Fresh off the boat in Minot
Mysterious Minot. We had no contacts, no leads, no phone numbers, no relatives in Minot, and when we arrived at the train station at 9:22 PM, I began to wonder why we thought a night in Minot was such a neat idea. I was going to research our inevitable hotel room, but somehow procrastinated, thinking someone SOMEWHERE would write us, tell us about the people in Minot who were going to host us, and since no one did, there we stand. With our pants down. (metaphorically, please!)
We shuffled around the station for a bit, the train came and went, the ice-cream truck came and went, and the crowds thinned. We weren’t exactly downtown, and it wasn’t obvious from the looking which way was downtown. Hmmmmmm. We got a directional from a train guy, and headed up the hill into the business district. It was still light out, so the panic hadn’t set in. We got all the way to Papa Johns when we spotted a real live human smoking a cigarette. He told us about the Super 8 one way, and the Hillcrest local special the other way. It was a toss up which was closer. I went inside and called a few places, and it was mind-blowing what night in Minot could cost a family of four! We voted to go with the local joint, which was $70 a night. I thought that seemed steep, but not until I saw the place. We started trudging up the hill (realizing why it was called Hillcrest) and no worries, only 16 blocks to go. We get to 8th street and pass a car dealer, and I seriously considered sleeping in the back of one of their trucks. Who would know? The kids have blankets, it couldn’t be worse than a night on the train, right?! But I trudged on, the new responsible Cheryl gets hotel rooms. Just when the kids voted to “stop and take a rest” (how many times have I heard that??) a couple in the parking lot at the bank yells out, do you guys need a ride? Was it that obvious? Our train of luggage, the two small children at twilight, Zephyr in his crown? We talked for a minute, and they could tell we weren’t meth heads, and we guessed (still guessing of course) that they weren’t mass murderers, and we agreed that we could indeed use a ride to the up-Hillcrest Motel. Ah! But first! There we are by the Scandinavian Cultural Center. We had to check out this building that we had seen online, when researching Minot it IS the picture they use. It was a lot smaller in person, but our new friends Roz and Jason, said the Epcot version of Norway had an even smaller building. This was an all wood church, and it was truly amazing. They could not build one of these in Arkansas, it would rot. It was a church with incredible wood work on it, and then another building with a grass roof! Not a hippy in sight, and a grass roof! Whatdoya know?!?
The illustrious Hillcrest.
We head off to meet our fate at the Hillcrest, and upon drive by, decide that perhaps we should just maybe, just maybe check out the Days Inn with a pool. We get there, and it isn’t anything to brag about either. There were a bunch of itinerant men drinking beer outside the lobby. Apparently Minot has oil in them thare hills, and people are moving, flocking in to make the big bucks. So hotel rooms are in high demand. They wanted a hundred bucks at the Days Inn, and it wasn’t even nice. We decided to go with the Hillcrest. You can’t imagine this, but try. The room, the office where you check in, just has an old phone outside and you pick it up and do your preliminary negotiations, and once you pass the “no bullshit” test, the old lady comes down with three cigarettes in her mouth and takes your money. The office had piles and piles of papers and books everywhere, and you just knew this lady was going to sell this hotel and cash out. She had stopped processing paperwork. Surely she was being audited. We get to our room, and it had real wood panelling on the walls, and purple lace on the curtains! Zac hadn’t asked about wi-fi, but there was no connection in sight. Ugh. Looks like TV till we pass out. Zac and I take showers and we all go to bed.
After a ‘sound’ (if you count the sound of the window unit) nights sleep we wake up at 11 and I realize that McDonald’s had stopped serving breakfast. I’m only half joking. Zac gets on the phone to call around and land us a gig. Zac, the mysterious wonder man dials up enough numbers in this nice midwestern town, that finally someone says, OH! You guys need to call Jerry Schlag! He plays accordion on the Amtrak! So Zac calls Jerry, who is deaf as a stump, and finally Jerry says WHERE ARE YOU? I’m COMING OVER. Jerry shows up, and Zac greets him outside and it is agreed that we will join Jerry and his two buddies and play with them this very afternoon at the Brentmore Nursing Home. We had just enough time to check out, eat lunch, and deliver our bags to the Amtrak station.
Load in for the big gig with Jerry
Zephyr going the extra mile (literally) in Minot, where we did a lot of walking.
We do those three things, Jerry picks us up, and we head to the nursing home to see what will happen. I always get a little nervous in these situations, first you have Jerry who is going to be a skilled accordion guy. Then you have a discerning group of old people who know exactly what they think an accordion should sound like, and probably want to hear “you are my sunshine” a lot more than “lawyers, guns, and money”. And then it is a quiet, unforgiving environment where people are there to solely hear the music, and spend their time either loving or hating you. Jerry and his guys cranked up and played a nice mix of music, Jerry was very svelte on the accordion. Uh-oh, I though. I hardly play any augmented sixth chords. We got to play about twenty minutes of music, and in that time this nicely dressed couple got up and cut a rug to our tunes, it was fun. It was at that moment that I was also proud and glad to have my nice Diamond Accordion. That is a nice box, and it sounded great there. Our friend Roz and her two girls showed up to see what it is that we really do. I think by this time we had all concluded that none of us were nuts. Like in the bad way.
Taking it to a whole new level in Minot
Staying awake for the whole show, good job guys!!
After our gig, and our farewells to the nice people at the nursing home, Roz dropped us off at the ice skating rink for free skate. Not in financially free, but as in you are free to fall as much as you want. It seemed like we should hurry for free skate, but in hindsight, one hour of falling on ice is actually plenty of time. Zac got this kind metal walker for the kids so they could skate around not entirely unlike the old people at the nursing home. I noticed they didn’t have one for my size, so we were on our own as tall people. The music was coming out of a jambox (funny, spell check doesn’t recognize jambox) on a shelf, and the tunes were the same as when I was a kid. I swear, I knew most of the songs, and surely I am not the demographic for an ice skating rink. There were some kids getting private tutelage for figure skating, and some other kids smaller than Zephyr skating around like pro’s. A Canadian and American Flag on the wall, and bleachers for ‘the game’. Minot is about 20 miles from the Canadian border on Highway 2. FYI.
Watch out, Stanley Cup....
Butt in the air!!
We returned our skates, and Roz, our ride fairy appeared out of nowhere and we were magically whisked away in her minivan to forage for some dinner. We dined at a Pita Palace or something like that, it was basically Subway but with Pitas instead of “fresh baked bread”. It rained for a little while, and on our way back to the train station, we stopped at McDonald’s for the second time that day and let the kids play on the plastic hell playground, when Eureka realized she had left her tiny hat in Roz and Jason’s minivan. I’m sure they just assumed it was our built in way to score a ride to the train station, and really, that was such a neat side effect, but Jason agreed to meet us at the golden arches and bring us the hat. And he did, and then gave us a lift down the hill to the train station, and the train was already there, early. That is just the kind of town Minot is, the kind of town that can make an Amtrak train early. They say, “Why not? Minot?” and the answer? “Freezins the reason” and they call it “Mind Rot” and they also call it the magic city. We asked Jerry about that, a native Minotian, and he says he had no idea. Roz tells us Minot is the “Magic City” because it was like magic the way Minot appeared overnight when they were building the train tracks across this great nation. And I would like to say that the Coca-cola building in Minot has the prettiest display of glazed red brick I’ve ever seen.
Why not, Minot? You crazy people.
