Gateway to the West

It's Central Time, friends. Which is like Miller Time, except I'm talking about Time Zones and drinking a Jim Beam and cola. So while you should be asleep and deep into Stage 4 REM sleep, I should only be getting ready to watch Lantern-Jaw Leno on the Tonight Show.

The scene: Room 309, Quality Inn & Suites, St. Charles, Missouri, on the banks of the Missouri River. Three sleeping boys, a wife poring over the atlas, and Stan Getz on the stereo. Mmmmm, Stan Getz. He's like butter. Actually, he's more like a B.L.T., with extra B. Smooth, smoky, with hints of salt and a delightful tanginess you won't forget until next time.

Whatever.

After the baseball bat thing and lunch on the edge of the Ohio River with Jen and the girls, we took to the open road. And by "took to the open road" I mean we drove through some scary parts of Louisville looking for a liquor store with a great bourbon selection and THEN headed out onto the highway (yes, I got the bourbon I needed). On the open road, we traversed southern Indiana and southern Illinois, without incident. We watched the passing of mile after mile of corn fields and wondered, "Where are all the people?" But it was awe-inspiring, as that kind of land seems to be what America is about. You get the sense there's a quiet strength there, in the land, the people, the idea of the place.

After dinner, we crossed Big Muddy (which is what cool people call the Missississisiisiisisippi Longstocking River; I mean, the Mississippi River) and stopped for an intimate gathering with the Gateway Arch. It was just Heather, Stuart, Toby, Elliot, me and about 1000 other people. A nice, quiet time. But much-needed, since our car-weary butts were crying out for a breather.

Anyway, nothing surpasses the thrill of the Gateway Arch (and Jefferson National Monument to the Expansion Westward or whatever it is) as far as arch-visiting is concerned. We arrived too late to take the ride up into the arch, but I doubt anyone in the party was up for the one hour committment at that point anyway. But it was a thrill and a half. Five years ago, on our roadtrip to LA, we stopped with Stuart at the arch. It was cool to watch him stare in wonder at it this time, a six year old in awe. Totally cool.

Some time later, we pulled into the Quality Inn (bummed to see about eight police cars surrounded one little vehicle in the parking lot) and got our room. After a nice swim, we're ready to call it a day.

And what a fine day it was.