Fargo Public Library, Fargo, North Dakota

There are places I know I'll never have to go to again—at least not by choice, and I would hope never by necessity, though I suppose you can't control everything (not that I will stop trying). Amarillo is one place. An ugly, racist, completely hostile and upsetting pass through was all I needed to secure that deal, but the place also had that scalped soulless feel to it that left me feeling grimy, heavy, and teeming with swirling unease. As I documented earlier in this blog, Barstow is definitely on the list. And now I can include Bismarck, though truth be told I'd probably find my way back just to record that creepy clock for posterity. But otherwise, bad vibes abound, so on the list it goes.

O! How I love a skybridge!

Fargo was a far better match for me—a nice mix of old and new with lots of charm in between. I was very hungry by the time I rolled into town in the early afternoon, so pulled over to check Google for "food near me." I was at my limit with the fast food and wanted something of substance that was truly local. By luck I was parked nearby a place called Luna, which touts itself as a "neighborhood kitchen." Having lived in NYC for 15+ years, I was familiar with its hype, hip to its jive, etc. etc. They have wine and cheese and a menu that changes daily—you get the drift. It was also located in a dilapidated strip mall, which upped the hipster ante to 11.

On this fine day I ordered soup—they had a fabulous chicken, bacon, and broccoli soup that was out of this world yummy. I even posted a pic via Instagram and Facebook to which my nearest and dearest commented ahem was this before or after u chucked it up. Everybody's a comedian! But I stand by the dish. The service was also wonderful, and the place was decorated with efficient simplicity. I felt comfortable dining there in my hoodie and exerpants.

The new Fargo Public Library is located in the downtown area amidst old brick behemoths and some fantastically ooogly bank buildings. The library itself, born in 2008, is a chic, modern, welcoming space with lots of natural light and bright color on the walls, upholstery, and fixtures. Once you are up in the main part of the library, it feels very open and airy, almost like a rooftop library, protected from the elements but open to the surrounding city.

The way into the main space is a bit odd, but I suppose someone thought it was a cool idea and who am I to judge. When patrons walk in the front door, they must go down a long hallway to get to the central stairway. There is a coffee and treat shop on this level, as well as a main circulation desk, art gallery, and other spaces I did not explore but did not seem to be open to the library main (e.g. meeting rooms, staff rooms, etc.).

On either side of the main interior doorway are brilliantly colored, tiled murals of sunflowers. I tried my best to capture them, but you really have to see them as you move through them, the way the tiles gleam and the colors glow. I would bet every kid who goes to this library is absolutely in love with these murals, and that their memories when looking back on the Fargo Public Library will be warm and happy, with mega sunflowers spilling upward and over every neuronal flash.

Upon ascending to the second floor, the library, too, unfolds like a flower, a chrysanthemum of different rooms, stacks, open spaces, lounge areas, and a long, deliriously abundant bank of desks up against the far wall. A glorious find. I spent two very productive days at this library, forgoing exploring any other branches since I knew I would pine for this one and all its lovely petals.

Main foyer and circulation, first floor.

Central staircase. You can see the gallery in the background.

I was criminally remiss in documenting the space I am describing, by the way. You'll just have to trust me (or check out online galleries) to get a sense of the Fargo Public Library's overall loveliness. It was, for me, a working library, where electricity and consistent wifi was easily available and I was able to concentrate with little to no distractions.

I think one of the things that helped was how they parsed up the main sections of the library so that they were not all intermixed and stepping on each other's vibes. The circulation room, computer room, and meeting rooms were along one wall, all glassed in and separated. while the study desks were on the opposite side of the floor. The stacks serve as a natural separator between the main thoroughfares and places where people require quiet. The children's section, easily always the noisiest part of every library, was sequestered to the first floor. In this arrangement everybody gets windows and nobody feels encroached upon.

You would be surprised at how many libraries do not do this. Many, many libraries instead embrace a free love approach to library design, where desks and lounge areas co-mingle unprotected with noisy, rambunctious computer bays and all in front of the kids section where screeching monkeys are hanging from the ceiling and clanging cymbals in a cacophonous orgy of "Community." A lot of libraries have few choices; being retrofitted to embrace new technologies, you have to make do. But newer libraries that forget their patrons needs (or God Help Them, think "open plan" is a fab idea we should all embrace in every space ever no matter what the industry) quite honestly have NO EXCUSE. Think of your patrons, dumdums. All of them.

Anyway, since I was in the same general area for something like 12-14 hours total, here are some shots of my views over those two blissful days at the Fargo Public Library.

Other impressions of Fargo:

Notice the hook haaaannnnnnd, aahhh runnnn

Not sure if this is something everyone does everywhere, but this is where I saw my first "Construction Man" made out of traffic barrels and cones and other construction materials. At first I found it weird but charming, but it gets creepier every time I look at the picture. I think it's because you are only supposed to recognize what it is in passing and you are never, ever meant to notice details. Do not stare too long at Construction Man. 

I also had the worst pizza of this journey while in Fargo. Though I am loathe to name names (Rhombus Guys), I am torn (Rhombus Guys) since it feels wrong not to warn others of the terribleness I experienced (Rhombus Guys). Here's what: sticking to my theme, I had the 8-inch margherita--a fairly simple pizza that should not be impossible to pull off. The place is known for its weirder selections, such as "Tater Tot," "The Angry Dragon," and something called "Blue Heaven," which consists of "bleu cheese cream sauce, steak, bacon, tomato, red peppers, bleu cheese, cheddar and mozzarella," a combination so rich and stinky I would have likely hurled had I dared to try it...so I know a simple margherita probably isn't in their wheelhouse. However. My pizza had nothing much on it: unremarkable mozz, dried husks of basil, and some oil (tomato what? I saw little to none of that). But somehow the whole middle of the crust was soaking wet. I ripped off the wet, doughy sections and ate what was left. The sad thing is that the bread was actually the best part, so it was akin to eating fairly good breadsticks once I managed to piece it back together. Not a good margherita, though, and it begs the question: If my simple pizza got soaked in the middle, what happens to all those overloaded monstrosities on the menu? Completely uncooked dough holding up a center filled with stinky grease? I guess we'll never know. But for this visit, I give (Rhombus Guys) two stars and big, fat "Yikes."

The accent. You know what I mean. We all enjoyed Frances McDormand in the movie. Including all restaurants I visited, my AirBNB hosts (great!), library staff and patrons, and convenience stores I patronized, I heard the accent exactly ZERO TIMES. Seriously. My conspiracy theory is that North Dakota—and especially Fargoans—got super self conscious about the accent after the movie came out and the rest of the country started mimicking it (how ya doin MaARRGe?) and they just forced themselves to stop talking like that. Which is a damn shame. Either that or the movie is a damn LIE, which just can't be true (if so? rude). I was genuinely bummed. I wanted to hear the accent. And don't play. People always want to hear the New York accent, the Boston accent, the Kentucky Fried Chicken accent. We all do it so don't even. [Postscript: I am ablush. After watching all available seasons of the TV show Fargo—checked out from my local library HUZZAH!—I now know that those accents were 100% Minnesotan, since that is where most of the movie's characters are actually from! Incidental research led me to the truth as we made our way through the show—great freakin show—so I seriously apologize to Fargo and North Dakotans in general. Hugs.]

Finally, North Dakota. It's a lot like Kansas, a whole lotta flat. But just like Kansas, those gleaming fields can be damn beautiful. A couple more shots, then on to the next...

Bismarck Veterans Memorial Public Library, Bismarck, North Dakota

My plan was to visit the aesthetically pretty pretty State Library in Bismarck, but weather that had been in the low 60s the day before had turned bitter and mean, with a hard frost across the city and a steady, biting wind blowing snow all day. I decided that my brief visit to the Bismarck Veterans Memorial Public Library the previous day could extend to a full day of work, pretty pretty libraries be danged.

It would be hard to miss the facade of Bismarck's main library. It not only shouts LIBRARY, it features a public signage peep in the act of reading, just in case it was unclear in any way.

Just inside the front doors there is a collection of photos showing the past and present main libraries of Bismarck--I can't begin to guess why the city decided to go from classic to wildly pedestrian, but that's their jam and to each his own.

The interior has this cool, streamlined, open feel that I found comfortable and conducive to long spells of plugging in and disconnecting from this tactile earth. When I resurfaced to the land of the moving, I went to the cafe for more coffee and a snack. Said snack was a seriously delicious chocolate chip cookie that I wolfed before I ever thought to document it.

The basement.

On the brief first day, I spent my time down in the basement, a cold collection of stacks under bright, white light. What I will never stop kicking myself over is not recording the grandfather clock positioned nonchalantly by the elevator. It was one of those more recent brass and glass types, not the old wooden classic, and it would do the usual chiming on the hour and half hour to note the passage of time, but the subsequent BONG-ing was extra special. It didn't just do a stern but melodious GONG. Oh no no no. Now, imagine being down in the basement, vast white light, almost completely alone, and the clock to your left starts tinkly winkling. You've heard it before from a hundred other grandfather clocks, it's nothing special. Then the GONG starts banging, wretched and off key, a shattering, hellscreech of a gong, Gong, GONNNNNG, that jolts you straight out of your train of thought and jettisons you to a cold, airless planet. It honestly scared me at first, it was so out of place and creepy, then the absurdity hit me and I cackled, alone in the basement of the library. Then I was creeped out again. Luckily it was time to go.

I was pleased to see that this library lends art, as well, so the weirdo Wichita Main doesn't stand alone in that offering. A staff member of another library mentioned that they used to lend art, but that it had passed out of vogue years before. I suppose some libraries just don't give up. If you ever need a fancy blue boy, they've got just the blue boy for ya.

I liked this library--it was calm and quiet, and while fairly busy, it was easy to concentrate and get some work done. It had a quirky side, and while clinging to some outmoded practices (and haunted clocks), it also embraced newer trends (cafes, whimsical kids sections). I don't think I missed much skipping that state library, after all.

Montana Miscellany and the Abyssmarck (770 miles)

Glitter church.

Ending grade for Montana: Solid B. I liked it. I liked the people, and I never felt like a tentacled alien slithering from Applebee's to Applebee's pleading for a Glass of Watarrr with Sugarrrr. The countryside is beautiful this time of year, with the yellow long grass flowing under the shining sun. A sea of glowing grain. I also got a chance to hit up the Cracker Barrel while in Billings. This is a place that owns me lock, stock, and barrel, not just because of the food (which is consistently yummy) but because the front store is always full of exactly the kind of garbage I like to blow money on. Encrust it with glitter and I will give you my dollars.

Once out of Montana and into North Dakota, the land turned craggy and strange, and before I knew it I was upon the Theodore Roosevelt National Park. I hadn't planned to visit, but it was right there, there was no entry fee, and they had bathrooms, so I stopped for a brief review.

Montana rest stops offer helpful signage in case you need to ID a cow.

It's a cool and strange place and I was glad I pulled over. I watched the biography of the Roosevelts on Netflix when I stayed in the casita in Magdalena (New Mexico), so I remembered that this was where Teddy traveled after his first wife and mother succumbed to typhoid fever on the very same day. He hunted, played ranger, and worked out his grief in North Dakota, if I recall correctly, and I can see how it would be a worthy distraction, though North Dakota can be awfully harsh. Though maybe that was part of it, too.

I also photographed some less dramatic parts of North Dakota along the way. There were waves of hills in places that reminded me a bit of the Palouse, and it was lovely to see while it lasted...after Bismarck and toward Fargo, North Dakota gets really familiar. It is almost exactly the same as Kansas (flat grasslands and tidy crops, with clutches of trees here and there).

Behind the restaurant, where no one goes. Forever alone.

After so much traveling, to circle back to the flatlands is both a relief and knife in the heart. I want to keep Wagon Training, Vern. But it does get lonely and tiring, there's no denying that. If someone had told me how much missing those furfaces that are my mom's cats and not my cats dammit would affect me, I wouldn't have believed them. There were nights, especially near the beginning, when I missed them so much I was almost in tears. Real, live human tears. For God's sake.

But finally I had reached North Dakota, and there was no more obvious a sign that I was nearing the end of my trip than the flattening out of the horizon to a rolling sameness dotted with clusters of haughty trees that refuse to die despite the abusive climate. 

A Taste Sensation!

Another sign of travel fatigue is having the same dish at Applebee's four times now. And while I am so tired of new things and thus falling back onto soft places more regularly, this also qualifies as a big endorsement of said dish. It's off the light side of the menu, believe it or not, and it is called Cedar Grilled Lemon Chicken. This dish is the everlovin BOMB. It is flavortastic and just filling enough. And you don't leave the restaurant feeling like smuck (trans: gravy smothered truck).

I would be remiss if I didn't mention that Applebee's is also The Place, The Spot, The Jukejoint where all the hepcats hang in Billings, Bismarck, and Fargo. It was packed every night I went, and people were getting their drank on, like in a big way. Who knew, right? I always just thought of it as a place to take Grandma and Grandpa and get a halfway decent steak for like $12. 

Anyway, I guess it was destiny that something was going to go awry. My illnesses long past, I hadn't hit any significant bumps in the road since and had been having a pretty good run overall, enjoying the places I visited and staying at some truly stellar AirBNBs. 

On my way to Bismarck I received a text from the AirBNB host asking about my ETA. This is standard, and I try to be as flexible as possible since I don't have set agendas for the most part. I stated that I could be there between 6 and 7 and she said that would work. I specifically told her to let me know if she needed me to be there by a certain time.

Little did I know that not only was there no LTE service in the ND sticks, but there would be no LTE service again until I reached Fargo. Nevertheless, I was on track to make it to the AirBNB right before seven when I made a wrong turn.

Google maps can work even if you are out of range because the route loads from wherever you started. If I had started that day out of LTE or wifi range, I would have been screwed, but I'd gotten reception at the Starbucks on the way and had the map loaded and working...until I went off course. If you are in range, Google Maps will automatically reroute your course to get you where you need to go. If you are out of range, you have to look at the map on your phone and find your way back to the original course.

It is actually pretty amazing that Google Maps can do any of this in the first place, but a missed turn can complicate things if you are out of range and trying to hit a mark. 

Anyway, I ended up arriving just a tad late (7:05) to find the husband and daughter sitting out in the cold waiting for me. He was pacing and she was sitting on the steps. After a frosty introduction (they were late somewhere), the kid showed me around and I discovered some unpleasant truths about the place I was staying for the next two nights:

• The ad for the space said I would have my own bathroom on the same floor. It failed to mention I would have to walk across the entire ranch house through the dining room, filthy kitchen, two hallways, and a laundry room to get to it. In the pitch dark. While trying not to step on cats.
• The window in the bathroom was open when I got there. Upon closing it, a smell of permanent cat urine arose. 
• The whole house reeked of thick, heavy grease, not helped by the fact that the dirty pans were left out for at least a day. It smelled that way the entire time I was there. 
• My room door had no lock (nor did the bathroom).
• My room featured a plug in air fresher spewing out a floral fume, something I would have unplugged except for the stench of grease.
• The bathroom amenities included a used tube of toothpaste.
• The carpet was dirty and stained. 
• The man of the house was skulking around at all hours, even late at night and early in the morning, ever present as though he was making sure I wouldn't steal any of their rad stuff. He barely said a word to me when I would pass him. I never saw the lady of the house and only saw the one kid that first night. 
• The house was a general mess--stuff everywhere, clothes and miscellaneous crap...something I would not have cared about if everything else wasn't so shitty, but ya know. In for a penny.

When I was there I kept to my room and avoided leaving as much as possible. One of the problems I have with AirBNB is ME: I tend to be pretty awkward around strangers and absolutely hate staying at other people's houses, family included, with one exception: Mom. Because we grew up together. But strangers? I wasn't even sure I could do AirBNB the social anxiety was so overwhelming. 

But most of the time it really is fine. Sometimes there is awkwardness, or messiness, or little issues here and there. But it is usually just one or two things, not like, seven. So I'm deciding how to address it. I haven't reviewed the place yet. The standard operating procedure in the AirBNB community is to not ding people for minor infractions. You'll find it is very rare to have hosts with less than five stars across the board. Those that do have 4 or 4.5 stars usually don't have big complaints. Every once in awhile someone will go AWF but about 95% of the listings I've reviewed over the course of the past year have had little to no drama (and a lot of compliments, etc.).

The Bismarck place, by the way, had plenty of rave reviews. Either my standards are too high or they're just baldfaced lying. Or they have little or no experience with AirBNB. It's confounding.

It bothers me that they might retaliate out of spite, but I can probably get AirBNB to clear my name if need be. Is it not my duty to warn people that the ad doesn't match the reality? I wouldn't mention the skulker (I may just be sensitive and, as I've said, am already awkward), but I have to mention the mess, the stench, and the fact that the bathroom is all they way on the other side of the house. I guess I just feel bad openly criticizing other people. And if they were letting people stay for free, I could hardly complain...but if I'm paying to stay there? C'mon, man. Used toothpaste? Really? Are we mouthkissing next? What else?

All in all, though, the AirBNB experience has been pretty excellent. I will do a more thorough run down of the service after the trip concludes.

Montanaaaaaaa!