Indianapolis, IN through Wapakoneta, OH

The following is the written record of a great road trip, which begins with Brian Pinto and Nick Ison in Carmel, Indiana. Purpose? Simply put, to experience both the new and the old. To find and explore new places, people and things, while visiting and reconnecting with good friends and familiar scenes. Time frame? When the trip is over, we believe we will know. That is all. The path? We go where we want. We go everywhere. All over the country. (Except the South. We’re not going there. Do not push us on this issue.) We post that others might follow along and share in a small part of what will undoubtedly be a defining moment in our lives. Now, without further ado, here are the accounts of the two bold adventurers with a plan to uncover America:

Nick: Brian strolled up after deplaning from an obnoxiously late flight out of Atlanta. He had no checked bag. That was fine.

Brian: That afternoon, we caught up over Mexican food and drinks, which extended late into the evening. The first night was a standard alcohol-filled celebration of the reuniting of old friends. Beer, pizza, and billiards with a gentleman who looked surprisingly like one of Nick’s old roommates. The night ended with a stumble through a pack of bridge rats and spider webs to Steve’s office, where singing and guitar wailing preceded passing out on leather couches.

Nick: Let the reader note: while it is the intended purpose of the authors to express writing which, at all times, maintains the highest degree of journalistic integrity, flawless recollection is often impossible as the previous night’s events are frequently recalled in small fragments surrounded by no small amount of darkness and confusion.

Brian: Scotch is delicious.

Nick: That’s what I just said

Brian: And she said… or he said. Day two required a fair amount of R&R, but a couple beers around 3pm readied us for another evening of debauchery. The main difference being that we decided in advance to sleep in our beds back at Nick’s house: another sunbeam-in-the-face wake up call at 8am was undesirable. I made the mistake of wearing my hiking shoes out to the club (Nick clarifies that this so called “club” barely qualifies as a bar) and was told by the bartender that “I clearly wasn’t from around here and that usually people wear dress shoes when they go out to bars. Oh and lose the hat.” I guess I showed that guy when I spent the evening dancing with an Au Pair from Switzerland. I suppose being from the country that invented the Swiss Army knife allowed her to appreciate the utility of my Merrills.

Nick: Right. The following day, we took care of a few odds and ends in preparation for the journey. The evening consisted of fantastic Cuban cigars, fine scotch-

Brian: Alcohol goes bad if you don’t drink the entire bottle of it in under 30 hours.

Nick: -and outstanding conversation about a wide range of topics, most of which were concerned with questions regarding religion and spirituality, our hopes for the trip, the value of true friendship, and the exciting prospect of an entire country waiting for us to discover, one city at a time. Also, we both decided that given the choice, we would marry Belle, sleep with Pocahontas, and kill Ariel. There is also an honorable mention to Maid Marion who is, undeniably, a fox.

Brian: Totally. When you are riding a bicycle through the streets of Carmel at 1:30 am, these issues are bound to come up.

Nick: This is true. O.K., so we’ve now come to our departure date. Monday, September 14th, 2009. It’s 1 o’clock and the car is loaded, the tank is full, the house is clean. And we have an address: a place described in the book “Weird USA” as the Temple of Tolerance, located in the dead center of Ohio, far from any major cities. Far from anything really. The book’s description was vague, and we were unable to find a website with any more information. All we knew was that the place looked interesting from the few photos available, and we needed something to do in the Buckeye State. Without being sure that the place that we knew nothing about still even existed, we set out to reach the small blue dot on the car’s navigation screen signifying our destination. When the soulless drone of Lucy’s voice informed us that we had arrived-

Brian: Lucy is the name we gave to the robotic voice of the car’s GPS that issues periodic navigational commands.

Nick: And now you know.

Brian: And knowing is half the battle.

Nick: You know, I’ve always thought that military intelligence was at least half the battle, though I guess I don’t know as much about modern warfare as the politicians we’ve elected to handle these important decisions.

Brian: Or G.I. Joe.

Nick: I think we’ve digressed. When we arrived at our intended destination, there was little to clear up any of the mystery surrounding our first official road trip stop. In fact, we didn’t even know if we had made it or not. There was nothing: no sign, no parking lot, no indication whatsoever to suggest that the street we were driving down consisted of anything more than small, suburban houses that lined it. After turning around and driving down Wood Street two more times, we finally spotted a slight oddity in the row of tightly nestled residences that each seemed so normal. One house had strange rocks resting near the sidewalk, and a giant bush that filled the entire space, creating a cave of vegetation extending back from the street. Puzzled, we parked the car and walked towards the house. A woman next door was playing with her child.
“Excuse me, but is this the-“
“Yep”
Clearly, we had arrived someplace interesting. Just what the place was, and who was responsible for it though, were questions that could only be answered by venturing through an old iron gate and into a dense, dark, tunnel of wild, foreboding overgrowth.

Brian: We emerged from the trees in a Narnian fashion to a place reminiscent of Narnia itself. Hundreds of stone altars artistically littered a several acre plot. Closer inspection revealed that the formations were constructed not only of large stones but also of statues and trinkets that reflected thousands of years of world history. The jail cell door of the first man executed by the death penalty in the county. Memorials for each American war. Statuettes from China, Japan, India, and the Native Americas. This was what is perhaps the greatest private collection of world history on the planet. This was all in the backyard of an unassuming residence in Wapakoneta, Ohio.

Nick: Ever heard of it? Thought not.

Brian: But the strangest element of the scenario we found ourselves in, by far, was the incredibly talkative and zany builder and proprietor of this mind-blowing garden. It is a daunting task to describe this man with words. Glass-eye, long white hair pulled back into a pony tail, rocking incessantly as he chattered with us for upwards of three hours about romance, spirituality, war and peace, happiness, success, forgiveness, and sex. His messages were hilarious and insightful, and most eerily of all each story he told was a reflection of a conversation Nick and I have had already since my arrival last Friday. He took us into his home, and our minds were doubly blown. If there were hundreds of altars in his yard, there were thousands of knick-knacks in his 70’s inspired living room and frankly all throughout his house. The Virgin Mary holding hand grenades. Hundreds of coins strung along his ceiling carried by soldiers in wars. Nazi daggers and Klan hoods. These lists are getting monotonous, but I can honestly say that I spent five hours on his property and saw about 1% of what he has to offer. The experience was simply unreal.

Nick: I agree. I suspect today’s experience will be one of the hardest things on this trip to describe. I feel like there were so many parts of not only what this trip is supposed to be about, but also where I feel I am in my life embodied by this visit that my descriptions can only be made in fragments: Jim spoke of the transformation of the lives of troubled local teens that would come hang out in his yard. As an artist myself, I’m keenly interested in the relationship between transformed space (this incredible sculpture garden) and transformed lives; kids that are unused to kind words and warm hearts are exposed to and changed by Jim as he waits patiently on his swinging bench, ready and eager to talk to anyone interested in listening.
He talked about the importance of recording one’s thoughts and ideas in journals and books, and as a beginning writer myself, it couldn’t have been better to hear (Jim writes ten poems every morning, and has for years apparently). Finally, I took away from this visit a bold command from the place itself that declared clearly: Go! The world is full of mysteries and treasures to discover, interesting people to meet, personal growth and insight to achieve. What a better way to begin a journey such as this? Here are but a few or the many, many things to see at Jim's house:






This last one is of the man himself

Brian: So here we sit at the Waffle House in Wapakoneta, reeling from what will certainly be one of the most memorable days on this trip if not in our lives. Check Nick's Facebook account for an album of all our photos.

Nick: If every other day is a quarter as interesting as this one then the trip will be an absolute success.

Brian: Indeed. It is closing in on midnight and we have no idea where we are going to stay tonight. The talkative waiter at this fine establishment just revealed to us that there is a half-mile wall/mural of art in the town of Portsmouth, OH. On the other hand, the world’s largest private Lego collection is only 3 hours away. Wherever the road takes us… Nick and Brian out.