Mayo and Burgers...NO!
What is it lately with Burger chains putting Mayonnaise on all their hamburgers as the default condiment? Twice today I had to scrap the stuff off my sandwiches in two different national chains...it just isn't American. Either leave off all condiments or mustard or catsup...but NOT mayo. Its a French food conspiracy, I am sure of it.
Today was Day three of the trip and we made it across Kentucky, Indiana and into Illinois. I would have traveled slower but for two things. Thing one, it rained like a biblical flood, and thing two, much of Western Kentucky, all of Indiana and what I've seen so far of Illinois are long endless expanses of corn fields unbroken by so much as a frustrated Scarecrow. For variety the farmers would treat us once in a while to a field of soy beans to break the monotony, but elsewise it was an all cornfield holiday.
Backing up to the morning, we did take a side trip to Boonesboro, as I had suggested in the last entry. We arrived early with great excitement seeing the fort. I was a bit surprised to read it had been erected in 1981 with all the names enshrined of the Chamber of Commerce who paid for construction. I was further dismayed when I read the sign by the entry. The fort was not there to keep out Indians, unless they each had with them six dollars.
We peeked in and decided we could see in about as well as we could wander around and held back the temptation to lose 12 bucks to Daniel Boone's sneaky descendants.
On we drove through the deluge
trying to see the road and not at all interested in the passing cornfields. Into Indiana and things got only worse. The distance between stops got farther and farther and the road was so-o-o-o boring my narcolepsy kicked in. For a while I let Tokie drive, but this only made Sean nervous.
So instead once again I pulled over and took a quick nap to forgo a close encounter with a passing truck or plowing out some hapless farmer's cornfield with my out of control asleep at the switch driving. Refreshed and with the rain finally starting to stop, we pressed on across boring Indiana.
I would write the entire state off as a loss but for one accidental discovery, off the road, not advertised that we found at mile marker 25 of Interstate 64, just north of Evansville.
It was HIPPS Nursery, the finest attraction in all of Southern Indiana by my reckoning. Never has there been a plant farm with quite so pixilated a tilt to it. This greeted us at the gate. It only got better and better as we ventured in.
The security for the place was provided for by a live chicken.
The front gate was guarded as well by a life-sized hallucination.
Travels When Life Unravels
On my 58th Birthday my wife of 27 years kicked me out of the house. (Well, to be honest she only nagged me until I decided to leave). Along with my youngest Son Sean, we set out in a 1994 Jeep Sahara named JEEPNEY DRIVER VII on a cross country adventure to unknown ends. This is that story in a diary as it happens. With a bit of cash and a few friends waiting for us in Missouri and Arkansas, we overloaded the Jeep, put the remainder of our things in storage, quit our jobs (I quit 2, Sean quit one) and set out like Gypsies to a life of adventure and uncertainty. In the footsteps of Jack Kerouac we have little but our wits and an old clunker of an auto, but our hearts are free and our mission ambiguous.
This is Emma, who was the catalyst for this peculiar behavior. I don't fault her for wanting out of our marriage, only for her preferring money and things to people. I happen to be the latter, and therefore will never be close to her heart. I wish her the best in finding a rich man who loves shopping and paying her bills. I could never keep up with those debts, even working two jobs. She also fancies on staying young and beautiful eternally. I on the other hand accept I'm an old, over-weight curmudgeon and not likely to ever be young again as a given.
This is my son Sean who is sharing my adventures. He is 20 years old, has some talent as a welder and is as loyal a comrade as Emma is a fickle one. He is up for a change from his drudgery job, and doesn't fancy staying behind with his Mom. (who like me, he loves) She of late is a bicycle short of a deck of cards. He is my go-to guy when it comes to problem solving. We plan to one day start a welding business together. He prefabricated the carry-cage on the top of Jeepney Driver VII, and whenever I can't figure out this damned computer, assists me in my out-of-date ways.
Our travels began on July 7th 2015 from Fairfax County Virginia. Our route takes us through the wilds of West Virginia, Kentucky, Illinois and Missouri. From there into the Ozark Mountains and beyond. It is unusually wet for this time of year and rain has plagued our departure. The first day however was dry and boiling hot.
Sean and I share the JEEPNEY DRIVER VII with a strange little figment of my imagination known as "Tokie the Taco Lizard". Tokie predicts the future when he is in the mood. He also attracts lightning (and rain storms) when taken out in the open, so he remains concealed for the most part. Another way I can make it pour down rain is to uncover the jeep and be unable by reasons of driving it to cover it back. That would cure a seven year drought in the Sahara should I actually take the top all the way off. I call it the "Convertible Jeep Curse." It has plagued me now for 15 years.
Our first day out was for the most part uneventful. We never even made it out of Virginia, though did come within a few miles of the line. We slept in the mountains in a Motel build in the 1950s but priced in the 2020s. Still, it was nice to have a cool room after a hot July day's drive without air conditioning in half a dozen traffic jams.
By morning the rain began. We had breakfast at a Hardies in Sulfur Springs, just the other side of the West Virginia Line. Its a nice little town where all the old timers meet for breakfast and greet grandchildren and children coming in for the same . They talk about pensions and Baseball games and sip piping hot coffee over high calorie high cholesterol tater tots and eggs. You can get easily into town by an off ramp to the right on the interstate. But to get out of town you have to take the ten mile scenic view back through the tiny berg and around a few more horse farms and cow fields.
The driving in a rain takes a bit of the hot out of it, but also adds a melancholy mood to the mountain's covering. The low laying clouds cling to the dense primeval looking forests along impossibly steep climbing slopes. I am keen to find a nice carved open hill to find some fossils from the Pennsylvania Period of the Carboniferous Era. Fossil ferns, giant Dragon Flies the size of eagles, and spiders the size of house cats once adorned these places. Now they are entombed with their bodies cast in fossil stone for the looking and retrieval.
After several hours of steep up hill and break neck down hill rides we came to a perfect hillside. Fossil hunting in the rain when it is hot may be a lot like the former weather of the epoch, but remains unpleasant weather for fossil hunting. Right away we spotted stems and leaves in shale, and perfect chunks of unburned coal lying about like unmade diamonds.
Taking a few specimens we high tailed it back to the car, wishing we had better weather, a camp ground and a portable air conditioner at our disposal.
These may not look like much, but for half an hours looking they were nice souvenirs. They are a couple of fern leaves, a piece of petrified wood and a nice imprint of the side of a stem. Sorry, we failed to find any giant spider fossils. Perhaps if we had hunted for a few more minutes in the rain.
WE continued on through Charleston, capital of the state which in my opinion has the prettiest capitol dome of any I ever saw. It is gilded in gold leaf and covered in an explosion of traditional architectural styles that leave nobody in history out of the picture. If ever they decide to sell it, it would make a great second Vatican for the Pope.
I suffer from narcolepsy, which causes me to suddenly fall asleep with very little (if any) warning. To combat this I must take frequent short naps of ten to 30 minutes to stay off the sudden onset of the condition while driving. Sean is understanding, but as yet is too green at driving a clutch to help out. So he plays on his phone various computer games while we park and I snooze.
We made a turn off to find an emergency rest stop during an attack near the Kentucky line and suddenly found ourselves in Ohio. I found a small church and planned to sleep it off in the parking lot, but was surprised to discover the property totally fenced in and a locked gate. Hmmm, never happen with a catholic church, I'm sure. We parked outside the gate and I got the necessary Z's to continue on. Back into West Virginia and over into Kentucky we traveled. We discussed seeing Boonesboro tomorrow. I loved the TV show Daniel Boone as a child. Besides, we failed to see any of Stonewall Jackson's sights due to bad timing the day before.
Tonight is my first night with Internet, so, at this Motel I am beginning the blog. The idea was Sylvia's, my former choir director and long time friend. Hi Sylvia. Hi Bob. So far so good.
Backing up to the morning, we did take a side trip to Boonesboro, as I had suggested in the last entry. We arrived early with great excitement seeing the fort. I was a bit surprised to read it had been erected in 1981 with all the names enshrined of the Chamber of Commerce who paid for construction. I was further dismayed when I read the sign by the entry. The fort was not there to keep out Indians, unless they each had with them six dollars.
We peeked in and decided we could see in about as well as we could wander around and held back the temptation to lose 12 bucks to Daniel Boone's sneaky descendants. 
On we drove through the deluge 
So instead once again I pulled over and took a quick nap to forgo a close encounter with a passing truck or plowing out some hapless farmer's cornfield with my out of control asleep at the switch driving. Refreshed and with the rain finally starting to stop, we pressed on across boring Indiana.
It was HIPPS Nursery, the finest attraction in all of Southern Indiana by my reckoning. Never has there been a plant farm with quite so pixilated a tilt to it. This greeted us at the gate. It only got better and better as we ventured in.
