(Click here to watch "I-90 End-to-End")In 1999, we traveled the nation's longest interstate highway, from Seattle to Boston. The result was a special edition of KING 5's Evening Magazine which, ten years later, will be re-aired on July 3, 2009 at 7pm. Back in '99, I kept a journal of our behind-the-scenes exploits, but never shared the gory details, photos and video outtakes you'll find in this blog. Until now. (Cue dramatic fanfare: "ta-DAH!")...
The Sendoff
Cameraman Tom and I head onto I-90 from its Seattle starting point in the shadow of the new 900-buhzillion-dollar Safeco Field. We are surrounded, ironically, by homeless people. Joining us in the bon voyage celebration are the Washington State Potato mascot (the "Watato"), a man in a killer prehistoric bird outfit provided by a local software company, an overly enthusiastic giant plush version of Seattle's famed Space Needle (the "Sneedle"), along with Seattle Mayor Paul Schell (dressed as himself). If we don't leave soon, we may have to turn a garden hose on the Sneedle to keep him off the mayor's leg.
Over the next 11 days, we will drive more than 3,000 miles in a borrowed RV, meeting dozens of people and collecting adventures to air on KING-TV's "Evening Magazine."See Dick and Jane, etc.
We pop in on Dick and Jane in Ellensburg, Washington. The two "alternative" artists have covered their entire yard in sculptures made out of reflectors, broken glass and other unique materials. When gawkers got too pushy, Dick built a totem-like post with nails protruding from it. The "aggressive energy" has kept the hooligans in check. Now who, for the love of God, will keep the aggressive energy in check? I fear complete global annihilation.
The "Georgettes" from the town of George are famous for their cherry pies... especially the 800-pound one they build every 4th of July. They give Tom and me a smaller model when we stop by to say hello. By the way, the town of George, Washington was founded back in the 50's by a guy named Charlie Brown. They used to get a lot of crank calls at City Hall.
As we drive on, we hear a sickening thud. Forgot to secure the cherry pie. We do not hesitate to eat the tasty, fruity shrapnel, carpet fuzz and all.Having a Ball (or Two)
Wallace, Idaho is a weird place.
It was home to the very last stop light between Seattle and Boston on Interstate 90. When the light came down a few years ago, they actually held a big funeral for it and placed it in a coffin. We visit the final resting place at the Mining Museum and pay our last respects, before heading over to see a woman at a whorehouse...
The Oasis is the last of Wallace's many brothels, only it was shut down about ten years ago, so now it's just a museum. Amazingly, the owner, Michelle, has kept everything exactly the way she found it. Magazines from 1988 are still lying about, the sex "menu" and price list are still taped to the wall. (By the way, a "half-and-half deluxe" goes for 40 bucks. "French" is extra. Where's my kinky sex dictionary when I need it?) (Author's note: Back of closet, tucked under green sweater.) They even have a worker's comp certificate still posted in plain view, and a drawer full of kitchen timers once used to keep the clients on schedule. Ding! Time's up.
We drive I-90 to Clinton, Montana, where tipsy kitchen manager, Kathy, at the Rock Creek Lodge insists we try their "Rocky Mountain Oysters." Bull gonads. She says they taste like chicken. I think they taste like bull gonads.Doing Dakota
Mount Rushmore is big and impressive. Still can't figure out which of the giant heads is President Rushmore, though. And couldn't Teddy Roosevelt take off his glasses, just this once?
We meet the family who's carving a mountain of their own nearby. Korczak Ziolkowski started Crazy Horse Monument, the world's largest sculpture, more than 50 years ago. His widow, Ruth, and 7 of their 10 children are still working to complete it. Ruth's an incredibly sweet woman. She invites Tom and me to stay for lunch. I have one too many soft drinks and start into my hilarious, slurry Tom Brokaw impersonation. Ruth loves it. Seriously, she loves it. Just ask Tom.
(Note from Tom: Ruth hated it.)
"In huther news thissssss evening..."
We check out a tourist trap called Wall Drug. It's a travelers' entertainment destination so big, so bereft of meaning, so you'd-only-stop-here-if-you-were-bored-enough-with-driving-that-you're-likely-to-have-an-aneurysm, that it's actually kind of cool. A local sheriff says watch out for South Dakota's "softball-sized" hail. When pressed, he reluctantly admits he's never seen human-head-sized hail, but believes the phenomenon is possible.
Mount Rushmore is big and impressive. Still can't figure out which of the giant heads is President Rushmore, though. And couldn't Teddy Roosevelt take off his glasses, just this once?
We meet the family who's carving a mountain of their own nearby. Korczak Ziolkowski started Crazy Horse Monument, the world's largest sculpture, more than 50 years ago. His widow, Ruth, and 7 of their 10 children are still working to complete it. Ruth's an incredibly sweet woman. She invites Tom and me to stay for lunch. I have one too many soft drinks and start into my hilarious, slurry Tom Brokaw impersonation. Ruth loves it. Seriously, she loves it. Just ask Tom.
(Note from Tom: Ruth hated it.)
"In huther news thissssss evening..."
We check out a tourist trap called Wall Drug. It's a travelers' entertainment destination so big, so bereft of meaning, so you'd-only-stop-here-if-you-were-bored-enough-with-driving-that-you're-likely-to-have-an-aneurysm, that it's actually kind of cool. A local sheriff says watch out for South Dakota's "softball-sized" hail. When pressed, he reluctantly admits he's never seen human-head-sized hail, but believes the phenomenon is possible.
An A-maize-ing Day, and Knight... and SpamBefore leaving South Dakota we visit Mitchell, home of the Corn Palace, a big convention center covered completely in corn. We ask the mayor where we might find the town's Corn Princess, and are shocked to learn there is none. We buy some supplies in a local grocery store, and coronate a local computer store worker as the first annual Corn Princess. You can bet we'll be back again next year. (Author's note: No way in hell we're ever going back there.)
Next, it's the Spam Museum at a mall in Austin, Minnesota. Did you know there was once such a thing as "Spam Pizza?" How about "Spam and Tongue?" Another piece of "miracle meat" trivia: The word Spam came from a company party during which someone said, "Um, Excuse me. Is this your girlfriend? I don't believe we've met. You're smokin' hot, darlin'. Anyway, boss, what if we combine the words 'spiced'... and 'ham' to create the word 'Spam?' Hiccup."
Onward to the world's largest six pack, in La Crosse, Wisconsin. I actually drink a six pack while visiting the six pack, because I have this absolutely GENIUS! idea that getting arrested next to a giant six pack for an open container violation would be pure performance art. Police pass by, mildly amused and unconcerned. Tom designated-drives the RV to our next destination, a cheese factory about which I will remember nothing except that I insisted on wearing a hair net.
Onward to the world's largest six pack, in La Crosse, Wisconsin. I actually drink a six pack while visiting the six pack, because I have this absolutely GENIUS! idea that getting arrested next to a giant six pack for an open container violation would be pure performance art. Police pass by, mildly amused and unconcerned. Tom designated-drives the RV to our next destination, a cheese factory about which I will remember nothing except that I insisted on wearing a hair net. 
Next stop: Robot World, in a place called the Dells. Step inside a MIR space station and get very disoriented. Must have been the cheese.Medieval Times is a Chicago eatery/arena where actors in costume attack each other on horseback while minimum wage "wenches" kindly refill the soft drinks of pimply junior high audience members. They actually allow me to ride a horse and pretend to fight the evil Green Knight, who truly is evil, except he says he knows the manager of the Hooters restaurant down the road and can get us a discount if we're interested. But let's face it - there's really nothing sexy about gigantic breasts
when they're surrounded by bad food.Indiana. The City of Gary pops out of Chicago's lower end like a gastrointestinal eruption. Smells like one, too. The rest of the ride along 90 through northern Indiana gives bland a bad name. (Author's note: Back when we first aired our I-90 show in 1999, I got angry letters from Indianans for calling their state "bland." Ironically, it was the most boring hate mail I've ever received.)
Things get spicy over the Ohio border, as we check out Toledo's "Tony Packo's." This is the Hungarian hot dog heaven that native Jamie Farr can't get enough of. Tony Packo, Jr. gives us about a dozen hot dogs and all the fixin's, which we share on the shore of Lake Erie with a wonderful 83-year-old named Bill Mears, who says he really can't eat that sort of food and then does anyway.
(Author's note: My family actually came from Bay Village. My parents met at Bay High when they were just 16. I never lived there myself, but often visited during summer vacations. My grandparents had recently passed away, making this my first trip to that place with no one left for me to visit. That's why meeting friendly old Bill Mears seemed like divine intervention. That's why I forced him to sit and eat hot dogs with us, probably filling him with enough sodium and nitrates to kill him five times over. I hope he remembered to take his pills that night.) 
An Erie DestinationWe pass Cleveland as darkness falls. Around midnight, under a full moon, we pull into Erie, Pennsylvania's Hearthside Rest Pet Cemetery. Bonzo the Chimp from the old Ronald Reagan movies is supposed to be buried here, but we can only guess if we've found the right tomb. I tenderly lay a spotty ripe banana on the marble, say a little primate prayer, then head for bed.The next morning, we leave PA for NY ASAP. But I can't help but think there may have been some mistake back there at the grave site. I call the owner from the road and he confirms my worst fear: I have left rotting fruit on the final resting place of a dog named Boober.50 yards south of Boober, lonely Bonzo still awaits our visit.
NY(not C)
The first stop just off Interstate 90 in the great state of New York is a very strange place called Lily Dale. This has been home to spiritualists - people who talk to the dead - for like 100 years now.
A "spiritual healer" named Tom takes us under his ethereal wing and shows us around town. The Meditation Stump is my personal favorite stop. It's sort of a special high-energy lump of concrete-capped wood where, if you concentrate hard enough, you can ask Lincoln, directly, why he married a dour, stone-faced woman who looked like a man in a hat made of pressed human hair. We also meet Tom's wife, Ellie, who makes a living connecting people with the deceased. She's like those e-mail "people finders," except her dead links are a sign of success, not a sign that you're probably using "Excite." (Author's note: 1999's Excite was a substandard search engine, much like today's Bing.)
Next, we drive through Syracuse with a poster on our RV that reads, "Show us your talent." I nearly crash the vehicle when about a half dozen young women remove their clothes. There's mooning. There's flashing. Suddenly, I'm Hugh Heffner, only without the whole kissing-grandpa-on-the-lips creepy factor.
The End of the Road
The tiny town of Valatie, NY is run by a 19-year-old mayor named Jason Nastke. Now, you'd think any town electing a teenager as its leader might not take politics very seriously. Wrong. This place is so politically charged that a man threw his rival through a window at a town meeting a few months ago. In fact, that's what pissed off Jason enough to run in the first place. The guy really takes charge. While we're with him, he obliterates a poor fool who dares to take him on in a sidewalk debate. Then he cuts the ribbon for a t-shirt shop's grand opening and still has the energy to buy us a pastry. We thank him by letting him hear all about our brush with all-nude college girls the night before and suggesting he visit Syracuse for a flashing good time. The mayor blushes.
The End of the RoadThe tiny town of Valatie, NY is run by a 19-year-old mayor named Jason Nastke. Now, you'd think any town electing a teenager as its leader might not take politics very seriously. Wrong. This place is so politically charged that a man threw his rival through a window at a town meeting a few months ago. In fact, that's what pissed off Jason enough to run in the first place. The guy really takes charge. While we're with him, he obliterates a poor fool who dares to take him on in a sidewalk debate. Then he cuts the ribbon for a t-shirt shop's grand opening and still has the energy to buy us a pastry. We thank him by letting him hear all about our brush with all-nude college girls the night before and suggesting he visit Syracuse for a flashing good time. The mayor blushes.
We drive on to our final destination: The City of Boston. Another mayor, Thomas Menino, is kicking off a charity event in Boston Common, so we corner him there, put him on camera, and present a little sack of Starbucks coffee to the good people of Boston from the mayor and the good people of Seattle. (Starbucks... very, very hard to come by in Boston, I believe.) I do my patented funny guy long, long, lonnnnng handshake. Shake and smile for the camera, keep shaking... keep shaking... usually at some point, the other person says, "Hey, I think we've been shaking hands long enough, don't you?" But Mayor Menino never does. It becomes an awkward game of chicken. Who will break first? We keep shaking and shaking. It's going on for, like, hours. My hand is sweating. My brow is sweating. We keep shaking. Finally, I can't take it anymore. I break. "Okay, mayor," I say, hoping to make it look like he's the overly enthusiastic shaker, "I think we have it now!" He's not amused, but seems somehow satisfied that he won our little shaking-for-the-camera competition. That's why he's mayor and I'm... not sure what I am, exactly.
So, that does it. We've completed our journey. 3,107 miles, every one of them with a story to tell. We've gone end-to-end on the nation's longest interstate.
Now, we just have to turn around and do it all over again.
(Author's note: In an airplane.)
