Goodies

Reason 101: Life is the most valuable treasure that one can ever hope to possess; its medium of exchange is time. As Mr Tuxhorn puts it, 'You can buy stuff, amass wealth, and use money, but they're all really just a reflection of how you spend time.' That being the case, I've chosen to spend my time building relationships and experiencing as much goodness as life can afford.

Having spent a comfortable night camped out at the city park in New Berlin, Buddy and I embark on the next 14 miles which sees us safely into a McDonald's on the outskirts of Springfield. I'm not particularly keen to stay in this city, but I do fancy a visit to the Lincoln home and museum. So heading east on Wabash Ave--I wonder if it's related to the old train line in Iowa--we meander with little sense of urgency through the fairly standard commercial side of town. Then, upon connecting with Ash, we make it through the older residential part. Talk about cramped living spaces! All the while I can't help thinking about The Simpson's and wonder if somewhere nearby there's a Quicky Mart with a cashier named Apu.

Sadly, I get my directions all wrong and by the time I figure out where I'd gone wrong, we're already several miles southeast of the former President's home.

'Oh well. Too late now. Guess I should decide where to go from here.'

I park Buddy outside of a restaurant called Abe's Hideout and go inside for a drink. While consulting Google map about possible ways to go, one of the severs (I'd already spoken to her about the trip) comes over and says that a couple would like to buy me dinner. Well, that's a marvelous proposition. It seems good that I should go meet this generous pair; so, putting my planning on hold, I proceed to the other side of the room where I have the distinct joy of becoming acquainted with John and Barb Foster.

We share our frustrations: theirs at not having their vehicle repaired on time and mine at having missed the turn to the presidential landmark; then, over a delicious meal, we regale one another with tales from our lives. Bud isn't left out of the good stuff. As it happens, Barb had spotted the patient pooch waiting calmly on his blanket and decided to order two beef patties to add to his doggy bag. Few things thrill Buddy as much as raw hamburger patties.

We part ways and Bud and I cross the street to get on The Old Bridge trail, a four mile nature route that crosses the river and ends in Rochester. Yes, there's a Rochester Illinois too, and although much smaller than the city in New York, it's home to (as I would later learn) a chocolatería which makes some of the most delectably dark treats I've tasted. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Back up, once the trail had ended...so Bud and I are stood there at the junction of Main and 29, me scratching my head in a daze, and Bud looking at me as if I know where I'm going. And it's at that magical moment that the word "Chocolate" on the sign opposite us becomes prominently pronounced in my field of vision. As a rule, I've learnt to follow my stomach when I'm feeling ambivalent about directions, so off to Cocoa Blue we go.

I order an espresso over ice and a conversation quickly ensues with the girls working there. They're full of questions and soon have others from town intrigued and asking about our journey. One of the ladies at the shop, a Mrs Tracy Tuxhorn, invites me and Buddy to come visit. She graciously suggests that we can make use of their yard for the night and mentions that her husband would be glad for the company, and with that, providence has once again solved the problem of where to sleep.

Ed and Tracy are exceptional hosts, and their comfortable little house is everything you'd expect from a mid-west farm. While we're getting to know each other on the front porch, I'm given falafel to eat and made to feel right at home. Amazingly, Ed tells me that the original construction of their house started before 1860. It's been in the family for generations, and when the previous auntie and uncle grew too old, it was passed on to their family. Pretty cool!

As I blather on, one anecdote after another, the girls from the chocolate shop arrive, adding greatly to the fabulous fellowship. What's more, they've brought a small assortment of delightful delicacies to elate my pallet. *Many thanks to the owners for your kind consideration. The white semi-tart one with the drizzled swirl was, without a doubt, my favorite.

As the evening goes on the conversation develops: soccer and soil, fathers' sacrifices and grandfathers' stubborn unwillingness to relate, dogs, insects, pirates, GM produce and a whole host of other stuff that I've forgotten. By midnight, everyone's ready to hit the hay. What a wonderful day!

Old 36 just north of I72

Another beautiful day in Illinois. We hit the road around 9:00 after a wonderful night at Ebaugh camping and picnic area. What a blessing! I sorta just ran into this free spot by happenstance, but I know Bud was happy about it.

In Illinois

What a wonderful day to be alive and walking around the US! It's warm but not too hot. There's a delicious breeze blowing all the best fragrances of summer: sweet clover, fresh hay and the newly blooming apple and pear blossoms. Crossing over the Mississippi, we enter into the birth state of our nation's 40th president and it doesn't take long before several differences become apparent. The grass is easier on Buddy's feet (not like the poky swamp grass in MO). The hills seem to have much larger trees. The deer are more intrepid and so Bud gets a little closer before they bolt. There are a number of public areas where a pair of tired travelers can rest at shaded picnic tables. Moreover, there aren't quite as many parasites attempting to drain our life fluids. Sufficed to say, I'm glad to be in a new state.

After Friday's intense rain there are lots of places for the pooch to get wet. His mission is, for most of the day, searching for the next best place to cool off, though intermittently that purpose gets blindsided by a woodland creature that happens to cross his path. Just before getting into the town of Barry, a family pulls over to contribute a nice cold bottle of water. It's always much appreciated.

We arrive in Pittsfield around 22:30. Normally I'd want to look around and read all the historical placards which mark notable homes of influential 19th century people, but it's late and Buddy's tired. I don't have much remaining energy myself and so eventually I decide to just pitch the tent at the town's little league field. Hopefully no one will mind.

No dogs in the cave

Here in Hannibal, the town where Samuel Clemens spent his childhood, Bud and I are taking time to smell the roses, or more correctly stated, The Mississippi. The old part of town is a typical tourist area, nearly every business bearing the name of Mark Twain. However, I'm really only interested in the cave that served as inspiration for the climatic end of Injun Joe in The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. What a let down when I find out that pets are prohibited from entering.

'Humh. Some cave!'

Well I'm certainly not gonna leave my friend outside while I wander through a tourist trap. We walk back to town and Bud enjoys a little rest while I fill out a few post cards. It's another hot and humid day, but a nice afternoon shower brings the temperature down a bit.

After chatting with a few folks we head to the coolness of an AC room. Tomorrow we'll be entering Illinois.

Southern speech

Wow! It's a wet morning. Buddy and I have been pretty thoroughly soaked. But instead of continuing east with Bud's pitifully waterlogged expression causing me guilt, we're waiting it out at a gas station. What a bummer!

Incredibly, the fellow behind the counter seems to know every person who comes in and greets most by name. His attitude toward the weather quickly changes my perspective. 'It's a beautiful rain.' He says. 'Them beans are gonna be nice.'

Another guy in the store adds, 'We ain't had nearly enough.'

Suddenly a woman enters the store and exclaims, 'It's pourin' out there. I'm plumb soaked. Plumb!' She reiterates. 'It's done flooded my backyard.'

Man, I love how people talk down here.

Looking for sleep

23:00 hours and we're sitting in front of a Casey's General Store in Shelbina, MO. I had thought that we'd find a park or a place to stay but--oh hold on. A city police officer has just pulled up in front of me. This is the second time today. Pulling out my licence, I stop to consider for a moment, 'Maybe I need a shave.' Just a few hours ago a sheriff had stopped us, but that was just fine. He gave me a couple bottles of water when he learned of the endeavour. This fellow is alluding to not staying--no, scratch that. Everything checks out and we get to talking. He kindly suggests that we can pitch a tent over at the fairgrounds and assures me that no one will bother us. 'Yeahhhh!'

That's so much better than the alternative of staying awake all night in front of a petrol pump and then walking 18 more miles to the next town at first light. I love how even when things start to look as though they've taken a turn for the worst, good folks are ready to help.

Missing the AC

(Correction, the named of the Civil War battle was Painter's Creek)