The Unknown: The Red Line.
  We left Champaign-Urbana by 6: brewed coffee, said goodbye to my cats, filled up at the Clark station on Cunningham, and hit I-74 West with the orange sun burning a promise in the rear-view mirror. Dirk slid a Sweet Honey in the Rock tape into the dash and rolled up a number of truly Mexican proportions. We knew we would have to conserve, but at the outset the euphoria was inescapable. As the vocal quartet sang about Reagan sending troops to Central America, we passed, with relish and satisfaction, and smiled. And we understood that we were all happy. We were going to Normal, we were going to see Curt White, we were going to Alaska, and we were going to find Frank Marquardt. Dirk and Scott had framed their Ph.D.s and those frames were mounted on the dash. My M.S. we used to roll up the next number and we slid through the corn past Farmer City singing smiling and passing.  

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