Day 2: Bloomington, IL to Eureka, MO

11 September. Eureka, Missouri.
10pm, and we’re in for the night early again, after a satisfying first full day on Route 66. Stats: 8 am start, 7pm finish; 245 miles covered.
Mom & Dad have camped in their Scamp before and knew what to expect, but for Don, Tom, and me it was a new experience. None of us knew quite what to expect, and I think we all were braced to suck it up no matter how cramped and miserable it might be with 5 of us in the small camper. But, upon comparing notes this morning, we discovered that we all were pleasantly surprised to find that we all were comfortable and slept pretty well... at least, until the campground’s toilet-cleaning truck came lumbering by at 5am. Our site was located conveniently right across from the bathrooms and showers – which meant that we could hear loud and clear while the truck roared next to our site for what seemed an eternity (but was actually only about 10 minutes).
We had hoped and intended to begin our day on Route 66 with a stop at the Funk’s Grove Maple Sirup (intentionally spelled that way because of the out-of-the-ordinary sweetener they use) place. Sadly, when I called, I was informed that they had sold out of syrup and closed down for the year during the first week of August. So much for that. No problem; off we went to the Dixie Truck Stop in McLean, known for its mush (the guidebook description sounded mouthwatering – but they were out) and southern-style hospitality. Despite the lack of mush, we had no problem stuffing ourselves Stich-style, noticing with amusement the sudden silence as we all got down to the serious business of our feeding frenzy. Our breakfast took longer than usual, so they gave us a 10% discount, which we thought was worth the extra wait. While we waited, we all spent more than the extra 10% in the gift shop, buying postcards and other Route 66 souvenirs. We did check out Funk’s Grove – founded in the 1800s by the Funk family, some of whom to this day continue to operate the Pure Maple Sirup place – with its Funk’s Grove Cemetery and historic train depot (pretty, with a pleasant drive through the woods, though not the photographic gem it was cracked up to be).
Today I rode with Uncle Tom as navigator in the beautiful aqua Skyliner, enjoying the smooth ride on the kind of road for which that car was built. We put the top down as we left Dixie’s, making for a wide-open, panoramic kind of day. We wound through vast cornfields and endless expanses of open fields broken only by grain elevators in scattered small towns, not unlike the landscape of northwestern Minnesota from whence the 3 brothers all hail.
Driving into Atlanta, Illinois, we were excited to see signs proclaiming its fall festival to be in full swing... but saw nary a soul out and about to carry on the festivities. However, when we alighted on main street to check out the downtown attractions and the outdoor advertising murals for which Atlanta – roughly at the center of Illinois Route 66 – is known, we were greeted by an elderly man who ambled amiably over to greet and welcome us. He introduced himself as Paul Adams, and when he had difficulty using the digital camera, he apologized that at 93 he sometimes has trouble. We were astonished, and I stammered to clarify, "Are you really 93? What year were you born?" "Well, I’m pretty sure I was born in 1916... on a little farm over there, just west of town," gesturing beyond the grain elevators and high school. Wow – a true local icon in the flesh! The 40-foot clock tower – which is wound by hand every few days by one of a crew of "keepers of the clock" (their schedule was posted on the side of the tower) – chimed 11:00 while we stood there, and we all crowded around a glass door at its base, fascinated, to watch the workings moving. He chuckled in agreement with what our guidebook had said about this being "Lincoln country," with seemingly every place claiming to have hosted Abe himself as having worked, slept, been born, or stood there; he smilingly agreed that apparently Abe must have slept in every house, garage, barn, shed, and chicken coop around.
The next town of note was Lincoln itself – which adopted Abe’s name before he became president. He christened the town himself, quipping that nothing named Lincoln had ever amounted to much, and using watermelon juice from a cup for the occasion on a site at the historic train depot, a block away from the current County Courthouse and City Hall, which I checked out while the "adults" visited a toy store. On our way out of town we stopped briefly to see a small log cabin chapel and the courthouse where Abe served as an 8th-Circuit lawyer way back when.
Not much farther along was Broadwell, formerly known for the Pig Hip Restaurant – which, sadly, burned down on March 5, 2007. We made a quick stop to take pictures of the still-standing signpost and were about to leave, when an elderly couple pulled in, asking amiably whether we’d like to have a look around. We realized they were Fran & Ernie Edwards, the Pig Hip’s proprietors. Chatty and outgoing, they seemed tickled pink to have us there; amazing given the unending stream of visitors they must greet on an annual basis. Sadly, they mentioned that they were just returning from an outing to check out retirement apartments for senior citizens, to which they’re going to have to move soon. They seemed sincerely disappointed – as anyone would be! – at the prospect of having to leave their home after so many years... but, as he pointed out, the couple of steps needed to get into the house are getting to be too much for them. They shared pictures and tales from their 60 years of operating their roadside restaurant, apparently reluctant when we had to say goodbye and resume our journey west. Ernie gave me a business card with a joke about his nickname, the "Old coot on Route 66," and he signed his name that way when I asked for his autograph. :)
Continuing west toward Elkhart, we had no trouble discerning Eklhart Hill, a glacial moraine – which native tribes used for navigation – rising above the surrounding prairie. In Williamsville we were surprised and saddened to see many homes devastated by what appeared to be tornado damage: a wide, straight swath was cut through town where homes had lost their roofs or been completely leveled, and a crew was at work as we went by, busily re-building one such unfortunate structure.
We followed an endless succession of spurs, bypasses, and business loops on the old Route 66, noting one section near Auburn paved with red brick – still featuring the original curbing – and others that were concrete slab with weeds and cracks invading. One portion veered sharply around 90-degree corners on a narrow roadway; a farmhouse just after one such bend between Girard and Nilwood prominently displayed several mangled vehicles in its yard – no doubt past victims of the treacherous twists and turns. Musing that this road was most heavily traveled long before drinking-and-driving laws, and that its travelers most were hell-bent on reaching California – perhaps while tying on a few to pass the time along the way –, we could understand why parts of the old highway earned the nickname "the bloody road" or "the killer."
We stopped for ice cream treats at a Whirl-a-Whip in Girard that had the slowest ice cream service imaginable, but the ice cream was soft, delicious, and worth the wait. Surprisingly given that it was now mid-afternoon, none of us were yet hungry after our enormous breakfast (nor were we at dinnertime), and we agreed that a hearty breakfast is a great way to start these roadtrip days. The Europeans have it right!
We passed quickly through Gillespie, noting the Zion Church built in 1901, next to which train tracks once ran – in 1967, a train wreck destroyed the church steps and entrance canopy, while one freight car leaned dangerously close to the sacristy. Services still were held the next day – and Benld (yes, it’s spelled right – though I’m not sure quite how to pronounce it), where the Coliseum Ball Room still stands. Although the giant sculptures supposed to be out front were gone, I insisted on running inside briefly just to glance around at what in its heyday featured the biggest dance floor (10,000 square feet!) between Chicago and St. Louis: stars like Tommy Dorsey, Fats Domino, Duke Ellington, County Basie, Ike & Tina Turner, Ray Charles, and the Everly Brothers played there.
In Carlinville, we somehow missed the "Standard Addition" (featuring 156 mail-order homes from Sears & Roebuck, built in 1918 for Standard Oil Company mine workers)... but there we encountered a far more interesting sort of attraction, when we met a group of Route 66 travelers from London, England. Driving around the town square, we noticed, waved, and were flagged down by, a group of fellow Route 66 explorers whose transportation consisted of 2 interesting-looking vehicles. Circling the square, we returned to find that they were Londoners (two couples named Trevor & Maggie and Dave & Maggie) who had shipped their 2009 and 2010 Morgans over to drive from New York to Los Angeles, planning to take a couple of months to do it – wow! Noting our camper, one remarked incredulously, "You’re not all going to sleep in there, are you?!" When we replied that we were, he observed, "That’s kind of close in there for 5 people. What happens if somebody cuts gas?" We’ve been remembering that comment, warning one another not to cut gas in here tonight! :) While we were there, they waved down another passing vintage vehicle, which Tom immediately recognized as a ‘34 Chevy coupe rumbleseat with a turbo-charged Chevy engine that usually runs in a ‘vette. The couple driving it were locals (they told Tom that they lived 8 miles away and just happened to be driving by – what a happy coincidence). The town square was getting to look like a vintage car lot, and attracting attention and admirers, especially when they began opening their hoods to display their shiny contents. Particularly the men (I know, that sounds sexist – but they’re the ones who could understand and fully appreciate what was under there – to me, they were gorgeous specimens, but I don’t truly "get" all the ins and outs of auto mechanics the way Dad and his two mechanically-minded brothers can, after their lifetimes of tinkering with engines first on their family farm and then over the years at their own homes and to some extent through their careers) were drooling over the majesty of those flawlessly-restored cars. What fun!! In talking briefly with our new British friends – we were astonished and impressed that they would undertake to ship their cars halfway around the world to drive across another continent – we came to understand that after retiring and undergoing various life changes and challenges (including being reminded of the mortality facing us all), they had decided that life is short, and that under the carpe diem philosophy, it is best just to do what you can, while you can. Reminiscent of my own worn mantra (Mom & Dad heard it at least once today, and became tired of hearing it from me years ago), "It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!"
For our new English friends – who have 2 months to cover Route 66 (they hope to make Vegas by October 1!) – time is no object on this trip of trips, so unfortunately it’s unlikely that we’ll see them again on this trip... I hope that our paths will cross again someday, in another place and time. But sadly, with our limited time for now, we had to pick and choose. For every stop we made, there were more that we bypassed. After that stop in Carlinville, for example, we picked up our pace, concerned about reaching the Chain of Rocks bridge before it closed at dusk.
Our last official stop of the day was at the Chain of Rocks bridge, which begged many questions: why the name? Why was it built with that big bend in the middle? Why is the parking lot on the Missouri side (where we went first) closed? Located at the confluence of the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers, it has a 22-degree bend serving as a compromise between motor traffic and river navigation, due to the unique geology of the area and concerns about the navigation of river traffic around the bridge pylons. Another interesting feature is the Chain of Rocks, a rocky area in the Mississippi that gave the bridge its name. During low water, it looks as though there is a small waterfall in the Mississippi, which used to wreak havoc with river navigation and has since been bypassed by the man-made Chain of Rocks Canal, perhaps a mile to the east, which is a 47-mile-long man-made channel built through Illinois to bypass the Chain of Rocks in the late 1950's and early 1960's. A below-water dam was built across the Mississippi River below the Chain of Rocks to keep the river level high enough at the upstream end of the canal to provide adequate flows/levels for navigation within the canal. Constructed in 1929 as part of Route 66 and financed by tolls, it was closed when the "new" bridge carrying I-270 was constructed in 1967, and it sat abandoned and decaying for 31 years, during which time it was featured in the 1981 movie "Escape from New York" as the 69th Street Bridge. It developed a bad reputation for crimes and violence, including a rape and murder, while sitting unused. It officially reopened for bicycle and pedestrian usage after renovations and security improvements. At one mile in length, it is the world’s longest pedestrian and bicycle bridge. Two gothic, castle-like structures stand in the river just to the south of the bridge, serving as water intakes for the Chain of Rocks Water Treatment facility, which has been operating since 1894. The St. Louis skyline was visible from the bridge, the graceful St. Louis arch hazy in the afternoon distance. A biker dude seemed to take great pride in frightening Mom and Don upon our arrival, so they stayed behind while Dad, Tom, and I walked out onto the bridge. I wanted to walk the entire length across and back, while they turned back halfway, allowing Mom & Don to take a turn; they all were satisfied with that much, and the timing worked out for us all to return to the car park around the same time.
Making our way through St. Louis was a little hairy – and I was sorely tempted to stop for the Cardinals game about to begin, judging by the throngs of red-clad fans making their way to the stadium, but the rest of the group was adamantly opposed to any more stops, almost declaring mutiny when I insisted on one more quick stop to see one of the fiberglass giants just west of St. Louis. It was indeed anticlimactic, but we never would have known if we hadn’t seen it for ourselves... and I provided some entertainment for the others by sneaking through a chained gate in order to get a better angle for the camera shot. :)
On this September 11th, rolling through peaceful countryside byways bursting with nostalgia and goodwill, it was difficult to imagine the viciousness behind the September 11th attacks eight years ago. This day was for us full of reminders of the milk of humankindness, from 93-year-old Paul Adams, to the Edwardses welcoming us to share in remembering their 60 years of roadside Pig Hip hospitality to countless travelers, to our new British friends... no matter where we turned – and I have found this to be true in far-flung foreign countries as well as here on the lonely backwater byways of a desolate highway through Americana – we found friendships waiting to be formed, and a world full of good, kind, caring people. They’re there, they always have been, and I believe that they are the ones that matter. Perhaps there always will be jerks and idiots in the world, and there will be times when they may carry the day, as they seemed to do on September 11, 2001 (although that’s debatable, in light of the many acts of kindness among strangers that we heard about in the aftermath of that tragedy) – but there are far more of the good kind, and they are the ones who count. A special shout-out to cousins Kari & Joe, who celebrated their 10th anniversary today – congratulations, and best wishes for many more decades of great years together! You are great parents, friends, and role models in so many capacities; you epitomize the kind of people I wish we could honor every day!
As we drove west from St. Louis, I looked up and called ahead to make reservations for a site at a Yogi Bear campground in Eureka (at the same exit as a Six Flags; the ready availability of sites, I thought, bodes well for accommodations to come farther on down the line). We pulled in around 7:30, set up shop, and enjoyed a light "dinner" of cheese, crackers, tomatoes, wine, and lemoncello, toasting a satisfying day on the Mother Road and ready to "keep on trucking" tomorrow!