A Change to the Plan…
When last we spoke (wrote, typed, communicated), today’s journey (Tuesday May 18) was to consist of another I-70 coma across Indiana and Illinois into Missouri—Terre Haute, IN to Columbia, MO. And until this very morning (I’m starting to write this on Tuesday afternoon), that was indeed the plan. That is, until I was inspired. A childhood friend—Debbie (back in Joisey)—read the Day 2 post (linked to on Facebook) and wrote a brief comment: “Perhaps a little side trip to Hannibal on the way to Columbia? You are in Mark Twain territory!” It got me to thinking. I am a little methodical. Some might say….inflexible. Those who would say inflexible tend also to live in the same house as me. I’m a planner, I like to stick to the plan, and unless events/exigencies arise, that’s what I do. The important thing here is “event or exigency”, as there is a difference in something that REQUIRES a plan to be changed—which I have no problem doing—and something that raises the possibility that the plan can be changed for some other reason. These I am less tolerant of. I can be a little stubborn (“little” is doing a lot of work there), even if the change to the plan opens up some new and wonderful opportunity. That new and wonderful opportunity has to be REALLY GOOD in order to mitigate the fact that whatever it is ruins a perfectly good plan.
But this morning, several hundred miles from home and alone in my hotel room, I read Debbie’s note and I began to think. There is a reasonable amount of fat built into this trip (a.k.a operational flexibility). It has already enabled me to schedule lunch Friday in Denver with my nephew Kevin, something that arose only yesterday (passing though—sorry all my other Denver homies). Looking at Google Maps, while heading up to Hannibal added an extra 90 minutes to my driving time, I would still only be driving for six hours — and because of the time change at the Indiana/Illinois border, I got an hour back anyway. I’ve never been to Hannibal. I don’t even think I’ve read a Mark Twain novel cover to cover (I could use a steer on this from my high school English teacher Mr. Art Sharon—Art—did we read some of Huck Finn? I don’t remember.)
Quick diversion. I’m a reasonably intelligent fellow and a voracious reader. But my grounding in the classics is PITIFUL. For most of my life, I considered fiction to be wasteful, that only if I could somehow improve my mind was the investment in reading worthwhile. So I’ve killed a ton of trees, just nonfiction, mostly history and biography. But I have a serious, unfilled desire to rectify this deficit. I tell The Kitten all the time that my primary activity in retirement (no later than four years, one month, and nine days from this day, but who is counting?) will be reading 500 or so of the great works of fiction. Surely Twain’s got one or two on that list?
Back to the story. So I took in all lines and headed west by northwest to Hannibal following the wisdom of Google maps as it occasionally guided me while interrupting Napoleon’s phenomenal Italian campaign (podcast). Very soon after getting onto I-70, the computer pointed me to an exit. This began several hours of travel on two lane county roads through a bit of Indiana and a lot of Illinois. The scenery was 90% farmland and 10% industrial. Nary a subdivision or a development worth mention. Mile after mile of mud-soaked acreage, freshly plowed and planted, spread out around me, with proud, sturdy farmhouses protected by phalanxes of mighty shade trees dotting the landscape. It is not hard to imagine families gathered under the trees for big meals and celebrations, and the simple swings attached to strong branches that helped propel teenage romances. It was beautiful. It was America.
There was only one small quibble. I stopped at a McDonalds in Sullivan, Illinois for a coffee and to pump bilges. When I walked in, there was crime scene tape restricting you to the little apron in front of where you order, and all the tables were stacked upon each other like it was a year ago and vaccines had never happened. Worse yet, the bathrooms were closed, and my bilge level was high. Conveniently, there was a gas station next door.
My plan was to skip breakfast and arrive in Hannibal for lunch followed by a little stroll about the main thoroughfare. I did a little research and picked a restaurant that caught my eye—well, the chicken quesadilla caught my eye—and set my course for it. When I arrived, it was closed. So I went to the Google and looked it up and damn if it didn’t say right there that it was closed on Monday and Tuesday. A lot of places on the main drag of Hannibal were closed, though they sorta looked only temporarily closed. Saw this on the front door of one restaurant I passed:
Now, I know we covered this a few posts ago, but one of the things I’ve seen a LOT of on this drive are signs that say “we’re hiring”. There are a lot of jobs out there for the taking, and I’m not sure that government providing the wherewithal to stay unemployed is all that helpful. But I digress. The disappointment of the place I picked being closed was shortly amplified by a number of other spots also being closed, but then I turned a corner and headed down toward the river (in this case, THE river, the Mighty Mississip, Old Man River, The Big Muddy) and found “The Riverside Restaurant”, and it was open. The dining room was crowded, no masks were being worn by anyone—customer or staff—and I found it all to be marvelous (as I am vaccinated and care not what other people choose to do). I was shown to my seat, was asked what I’d like to drink, had it brought to me, and then I sat there unbothered for 25 minutes. I tried to watch the others, to see if the staffing problem I saw on the door of the other place was a widespread issue. There seemed to be plenty of waitstaff, so I assumed that the kitchen was hit hard. But the waitresses moved about with energy and full trays of food, so this was all very confusing until the woman who sat me initially approached me and asked “has anyone helped you?” I said no, no one had. It seems that I had been forgotten and that the staffing issue wasn’t hitting this place, or at least didn’t appear to be. I ordered the Riverside Club and it was delish. Should you make the pilgrimage to Mark Twain’s birthplace, I highly recommend getting a meal at the Riverside.
After lunch and a bit of sightseeing, I climbed back into my chariot and pressed on for the remaining hour and 43 minutes of travel on primarily 2 lane roads. The scenery was as before—although things seem greener and more lush in Missouri than they were in Illinois. As I approached my lodging (Fairfield Inn and Suites, upgraded room because that’s how I roll), I saw a site that caught my interest…just across the parking lot from my hotel…was a Hooters!
That’s right. I took my trying-to-stay-on-a-diet ass right on over to Hooters and blew it out of the water on Wings and Mozzarella Sticks (after a Club with Fries at lunch….damn). I don’t know when the last time I went to Hooters was. There was one in Norfolk over by the Military Circle Mall that I went to now and again when I was in my 20’s (it was one of the sketchier of the franchises, if memory serves), and I think that may have been where my Hooters days ended. But I only had to walk across the parking lot, so I gave it a shot. The wings at Hooters were always pretty average, but in the past 30 years, wing-making has exploded in quality, and these were just…not good.
Today (Wednesday 19 May) the drive is Columbia MO to Hays KS. It is 391 miles, and I’m not seeing much that will take me off the designated route.