My St. Louis post dispatch

May 4-5, St. Louis, Missouri

The trip from Newton, Illinois to St. Louis is about two and a half hours almost straight west. We left in a morning thunderstorm that passed quickly making the drive a bit better than expected. This was our first time following the lead of another motorhome but we had reviewed with Mike, the driver, the route he planned to take in case we somehow lost him (although it seems kind of hard to lose a 40" motorhome).  Everything went smoothly on the drive until we reached the Martin Luther King Bridge which stretches nearly a mile between St. Louis and East St. Louis across the Mississippi River. Neither Vic nor I am fond of traveling across bridges in the motorhome, but this one looked pretty non-threatening (as in the lanes were fairly wide and the span fairly flat), so no big deal except traffic was backed up for at least a mile.  The threat this bridge congestion posed related to our decision not to stop at the last rest area coupled with Vic's over-consumption of iced tea.  We paused in the traffic and Vic calmly said, "Can you take over?" I have not really driven the coach yet, other than in parking lots, and I have been intending to do so, but these were not the circumstances I had envisioned for my first experience behind the wheel.  However, the look of desperation on his face won the day, and I slid in behind the wheel while he went to the bathroom. I only had to inch along with the brake and stay in my lane for the first few minutes then traffic broke free a bit and I had to give it gas to move along. Vic made a quick comeback and my first time at the helm ended just as I was thinking I could drive the whole distance of the bridge in rush hour traffic. The silver lining of this little scenario is that I am now eager to take the next step and do a "rest area to rest area" stint which the Kansas to South Dakota stretch should provide.

Our main focus in visiting St. Louis was to see the Gateway Arch and for the four of us to take a VIP tour of the Anheuser-Busch Brewery courtesy of my step-son Todd. (Thanks, Todd!) The tour was to begin at 1:45 and we pulled in to our campground at 12:50. We chose to stay at the St. Louis RV Park, basically a city parking lot with full hook-ups, because of its close proximity to these tourist attractions and its reasonable rate of $33. (The park was quite noisy with sirens blaring and car stereos booming all through the night and the neighborhood is rather sketchy but it still served our purpose well.) We managed to set-up and eat lunch before taking a ten-minute drive to the brewery.
The first thing that struck us was the massive size of the place and its imposing nineteenth century German brick architecture. The brewery, a national landmark that is spread out over at least four city blocks, is open to the public for free tours that include beer tastings for those over 21. Our Brewmaster Tour would include two tastings--one of eighteen-hour-old Budweiser tapped right from the finishing tank and another from a wide selection of Budweiser family bottles in the hospitality room.

Hop chandeliers purchased at the 1904 World Fair

Donning caps, safety glasses, and headphones, our group of ten walked from one brick building to another as our tour guide, David, provided a wealth of historical background and technical information on the various steps of the brewing and bottling process. Three things stood out in this tour: the staggering volume of beer that is produced here on a daily basis, the notable absence of workers in most of the plants due to high tech automation, and the surprisingly elaborate decor that adorns the interior of the buildings. I also liked seeing the Clydesdale stable, but was a little disappointed how few are housed there (they have a large stable outside the city called Grant's Farm that is open to the public) and the fact that the Dalmatians happened to be elsewhere. At the end of the two and a half hour tour, we gathered together in the comfy VIP lounge, drank our final selection of beer served with pretzels, and left with an honorary Brewmaster Certificate, our own beer glass, Anheuser-Busch caps, a newfound appreciation for the historical significance of this national landmark, and respect for the engineering feat it requires to produce a consistent product of this volume.

Hop pellets used for consistency

 After the tour, we relaxed before going out to dinner to the Broadway Oyster Bar, a local cajun-creole dive bar that had terrific reviews on Yelp. Having changed our itinerary from traveling the southern route via New Orleans, I thought it would be fun to try something different in St. Louis.  On the bar's website one review described the place as a "unique welcomed retreat for weary travelers. . .  with live music nightly, the cozy restaurant and the open air patio are reminiscent of life in the "Big Easy. . . where the Cajun cuisine (i.e. crawfish, jambalaya, gumbo, oyster po' boys) is 'surprisingly good' and the 'décor is so bad that it's great.' It's a 'great local dive' that 'never changes - thank goodness."  The outdoor area was packed when we arrived and there was a one-man band singing and playing guitar.  Our only option if we wanted to sit outdoors was a table right in front of the stage which didn't seem to bad as the music wasn't too loud.  After sitting down here, I realized we should have waited for a different table as the loudness wasn't the issue--this barefoot guitar player sang a rather eclectic collection of familiar songs but tried to put his own twists on them making them all sound bizarre.  The service was pretty good--gotta love the t-shirts--and the food was reasonable and tasty but not great. After the barefoot musician finished his last song, two other musicians came in to set up and we found ourselves fascinated by the complexities of their task.  After an hour or set-up, a third musician showed up and one of the others took off in a car to retrieve something he forgot. The word on the street was they were a bluegrass trio with a good following, but we left before they even began their first set never to discover what we were missing.

The Broadway Oyster Bar patio

On the way to Broadway Street, we discovered a cordoned off area of Washington Avenue with a Cinco de Mayo party, so we thought we should check it out.  Most of the fiesta was confined to one large tent where a Latino band was playing, margaritas were flowing, and a good variety of Mexican street food was offered.  Just as we arrived, however, the band played their final song and things quieted down from there, so we enjoyed people watching and the opportunity to check out other venues along the avenue. 

Saturday--the forecast was for a high of 91 degrees (and fairly high humidity)--not what these Northwesterners are accustomed to, but Mike and BJ seemed unfazed by this record heat. I requested that we start the day my favorite way--with a trip to the local farmer's market, and what a market it is. Located in the Soulard District, St. Louis' oldest community, the market has over eighty vendors selling everything from live chickens, old-time herbal remedies, artisan cheeses, and a wide variety of meats, fruits, and vegetables. Operating since 1938, it is billed as the oldest market west of the Mississippi. As a farmer's market groupie, I was fascinated with the difference in atmosphere from a Northwest market: the vendors here were hawking their wares with catchy phrases as customers passed their booths, there were food stands offering Irish Coffees and Bloody Marys to complement the shopping experience, many of the clientele were dressed to the nines, and the goods offered were not necessarily local products. We managed to find enough goodies to fill our shopping bag. Vic's favorite: homemade pierogies and kielbasa. 




Not something you see in Oregon markets

We made a quick stop back at the motorhome to unload our treasures, take the dogs out for a short walk, and plan our afternoon at the Arch. I had no idea how much there was to see beyond the Arch itself.  The Arch and the Historic Old Courthouse (where the Dred Scott case decision began in 1846) comprise what is called the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial, part of the National Park System.  Below the Arch is visitor center that includes two theaters, the Museum of Westward Expansion, and entrance to the tram which takes you to the top of the 630' Arch. (Just for the record, none of us was too eager to go up.)  The Arch itself, symbolic of the Gateway to the West, commemorates the mass migration and settlement of the American West during the 1800s.  The Museum traces the Lewis and Clark trail and the settlement of the Louisiana Purchase through lifelike dioramas and animated displays.  One of the theaters shows a thirty-minute film on the making of the Arch which we watched. What an incredible architectural feat! 

From the Arch, it is only a short walk to Laclede's Landing, St. Louis 'riverfront district, a cobblestone street filled with an eclectic mix of shops and cafes. Since Saturday was both Cinco de Mayo and Kentucky Derby day, we were anxious to celebrate one or the other. We passed by a sandwich board sign at Joey B's on the Landing advertising $2 margaritas and saw no advertisements for mint juleps, so margaritas it was.  By the time we returned to the "campground," a little exhausted from the heat of the day, we still had the Derby to watch on TV. I happened to have fresh mint from Mike and BJ's garden, so we had a ceremonial mint julep while we watched Mike's horse, "I'll Have Another," win the race with 15:1 odds. Amazingly, we still found enough energy to take about a ten-minute drive to what is called The Hill, an Italian neighborhood known for its restaurants, bakeries, specialty groceries, narrow brick row houses, and fire hydrants painted red, white, and green--colors of the Italian flag. We took a lovely walk exploring the old neighborhood, stopped for a piccolo gelato, and declared our two-day adventure in St. Louis complete. With the amazing Supermoon lighting up the evening sky, I couldn't help but think of a phrase from this city's most famous song lyrics: "don't tell me the lights are shining anyplace but there."

P.S. We did not dance the Hoochie-Koochie.

A most perfect detour

May 1-4, Newton, Illinois

Our plan from Memphis had been to make St. Louis our next stop en route to South Dakota.  Well, one of the best parts of this lifestyle is having the freedom to change plans—stay longer when we like it somewhere, leave sooner than intended, or veer off the beaten path.  This time we chose to veer off in a northeastern direction to accept an invitation to visit Mike and BJ, friends we originally made at a campground in Sault St. Marie, Michigan, then met up with again in Florida and Alabama, and now would see in their stick home in Newton, Illinois—population 3000.  Where is Newton, you ask?  Mike’s typical answer is halfway between St. Louis and Terre Haute.  Even though I grew up in Northern Illinois, I rarely travelled south of Chicago as I went to college in Montana and my family later moved to Northern Michigan. So this foray would be to new territory for both Vic and me. 

The drive from Memphis to Newton was about six hours through mostly farmland and rural locales. The most familiar city I recognized along the way were signs for Carbondale, home of Southern Illinois University, which was about 15 miles west of I-57, the route we were traveling. We arrived in a late afternoon downpour with Mike standing in the front yard holding a large umbrella overhead. They live on seventeen acres with a charming country home, large fishing pond, swimming pool, hot tub, and three huge storage barns (one holds two 40” motorhomes). Mike had a spot all ready for us with full hook-ups: 50 amp power, water, and sewer. Gotta love that.

Southern hospitality—we’ve all heard this expression yet you might not think people from Newton, Illinois, are southerners, but Southern culture seems to dominate the lifestyle here.  I learned quickly that Illinois Yankees, from the Southern Illinois perspective, are those who are damned to be associated with the urban lifestyle of Chicago as opposed to the farm communities here. In spite of their place on the map, people here act and sound Southern and Mike and BJ are no exception.  They grow rotating crops of soybeans and corn, butcher their own meat, put up shelves of vegetables from their own garden, and open their home to anyone at a moment’s notice. Our first meal at their table consisted of chicken fried steak with white gravy, hand-cut corn from last year’s crop, and asparagus freshly picked from a bed in the backyard. After dinner, we drove forty miles (things are far apart here) for a surprise visit to other friends we met, Steve and Diane, who warmly greeted us with the same hospitality. We sat and visited in their turn of the century restored home eating popcorn (always hand-popped, never microwave)and sharing travel stories from the time since we had all been together in February at Seminole Campground in North Ft. Myers.

Our second day in Newton included a trip to a local winery, Tuscan Hills, in Effingham—yes, winery. Apparently, growing grapes is not limited to the West Coast—some of the grapes were actually from Illinois and Indiana, but many were California imports. We all seemed to like a local red wine called Chambourcin, a French-American hybrid which apparently grows well in these parts. One of the winery’s slogans was“The best effing winery,” yet, I think it was the only winery in Effingham. . . . From here we toured all around the county with Mike pointing out various landmarks highlighted by stories of boom and bust farming legacies. This landscape is one where you can see for miles, incredibly flat fields of crops punctuated by silo bins, farm implements, hog houses, occasional oil wells, and one mug tree. 

A tree stump decorated with coffee mugs out in the middle of nowhere

 A quick phone call to another couple we met in Gulf Shores, Alabama, and it’s dinner at their home in Dietrich, about ten miles from Newton (another example of this Southern hospitality).  Moving from the mid-West to the Northwest, I often commented on how I missed the open door, just drop-in lifestyle that seemed to be absent in the West—until I met my special friends in Corvallis—but, for the most part, my experience in Oregon was people don’t just drop in unexpected.

On day three in Newton, the sun came out which meant we were going for lunch to the Moonshine Store, a gathering place where farmers have come to stock up on groceries and have a sandwich since 1889. We traveled several back country roads for about a half hour to get to the place which is as Bill Geist, in a segment on the CBS Morning Show described it, “Way off the Road.” The store, in Moonshine—population 2—still looks like a country store with the original shelves on the wall and benches in the middle where you can eat your lunch on your lap or, do the more popular thing, take a hamburger with all the fixins outside to eat at a picnic table. The place is so popular that they once served 2068 sandwiches in one day even when they close the grill at 12:30 SHARP.

Vic signing the store's registry

After a filling lunch at Moonshine Store, we went to Sam Parr State Park, only a few miles from their home, to do some kayaking—well, actually for the “boys” to do some kayaking. Mike was eager to try it and the lake at the park was a perfect place to practice.  BJ and I had a nice walk around the park, checked out the campsites, returned to the lake and watched the guys disappear from inlet to inlet.  I think Mikey liked it. . . .

Unloading the kayaks at Sam Parr State Park

Our last meal at the Schafer’s had to be pork burgers, a Southern Illinois favorite influenced by the prevalence of hog farms, I think.  I am told they are made by grinding a whole pig—so they are not easy to come by outside of hog country.  Steve and Diane, friends who were also with us in Ft. Myers, joined in for the barbeque and we finished off the evening with a campfire—something we often did together in Florida.  Somehow the complexities of the world seem much less prevalent around a campfire with friends out on a farm in a little town built around a courthouse square.

Our last day at the Schafer's we visited with Mike's charming ninety-year-old mother who lives only two miles away, gave the dogs baths after letting them swim in the pool, took a ride to the booming town of Oblong (population 1, 513) to Floyd's Bar for taco night, paid a visit to their son's house out in the country about thirty miles from Newton, and stopped at the MVP River Bar to quench a powerful thirst on the way home. I am not quite sure how to describe this place, but perhaps a photo of their pot-bellied pig that was belching outside on their "patio" would suffice? Let's just say it was a colorful stop, and that I regretted not being able to try out the trampoline out back.

On Friday morning our plan was to leave for St. Louis to see the Arch and tour the Anheuser-Busch Brewery.  BJ and Mike decided to join us for a little mini-vacation and so we were about to experience our first caravan. (Does two a caravan make?) We pulled out of Newton in a morning thunderstorm and headed for the gateway to the West.

Ole man river and the Civil Rights era

April 30, Memphis, Tennessee

We had an ambitious plan for this last day in Memphis.  Certainties included going to the National Civil Rights Museum and Mud Island Mississippi River Boardwalk.  Other possibilities included the Memphis Flower Show and the Memphis Zoo.  Since the forecast was predicting high 80s, we decided to go to Mud Island before the temperature became too oppressive.  Since Memphis is on the Mississippi River, we wanted to do explore this aspect of the city. The highlight of Mud Island River Park is a one mile walk that follows a scale model of 954 miles of the lower Mississippi River flowing from Cairo, Illinois to the Gulf of Mexico. The model shows the exact topography of the river showing its various depths, floodplains, and levies. You can walk along its path or even wade through the water as if flows south to New Orleans.  This was a great way to learn more about the geography of this mighty river.  The park, a short walk over a bridge from downtown Mississippi, also includes a Mississippi River Museum where you learn more about the history, music, and culture of Mississippi River life.

The bridge walk to Mud Island

Old-time paddlewheel boats for river rides

One of many plaques along the river explaining the history of various points along the way

A scaled view of the meandering river and its tributaries

The city of Memphis serves as a backdrop to the river walk

A mockingbird on the banks of the real river

Paddle boaters in the 1.3 million gallon Gulf Of Mexico model

Vic standing at the mouth of the river at the Gulf of Mexico

After spending the morning at Mud Island, we went about three miles to the assassination site of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., where the National Civil Rights Museum was created. We opted for the self-guided audio tour as we have found the additional information offered via headphones to be the best way to get an in-depth experience of what the museum has to offer.  This museum is arranged as a chronological display of the African-American experience in America.  The first display was a sculpture depicting MLK's final speech given the night before his assassination, the Mountaintop speech.

A small segment of the Mountaintop sculpture

From here, the museum focused on the Middle Passage, the transportation of slaves from Africa to America. Having taught the novel Beloved by Toni Morrison and August Wilson's play The Gem of the Ocean, I am especially sensitive to the horrors of this historical event. The museum paired this focus with a provocative display of the dehumanization of the Negro race.  Especially disturbing to me were images from the 50s and 60s which I remember as a part of my childhood like Little Black Sambo children's books and Uncle Remus in Disney's Song of the South. Seeing several display cases full of these examples of racism made me realize how commonplace it was to put black people in subservient roles when I was a child. It was also fascinating to see the evolution that took place in the media as a part of the struggle to eradicate these pejorative images from advertising, literature, television, and the movies. The museum included television clips from popular shows that I had long ago forgotten about like Julia the nurse played by Diahann Carol (I remember the Julia doll) and I Spy with Bill Cosby.

A depiction of the lunch counter sit-ini

A model of Birmingham jail where King wrote his powerful letter

The rest of the museum focused on key events and figures in the Civil Rights Movement.  As Vic and I were looking at depictions of the numerous events that took place in Alabama, Mississippi, and Arkansas, it reminded us that these peaceful places were are now traveling were once hotbeds of dissent oftentimes leading to violence and bloodshed.

Near the end of the tour, there was an opportunity to see a film about King's final days in Memphis.  He had come to support the sanitation workers' strike and hold a peaceful demonstration.  The Lorraine Hotel was well known as a popular place that welcomed blacks even in earlier decades.  The night before the demonstration, there was a terrible thunderstorm and King was supposed to speak at a church, but thought no one would show up on this stormy night.  Well they did and this was the occasion where he gave his famous "I Have Gone to the Mountaintop" speech where he ironically says, "I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now."  The next evening he was shot on the balcony of the Lorraine Hotel. The killer, James Earl Ray had rented a small room across the street. The tour included going up to the second floor and seeing King's room and the balcony as well as crossing the street and seeing a model of the room Ray rented.  Pretty powerful to stand there thinking how this famous tragic moment transpired.

The balcony where King was assassinated

On the way back to the motorhome, Vic and I talked about our own memories of the Civil Rights era and what we learned about in school ourselves or through the news. We also both taught many of the events we saw depicted in the museum in our social studies classes. Seeing the museum in the South itself made it seem more real as the West Coast provides few reminders of this time in history.

At the end of the day, we both felt emotionally exhausted and physically tired from the heat of the day. It was great to walk into an air-conditioned motorhome, settle in for a quiet night, and be grateful for the freedom and blessings we have in our own lives.