One night in Faribault makes a hard man humble...

We thought we could make it as far as Iowa Falls. However, Interstate 35 became an ice rink twenty miles south of Minneapolis. For ten miles, Bobblehead deftly controlled his fishtailing Subaru and we made it to Exit 59 on the northwest side of Faribault. We slid into the parking lot of the AmericInn and called it a day — just about one hour after checking out of our hotel in Bloomington.

Winter Storm Luna delayed our return to Iowa City until yesterday, which was no big deal. I am a patient man and much prefer spending a day in Faribault, Minnesota, a city I had never been to before, than dying on an icy Interstate. Plus, I got to carefully pore over Sunday’s Star Tribune. I love that newspaper.

Perhaps it was karma. Pronounced “fair-boh,” one cannot resist saying it with a thick, Minnesota accent. Along with Owatonna, Faribault is among the joyful geographic idiosyncrasies on the way to the Twin Cities, one that can be reveled or mocked with elongated vowels. We have done our share of mocking — and maybe for the last time.

Faribault seemed like a nice little burg — at least from what I could tell. It was Sunday and the roads were covered with ice, so there was very little action. On that note, Faribault is where my favorite fair ride, the Tilt-A-Whirl, was invented.

Liquor stores in Minnesota are closed on the Sabbath so there was nowhere to buy beer. (Damn you, blue laws! However, Mark Dayton and Co. got my sales tax dollars Monday morning.) No one was buying cars, either, because dealerships are not allowed to open on Sundays. The famed Cheese Cave was closed, too, so we dined at the A&W, which was surprisingly awesome. We were among a handful of patrons and the workers offered root beer to freshen root beer floats.

Back at the hotel, I worked, wrote, read, and watched TV. A church service broadcast on a local access station featured two Baby Boomers singing and dancing to a new-age hymn. One looked like he shopped exclusively at Cabela’s and had been baiting hooks and gutting fish at a nearby lake just hours before. In the evening, I watched a couple minutes of a community college basketball game. All the players on one team (presumably the home team in Faribault) were wearing seventies-esque short shorts à la Semi-Pro.

The AmericInn staff were friendly and accommodating. Apparently, though, they take offense at loud, scandalous tales.

All day, Mn/DOT plows drove up and down Highway 21. At night, the flashing lights of a city plow lit our room as it worked on the residential streets behind the hotel.

In the morning, Bobblehead snatched a Star Tribune from the front desk and I read it while eating a complimentary breakfast. Afterward, he and I ventured over to the nearby Haskell’s to peruse the beer and whiskey selections. I do not normally buy beer in the morning, but found a couple gems unavailable south of the border. That Haskell’s will definitely be a place to stop in the future.

Much like the day before, we checked out at 10:00 and hit the road. It was wet but passable and we sped toward Iowa — oh, great land where liquor stores are open on Sundays.