STARTING OUT

At some point in planning to travel to Chicago for this wedding, I�d thought about taking the train out from New York, having never been on an extended train ride before. I thought it might be fun to ride the rails, read, write, watch the country flash by with beer in hand. But, nah, I soon gave up on that idea. Then I decided to drive. I love to drive, and I no longer have the frequent opportunities to do it that I once enjoyed in and shortly after college. I�d hoped to leave New Jersey on Tuesday, July 11th, and spend a day out on the small highways. I�d make my way up into northeastern Pennsylvania, then pick up U.S. 6, the winding, meandering highway that starts in Provincetown, Massachusetts, at the end of Cape Cod, and ends in Southern California. It winds down the Cape, across southern Massachusetts, through Connecticut, New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana (about 15 to 20 miles south of South Bend), Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska, down into Colorado (where it merges with I-70 through the central part of the state), Utah, Nevada, California. I wanted to try my own hand at navigating the �blue highways,� those two-lane backroads that used to be blue on old highway maps. William Least Heat-Moon spent a spring circling America on those roads in 1978, and his book � Blue Highways � inspired me to try it myself.

Only things got in the way. My friend Brad (ND, Observer editor-in-chief in 1997-98) came in for a visit the previous weekend, and we spent Saturday the 8th at the Mets/Yankees game in New York. I showed him around on Sunday before dropping him back off at the airport. My Monday afternoon was interrupted by a meeting with the general manager of the Lakewood BlueClaws, the minor league baseball team I�ll be covering next summer when the team begins play, and very little packing was done. And on top of it all, I realized I was no longer as excited about spending the better part of two days alone, as I had thought a week earlier. So I opted to join my friend Elise (high school friend, you don�t know her) and head down to Philadelphia � actually the Manyunk/Bryn Mawr suburban area � to have dinner with another friend, Jaime (also high school).

The next morning, Elise and I woke with Jaime as she readied for work. They took off their separate ways, I stopped for breakfast and then began my journey.

I didn�t get too far. The traffic on the local roads leading to the interstate was understandable at 8:30 in the morning. But the Schuylkull � I-76 � was jammed all the way to the Pennsylvania Turnpike. I crawled and braked my way through for 45 minutes before hitting the toll booths � which I�ve never been happier to see � to pick up my ticket on my way west.

My drive across Pennsylvania along the Turnpike � the first in the country to charge people for their right to a rapid and unimpeded ride across hundreds of miles � was broken up by frequent stops, including a 20-minute nap at one rest area. The morning traffic on the Schuylkull wore me down earlier than I�d expected. But a quick cat nap rejuvenated me enough for the rest of the day. The Penna. Pike was built over an old Pennsylvania Railroad line, using the same route and four tunnels through the mountains that the railroad built. It provides a less scenic, twistier, costlier ride than I-80 across the state and into Ohio, where it connects with the Ohio Turnpike, followed shortly thereafter by a merge with I-80 and then I-90.

SOUTH BEND STOPOVER

On through Ohio, then another toll and into Indiana, where the sun began to sink faster in the sky, creeping into my field of vision on certain curves and hills. Only during the last 30 miles or so did it dip consistently below the shaded blue strip at the top of my windshield. Before long, I was past the Mishawaka exit, on the characteristic series of curves that lead to Exit 77 and Notre Dame. In my haste, I swung into the left lane to pass one final slow-moving van rather than dropping in behind it, and hit 90 on the speedometer. The last leg into South Bend from the east always ignites a fire of excitement in me, and I�ve often breached 90 mph and neared 100 just before reaching the exit.

Off the toll road, I pulled into the nearby Amoco station and called Liza, Christine, Lindsay and Sandra � my sister�s friends toughing out the summer at their College Park apartment in South Bend. I bought a South Bend Tribune to read about Matt Doherty�s run to North Carolina. In five minutes, I was parking in front of their building � 18033, apartment B, across the hall from where some good friends lived my senior year. Stepping inside, I was back in college.

The familiar and indescribable College Park smell was present. All the South Bend apartment complexes have an odor to them of various cleaning agents and such � until the occupants make the place their own with various candles and potpourri. The girls had been there for about a month, so they were gradually covering up the scent of College Park, but a faint hint of it lingered. We sat and talked as the evening lengthened, and despite the relatively cool air for South Bend in July, I was quickly reminded of those first few days of returning to school in August for the semester. Brutally hot and humid days make moving in a messy endeavor, and the nights offer little relief � unless you live in an air conditioned dorm as Bryan and I did for three years. Moving into our room in O�Neill as the first occupants of 323 (or whatever � I honestly don�t remember, though I could find it easy enough today), we kept the thermostat to a cool 65 or 70, using heavy comforters on our beds from the first day.

Five days later, in Batavia, New York, I walked through a Super-Duper-Giant-Colassal-K-Mart and smelled the sterilized odor of plastic coverings and glossy cardboard under the florescent lights of the home furnishing section. It reminded me of late August returns to campus and the necessary trip to Meijer for cheap and disposable luxuries needed for the coming school year. The locals � the townies � always knew when Notre Dame was back in session with the Meijer invasion the week before Labor Day. Guys in t-shirts and baseball caps pushed carts loaded with electronics and batteries � they�d be eating lots of finger food anyway. Women in khaki shorts and tank tops loaded up on soaps and silverware � much less inclined to impulsively buy an electric race car set because nobody else would have one. The freshmen were the easiest to pick out � they were the ones with the parents helping make decisions and footing the bill for the trip.

Though not as sticky and humid as August, it was still warm outside that night, inviting a walk around campus in the after-dinner hours.

Hoping to check my e-mail, I drove over to campus and parked near Hesburgh Library. All the computers in the main reference section were occupied, and I tried a few other locations with no luck. While there was still light left, I went outside into the falling dusk on a pleasantly warm evening to walk around the campus. Out the west doors, toward North Quad, I walked just south of Breen-Phillips Hall and by Stonehenge on the north. Across the small patio where Skalcaholics played their final on-campus show and by the LaFortune loading dock, near Cavanaugh Hall. I passed Washington Hall and came out on God Quad, turning toward the Main Building and the Golden Dome shining in the darkening sky.

At a time when many Notre Dame sports fans � particularly basketball � felt betrayed by Matt Doherty, I had wondered why the Irish had hit such hard athletic times. What had we done to deserve it all? Were we finally being punished for all those years of football success in the 60s and 70s, and the resurgence in the late 80s and early 90s? It was going on six years, from that disappointing season in 1994 to the miserable one in 1999. And why were sports other than football suffering? A basketball coach had come in and done what nobody thought could be accomplished at Notre Dame � taken the attention and excitement from the football field and moved it across Juniper to the basketball arena at the Joyce Center. In one season, just over a year, a little less than 500 days, Doherty had people talking about basketball, about a national ranking and an NCAA Tournament berth. Then he was gone, heading �home� to Carolina and his alma mater.

I thought of that saying down along Tobacco Road � if God isn�t a Tar Heel fan, then why is the sky Carolina blue? Walking across God Quad, I looked up at the Lady on top of the Dome. As the last fading light of dusk lingered in the western sky, the dome shone gold against a Notre Dame blue sky in the summer night. Affected by the weather or season, that sight doesn�t happen every day. The commonplace sky of day may be Carolina blue, but it takes an observant eye by someone in the right place at the right time to see night come with a subtle salute to ND. It�s more rare and more special, and to see God and Nature working together, it left no doubt in my mind that He is a Notre Dame fan.

I continued on between the Main Building and Sacred Heart Basilica, down past the Earth Sciences Building to the Grotto, approaching it from the stairs to the north. The wide paved path near the Earth Sciences Building that was once a broken stretch of blue asphalt leading down a slope to the lake had been replaced by a smooth concrete sidewalk, part of the continuing improvements and renovations occurring across campus. It made a difference. The Grotto was crowded for a midsummer evening, the benches all occupied, and I walked past the warm glow of the candles and the gurgling of the water fountain. On up past Corby Hall, the home of the priests, I came across the new project � the building being constructed on the site of the old bookstore. The original Hammes Bookstore had been a small, flat, rectangular edifice conspicuous among the architecture of South Quad. But the new building will fit right in with its neighbors, taking on the same architectural style as others lining the lawn.

I crossed the quad and dodged the summer sports camp participants on their way back to the dorms from dinner. Past the Law School, I was startled by a skunk who ran across a step and into the bushes by one of the entrances. Luckily, I didn�t startle him enough; even ethanol has a better odor. Approaching O�Shaughnessy Hall, I looked across at Riley, the art building, and noticed some new sculptures on the lawn. One must have been the monument to Homer Simpson � a big eight-foot tall circle with a hole in the middle, clearly resembling a powdered donut. (�Mmm ... eight-foot tall donut ...�) Between O�Shag and the Stepan science building, I saw what I had read about � another building going up �east of O�Shaughnessy,� as the article said. In a small spot of land among O�Shag, the Radiation Research Building and Decio Faculty Hall, construction fencing cordoned off the building site. Guess they�re struggling for space now.

I took one last pass through the library computers and found an unoccupied one where I checked my recent electronic correspondence before going downtown for a wonderful winged dinner at bw-3.

Thursday morning, I awoke an hour later than I�d intended � because I set the alarm on my watch for 8 p.m. rather than a.m. (I graduate Notre Dame.) After showering, I headed over to campus and dropped in on Frank Franko, the LaFortune barber, who had enough room in his schedule to cut my hair while talking about Matt Doherty. Frank was one of the few who was not only upset that he left, but no longer respectful of Doherty.

�It was nice the first time he cried,� Frank said, referring to the press conference when Doherty was introduced as the new basketball coach. �But the second and third times, that just shows he�s phony.�

After the haircut, I decided not to visit the bookstore, where there�d no doubt be some item of clothing or piece of memorabilia that would suck the money from my bank account. I checked in on Debbie Kleiser, our friend Julie�s mother who works in the business school. From there, I stopped in at the Boys and Girls Club of St. Joseph County to see Kregg, Bryan�s boss from his work-study days at the club. Kregg and I hit CJ�s for a lunch of pub burgers and fries.

... Tomorrow: I head for Chicago ...