But there are those college football celebrations and then there are Big Ten weekends.

The hour was 4:30 a.m., a time seen 999 out of every 1,000 days through my eyelids while off in lalaland. Same for 5:30, 6:30, for this non 9-to-5er. To catch the 5:41 to Chicago, and allow for the weary bones and creakiness factor, your faithful correspondent made some serious concessions for the chilly three-quarter mile walk to the train depot.

The train that generations of Notre Dame students called the "Vomit Comet" showed up with Swiss precision and a long pilgrimage to Madison, Wis., some 186 miles northwest, was underway.

Under virtually total darkness until the final minutes of the journey to the South Shore's Chicago terminus one block east of the Loop, the slow trip gave back at least a few moments of z's.

Travel light, the old guy always tells himself. Right! Ever pick up a current media guide from a program like Penn State? Add Friday's relevant daily sports sections from The Chicago Tribune and Sun-Times, and Saturday's papers, and the basics like soap. They add up and suddenly the bag is aweight-room exercise.

It was in Chicago that the weary traveler encountered his first group of college football roadies -- several hundred cardinal Stanford fans waiting to board the eastbound to South Bend, Ind. "Lambs being led to slaughter," a guy in a Notre Dame sweatshirt cracked wisely.

Prophetic. The collegeBLITZ-No. 2 Fighting Irish (5-0) continued their impressive 2002 with a 31-7 come-from-behind rout of Stanford.

Even at 7 a.m., some still-reveling Scarlet-and-Gray-sweatshirted Ohio State fans were leading cheers and singing "Fight That Team" as they trundled out of a McDonald's at Dearborn and Randolph Streets.

The hike from Randolph to Dearborn was an easy two blocks, and the Chicago Transit Authority's blue line train to O'Hare Airport would stop within ablock of the third leg of the journey, a 3-hour-30-minute bus odyssey via Rockford, Ill., Beloit, Wis., and Janesville to Madison.

The Northwest Tollway is a study in exurbia followed by silos, cornfields and a few bumpy pieces of evidence the Midwest isn't quite as flat as its accents would suggest. Between Stuckey's, Union 76, Days' Inn or Baymont signs are a myriad of toll plazas that show that Illinois is very, very good at collecting money.

North of Rockford through the few remaining miles of Illinois were hints of the cheddar curtain: cheese outlets galore, Johnsonville bratwurst, country breakfasts with ein bitte deutsche flavor. They call Minnesota the Land of 10,000 Lakes, but Wisconsin isn't exactly a desert, either.

Finally, as the bus pulls into Madison, the "Go Badgers" signs hang from front windows everywhere. Even a gun shop offering a "Badger Special."

Except for the 'Sconsin ayk-sent -- out is "oat," car is "care" -- Madison is a very cosmopolitan area. The writer's first venue was to head to that great American tradition, Kinko's, to pick up correspondence from collegeBLITZ.com.

"Sorry, no record of it," the clerk apologized. "We checked it, cross-referenced it, used that requisition number and simply don't have any indication it's here."

Five Asian students at the University of Wisconsin processed term papers, love letters (one in Korean) and other related school subjects (at least 30 assignments), all of which was a live commercial for America's processor.

The mile-and-a-half walk to Kinko's had made for sore legs but some well-needed calorie burning.

The trek out Regent Street toward Camp Randall Stadium went past an endless mix of student apartment keg parties, chug-a-mug emporiums, burger joints and small eateries. Virtually all had some form of cherry red-clad Bucky Badger snarling at you. The occasional Penn State stragglers were amused.

"This is a great college environment," a visitor named Lino from Reading,Pa., marveled. "It's kinda like State College, but the town is so much bigger."

The Big Ten venues each have their own peculiar personalities.

The ultra rural nature of Champaign, Ill., where you hope the wind doesn'tblow from the southeast for fear of the atmospheric results of the latest cow-products tests. . .

The gorgeous mountain-valley backdrop of State College, with its Swiss chalet homes on the outskirts, and immaculately kept, stately old homes closer to downtown and the memorable experiences at the Nittany Lion Inn or Ye Olde College Diner on College Avenue . . .

The classic college-town look of Bloomington, Ind., . . . the grim, uninviting architecture of Lafayette and West Lafayette, Ind., . . . the sprawling university-dominated atmosphere of Ann Arbor, Mich. . . . or the giant urban environment of Columbus, Ohio, or Evanston, Ill.

Each Big Ten venue has its own charms but like State College, Madison has a peculiar cache with everybody who visits it. The gorgeous lake Dick Vitale once called "Lake Mendoza" (actually Mendota, one of two huge lakes in the area -- the other is Monona) is just another major ornament. Nighttime choices are many -- including the Memorial Union, which hosted a tremendously talented country western singer last Saturday to a packed house.

The stadium plops down in the middle of an urban neighborhood, and the frat boys howl at coeds and visiting fans from the front porches of the Breese Street three-story brick frame houses.

But at 1:45 p.m., 45 minutes before game time, the worn-down middle-aged traveler was battling the weather. The computer forecast had predicted low 60s; so naturally, the temperature crept into the mid-70s. And suddenly it was time to shed some togs.

The university instructs visiting press-credential seekers to visit a parking lot at the stadium's north end to pick up their game passes, a typically friendly attendant at Gate 6 said. But the exact location created a situation maybe Inspector Clouseau could appreciate.

After 90 minutes and plenty of friendly, well-intentioned but inspecific advice, the now-bedraggled, parched tourist turned desperately to thestadium-operations folks. "This isn't exactly a 9-1-1. . . or even a 3-1-1 .. .," he began.

Thanks to a terrific security lady named Carol, who admitted that an Arizona writer had had similar trying moments trying to find the infamous Lot 17, the stadium-operation folks sprung into action.

These are behind-the-scenes folks who would likely cherish their anonymity. But the ticket-office personnel -- a particularly enjoyable lady named Becky Duncan, and her energetic young assistants, Chris Schappel and Mike Pariseau-- wouldn't quit until that elusive credential was in your faithful correspondent's hands. Truly outstanding folks.

The trip to Madison: Nine traveling hours.
The involuntary walking tour: Two and a half hours.
The wait for the credential, thanks to great U.W. efforts: Thirty minutes.
The experience of dealing with those people: Priceless.