The Last Ditch

US Tour 2013

My US Road Trip began in New Jersey on 29th April and is still underway. Clicking this link will show you my current location and my updates from the road. My itinerary is in MapQuest. I would love to meet US readers for coffee en route, so please let me know if you are available as I pass through your state. You can comment on any current post, tweet me @tompaine, send an email (see link in sidebar) or call/text my US number for the duration of the tour - (862) 485-7250.

Moore, OK

Inside Oklahoma's welcome center on I-35

A glimpse of the havoc nature wrought in Moore, OK

My Texan B&B redeemed itself this morning with an excellent breakfast prepared by a friendly, personable chef. I was beginning to think everyone in Texas was a bit cold, by American standards at least, so thank goodness for her.

I had checked the weather forecasts and the heaviest storms were predicted to be centred on my starting point, so I decided to make haste northwards on my planned route towards Wichita, KS via Oklahoma City, OK.

I called the Oklahoma highway information line and was told that the key highway, I-35 was open but that delays "of several hours" were to be expected. I decided to regroup when I arrived at the Oklahoma Welcome Center.

The welcome was genuine. There were two mature and friendly members of staff on duty and one of them assured me that, while there might be slight delays due to rubberneckers, I would be able to get to Oklahoma City without problems. He regaled me with that city's charms and after sitting with the maps he supplied over a complimentary coffee, I decided that I would visit the National Cowboy & Western Heritage Museum. I booked an hotel north of Oklahoma City and off I duly set.

My plan to avoid the storm by driving north ran into the obvious problem that the storm was moving south. I met it. It was spectacular with high winds, driving rain and lightning, but it was nothing compared to what it had been. My main problem was to drive slowly enough to be able to stop within my visibility, without ending up with even less visibility because I was in the spray from the trucks barrelling along. Just as I was thinking I might have to pull over and let it pass, the skies cleared. Then it proved that the highway information line was more accurate than the gentleman at the Welcome Center, though the delay was just over one hour, not "several".

I didn't see any rubberneckers, but I can understand how the idea might get into circulation. We processed at 3-6 miles per hour past the devastated community of Moore. Highway I-35 runs right through it. Before we came upon the tornado damage, there was the poignant sight of signs advertising the town's attractions. While standing still alongside damaged housing, I took a snapshot. It wasn't why I was there. Indeed I had told the guy at the Welcome Center, while expressing my sympathy for his fellow-Oklahomans that had suffered, that I would rather take another route than cause any delays to the work being done. Still, I guess a passing "first responder" might have seen me do it and thought that was why I came.

I tuned into a local radio station and was mightily impressed. It was broadcasting appeals from the Red Cross and the Salvation Army, reporting on the aid that was already being supplied. One local church had set up a restaurant that was capable of serving 3,000 sit-down meals to affected families tonight and had laid on flat screen TVs for them to watch after their meal. The representative who called in to invite people over told us the name of a company in Arkansas that was donating food and sending it in its own trucks to make this all possible. I wish I could remember the name.

Local farmers called in to offer pasture for horses and cattle displaced by the tornado. Others offered to house domestic animals. Call after call came in from people offering to assist the victims one way or another. Local schools and the local university student union were organising collections of donated food, clothes and other necessaries. The announcer was reporting an incredible response to the appeals for donations. Meanwhile, the state and federal employees were doing their jobs in clearing the roads, policing the situation and so on. 

Americans are an impressive bunch when situations like this arise. I was in tears to hear of selfless act after selfless act. This is what David Cameron vainly hopes for when he speaks of "the Big Society." It's a concept that's lost in Britain - along with the churches and other private institutions that have been driven out by the all-powerful social democratic state with its ersatz "caring". Partly to prove myself wrong, I have made an online donation to American Red Cross Disaster Relief and I hope you will consider doing so too.

When the road cleared, it was already too late for my museum visit so I headed straight for the hotel I had booked. Not that I am complaining. Compared to the people of Moore, I have no problems at all and was feeling blessed tonight as I set out to find something to eat. Now I am feeling blessed and jolly, although I had to drive to my restaurant so only drank iced tea. I had hearty far in a quirky local cafe, waited on my a lady who could not get enough of my accent.

To crown the evening, two young men from Texas were arriving as I left and dispelled the cold impression left by my Arlington B&B. They were interested in Speranza and my trip. They asked me about my route and wished me all the best. As two of my favourite clients in my career were from Texas, I knew yesterday's impression was wrong. It was good to have it put straight though. Darn straight, as you might say.

Back on the road, with a vengeance

Good progress, thanks to 75mph speed limit on much of the route.

Threatening skies in downtown Arlington TX

Uncle speaks Spanish

My first Shiner

My planned route for the next leg

Time to perform "...our one noble function of the time, move"

Sunday was the first day on this tour when I did not fire up Speranza's engine. I had a relaxing day and slept like a baby. So yesterday it was time to lay down some rubber. I drove for over eight hours, stopping twice to refuel the car but surviving myself all day on a pleasant (but not special enough for the price) JW Marriott breakfast. In my opinion it was a good symbol for the hotel itself. I have been lucky enough to stay in the best hotels in the world and it is not amongst them, despite the efforts of some individual members of staff.

New Orleans people are just as friendly as all the Americans I have met so far, but funnier. Funny is good. And they don't go home to bed (or, worse, look as though they wish they could) just when a European visitor is getting hungry and thirsty.

The drive through Louisiana and Texas was great. Speranza performed beautifully. She made another new friend at our first gas station in Texas, when a young gentleman informed me she was "sick, man". He seemed to mean it as a compliment, but I prefer "bad ass wheels" to be honest.

There was a little bit of theatre at the Texas welcome center. A local policeman was conducting an interrogation as I parked and had progressed to the arrest as I emerged. All terribly courteous on both sides, remarkably. It didn't dampen my enthusiasm at being in Texas for the first time in my life although I am just passing through in this direction and will have more time to explore on the return leg of my trip.

I had been too clever in selecting my stop for my first night in the Lone Star state. I thought Dallas and Fort Worth would be no fun to drive through on a business day and so chose Arlington instead - largely because it has a bedandbreakfast.com "diamond collection" B&B like the one Q and I enjoyed so much in Hannibal MO. This B&B may be in the same collection but is not in the same league. The rooms are fine, but the service is distinctly impersonal and the rules a bit severe - or at least severely expressed. The owners are so clearly off the premises, they might as well be off the planet.

Arlington also appears to be smack in the middle of the Dallas/Fort Worth conurbation, so the rush hour traffic jam took the trip from the 7 hours 30 minutes the computer had consistently predicted to 8 hours and 7 minutes. Those extra minutes were spent in traffic performing an immensely complicated dance of lane changes to stay on the same road. Thank goodness for air conditioning, generally gracious Texan drivers and my Garmin satnav.

I anxiously checked the weather reports as soon as my computer was set up. I had established there were no tornado warnings for this part of Texas before setting out, but the local meteorologists are now forecasting "severe, damaging storms and possibility of large hail". I have been concerned about hail ever since a gentleman in a bar in Dearborn explained the damage it can do to cars in these parts. On advice from the desk clerk, I have moved Speranza under a tree. Let's hope the storm doesn't bring that down on her.

By the time I made my way to downtown Arlington, everywhere was closing up. Still I had a draught draft Shiner beer, an excellent margarita (in a pint beer glass) and some food-approximation to soak it up. I am not inspired, but I am nourished. And I now know what a hoagie is, having had it explained to me by a fetching, but rather icy, Texan maiden. She could certainly not have melted the butter for it in her mouth. But then, though the preacher would certainly not condone her Daisy Dukes, she probably belongs to one of the four ferocious looking churches I spied on my half mile walk to her place of work.

I can tell you where I had planned to go from here - Wichita, via Oklahoma City. But in the light of recent events, that may need to be revised. On the other hand, the most severe storm warnings now seem to be for here, so it's time to head out. I have the phone number for the Oklahoma State Troopers' weather alerts report and will check it from time to time as I progress.

Sunset on a swamp

Sunset on the bayou

The captain at the helm

Clouds in our wake

Captain and friend

Lost in the music

The Q's path diverges

I didn't plan to stay longer in New Orleans but I realised this morning that I was too exhausted to drive today. The Q and I have driven until dark and then drunk and talked into the early hours. it has been fun but there's only so much a middle aged man can take; at least this one. Q seemed entirely undaunted. I shall be fine tomorrow after a good night's sleep.

Q and I said our farewells over a lunch of gumbo and salad and then I saw him off in the direction of Florida. I took a short walk around Downtown New Orleans before returning to my hotel to catch a bus to an airboat tour. I have done something similar before with my family in the Everglades, but I wanted to see the Louisiana swamps.

Our captain, according to a droll local passing by on another boat is "as nutty as a squirrel turd". This he proceeded to demonstrate by jumping into the water and playing with a 10-12 year old alligator, tempting it over with food and then tapping its head to get it to open its jaws. When eventually it became impatient and aggressive, he just knocked it away. When he's not playing with alligators to amuse the tourists, he hunts them - catching and killing them with a three inch knife, commenting "I play with them a little first." He gets paid by length apparently. Asked if it was good money, he said "It's hard work for very little. If it paid well you wouldn't see my fat ass on this boat."

He seemed a tough, simple soul. He has been in this line of work since he was ten years old. He had a baby alligator in a tank on the boat to hand around for people to be photographed with, but said he would release it after our tour. He catches a fresh one every morning so the animals don't suffer unduly. He alleged that in Florida such tour companies keep alligators long term, removing their teeth. The tour I went on with my family on the Everglades didn't do that but maybe he's right about other companies. I hope not.

I smiled at his advice to watch out for the snakes that hang in the trees. There are six poisonous varieties in the swamps, he said. "If one happens to fall in, I shall try to shoot it but if I miss - it's everybody for his damn self, 'cause I don't do snakes". Having watched him toy fearlessly with an alligator, it was hard to believe that wasn't just a joke. I don't like snakes either, but I would rather deal with one than even a juvenile 'gator. There is something particularly scary about a predator-free animal that knows no fear.

The tour was fun and a good way to get out into Louisiana's natural beauty. I am glad I took the sunset tour as it was pleasantly cool by the end. I don't mind heat, but I hate humidity.

Now I am going to turn in for a good nights' sleep before a long drive to my first of two visits in this tour to the great state of Texas. Tomorrow, God willing, I shall sleep in Dallas. I shall be keeping a close eye on the weather though as tonight's news is full of the damaging tornadoes that crossed my planned path today.

The end of the (Great River) Road

Vicksburg

One of many memorials at the Military Park in Vickburg - paid for by the gentleman's family.

The Steamboat Natchez at New Orleans

Louisiana Welcome Center

The early hours of the morning in the Big Easy

New Orleans was our goal yesterday. The morning drive was the best of the tour to date for me. We drove through Mississippi in beautiful weather. I had the roof down and was singing along to the music I selected all those long days ago in London when I made the "Great River Road" playlist. I don't think I have been so happy for years. 

We stopped at Vicksburg to visit the Military Park; an elaborate and immaculate drive-through memorial to the Union and Confederate dead of the siege there - a turning point in the American Civil War. it was beautifully done and the CD commentary we bought in the visitor center to accompany the 16 mile drive through the battleground was a masterpiece of political correctness. A descendant of a defeated Confederate soldier could come away feeling that he had been honored too.

The Americans do these things well. I drove Q around the route, setting the world to rights in between listening to the commentary, and dropped him off back at the car park to continue to New Orleans in his 'vette.

I stopped along the way, as is my custom, at the "Welcome Center" for my new state of the day, Louisiana. It was odd to think that I was back in the world of the Civil Law again. I had an interesting chat with a park keeper there, who was very depressed about America's prospects. I did my best to cheer him up by saying that, while his politicians might well be the rascals he thought, they were very saints compared to those in other places I had lived, such as Russia and China. He was a devout Christian and his God must be disappointed that he has so little faith that He will provide. 

I arrived in New Orleans between 1800 and 1900, having enjoyed the amazing drive through the approaches to the city. I had to sacrifice my planned drive to Key West in order to make my mileage budget, but these long roads on stilts over the Delta were the same sort of experience.

On the subject of the mileage budget, the news is not good. I was suppposed (according to my MapQuest plan) to get to here in 4,020 miles. The actual mileage at this point turns out to be 5,103. At that rate, the total trip mileage will be 4,000 miles more than planned, which will take the car well past her next service and possibly use up the current tyres. I need to give that some thought, especially as I am planning to divert to Denver.

The JW Marriott in New Orleans distinguised itself badly by informing me it has a policy of not valet parking super-cars for liability reasons. My car was "too much" to go in their secure garage and they offered to direct me to a public lot nearby. I have now been in America long enough not react meekly like an Englishman to such a setback. I explained that the very expensive hotel had been selected precisely for my car's security. I wasn't moving, I explained, until she was safe - whether that involved parking her out front under their continuous observation - which was how top class hotels usually handled such cars - or at some better hotel (defined as one with a less stupid parking policy) they found for me.

A compromise was reached whereby I parked her myself, with the valet parker in the passenger seat. So I still have the keys and I know where she is - their very secure garage on several floors of the hotel tower. I also know just how the valet parking is done (at speed and with all the horns sounding  as there's only a single carriageway). It was quite fun actually. I guess it would have been even more fun with someone else's car.

We walked by the river and I had the chance to compare the headwaters in Itasca State Park with the great stream here. We had an excellent meal at a restaurant recommended by Q's friends, followed by a walk around the French Quarter to take in the sights and sounds. Q had been here 33 years ago and despite the intervening devastation of Katrina it was exactly as he remembered.

Safe in New Orleans. The prettiest approaches of any city I have seen, except Venice - and then only if you arrive in style by water taxi. More updates later, but I am heading out now to eat and listen to music. The valet parker wimped out, so I got to be my own valet parker and see that Speranza is extremely secure. I guess I get the tip now too.

Mississippi Turning - to Greenville MS and slightly back

 

 

It's OK mums, they didn't have our size

Living room, Graceland

No pretty little thing, waiting for the King...

The gold disc of my favourite Elvis song

A small part of the trophy collection

My souvenir shirt

The day started as planned with a trip to Graceland. You can't come to Memphis and NOT go. There's something touching in the relationship between the faithful fans (is anyone not, to some extent, an Elvis fan?) and the continuing exploitation of his talent. More than forty years after his ignominious death his estate is still coining it relentlessly. 

What a shame no-one in his management ever cared enough for him to introduce him to the fine things in life he could have enjoyed - or to coax him away from the drugs (10 different drugs were found in significant quantities at his autopsy) that reduced him to what he became.

The Q has less sympathy. He thinks Elvis was his own man and enjoyed his life as best he could. He might not have appreciated art, travel, interior decor or fine wines, but he bought all the cars and planes he wanted. In the end, it's true, a man is responsible for his own choices, but I am sentimental enough to wish he had had better friends. I have always been lucky in mine.

In England, there is a certain kind of salt of the earth person who, when Elvis is mentioned, goes solemn and says simply, "He's the King." I thought of one of those, an excavator driver I used to work with years ago, now sadly "gone on", when I bought my souvenir T-shirt.

In the line for the shuttle to the mansion, the Q and I chatted to a trucker from Alabama who also reminded me of him - except he had visited every state of the union (49 of them on his truck) and five of Canada's provinces. I don't think my late friend travelled much. Still, he was a good man and and, like the King himself, deserved a better end. 

At the obvious point in the tour the words of the song in the video came back to me; 

"...there's a pretty little thing, waiting for the King, down in the jungle room..."

Then we hit the road. I gave the Q an accidental taste of last night's medicine. When he read my post from yesterday he had called a friend from Tennessee to ask if I had been in any real danger. His response, apparently, was that "West Memphis has a reputation as bad as anywhere in the States." Where did I pull in for gas? West Memphis. Whoops.

We had a good run through Mississippi, a place the Q had hitch-hiked through 34 years ago as an 18-year old. Then, the parts we drove through were just farms and general stores. Now the state has a tourism industry and the roads are lined with hotels. He stopped off at a McDonalds for the free wifi in order to book us into a place for the night. He chose Greenville, on our route to New Orleans. He called me and I set the satnav to there, arriving at a respectable time and feeling that we had handled things much better than yesterday. Sadly they knew nothing of me and had no spare rooms. He had accidentally booked us into the Holiday Inn in Greenwood MS instead. That was 50 miles back along our route for the day, so he asked me to use the wifi in Greenville to book something else.

To cut a long story short, we ended up in Cleveland MS. Over a supper at Fat Baby's Catfish House nearby, the amiable proprietor told us that he wouldn't like to be in Greenville late at night, so maybe our guardian angels had been at work.

Tomorrow, on to New Orleans and the last night of our stout fellowship. We plan to celebrate by living in some style. Q will go on to Florida on business and I will continue my quest for the real America alone.

New friends, new experiences and some scary moments

Logan, from Pensacola FL

We shouted "Go, Cards!" but I doubt they heard

The Big Muddy from the top of the Arch

Logan looks quite at ease in Speranza's driving seat

We are

The Arch, from the park below

safe and well, let me make that clear at the outset. I made an error of judgement or two today, which gave rise to some unease; no worse than that. I know that both my mum and the Q's are reading this blog, so it's only fair to make that clear before continuing!

The day started well in Hannibal, MO. The Q & I were well rested after our boozy night and enjoyed our breakfast. Kudos to the excellent Garth Woodside Mansion B&B and thanks to our hosts, John and Julie, for a splendid time. Also for the parting gift of caramel-flavoured vodka. Apparently, the Q is enjoying some even now in his room and I look forward to trying some more myself when I am in the mood.

We arrived within minutes of each other in St Louis today, where we visited the Gateway Arch. We actually took one elevator (they call it a tram, though it's more like riding in a front loading washing machine) to the top from one side and took the other one down. So we have travelled the full extent of both its "legs". The St Louis Cardinals were playing and we could see the game in progress from far above. They lost, sadly. St Louis is a big baseball town and the atmosphere in the city was noticably dampened.

The lady who rode up the Arch with us was from New York. She was gamely seeking out such experiences in order to overcome her fear of heights. We tried to joke her out of thinking about it as our cramped car ascended, but she was the very embodiment of the concept of a white knuckle ride, so I am not sure we entirely succeeded. We rode down the other side with a lady from Penasacola Florida named Chris and her eight-year old son, Logan. He had seen our cars on the parking lot and wanted to know all about them. So we invited him and his mom to come to the parking lot, sit inside them and be photographed. I think he enjoyed it.

From the little we saw of it and the conversations we had with natives in our bar and our restaurant, St Louis seems like a great town. Certainly, it's a very sporty one. The Q spent quite a lot of time in the bar explaining the rules of baseball to me as the highlights of today's game were analysed to the nth degree. I don't claim to have grasped it all yet, but I am determined. It's clearly central to the American way of life, which - after all - I am here to learn about.

We drove from St Louis to Sikeston, MO where John & Julie had recommended the unique culinary experience that is Lambert's Cafe - "the only home of the throwed roll". It was really quite something. The Q has more experience of Southern food than me, and thought the ribs were not up to standard. I enjoyed the portion of them I was able to eat and look forward to enjoying better ones even more as I tour the Southern States. The Q's sporting dexterity stood him in good stead and he safely received the longest throw of the evening. I didn't drop mine either, but it was from much nearer. It is an odd experience, but fun!

Then things went a bit pear-shaped. The Q is running out of time and keen to make progress. Our leisurely pace so far had surprised him and he asked if we could skip the GRR and dash directly first to St Louis and then Memphis. We didn't book an hotel because we thought - if we didn't make Memphis - we could just find one when we ran out of steam. That happened at Sikeston, but the Holiday Inn there turned out to be fully booked. Tired though we were, we decided to strike out directly for the HIlton Hotel in Memphis.

I was low on gas and reluctant to buy the no-name brands. I have had to feed them to Speranza twice on this tour, for lack of an alternative, but they are not good for her. So I passed three junctions that didn't offer branded fuel and struck out with satnav guidance for a Phillips 66. It turned out to be closed but there was another in the satnav so I aimed for that. That turned out to be the same station from the opposite direction, so I ended up driving the next junction and turning round to head back before I realised what was happening.

Low on fuel now I came off at the next exit and filled up on what the satnav had promised would be branded gas. The station was independent however, and had changed to a no-name fuel. Lacking the wherewithal to proceed otherwise, I reluctantly filled her up. A group of rowdy young men arrived and surrounded the car. For a moment I was concerned, but then Speranza's charm did its job and they ended up posing for photographs with my willing permission.

Memphis was still over 100 miles to go. It was getting on for midnight and all respectable hard-working Americans (apart from the truck drivers) were tucked up and sleeping the sleep of the just. The route took me through Arkansas, which announced on the sign immediately after its welcome to the state, that "Speed limits are strictly enforced. No tolerances." This seemed to be for real as even the truck drivers slowed down, so my bed receded further into the future.

As I got close to the hotel, I positioned Speranza in the wrong lane. I was committed to the turn so then followed a tour through bits of Memphis the tourism officials don't mention. I passed rows of dilapidated caravans/trailers down a service road that the Satnav claimed would lead me back to the highway, but actually terminated in a filthy pool. I turned around and retraced my route, wishing as I passed the trailers and their - presumably - sleeping inhabitants, that an Italian V8 had a mute button.

A combination of fear and tiredness led me into various unprepossessing areas, my mind full of memories of Tom Wolfe's "Bonfire of the Vanities." There is no stealth mode in a Ferrari. She is meant to be noticed and therefore unsuited to social anthropology. Eventually, however, sometime between 1 and 1.30 am, I found my way back to the highway - approached the hotel from the opposite direction and found my way to its door.

I declined Q's kind invitation to a settling vodka, thinking it would only make writing my blog post for the day more difficult - as it certainly did yesterday! It's now well after 2pm and I am off to sleep, before exploring the more glamorous side of Memphis tomorrow.

Down day, but fun

On our way to breakfast

Leaving, only to return later

The Quarterback's softer side

Becky Thatcher

Mr Twain

Local biker

Painting that fence

I could not resist this from the gift shop

Black Beauty had a real puncture. She had picked up an historical nail that was holding the air in her tire while still, but brushing the tarmac and opening a gap to release it while in motion. I cannot believe how cheap it was to fix it. The owner of our B&B called a tire place in Hannibal and got us an appointment this morning. Within a couple of hours, the problem was sorted (nail removed and high-performance tire fixed) for $20! 

 By the time it was sorted (a) we had lost the morning to car maintenance, (b) though we had elaborately said goodbye to it and its owners, we were reluctant to leave our B&B and (c) we had decided that Memphis was too far to go in an afternoon. So, over drinks in Main Street Hannibal and over my very first meal of catfish (delicious, as long as pond-reared) we decided to stay another night and really "do" the city and its Mark Twain museum.

We met Julie, our splendid B&B hostess, in Main Street where she also runs a store, and arranged both that we would stay another night and that she would feed us so we could have a serious drink. She put the Q and I into a comfortable cottage in the grounds of the Inn. She fed us, right royally, and she also arranged the most amazing tasting of flavoured vodkas. The Americans have taken to importing French vodka and flavouring it with the taste of bubble gum, various fruits, caramel or cake. I know it sounds both disgusting and the sort of thing a pedophile might use for grooming victims but - amazingly - it was marvelous. My new favourite drink is cake, caramel and cherry flavoured vodka combined into an alcoholic liquid dessert. It intoxicates more than it fattens and tastes way better than it sounds!

Twain is one of my favourite authors and was the means by which I first found out, through reading Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, that there was such a place as America.There is a very well-organised (and entirely privately-funded) museum dedicated to his life and works in Hannibal. There is also a group of buildings (some in their original location, some moved to be nearby) comprising the great man's childhood home, the home of the man on whom Huck Finn is based, the law office of Twain's judge/lawyer father, and the home of the girl on whom Becky Thatcher is based. The famous fence is there, and the Q and I (both of whom read and loved Sawyer and Finn as boys) posed for a photo with a whitewash brush - as everyone does.

Canadian and Englishman were united in our affection for that great - and wise - American Mark Twain. Just seeing the size of the Mississipi River across the levee from his boyhood home put the stories into a new context. I am sure I mentally pictured it as a far more modest waterway when I was reading the books.

The day was hot. We cooled down with a walk along the banks of the mighty Mississippi and returned to our cars to find some locals inspecting Speranza. I was in fine spirits and opened her up to allow Bubba, the child of the party, to sit in her and rev her magnificent engine. The kid was ecstatic and his family appreciated the attention I gave him. He was shy at first but, flushed with the sound of an Italian V8 shaking muddy foundations for miles around, he said, with enormous passion, "I want want of these". 

Back at the splendid Garth Woodside Mansion (I am not sponsored to say this but give the advice freely in gratitude for John and Julie's excellent hospitality, come to Hannibal if only to stay there) we had an amazing evening. Great food. Great drink. Great company. If I am to adopt a critical stance to America in order to make a photobook about my tour that will be taken seriously by European intellectuals, it won't happen today.

Dubuque to Hannibal, via the Field of Dreams and our first speeding ticket

On the pitcher's mound at the Field of Dreams movie site

The whole team, drivers and driven

Watching the fishermen fish with nets and bows and arrows at Sabula

Resting for tonight in Mark Twain's old room

Well rested and moderately well nourished we set off to drive the next section of the Great River Road, for the first time in convoy. Before leaving the Dubuque area, we flipped over to Dyersville to see the odd tourist attraction that is the movie location for Kevin Costner's baseball classis, "Field of Dreams". The Quarterback is more into ice hockey, but has an appreciation of America's national game - which is also played in Canada. I guess that's what makes it "the World Series", right? Two countries playing. I remember enjoying the movie very much, while not having the foggiest idea of why it was all so mystical.

 

The scouts identified a farm in Iowa and the film company paid to use it. The crew "built" (is that the right verb?) the baseball pitch in the course of four days. The farming family have maintained it ever since and it has become a tourist attraction that pulls in 3,000 people a weekend. Having become too old to manage the business they were thus magically gifted - the film company built it and they DID come - the family has now sold it to a business group that is going to build lots more baseball diamonds to create a sort of baseball mecca. Whether it works for the new owners or not, it has been a great asset to the old ones. They don't even charge admission - they have simply asked for donations to maintain the field and sold souvenirs.

Then we set off in quest of the GRR and found it easily enough for most of the way. We drove through beautiful country, first in Iowa, then Illinois and finally Missouri. My American mobile phone failed again and my English one (the expensive navigation substitute - eating mapping data on expensive roaming fees) locked onto a terrible phone company's signal that offered no data. The Quartermaster's car (now named, unimaginatively, "Black Beauty") has US satnav, of course, but it was utterly fixated on the Interstates and refused to recalculate however long we persisted in following the GRR signs.

When the signs became sparse, we ended up lost and made our separate ways to Hannibal, MO - Mark Twain's home town. I eventually found my way back to the GRR. Q arrived from a different direction, in a grumpy mood, having picked up a speeding fine of $175 en route. It could have been worse. There was talk of cells and bail bonds, but kindness prevailed - to an extent.

Having picked a B&B to stay in while on wifi at our lunch stop we were pleasantly surprised to find it is a magnificent historical mansion - the former country home of the Garth family - 55 year friends of Mr Twain himself. My room is the guest room where he slept when last he stayed with them in 1902.

I bought dinner to compensate the Q for his speeding fine and we agreed that if either of us gets a fine on this run, the other will pay for the food that evening. Hannibal being a sleepy little town of only 17,000 inhabitants (though it sprawls over a wide area as if it were a much bigger city) the restaurant we went to was in the process of closing. The kitchen staff having left, the nice ladies waiting on and tending bar took pity on us. They produced a soup and salad combination that was probably a better choice than we would have made given the run of the menu.

Black Beauty announced on her way home that her right rear tire (tyre) was flat. We pulled in to a garage and - working by the light of an iPhone - re-inflated it. It seemed to hold and she is now complaining that it's over-inflated. The morning will reveal if we have a more serious -trip disrupting - problem.