typical. But at least we had hope.

But not tonight. It was awfully late by this point; a pitch-black midwestern midnight. The Gobbler had waited for us this long, it would wait till tomorrow. We found our way to a motel, checked in, and passed out.

We arose as bright and early as we could the next morning, lured by the promise of complimentary continental brekkie served in the lobby from six to nine o'clock in the morning, but upon further investigation, it turned out to consist of doughnuts and Tang from a machine. We took a pass and hit the road north, back the way we came.

We drove as slowly as we could without irritating the locals, looking this way and that. Where could it have gone? Surely it should jump out at us in a blaze of neon fabulousness, not cower hidden in the shadows? I mean, it's the Gobbler. How could one miss the gobbler? then, just as we approached the I-94, I caught a glimpse of something, just over the crest of a hill. I think I screamed. "That's it!"

continue to page 3

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