It's 4 a.m. on a clear, starless night in Redwood Falls, Minn., and I'm sitting in the parking lot of a low-rent inn, waiting. Could this be the wrong spot, I wondered? Perhaps I'm supposed to be in somewhere else. Where are the others? I scan the parking lot and wonder if I should check my email again. And then two guys get out of their cars with a luggage in tow and a baseball cap tucked tight.
Yep, I'm in the right place.
I and 17 others had signed up for one of Bob's Baseball Tours, one of those gigs where you hop on a bus and check out seven baseball games in nine days. This particular tour would take us down south - first to Kansas City, then to Texas, further onto New Orleans, and then back through Chicago.
Bob Kaupang, my old history teacher, had offered me a spot on his tour in exchange for a story. I readily accepted, because there's nothing more American than baseball and the open road in the summertime. And so for the coming nine days, I'll be blogging my thoughts and observations on the road.
Right now, it's 4:30 on a Minnesota highway. The bus is loaded, the luggage is stowed, and the journey begins.
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