The next morning the sky was clear and bright—a high midwestern sky. I cleaned the snow off the Subaru using the broom with the sawed off neck—a very advanced snow-removal tool that my father, a self-proclaimed expert at removing snow from cars, had personally fashioned for me. While checking out of the motel I asked the old woman behind the counter how far it was to the Ohio border. She started to laugh. “The Ohio border? You passed it about a hundred miles back that way,” she said pointing a crooked finger towards the Interstate. She sucked noisily on a…