South Dakota State University

5 Aug 2009. "I need something with a bunny on it!" Ahh, I left satisfied. SDSU's logo wasn't bad before (a ripoff of Bugs Bunny) but it wasn't great either. The running rabbit is one of the best upgrades around. Royal blue and gold dust. Great nickname, great colors, great design. A credit to the Lagomorph order.


It was raining cats and dogs. And rabbits.
"It's locked!"
"You don't have keys to your own office?!"
"They're locked in my car! You're the janitor! You should have a skeleton key or something."
"'Skeleton Key'? I'm not a witch doctor. If you mean master key, then no I don't have it. I was already on my way out when you flagged me down. It's back in the admin building."
The janitor splashed away in his golf cart. South Dakota State University President Brookings huddled under the SDSU Campanile, getting soaked.
A lightning bolt flashed nearby, followed immediately by a tremendous crack of thunder. A gust of wind blew through a tree towards the bell tower, sending streams of water onto Brookings' front. He handled his tie, inspecting it.
That can't be good for the silk.

******

Seconds earlier and a hundred feet above, a hawk was caught in the storm, trying to get home for dinner. Dinner tonight was a young hare in its clutches. Even with hawk's eyes, it was difficult to navigate.
Luckily, there was a flash of light to help.
Unluckily, it consisted of lightning.
With a BURST and a BOOM, the hawk, now roasted, dropped to earth. The petrified hare fell through some branches and bounced against a cold, hard surface. This knocked it unconscious as it continued to descend. Down the bricks of the Campanile. Between the mounted aluminum SDSU lettering.
And into the hands of a man in a long black wool overcoat and a ruined tie.

******

Brookings heard a faint clang from the Campanile. He looked up. His palms were still open. And now they were filled with wet rabbit.
It was just a bunny, no bigger than a silicone breast implant, and about as lifeless and unnerving to hold.
The janitor returned and opened up the doors to the president's office. They both walked in and dried off.
"Whatcha doing with that muddy little thing?"
"It just fell from the sky!"
"A flying rabbit??"
"I don't know. Do rabbits nest in trees now?"
"No, they don't. You know a sky-rabbit is a sign of the end times. It's in Revelations."
"What?"
"I'll drive you to your car. Found your spare keys?"
Brookings dug through his desk drawers. "Actually...no. I don't know where...I can't find them! I'll have to call my wife. She can bring our other spares, then drive me to my car."
He thanked the janitor and sent him home.

******

Brookings called his wife, who appeared fifteen minutes later. Running in from the rain, she found him making a bunny-burrito. His tie was the tortilla and his desk lamp was the incubator.
"Hi, Suzette. You happen to have a hare dryer?"
"What?" She walked over to his bundle.
"Oh, hare dryer. Ha ha. How long were you waiting to say that?"
"Fifteen minutes. You dealt with rabbits before?"
"Yes, and hares, too. Which this little guy is, a leveret to be specific."
"I was trying to warm it up. It fell from the bell tower."
"From the bell tower? At least he's still breathing. It's difficult to look for broken bones on such a small specimen. Gut feeling right now is, he won't make it. The desk lamp was a good idea, but here, put your tie away. Do you have any cotton towels?"
"You can check the kitchenette." Brookings pointed down the hall. Suzette returned with a white dish towel and a bowl of soapy water.
"I didn't know you had a veterinary case or I'd have brought some supplies."
"What are you doing?"
"If I can't treat the injuries, at least I can clean him up some. He's filthy. Oh! He's opened his eyes!"
"Really? Wow! Suzette, you're amazing."
"I do this all the time. No big deal." The bunny wanted to move but could not stand. It tried to drag itself away with its front paws. It didn't get very far.
"Whoa, now, boy. Don't go throwing yourself off the table." Suzette found an empty Splenda box in the kitchenette. She placed the towel and the bunny inside.
"He's not returning to the wild anytime soon, or else he'd be eaten in ten minutes. We're keeping him."
"How about right over there?" said Brookings, pointing to a corner in his office.
"What, here in your office? Are you sure? It might get smelly."
"I can keep the windows open, or move him to the kitchenette or the patio if it gets bad." Suzette turned to the hare.
"You hear that? You have a new home..." She turned to Brookings.
"Ah, well, if you're keeping him, you get to name him."
"Hmm, okay. How about - "
A fierce BOOM shook the entire Campanile and office. An ugly-sounding RIP and CRACK sounded above. The lights went out. Water seeped through the ceiling. A spat of bricks fell and broke into pieces on the sidewalk below. Brookings and Suzette walked to the window, watching the falling debris.
"Did we just get hit by lightning??"
"Suzette, look!" Brookings pointed at the soggy lawn. The aluminum letters had been blasted off the side of the Campanile. The SDSU now lay scrambled as

S U D S

Brookings and Suzette both turned back to the infirm rabbit. He was still covered in soap bubbles, gnawing a flap of cardboard.
Brookings said, "I was thinking 'The Electrodent' but 'Suds' works too."

******

Suds The Rabbit, who grew domesticated but healthy, became the symbol of South Dakota State athletics. His finest moment, aside from surviving a hundred-foot drop, was during the annual Homecoming Week, when he headlined the parade. He wore a tiny toga, which he gnawed on, and was drawn in a mini chariot by a remote control car decorated with lightning bolts.
After Suds passed away, he was replaced by 'Jack', a student in a rabbit suit and a blue beret.

These are attempts to photograph the Campanile bell tower while driving. Do not try mobile photography at home.

Swing and a miss.

You can see the base of the tower on the lower left.

Far left! You see it?

It's there, but you have to already know it's there to see it.

The best I can offer. You get the gist.

Anyone know the story behind this hobo doll on display in the student center?

North Dakota State University

5 Aug 2009. Everything about Fargo was welcoming. No menacing skyscrapers. No grumpy people. No Steve Buscemi.


"Burger's up!"
A slim man in a shirt, tie, and apron, grabbed the oval plate and walked with urgency to table 31.
"I apologize for the delay, sir. I caught one of the chefs putting your bison burger in the microwave. That is not the level of food quality that we here at The Prairie Oyster - "
"That's all right. I understand what a perfectionist you are, Steve."
The customer removed his fedora and looked up. His neatly trimmed mustache widened with his smile.
"Knut?! How are you?"
Knut stood up. The two exchanged hugs and backslaps as old friends would.
Steve removed his apron and handed it to a roving server.
"Tina, watch the line, would you?" Steve sat down.
"So what's new, Knut? What have you been up to?"
"I've been up to what you're going to be up to. Travel research."
"Oh, not again. Knut, Christmas is coming up. I don't have vacation money. Or time. You know that."
Knut already had spread out his brochures in front of him on the table. He took a bite of his bison burger and tapped his temple with his free hand.
"Then I guess I'm a little dense. It's just not getting through to me. Great bison as usual."
Steve flipped through the glossies.
"Thank you. What are you proposing here anyway? ...Nova Scotia? I barely know where that is."
"The Maritimes. Eastern Canada. There's a culinary conference in Halifax in November. It's entirely about seafood. It'd be perfect for you to talk up The Prairie Oyster."
"I don't like being shoehorned as just a seafood restaurant. Our bison burgers have been voted the best in the Fargo micropolitan area."
"Come on. Let's look at your menu again. Prairie Surf and Turf, Tarragon Quail and Mussels, Lobster Cayenne Campanelle, Panko Flounder Flatbread, Red River Trout Soup..."
"Yes, Knut. I know my own menu. What's your point?"
Knut polished off the burger. He wiped his mustache clean and started on the cinnamon sweet potato fries.
"My point is, it'd be great for you to mingle with some other bright restaurateurs outside of Fargo. You've reached the ceiling here. Time to move on to bigger things. The north Atlantic area is a hotbed now for young chefs like you. The Maritimes, Iceland, Scandinavia, even Greenland..."
"Wait a minute, 'reached the ceiling'? There's still work to be done here. I have plans for a heated patio, our cost controls need to be overhauled, our server training program is nonexistent..."
"Okay, Steve, okay. I don't mean to start an argument. And I'm not out for a commission, please don't think that. Your well-being is worth more to me than a couple hundred bucks."
"I'd pay it anyway. It reserves my right to complain."
"God forbid you waive that right." Knut punctuated his jab with a grin. Steve's face remained straight. Knut finished off his water in thirty uncomfortable seconds.
Steve said, "Let me get you a refill here."
He took Knut's glass and walked off. Tina showed up with a full glass and took his empty plate. She quickly returned with the check. Knut understood the indirect message. Although Knut never had to ask, Steve had always taken care of his tab.

Knut looked around at the customers. The place seemed to be pretty full. Tables of downtown businesspeople sat beside others filled with NDSU students. Despite (or because of?) the higher prices, The Prairie Oyster had solid lunch sales.

Steve returned to the table.
"Knut, I have to get back to the line. If I take you up on your offer, how much time does it buy me before the next sales pitch?"
"This is the last one whether or not you go to Halifax."
Steve cocked his head. "Hmm?"
"That's where I'm moving Go Far."
"You're moving - to Halifax? Why??"
"Actually, Halifax is only temporary. My brother-in-law Carl is helping put me up until I am ready for the final move, which is Oslo."
"Oslo, Norway?"
"No, Oslo, Minnesota. Yes, Oslo, Norway!"
"Again, why?"
"Same problem that you don't see as a problem yet. Fargo only provides so many customers for a travel and tour company. And remember when I did study abroad in Norway - "
"Not really."
" - well, I have always wanted to move back since then."
"But even the name - Go Far - is thanks to Fargo!"
"Then it will accurately reflect the company's - and my - roots. I've already gone over all these hurdles, Steve. I knew that you wouldn't come to Halifax just for a personal visit, so I found this seafood conference that you could get some business worth out of."
Steve stood shocked. "I can't believe all this."
Knut folded a twenty into the check book. He slipped a business card in Steve's hand: Knut Ericsen, Go Far Travel.
"You truly can't believe it? Truly? Who would choose to stay in Fargo if they could help it?"
"I could help it. I'll see you later."
Steve walked back to the line, past the servers demanding his attention for something or other, and into the kitchen office beyond anyone's sight lines. He crumpled up the business card and tossed it away. He sat down and rested his forehead on his fist. Was Knut right? Was he wasting his time and talent in Fargo? Why did Knut care? Where was the balance between comfort and ambition?
Steve took a deep breath and slowly stretched his palms down his face. He plucked the card out of the trash. He flattened it out and noticed the handwriting on the back:

Carl Hammerfest
808 Fundy Road
Halifax
See you in November
-Knut

NDSU students, chillin'. Seriously, it's, like, 2 degrees there.

Montana State University

4 Aug 2009. Wheat Montana was a great recommendation by the ladies at the MSU bookstore. Like Panera but with corrugated metal instead of pastel overstuffed easy chairs.


"Those falls weren't that great."
"The real Great Falls is a few miles downstream. But there have been so many dams built on the Missouri that the falls today are only a fraction of the spectacle that Lewis & Clark encountered in 1805."
"Could we take a break from the interpretation, please?"
The horse-mounted ranger looked hurt. "Sure."
The young driver exhaled. "I'm sorry. After being abandoned by Alicia, I'm just ready to zone out for a while." He shifted on his seat. "And my butt's numb again. How do you handle it, uberglutes?"
"Yoga. Though I tell people cross country skiing."
"Yoga? You??"
The driver laughed. The ranger frowned.
"All right, all right. My lips are sealed. Cat claw?"
He foisted up an almond-studded pastry through the opening in his cage.
"No, thanks."
The ranger's horse flipped his neck right and grabbed the pastry with its frightening lips.
"Whoa! Look at those lips!"
"Oh! Bad Pompey! No sweets! Please do not feed my horse junk food."
"I have some 9-grain bagels."
"Maybe later. We still have 200 miles to go."
So continued the molasses slow journey of Otter, driving a miniature Bobcat tractor, and Ranger Redfeather, astride a pony.

******

Otter, senior biology major at Montana State in Bozeman, was not content to have his final report be based on mere library research. He did not want his findings on bobcat habitat conservation to exist in a vacuum; he wanted to have impact. A caffeine fueled brainstorm with his academic advisor yielded an original proposal: a fundraising journey from the continental divide in Glacier National Park to Bozeman.
The poetic synergy made Otter's loins tingle with glee: To save the bobcats, a student, whose school mascot is a bobcat, would drive a Bobcat skid steer.
Glacier National Park donated the dark green one-seat machine, retrofitted with a second seat over the shovel. This bumper seat was reserved for Otter to keep a video journal of the trip. He recruited a girl from the MSU conservation club named Alicia to drive. The small cockpit of the Bobcat was basically a Humvee for someone as small as Alicia.
As far as food, it wasn't hard to gather non-perishables for a nonstop three-day trip, but Wheat Montana stepped up anyway. The local chain donated loads of loafs from Kalispell, and also for his stops in Great Falls and Bozeman.
The only group that did not cooperate was Parks Canada. Otter wanted a greater audience for his message. He reckoned that since his starting point was Glacier-Waterton International Peace Park, the northerners would be interested. He reckoned wrong.
Even without Canada's help, Otter was packed and ready. Alicia was not. She was unprepared for inclement weather, and in a Teton County rainstorm, she caught a cold. She dropped out, her parents picking her up roadside in Great Falls.
This crammed Otter's long swimmer's limbs behind the wheel, taking the camcorder out of his hands and limiting his video footage. The shovel-seat was now used as an equipment shelf.
They ate up the road at 7 mph, swapping stories and making fun of Canadians.

******

"I still can't believe they refused to get on board on account of 'bobcats not being endangered enough'. That's not even the point! What, do you have a long list of college student fundraising slo-mo marathons?"
Ranger Redfeather concurred. "Canadians are small-minded."
"I would always defend them. I would always give them the benefit of the doubt. But if you can't even be bothered to send a maple leaf bumper sticker for the Bobcat, then what other conclusion can I reach?"
"I have known of their ways and now you do too."
"So the US Park System has to step it up and donate a Bobcat, a horse, and a ranger's time."
"Pompey is mine. And Glacier did not donate me. I am donating my own weekend."
"Are you serious? Why?"
"One: The bobcat is my totem animal. Two: Conservation is never a poor choice. Bobcats are numerous now, but so were passenger pigeons right before their extinction. Your cause is a good one."
The sun was setting behind the Big Belt mountains. The shadows of Otter and Ranger Redfeather merged and stretched twenty feet into the brush.
"Thank you for coming, Mr. Redfeather."
The ranger touched the brim of his beige Stetson.
"And when I heard the Canadians wouldn't help, I had to! Ha ha ha!"

******

"Bozeman in view, Otter."
Otter strained his face to focus. He bit his tongue and slammed his head against the metal cage to wake himself.
"Finally! All I have left is 9-grain bagels. Awful. I think I was starting to see things in the road too."
"Hallucinations are common when not sleeping for two days."
"How are you and Pompey doing?"
"Why do you think we use the word 'workhorse'? He is fine. As for me, I have trained with sleep deprivation before."
"So you're a trippin' yoga Indian Ranger."
"Trippin' yoga Nez Perce Ranger, yes."
Otter and Ranger Redfeather puttered onto the MSU campus.
"Look, there's my parents. And some of my friends. And the conservation club I guess." Otter sounded disappointed.
"What were you expecting? A local news crew?"
"Actually, yes. It's not like much happens in - whoa!"
"Otter??"
Otter and his Bobcat sunk out of view. Ranger Redfeather dismounted. Otter, distracted by the welcoming committee, had driven right through some yellow caution tape and onto a rain-weakened embankment. It gave way, sending the Bobcat tumbling into a natural gutter. The stream was only a few feet below, but the Bobcat had rolled upside down, sending cold muddy water into the driver's cage. Ranger Redfeather knew well that it took no more than a few inches of water to drown someone. He needed to get Otter out. Or at least set the Bobcat upright.
"Someone get help!" Ranger Redfeather yelled to the other end of the field. He jumped into the muck. His boots quickly got suctioned off. He pushed his weight against the Bobcat. There was no way he was going to pull it out on his own, or even set it upright. Otter struggled to turn himself rightside-up, but there was little maneuvering room and he was running out of air. Some of the crowd ran away, most ran towards the creek.
"HELP! Someone get a rope!"
Five ropes fell on Ranger Redfeather's shoulders. He looked up. Five stallions that dwarfed Pompey stood with ropes tied to their saddles. They were mounted by men in Red Serge and flat-brimmed Stetsons. Ranger Redfeather tied the loose ends to the back of the Bobcat cage. The horses turned tail and easily pulled the Bobcat up. When it was on steady ground, Otter kicked open the front of the cage and tumbled out. His family gathered around him as he spit and coughed, snotting out mud and gathering his breath.
"Otter, are you okay?"
"I'm ready for a hot shower, please. Thank you for coming everyone. Save the bobcats and so on. Alicia, you made it?"
"Of course, I'm still the historian. Say cheese!"
"Oh, man." Otter grimaced and shivered. He turned to the Mounties. Ranger Redfeather was talking to them.
"Looks like you used a bowline, Ranger?"
"Nothing works better."
Otter said, "Thank you all for saving me. But...I am surprised to see you. I thought Parks Canada didn't want to get involved?"
One of the Mounties addressed Otter. "I'm not privy to that information, but like Ranger Redfeather here, we are volunteering our time. When I picked up my daughter from Great Falls, she convinced me to be here to make up for her leaving early."
"Oh. Well...she couldn't help that she got a cold and...wait, wait...your daughter? Alicia, your dad's a Mountie?"
"Yep, we're Calgarians. Except for the constables, not sure where they're from."
Alicia's dad nodded and the other Mounties called roll.
"Constable Mackenzie, Banff."
"Constable Logan, Medicine Hat."
"Constable Rupert, Moose Jaw."
"Constable Fraser, Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump."
Otter shook each of their hands. "Your towns have awesome names."
Alicia's dad said, "Bozeman has a unique ring to it as well."
"Couldn't tell you where it came from. But I'm sure there's a story behind it..."

Sleep deprivation prevented me from getting a better shot of Bobcat Stadium.

University of Montana

27 Jul 2009. Montana, a majestic state and majestic campus with a majestic mascot, required a majestic souvenir. I had to splurge a little bit, but for now the Grizzly Growler (fine, it's a stein) is the crown jewel of the collection.


"Hello, Singapore!"
Persephone Evelyn Bumbaugh lifted off her sleeping mask and noise-canceling headphones. She felt refreshed and energized; hundreds of business trips had acclimated her to sleeping on planes.
Persephone looked out the window. There were no lion statues or buildings over four stories high.
She spoke to the triple-paned window, "S...Singapore? Ohhh, right, Seattle connection." But everyone else looked dismayed.
She asked her seat neighbor, a portly Hawaiian-looking man, "What's going on?"
"Didn't you hear? Some lady went into labor and we had to land in Missoula."
"Missoula...Montana?!"
She clicked on her Blackberry.
"Russ, hi...No, no, I'm not...I've been grounded by a fetus."

*****

Despite its impressive name, Missoula International Airport was not used to accommodating 747s. The ramp staff had to jury-rig a custom sized fuel nozzle from some coffee cans. That killed a couple hours, killing Persephone's chances of catching her connecting flight at SeaTac. The next flight to Seattle was in twelve hours. The decision was made: she would not be joining her competitors in Singapore.

"Russ, without my participation, our project will never gain any traction."
"I'm sorry, Persephone, but being late is more offensive to them than spitting on their grandmother. Unless our digital proposal absolutely floors them, we'll have to move to Plan B. Considering our competition, we are basically out of the running. Yeah, it's a punch in the gut, but as of now we're looking elsewhere."

She was put up at the GallatInn for the night, scheduled to fly back to Philadelphia the next afternoon.
She could not get Russ' word unless out of her mind. It meant to her there was still a chance, no matter how farfetched.
Stuck in Big Sky Country for the morning, the unless started driving her up the wall. She needed to burn off some steam. She changed into a t-shirt and workout shorts, tied back her blonde curls, and found the exercise room. All the treadmills were taken. She went to the front desk.
"Excuse me, any good running trails around here?"
"Running trails? Let's see, there's Mt. Sentinel but most people usually hike it, not run it." The front desk manager pointed to an imposing hill. Persephone was surprised she had not noticed it from her hotel room window. A big white M crowned the mountain.
Persephone said out loud to no one in particular, "M for Missoula."
"More like Murder," said the front desk lady. "If you only knew how much illegal trapping goes on up there. They've arrested half a dozen poachers this year alone, and that's only the ones they caught. If you can imagine how many poor widdle wabbits - "
"Okay, Mt. Sentinel, thank you!"
Persephone jogged away.

*****

Persephone instantly felt better breathing in the clean, cool air. She admired the maroon brick buildings and the trimmed lawns on U of M's campus. Once on the trail, she ascended the inclined switchbacks in several minutes.
That's it? I bet that wasn't even a mile.
She sat down on the concrete M and pulled out a Luna bar. She read the label: Heavenly Honey & Pomegranate, Loaded with Folate for a Healthy Fetus!
Ugh. There's marketing, and then there's pandering.
After taking a bite, she heard a grumble behind her. Reminded her of an old man emerging from an unplanned nap. She thought it was odd - she saw nobody on the run up.
"Hello?"
A hairy, meaty grizzly bear sauntered out from the brush. Persephone froze. She tried to dig from her brain any bear survival tips. Nothing useful, only the old joke where a hiker has to only outrun his friend, not the bear itself. It wasn't very humorous at the moment since there was nobody around to outrun. There was something good about the old joke though: Persephone knew that bears can easily outrun humans.
She started backing down the trail slowly.
It took all her mental discipline not to turn and bolt. And she was about to find out how long she could maintain that 100% resolve.
The bear began to follow her down the trail.
Not too closely and not too fast, but enough to torture her for 3/4ths of a mile.
A few hikers on the way up turned tail and ran. Persephone dearly wanted to join them, as well as throttle them for not getting help. Her breathing grew fast. Her heart couldn't beat any faster without popping out of her chest.
How long is this bear going to follow me??
At the bottom of the trail, she spotted a cab on the other side of the campus quad. She couldn't hold back anymore. She sprinted for her life. The bear picked up the pace of pursuit.
Passing a lifesize grizzly sculpture, she saluted it with a big chosen finger.
She reached the cab and slammed on the passenger side window.
"Let me in! Get me out of here!"
"No more fares, crazy pretty lady. I'm headed to the car wash then I'm off the clock."
"Please! There's a freakin' bear after me!"
"Huh?" The cabdriver saw the gallopin' griz.
"Great Canadian Ballet! Get in!" He unlocked the doors. She buckled in and the cab peeled out.

*****

"Were you teasing the bears, Miss?"
"That is...not...appreciated...right now. Thanks." Persephone was still gasping.
"You don't mind if I stop through the car wash? It's on the way to the GallatInn."
"I don't care."
"Good. It's a mess now. What did you smear all over the window anyway?"
"What? Oh, I guess the rest of my energy bar. Sorry."
"That's all right." The cab driver sniffed. "What was it, raspberry?"
"Pomegranate and honey I think."
"Clark my Fork! The only thing grizzlies love more than honey is pomegranates. No wonder she was after you! We need to clean this car, now!"
"You're saying if I just dropped the bar then he would have left me alone?"
"Hmmm. Hard to say, but yes, definitely."
The cab driver was glad to see no one in line at the car wash. He rolled down his window, put in the coins, rolled the window up again, and pulled forward.
There was a loud SLAM. The passenger window spidered with cracks. Persephone screamed.
The bear was back and now he was licking crumbs from his paw. The bear followed the cab into the car wash and proceeded to contentedly scratch and lick the cracks. Shards fell into the cab. Persephone clambered into the backseat behind the driver.
"Where's the damn water?"
"I'm trying to trigger it! These things all always so sensitive."
The green light flashed red and turned green again.
"Dang! Too far. I gotta reverse it now."
"COME ON!"
The light turned red. It stayed red.
"Got it!" The driver switched into P and pulled the handbrake. "Mind if I join you in hiding? This water can get hot." He piled in the backseat next to Persephone.
"You know, I've made a lot of car insurance claims but never one from bear attack."
"Car insurance? We might need life insurance!"
"Hold on now, did you know bears hate hot water? They're already baking under all that fur. Watch."
The water pumps whirred to action and flooded the car wash with a hot mist. The bear squealed and shook its face. Giant blue fabric flaps dropped from the ceiling and slid from bumper to bumper, herding the bear back. After a few rounds of the flaps, the bear gave up and ran away. Soaked, Persephone and the driver looked back.
"He actually looks kind of funny all wet. A little scrawnier."
"See? She wasn't trying to eat you, just your pomegranate and honey."
"How can you tell it was a she?"
"By the backside! You're not from here, are you?"
"No, I'm from Philadelphia."
"What are you doing in Missoula?"
Persephone rubbed her temples. "It was a horrible, horrible mistake."
"Hey. We like it here."

*****

Persephone was back at Missoula International Airport, this time at the boarding lounge. A fresh set of clothes and a hot meal later, she was in high spirits again.
"Russ, hi...No, I'm way past that...Listen, is it too late to change our digital proposal?...Axe the man in a business suit. It needs to be a bear in a car wash...destroying a car and driving out with it...Trust me, it'll draw them in...Yes!...Thank you, Russ...See you then."

Persephone's proposal drew additional interest from the Singapore group. It did not win the full bid, but was accepted as limited promotional material for a chauffeur services firm. The tagline read, "Driving Is A Bear."

The Mt. Sentinel Ramp, a big chosen finger to the wheelchair-bound

University of Wyoming

26 Jun 2009. Laramie was a surprise. The only Division 1 institution in the Equality State boasts a fine collection of stone, wood, and iron architecture, all in the school's brown and gold colors. License plates, commemorative quarters, football-punted pint glasses - the bronc buster icon is everywhere in Wyoming! What would Wyoming be without cowboys?

A helluva lot less interesting, I can tell you that right now.

I don't doubt that, but...who are you?

They call me Char.

Any what do you know about Wyoming?

Ha! What do I know about Wyoming?

No need to repeat the question.

And no need for me to stick around and help you with your little website. I know that someone with your manners would be run out in a heartbeat, that's what I know.

Hold on. I apologize, we got off on the wrong start. Please tell me about yourself.

All right then. I go by Char. I live in Chugwater.

Are you a cowboy?

Ha! Everyone in Wyoming's a cowboy. But I know yer meaning, in which case I'd have to say no.

Even with the hat?

It takes more than a felt hat to be a cowboy. No, I run the Powder River Bar. We're on Main Street across from Cody's Auto Care. Or rather, Cody's Auto Care is across the street from us.

So you're a bartender?

At nights I am. During the day I tend to my handiwork. Metals, mostly iron, inspired by Mr. Frederic Remington.

Rodeo scenes?

More like the old American West. Kind of romanticized. Larger than life.

I saw several sculptures like that on the campus in Laramie.

Then I'd bet you saw my best work. The life size rider on Ivinson Avenue.

I did! That's yours?

Proud to say that it is. People tell me how lifelike it is, but they don't know the half of it. This one fought back. It sculpted me! I was working on the mane - hair, rope, anything thin is always tough to work with on account of the heat required to mold it. Makes it so brittle. So of course, this piece of the mane bends down and falls off, bounces off the hoof, buries itself in my shirt. It burns through my shirt, giving me a souvenir of the whole experience.

Wow. The scar kind of looks like a stretched E or M.

From my point of view, I like to say it's a W. Makes more sense. Listen, I'd like to go on, but I have to open the bar. They don't wait to drink, so I'd rather them not have to bust down the doors.

Any last words for our readers?

Of course - Powder River, Let 'er Buck!

Char's work

University of Nebraska

25 Jun 2009. Second floor: Textbooks. Okay, the usual.
Ground floor: Healthy selection of basic printed gifts, cups, shirts, pens, caps and other hatware. Impressive range of designs
Basement: SWEET MERCY! WAVES OF LOGO EFFLUVIA! This is where the Nebraska lifers shop. Furniture, jewelry, formal wear (human and canine), golf clubs, appliances, tents, Manchester, ping pong and billiards tables, radial tires, yacht riggings. Tattoo parlor? Unconfirmed.


*** The following is a diary excerpt from Pydaras Sabakalova, Russian exchange student at The University of Nebraska, Lincoln. ***

5:15 AM. Alarm goes off. 'Somebody's watching me' song from Geico commercial on my iPod dock clock plays as usual. I shower then dress in my only collared shirt, the dirty Hawaiian shirt from work. I closed the restaurant last night and was too tired to do laundry.

5:37. Bike to Hilary Swank Elementary School. I pack my tickets and some books and my lunch. It is early but I am happy to give back to the country that is providing my education.

6:01. I arrive in the school cafeteria. Five elderly Americans tell me I am late. Their names are Earl, Marlene, Jim, Swinton, and Patty.

6:06. Earl tells the voting procedures and regulations to everyone. He says my shirt is "borderline" and I cannot wear my shoes. I have to take off my black tennis shoes and wear his extra shoes. They are bowling shoes and they are too big.

6:35. Earl teaches me how to operate the electronic machines. They are small desks with very thin metal legs and walls. My job is to make sure people do not break them by accident. It seems like a very easy job to do for $100.

7:00. The polls open. There are many people in line. This is a very patriotic day I feel! Everyone has their say in improving the country.

7:01. My first voter! It is a tall man with a big beard wearing overalls. He works out the electronic machine on his own without any problems. This is good. It was hard to understand his talking through the big beard.

9:59. Earl asks me to take a break. I see that 144 people have voted on my machine but I am not tired at all. I am having fun greeting all the people. I wander the halls for a while and sit for the rest of my break. Marlene asks how I can be an election officer if I am not an American citizen. I think she is meaning to say that someone else should be making the $100 instead of me, but those are not the words she uses. $100 is more than I make in one day so I am still excited.

10:15. Resume work at the electronic voting machine. A small metal clip holding one of the machine walls broke while I was gone. I ask Patty what happened because she was watching the machines for me. She says she does not know.

12:30 PM. Lunch break. I am hungry so I am glad I brought extra borscht. I cannot find it so I ask if someone had seen my borscht or wheat thins. Jim says he thought the table was group food. He ate half of the box of wheat thins. Then he ate the other half. He was fat so he should not eat other people's food. But nobody ate my borscht. I asked again where was it? Earl said all he saw was leftover beets that the cleaning person forgot to throw away. I told him they were mine. He asked if I was sure because they were cold and starting to smell and he put them in the trash. I started to say that in Russia it is supposed to be cold but Marlene called Earl over with a voter problem before I could explain. Swinton felt bad I had no food. He offered me his kelp dogs. I had never seen black hot dogs made of plants but I was very hungry. Swinton was nice but I do not want to eat kelp dogs again. I spend the rest of lunch looking at my Russian-English dictionary for romantic words.

1:14. I return to the voting machine. Someone had written all over the computer screen. I think they were trying to vote by writing with a pen on the computer. I ask Patty what happened. She says she does not know. I still am hungry and have a bad taste in my mouth but it is okay because I only have four hours and 45 minutes left.

3:15. Earl gives me another break. I drink lots of water from the water fountain. I walk outside. There are small girls in uniforms selling lemon cookies to raise money for a trip to Texas. I would like to help them get to Texas and eat lemon cookies but I did not bring any money with me. All I brought was my tickets to 1776. It is a musical about the starting of America. I want to surprise Sarah Anne with them after the polls close.

3:31. I return from my break. Earl looks at me weird but does not say anything. A leg on the voting machine is bent. I ask Patty what happened. She says she does not know. I think that Patty might not know anything.

6:10. The last voter leaves. The polls close at 6:00 but the voters still in line at 6:00 are allowed to vote. Earl types on the voting machine and a long paper list of voting numbers prints out. He helps me put away the voting machine. The bent leg is hard to put back in the box. He asks what did I do to the machines. I said I don't know and to not ask Patty because she also does not know.

6:37. We are all still in the cafeteria. I ask are we allowed to go? Earl says no and I ask when. He says when he is done with the papers we all have to sign to be a witness or else we do not get our $100. He says Nebraska elections take more work because the unicameral legislature is more complicated. I ask how can the unicameral be more complicated than the bicameral. He asked if I read the booklet for election officers in the mail. I said I did not get anything in the mail. I start to worry because Sarah Anne is done at work at the Love Library at 7:00 and the musical starts at 7:30. I like Sarah Anne because she is a very pretty American girl like Russians see in movies and magazines.

6:58. We are still in the cafeteria. Everyone is sitting around. They are very patient or very boring, I cannot tell. I ask to borrow a cell phone but nobody has one except for Earl and he says it is only for election business. I tell a lie that I need to call a friend to tell him that the polls are closed and that he should not come to vote now. Marlene says my friend is ignorant. I go to the corner of the room and call the Love Library. Sarah Anne answers "Love Library" like she is ordering me to love the library. I say "No, love Sarah Anne". She laughs. I tell her to wait at the Love Library until I get there please. She says okay. I like Sarah Anne also because she says my name in a very nice way that makes me forget it is a bad name in Russia.

7:22. Earl finishes his work and we all sign the papers to be a witness. Everyone still stands around but I leave fast. I am very very hungry but I need to go meet Sarah Anne. It is more important.

7:28. I run into the Love Library. I find Sarah Anne talking to a friend at the front desk. She looks at me and smiles and says "Pydaras!" that makes me forget I am hungry, late, and angry. Then I see the clock behind her that says 7:29. I tell her we have to go or we will be late for the musical. I show her the tickets. She says that is sweet but we will never make it in time. She says we should go sit in the lobby instead and eat popcorn and hot dogs until the intermission and we can see the second act. When she says hot dogs it reminds me of the kelp dogs. I start talking about my bad time. This makes the walk go very quickly and we are already at the theater. I try to remember some of the words from my dictionary and hope I get it right when I say to Sarah Anne "You redeem my day."

Oh, Nebraska bookstore, you redeem my coupon. <3

Creighton University

25 Jun 2009. Omaha was much more cityfied than I ever imagined. I also didn't know Creighton was a religious school - probably Jesuit. All their products had unimpressive designs; I wanted a blue jay.


Creighton Fight Song (Alternate Version)

Creighton, Creighton!
We love Creighton!
Blue and white we're celebratin'
Always strong, no hesitatin'
Won't go down without a fight!

Creighton, Creighton!
We love Creighton!
Shining glory's now awaitin'
We're the best! There's no debatin'
Blue Jay pride throughout the night!

(musical interlude)

From the stands at Rosenblatt
To the reaches of the Platte
Though our state is fairly flat
Creighton U is where it's at!

(call-and-response)
Huskers?
OMAHA-HA-HA!
Bulldogs?
OMAHA-HA-HA!
Hawkeyes?
OMAHA-HA-HA!
Shockers?
OMAHA-HA-HA!

Creighton Blue Jays
RA RA RAAAAAA!

('Shockers' may be replaced with name of current opponent)

Above: Nuns having fun

Not pictured: dive bombing pickpocket blue jays; pioneers at Chimney Rock stricken with dysentery; wheat, barley, and hops fields hit by a tornado and mixed with pure Platte River water to create a heavenly sky-brewery; other interesting stories

Drake University

24 Jun 2009. The closest College Cups has had to a chase scene was in Des Moines, Iowa. I left Iowa, Iowa, at 4:00 PM. The Drake bookstore was set to close at 5:30 PM. Could I make 119 miles in 90 minutes?? I mentally calculated that my average speed would have to be in the 75 mph range. If I went for it and made it, I could get the cup and log some after-dinner miles before setting up camp for the night. But if I missed it, I would have to stay in Monktown and make my purchase first thing in the morning. And that would put me way behind schedule in my cross country trip.
I went for it of course.
The bookstore was relatively easy to find from the interstate. I parked at 5:31 PM, and luckily the doors were still open to sweaty, jittery, numb-butted customers like me! Not only that, the cashiers recommended a great local barbecue dive. Jethro's and Lake Anita State Park: A+, would patronize again.


Sir Francis Drake stroked his chin. He was lost in the American continent.
"Will you stop fondling your goatee and ask for directions?" asked Drake's talking bulldog, Jethro.
"Never!! Not for all the naked lady scrimshaw in Connecticut will I accept help from a Frenchman or a savage!"
This was not the first time Drake regretted having Jethro take English lessons from a parrot. Yet he was still the most intelligent companion out of the whole crew.
Their tall ship, The Golden Hind, was dangerously out of place up the muddy Des Moines river. And it had been spotted by the natives. The natives knew it was only a matter of time before a ship of that size was permanently moored. It just came quicker than they thought.
Minutes later, The Golden Hind came to a sludgy halt. When Drake and Jethro disembarked to survey the damage, they were doomed.
"Look at the condition of the hull, Jethro. What a damnable catastrophe!"
"You're the damnable catastrophe. How many miles off course did you put us?"
"You are not being man's best friend right now."
Drake reached back to deliver a slap to Jethro's golden hindquarters. A large tailless squirrel dropped into his open palm.
"Ye Gads! A flying prairie rat!" It scampered down his shirtsleeve and disappeared into his vest. Dignity suddenly dropped low on Drake's list of priorities.
"Oof! Ahh! Gah! Jethro, help!"
Jethro was busy with small mammals of his own. He was barking and thrashing, trying to ward off the strange new species.
The enemy artillery emerged from the pines. Drake addressed them. "By the power of the crown, I order you to stand down - ahh - that we may - erg - engage in a humane discourse!"
Jethro flipped a couple rats aside. "Drake, you and your weak nose. They ain't humane cuz they ain't human!"
The crew of The Golden Hind finally finished their poker game and came deckside. They had a better view of what Jethro meant. Instead of charging Sioux, they saw the inexplicable: bison-mounted prairie dog catapults operated by trained coyotes in feathered headdresses.
A new round of prairie dogs were flung close to the ship. They climbed up the sides and populated the crew's faces. The animals not busy with facial mauling were gnawing through lines and masts.
The coyotes dismounted from the bison and identified Drake as the party's leader. Sadly, they made quick work of the captain.
Hopelessly outnumbered, Jethro ran.
He subsisted for two weeks on river water, grass, and prairie fowl eggs. He made it to Chicago where a settler recognized the royal seal on the lapels of his sailor suit. Jethro recounted the story during his convalescence, but as veterinary medicine was primitive back then, he had little chance of long-term survival. A few days later he succumbed to doggy dysentery.
Drake and his crew became heroes in England.
Much later, when a town sprang up around the Des Moines river, the founders paid tribute to them by christening their new school Bulldog University. Their sports teams were nicknamed the Drakes.
Days later the names were reversed.

Jethro's golden hindquarters

"Bow-wow to me!"

Drake is home to the annual Beautiful Bulldog competition.

University of Iowa

24 Jun 2009. There should be more merchandise trailers dotting America's campuses. Something about making a credit card transaction out of doors makes one feel...primal. Excuse me while I hunt some fierce wild corn.

"Jesus is a lot like a surfboard."
Blank stares.
This is the moment Peter diScala quickly learns, talking surfing to Iowans is like talking bobsled to Jamaicans. Even for a religious man, it takes a leap of faith to connect with students on such a level.
"The perfect wave is a holy moment. Experiencing God, in a way. And you can only partake in it when you are one with your surfboard."

When receiving their mission calls, surfin' Mennonites Peter diScala and Royal Bristlermartin were first hoping to be assigned together. Near the ocean was a close second. Royal lucked out. He got sent to Hamilton, Bermuda. Peter got Iowa City, Iowa. (Or simply, Iowa, Iowa.) Peter was disappointed at first, but soon was eager for the culture shock and the challenge.

"Okay, I see I will need some help here. Don't go anywhere, guys."
Peter's two dozen students, not much younger than him, complied out of curiosity. He returned twenty minutes later with his bold red striped surfboard, detained overnight in Quad Cities airport on suspicion of being a surfboard in Iowa. The five footer was a first for the entire class.
"That thing's pretty big," said one of the students.
Peter beat out the that's-what-she-said's with,
"That's nothing. I got an eight footer back home in Hawai'i." He flops it down on the ground.
"The thing about classrooms and teaching is it's all theory. You can only learn so much without active application."
He points to one of the many blondes. "What's your name?"
"Julie."
"Hi Julie. Come up here for a second. Come on guys, give her a hand. I'm going to need participation for this class to work for all of us."
A few people clap politely.
"Thank you. Julie, would you lay face down on the board? The rest of you, don't worry, you'll get to do this too. Now you're in the ocean, Julie. It's warm, the water is clear blue, clearer than anything in the Mississippi, you hear nothing but waves and birds. Perhaps a stray hawkeye. So you're paddling around...I said you're paddling around. That's you, Julie."
She starts flopping her arms kinda circular-like.
"Good! You see a swell coming up. You get yourself turned around so you are facing the beach. Now you start paddling like crazy! Fifth gear, let's go! All right!"
The class, still not sure what this is all about, cheers her on anyway. "Julie, go! Gooooo!"
Peter smiles and continues. "It's time to ride! Bring your right foot up to your left knee, toes facing right."
Her shoe catches a tailfin and rips it half off. Peter winces.
"Oh, sorry!"
"Don't apologize, I'm not here, just you and the water. Grip the sides of the board. Keep your chest on the board and push your shoulders up. Now get ready, time to stand. In one smooth motion, bring your left foot up in front of your right. Feel shoulder length apart, toes facing right, head facing forward. Use your arms and core for balance. Yes!! You're up! You realize you're not alone any more - all the guys on the shore are admiring! Strike a pose, you've earned it. Okay. All right, that's hot doggin' it too much, now you fall off. Splash, wipeout. Saline in the face, pride in the water. Ouch. Thank you, Julie."
The students applaud her again. She takes her seat.
"Now how long would it take you to master that on the classroom floor? Two, three times maybe? But on the water, how long? I've done it two or three thousand times and I still don't have it all down. I want to to make sure we are applying what we are learning here with sincere effort. Plus I'll throw in some surfing lessons to mix it up."
"Where can you surf here?" asks a student.
"I'm sure there's some wave pools around, right?"
The class discusses and shakes their heads.
"There's one in Des Moines I think," offers another student.
"We'll think of something."

A converted baptismal font and a few high-powered water jets later, SURFIowa (Spiritual Understanding, Recreation, and Friendship) gets its primitive beginnings. By the end of Peter's time in Iowa, Iowa, SURFIowa becomes an integral part of the community, Mennonite and otherwise. It is the first of its kind in the state. It wins widespread praise from Peter's superiors in the church. His students all chip in for a custom-designed black and gold Iowa Hawkeye board as a going away gift. Still, he wonders what it would have been like if he had been dispatched to Bermuda at Royal's side.

He got the gist from the title page of the summary report. While Peter's was called Immersive Learning: How SURFIowa Got Off The Ground, Royal's dared readers to continue on with the title Wasps, Wasps Everywhere: The Debilitating Effects of Migratory Insect Patterns on Service Missions.

Not pictured: Totally rad merch trailer

Northern Illinois University

24 Jun 2009. Look at that glass, freckled with dogs.
My memory of li'l DeKalb is unfairly clouded by the most awful traffic I have ever experienced, coming in and out of Chicago. Construction, unfamiliar territory, driving an unfamiliar vehicle, darkness, an ill-timed full bladder, and speeding (DePaul?) demons all contributed their part. All that was missing was a midwest ice storm. Running out of gas would have to substitute. Bless you, DeKalb highway oasis!

The Lewis and Clark expedition, on their way to their winter quarters with the Mandans in Dakota Territory, spent a night in Illinois Country. The lack of deer and other sustaining protein combined with smuggled adulterated whiskey made some of the enlisted men a bit wacko. Usually, in accommodating land with friendly Indians around, this would be only a nuisance to efficiency.
But with desperately hungry brown bears forced out to forage, recklessness was life-threatening.
Sergeant Ordway was one culprit.
He was hungry, cold, intoxicated, and he missed his matronly wife.
A sleeping bear caught his eye. No, Ordway did not mistake it for a huge steak, Looney-Tunes-style. His whiskey goggles showed him his dear wife, Hildegard.
He ambled over with a big, dumb grin, looking for a kiss. Captain Lewis saw Ordway's unarmed approach. It wasn't his duty to psychoanalyze his men, just to protect them.
"Ordway! No!!"
Lewis couldn't load his own rifle quick enough. The bear was smooched.
Mauling, surprisingly fast for such a large beast, would follow.
Lewis got his shot off and downed the animal, but Ordway was already gone. His sacrifice earned a meal of bear meat for the magnificently-hatted corps.

The town of DeKalb, Illinois, was later founded on the spot where Lewis and Clark lost their friend and comrade. DeKalb, in fact, was a shortened form of the burial cross' warning to others: "Don't Ever Kiss A Live Bear."
NIU's Huskies owe their name as well to Ordway and his love of big hairy women.

The NIU hotel should serve bear. Bear steaks, not meaning they should be guests at the table.

Kent State University

23 Jun 2009. Frostburg, WVU, RobbyMo, and Kent State all in one day! Wait, another visit to Kent State? Why on earth would I go out of my way again? Thank a lost water bottle, originally purchased 21 Nov 2007. Which ultimately I am okay with - look at that gaudy yellow eyesore. Replaced with a centennial shotglass.

Before she was into her studies, before she was into her health, before she was into dental school, new ZTA pledge Persephone Evelyn Bumbaugh was into tanning.
Like many young women, she took her skin's tautness and her godlike metabolism for granted, bombarding it with inordinate amounts of UV rays, empty alcoholic calories, and late night slabs of pizza.
Persephone, and much of the KSU student body, took the skin coloration to another level one chilly night in November. Kent State's opening night of men's basketball was being broadcast live on ESPN. In the early days of cable sports, this was unheard of for a small school (they could thank the reputation of their big-time opponent, Ohio State). For Kent State, a televised sporting event was a first. The students, traditionally feisty, shifted into full spring break mode for the game. Persephone and her sorority mates painted themselves gold, with white lettering on their stomachs that spelled out K-E-N-T-S-T-A-T-E. Persephone played the part of the last E.

"Kent Read, Kent Write, Kent State"

During a video camera's crowd scan, mini-riots broke out. A grabby drunk tried to yank off Persephone's sports bra. She pulled away and gathered some momentum on the backswing. She launched forth at his jaw with a tiny fist. She pegged him square, then gave him another shove. He was carried off by ushers. But as she turned back to the court and the camera, her top snagged on a hastily fastened STUDENTS ONLY plastic placard. It tore away a strip of spandex. The plastic sign, though it had no libido or horny malice of its own, managed to do what the drunk frat boy could not. The TV audience at home was beholden to a brief glimpse of golden tanned teen bosom.
Persephone enjoyed the rest of the game in an usher's bright yellow raincoat.
The 'golden flash' was the talk of the school the next day as much as the basketball game itself. A new nickname was born. Persephone quickly tired of the notoriety but was proud to have inspired more school spirit.
The electrocuted bird logo is another story though.

Robert Morris University

23 Jun 2009. If campuses were animals, RMU would be a basset hound. The Saddest Place on Earth! Sure it was empty due to summer break, but despite beautiful weather, the few employees and summer students milling around looked like they were headed to their own funeral, catered with pretzel rods and tonic water. Even the full retail price of the cup, 99 cents (slightly over 3 cents an ounce), mumbled, "Why bother with markup and profit margin, no one will buy our dumb stuff anyway." :'(

What a jackass Robert Morris was.
A revolutionary jackass.
A fat man lacking facial hair, he gulped patriotism in gallons. Upon learning of an impending raid on his town by the British guard, he organized the locals.
The redcoats were coming to crack down on a string of tax evasions. As the taxed item in question was an everyday necessity, people refused to pay.
Toilet paper did not exist as we know it today. Instead there were 'lav cloths', round swatches of fabric. With imported lav cloths becoming more unaffordable, the colonists of western Pennsylvania started stitching their own. In the 18th century, personal hygiene was not just proper manners, but a requirement of good health and disease prevention.
So imagine the Brits' surprise when they arrived to a quainte vigourous towne on a hilltop not crippled by dysentery.
Now imagine their even greater surprise when those commoners doff their breeches in unison.
300 pasty white clean bills of health, led by Robert Morris himself. To further the insult, Mr. Morris grabbed an English bulldog and, in a symbolic gesture, scrubbed his backside with the hound.
Furious, the brigade charged. But the diversion worked. The local militia had enough time to catch the British from behind. They were driven away, and Robert Morris was serenaded as Hero. This short event might be referred to as the Pittsburgh Assacre, but that would be crass.
Local bakers created a sweet pastry called a 'moon pie' to commemorate the victory.
The town council agreed to rename their city to 'Moon Township' in remembrance of the historic rebuttal.
The above is just another chapter in the miraculous story of the American Revolution. Once again, daring derrieres saved the day.

The cupola that became the university logo that was based off of Robert Morris' upturned rump.

West Virginia University

23 Jun 2009. WVU had long been on my list. And after many cold walk ups ending at locked doors, I wised up and started gathering bookstores' phone numbers and business hours. Even with detailed directions from a nice homegrown front desk lady, I got lost. I visited the downtown campus and got lost trying to get there, stumbled into the bookstore's parking garage out of dumb luck, and got lost on the 45-degree streets trying to leave. Frustrated, I just put the car in neutral, folded my arms in pouting defiance and let it roll till it reached the interstate. Car insurance got expensive after that.

Jessica Hurst's mother had told her never to accept rides from strangers.
Jessica's mother, however, also told her to use mustard when mixing potato salad, and that was a matter of taste at best, a vile befoulance at worst.

But the issue at hand went beyond mere mayonnaise-based side dishes, it even went beyond the State of West Virginia. It went to Ohio. The football Mountaineers were playing their first away game at Cincinnati the next day. Jessica, the lady mountaineer, had lobbied hard to accompany the team on road trips. The administration agreed to foot the bill. Unfortunately she had overslept and the buses left her stuck in Morgantown. Being only the second young lady to don the buckskins, she was quite proud of the honor. But the scrutiny would be especially harsh after a no-show. Failing to live up to the responsibility would surely mean the stripping of her title.
Simultaneously mention the topics 'Jessica Hurst' and 'stripping' would make even the coolest man flush with flop sweat.
Nick Cassavetes, quite cool in his own right, was no exception.

"Headed to Cincinnati?"
"How did you know?"
"You guys have a game tomorrow night, right? Plus the outfit..." said Nick, motioning to her fringe.
"Okay, perceptive. Please tell me you're going there? I'll cover all your expenses for gas."
"Don't worry about gas, I was going that way anyway."
The power locks shot open. Nick stepped out of his hand-me-down station wagon.
"Let me get your bags."
Jessica watched Nick load her carryons in the trunk.
His chivalry, charming.
His Ohio license plate, corroborating.
Her hunting knife under her right pant leg, assuring.
Nick opened the door for her. "If you're hungry, there's some extra chicken wings and potato salad in the paper bag there."
"Potato salad?? Mustard- or mayonnaise-based?"
"Are you kidding? Mayonnaise, of course."
Jessica smiled and stuck out her hand. "Jessica Hurst, West Virginia University!"
"I know - you're on TV all the time! Nick Cassavetes, University of Dayton. All datin', no fu-"
Nick stopped himself short from finishing his automatic call-response. He self-edited. "Fun. All Dayton, No Fun."
"Don't worry, I've heard it. An oldie but a goodie."
The station wagon, and the flirting, continued through the Appalachians at 80 mph.

The ladies of WVU can even turn the heads of iron sculptures.