College and lunches: the staple of my travels

It starts with lunch. At the far end of the Detroit terminal I found Gourmet PB&J. With so many choices in peanut butter complements, I went with the classic- grape jelly, wheat bread. It was decent, limited by the vat taste of too much PB and too much J in large containers. It was a bit overpriced, as the sandwich ran almost $4. It wasn't the answer, but I liked the idea and I don't really know the question.

Detroit was a layover; I had other places to be. Flying in over suburbs and farmland, descending, but still too high above to make out much detail, I pictured the various paths my own life could take and considered the pieces of some of those lives that I already had. My navel-gazing was interrupted by a field with a farewell message to Favre. I saw no such signs for me.

In Madison, I stumbled on to the home of the Badgers almost as soon as I'd left my lake view hotel room. Caught up in my own travel cliche, I wandered around campus. The architecture reminded me of my alma mater. The students reminded me of myself, only younger, and with redder sweatshirts. I was already enjoying the fall colors mixed with academia when I found a small game of Ultimate on a grassy area. I smiled as I considered graduate school before walking on into town. The university campus and the downtown "State street" area merge almost seamlessly. Searching for dinner and the sights, I walked from campus to capitol and then turned around and walked back. Joined by coworkers, my journey took me a block from where I started at State Street Brats. The college crowd was absent on a Tuesday, but jovial nights of drinking and jawing clung to the neon signs and bench seating. We ordered at the bar- brats and beer. It was "flip night" and after correctly calling "heads", I enjoyed a local brew from New Glarus. During the week I'd work my way down from dark to lighter, perhaps easing myself out of Madison through the prism of beer.

The beer and brats were delicious, but my growing crush on Madison solidified when even a cold drizzle couldn't stop me from my morning run. The crew teams were out on the lake and I could spy on them through the trees off the path I'd discovered. I passed a few runners and bikers in the rain, but nothing like I would find the next afternoon in the sunshine. With the sun out, the isthmus sprouted athleticism like dandelions. Runners and bikers filled all manner of path, not so crowded that it was uncomfortable, just enough to be engaging. As if the city were trying to reel me in, I found myself running by the practice field of the Badger marching band. Forget iPods, nothing rocks a run like a full marching band tooting and drumming away.
It's funny how well things go, when things are going well. As I ate my macaroni and Wisconsin cheese with a side of bologna and sipped my Spotted Cow, I tried to picture myself in the lofts of downtown Madison, Wisconsin.

Did I mention my hotel rented cross-country skis?