THINGS TO DO

I drove all day yesterday, 680 miles from Grand Haven, Michigan to Kansas City, MO. If you do that very often it helps to have a good vehicle. I have a Mazda 3: it gets great mileage, it’s comfortable and dependable. I had the AC dialed up so I could wear long sleeves, keep the sun off my arms. There were 3 cases of fresh blue berries in the back seat and the cool air was good for them  too. I remember other days driving a 3 cylinder Geo Metro across the same 680 miles and it was like being in the paint shaker at Lowe’s with a million angry bees under the hood. They were good old days but not because of clunker cars. Not long ago I was pressed to count up all the cars I’ve owned; they wanted a number. When I finished, and it took a while, the number as of today is #43; #44 if you count the motorcycle. 

I’m good for about two hours behind the wheel, then I need a Necessary Break or at least get out of the car for a few minutes. I remember a radio program, an anthology of short stories called “Grand Central Station.” I was a kid, it was before our first TV. At the beginning of every show the announcer informed us, like an invocation, “the crossroads of a million private lives, a gigantic stage on which are played a thousand dramas daily.” Not unusual for me at rest stops or travel plazas, I think of that program. Strangers every one, at the same place, the same time for any number of reasons. We’ve all come from somewhere, on our way somewhere and for that moment we are extras in each other’s story. I overhear sound bites of conversations and notice logos on t-shirts, if they are happy or seem tired, if they’re in a hurry or ready for a break. “A thousand dramas daily.” I don’t have time to unravel their stories, mine is in progress and at hand but stories none the less. 

I avoid I-70 and St. Louis now, have for several years. The drive across Missouri on U.S. 36 to Hannibal is so much easier. It sits on the west bank of the Mississippi, between bluffs, the classic Mississippi River town. Then it’s a straight shot on interstate to Springfield, IL and into Chicago. Hannibal is a fuel stop both coming and going. It was lunch time yesterday and I weighed the options of a sandwich from the cooler at the service center or find a restaurant. The food factor wasn’t that important but was I ready to hammer the next 235 miles? Last year I stopped on S. Main street at a place named ‘Ole Planters Restaurant. It’s a mom & pop place with specials and lots of BBQ on the menu. To get there you have to go down stream a few blocks and cut over to the one-way coming back. Along the way you see Mark Twain and Tom Sawyer advertising, drive by Aunt Polly’s fence, the one Tom was supposed to paint but conned another kid into doing. In the 90’s we brought a bus load of middle schoolers to Hannibal for an over night immersion into the local history, Samuel Clemens, Becky Thatcher Cave and environmental issues with the Mississippi River. I have always been a Mark Twain fan. Being there was special. It sort of measures up like Christians wanting to visit the holy lands. Walking into ‘Ole Planters I couldn’t help but think that Sam Clemens had walked that street and that his river boat would have tied up at the landing just a stone’s throw away. 

I had a pork sandwich with more meat and sauce than I could juggle, had to cut it up and eat it with a fork. I recommend Hannibal for all of the obvious reasons. I’m thinking ‘Ole Planters will become as regular as the fuel stop. This morning I realized again, every time, how true the wisdom; there’s nothing like waking up in your own bed. I’m off the road for a while but that gets old as well. The older you get, the more important each day becomes and watching grass grow doesn’t ring any bells. I’m cleaning berries and getting them into the freezer today. I’ve never done a vinegar rinse on fruit but it makes perfect sense. The car is unloaded but needs cleaning. So I have things to do.