Wish You Could Come Back and Give 'Em Hell, Harry

Hot diggity.

Independence, Missouri, featured our best bathroom stop and picnic area of the day. The Harry S. Truman Presidential Library and Museum. It wasn't solely a bathroom stop, I must declare. For we honor and respect the man from Independence far too much for that. But it was a timely stop. We were in the area and it was lunch time and where better to find manicured grounds, shady trees and a nearby playground than this?

Stuart, being the swift and inquisitive type, was taken with the history of Truman and his once-little town. He sat riveted through the biographical film and enjoyed taking in the memorabilia on display. There was the "The Buck Stops Here" desk plaque and the recreation of Truman's Oval Office. It was truly a wonderful museum and a great little stop on our journey.

Where is Harry Truman, a straight-talking man, when we most desperately need him? Friends and family from the Left and the Right, I feel compelled to dare you to find as true and honest and thoughtful and simple a man in politics today as Harry Truman. I won't actually do it because I don't want the Comments section filled with your failed attempts to find someone.

But Harry S. Truman? Once again, America, you have rocked my world. And I thank you for it and for "Give 'Em Hell, Harry" Truman. And thanks for not letting Dewey defeat him.

Afterward, we dined at the McCoy Municipal Playground. Nice.

Tonight, we find ourselves deep inna heart of Kansas. McPherson, Kansas, for those of you following along on the map. We have been traveling on Kansas Route 56, and head for Dodge City in the morning. Everyone is well and happy and, of course, a bit tired. But we've found another motel with a pool, and that was great. And we are seeing the most viscerally honest areas of this great state, it's small farm towns, its rolling, verdant prairies, its majestic grain elevators, and we are meeting its fine citizens. We made it to Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve too late for a tour, but we were surrounded by its beauty and, to be honest, seeing it made you realize just how flippin' crazy the pioneers were. It took a pair of brass somethings to settle this area.

Kansas, so far, I salute you.

And 65 mph on your secondary routes? Suh-weet!

Turn Your Stomach, Mr. Elephant

Florence, Missouri - The scene: A defunct shopping mall; one of those small, poorly conceived models of the late 1960s, early '70s. No place for man, woman, 'teen, nor 'tween. You aren't going to find anything nicer than a Spencer's. Anyway, the place was desolate and boarded up.

BUT! The circus was in town. And what did we spy next to the fence separating the mall parking lot from I-435? A circus elephant eating the leaves off some scrubby and dry plant-looking-piece of shrubbery.

No scene could have been uglier. What is wrong with people?

'Scuse Me? Come Again? Huh?

Huh?

I-70, west of Columbia.

The U.S. Submarine Veterans Memorial Highway.

How much farther away from the world’s oceans can you get and still dedicate a highway to the men and women of our underSEA forces? That’s just plain crazy. Pun intended, people.

But seriously. Submariners? Here? There’s no body of water out here deeper than your reproduction antique clawfoot bathtub with five whirlpool jets and built-in, cozy-corner headrest.

How odd.

More Thoughts Regarding Penna

What is it that sets Missouri and Pennsylvania apart? No, no, not just all the states and the hundreds of miles. There’s something else. How is it that I can tolerate – even enjoy – the vast, rolling nothingness of Missouri and bristle at the thought of having to traverse even a few miles of the Keystone State? I mean no offense to the residents and boosters of either state. It’s a mystery to me, sort of.

Of course, there’s the deeper meaning of both states. Pennsylvania is still The East. Missouri? Gateway to The West. Pennsylvania, for all its veins of jagged ridges and ironic conical mountains, is a claustrophobic place. Missouri is open, flat, and basking under a big, warm sky. Still, shouldn’t there be charms in Pennsylvania where there are feelings of animosity toward Missouri?

The week after H. and I got engaged, I left my bride-to-be to spend two weeks working in southern Missouri. The work required hours and hours of travel around the southern half of the state, stopping at the very least in every county’s courthouse, and more places besides. I was alone. I was bored. I spent a lot of time in a stinky Ford Taurus without any decent music. Nights and days of bad food eaten alone in fetid motel rooms. Then a weekend alone, with little to do, in St. Louis (where I encountered a new low in Hollywood moviemaking: The Flinstone’s movie). Bo-ring! So I shouldn’t like Missouri, I should associate with negative things, like, um, Dumpster Diving. And chicken fried steak at Ponderosa Steak House.

But. I still enjoy my travels in Missouri. The Show-Me State still seems to have a lot of highway and byway to show me. And I appreciate it.

Pennsylvania? Eh. Zilch.

Volvo Problems Solved

We have figured out a way around the warning lights issue with the Volvo. This solution also provides a great deal more space for all our gear. Drawback? Two ox power. We take delivery tomorrow, after the thing is detailed.

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.

Me, Stuart, Manny Ramirez as One

Oh yeah. Think about it. If you remove politics and religion from the equation, and all the fundamentalists associated therewith, and then take away the Paris Hiltons and Lindsay Lohans and Garth Brookses of the world (I don't know why I lumped that lump in there), well, then America adds up to one sexy, fun place. And by sexy, well, I mean fun, really. And by fun I mean fun and nice and enjoyable. A place where you start thinking, "Yeah, I could raise a family in America." A place that tickles your fancy Monday through Friday, then ups the voltage on the tickle-meter about eight or nine notches come the weekend.

America, you are truly one sexy beast. And fun, too. America, you like to let your hair down at all the right times and you always remember to shave on Sundays. You, America, never fail to disappoint.

Take today. And take your Louisville, Kentucky.

Take today and your Louisville Slugger Baseball Bat Factory and Tour. Oh, man, America, that was some kind of craziness. Insane, baby. Let me tell you something, sweetheart, America, your Louisville baseball bats are gorgeous. And your factory and tour was one delicious, hedonistic stroll through so much baseball lore; man, I nearly passed out. Then, America, when the tour guide handed ME the Manny Ramirez bat? A real, true bat destined for the hands of Manny (whose smile my mother sees and turns to girlie-girl mush over? you know it!) "Moonshot" Ramirez? And then my baseball-addicted eldest son got to hold it too?

Get out of town, America! You treated us a little too well today. Except when the tour guide handed me the A-Rod bat at the end of the tour. Yuck. I think I got baseball cooties.

The Louisville Slugger baseball bat factory: If you call yourself an American, you owe it to yourself to stop by when you're in or near Louisville. Just be prepared: You are NOT allowed to take photos during the tour. BUT, you ARE allowed to purchase a custom engraved, regulation Louisville Slugger (photos of ours coming tomorrow).

Why do you owe it to yourself to stop there if you consider yourself an American? Well, even those of you who might not be sports fans must realize how integral to the fabric of America is the sport of baseball. Our country has grown up with it. It is still pretty close to pure, and it is all-American, like jazz, or Frank Carvel, or Haggar slacks, or JCPenney. Heck, it's as American as the frankfurter.

Go. Run, don't walk, to the Louisville Slugger Factory. Become ONE with one of your favorite baseball players. And don't forget to take a few swings in the batting cages INSIDE the factory floor! How much sweeter can it get? (Well, a little sweeter. Like maybe David Ortiz could have showed up at the batting cages and given me some pointers on my swings. All I managed were some foul pops.)

Preparing to Leave Orbit

Much like the Apollo missions of a long time ago, we spent the day in orbit, getting ready to really head out into the long unknown. You know, that day away from the confines of the East Coast, but not yet out of the Eastern time zone, much like a day in orbit around the Earth before crossing the many miles to the Moon. Our orbit consisted of an entire day with Jen, Michael, Eden, Audrey, and Penelope in Cincinnati, and it was a good one. I'd really really really love to be able to say that we all slept late and woke well-rested and eager for another day away from home, but...

We woke at the usual time (which was far too early), spent the morning playing in the yard, playing on the swings, playing at the sand table, playing under the sprinkler. After lunch (consisting of delectable Skyline Cincinnati Chili dogs), we took the families out for a romp at a local "sprayground." A good way to cool down and blow off some steam.

It's been a great day. Without incident. Great hosts in a great house. Did I mention without incident? And no one from the Pennsylvania Tourism Office has called me to read me the riot act over that previous post. Score one for brutal honesty.

In the morning? Louisville, Kentucky, for our custom Louisville Slugger baseball bat, maybe a stop at the Bourbon History Museum (with some sampling of the local wares - mmmmm mmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmm), then on to St. Louis, MO: Gateway to the West.

Methinks this could be interesting. Stay with us. The people are getting ever-friendlier, so you know we're getting nearer to the Mighty Mississippi.

For Those Who Need to Know

We reached Cincinnati last night at about 11:30-ish. Tuckered and road-weary, it was the longest strecth we plan on doing in a car in one day. The haul from eastern PA was a long and boring one, highlighted by a pass through Wheeling, West Virginia.

That was a joke. Get it? "Highlighted"? "Wheeling"?

I slay me.

Anyway, we're all fine and so is the Volvo. Thanks for asking.

Pennsylvania: A Few Notes

Rust. Cracked highways. Tunnels. Dangerous curves.

Appalachia + Grand Ol' Opry + Hunting + Fishing + ATVs = Pennsylvania.

Official State Color: Camouflage

And why no direct ramp from I-81 to the PENNA Turn Pike?

Pennsylvania, we need to talk.

Crayolatown

Crayola, you’re a little devil. You build yourself an activity center and suck us suckers right in. And good for you. You, Crayola, went and built one fine stopping-off point in the no-man’s land between Nowheresville, NJ, and Nothingtown, PA. To be fair, your choice location in downtown Easton, Pennsylvania, was not nearly as drab and dreary as the 4th Street exit from Route 33 would suggest.

Better yet, Crayola, after letting us get our feet wet in the calm “art project” areas you are filled with, you wouldn’t let us step right into your Crayola Store. You made us play with all your nifty magic clay, your sweet, water-washable markers, your thousands upon thousands of rainbow-brite crayons, and your fat, child-sized-hand-friendly sidewalk chalk (on an indoor, ultra-smooth sidewalk, no less). Our interest was at a frenzy. Where could we purchase this stuff for the trip? For the ride home? For home itself?

Over there. Next door. Go outside and down 75 feet to Crayola Heaven: The Crayola STORE (home of the world’s largest crayon, by the way – and no, I didn’t take a picture of it due to some oversight – I know, so sue me).

And what will you find at the Crayola Store? EVERYTHING. Well, everything Crayola, anyway. And glorious stuff it is. Reasonably priced. And all in such bold and kid-friendly colors. Enter the Crayola Store and watch your kid’s (or kids’) eyes explode. You could actually hear kids’ hearts pounding, their breathing get rapid, the sweat forming on their brows. Yes. Hear it. You don’t believe me? Take a kid there and listen closely.

Crayola. Easton, PA. Highly recommended. And don’t miss the National Canal Museum upstairs from the Crayola Activity Center because it is also a good time for everyone. There’s even a room-sized miniature canal model that has locks YOU can navigate through and control. Sweet. Beats the Dickens out of a train set.

Bye, You Two

Happily, we ran into Paul and Becky right as we were leaving Heather's office. Paul is leaving Dynogen and heading off to Architecture school this fall. He'll be architecting his butt off soon. See you'se two in September.

(left to right: Paul, Becky, Innocent Bystander)

Open Up and Say, "I'm Full."

This is what the way-back of the Volvo looked like leaving Massachusetts. A few items are destined for off-loading in Cincinnati.

If I told you we packed lighter than usual, would you believe me?

No, that's not a crib for Elliot.

Note to hitckhikers: We'd love to help you out with a ride, but, um, where would you and your creepy looking girlfriend sit, anyway?

Day One: It's a Wrap

Comfort Suites, Scranton, PA - So. This is it. Day one done. I wish I could tell you we had some marvelous adventures already, but. . . No. We actually got on the road earlier than expected, made Cheshire for a pit stop with Mom, then more of the same. Asphalt. Jersey barriers. Pokey drivers blithely cruising along below the speed limit in the left lane mucking up an otherwise suitable interstate highway system. Trucks. Kids eating goldfish crackers and Swedish fish (I sense a fish theme emerging).

Ah, then the mountains of northwestern Pennsylvania and clouds as black as the coal they mine in the opposite corner of the state. Sheesh! Holy crap! I hadn't driven through rain pouring that hard since I spent two weeks in southern Missouri back in the early '90s. Heavy weather.

But we made it into Scranton without incident. Got our room (which we'd reserved from the road) and that was basically it. If you keep coming back to read blog entries this lame, I'll never hear the end of it.

(Photo, from left: Stuart, Old Tiger, Elliot, The Tobester)

This Is It, People

Well, now that the Red Sox stuck it to the Indians and the Yankees finally dropped one to KC, I guess it's okay for us to begin our road trip. Wait. What? What has major league baseball got to do with 10,000 miles of open (sort of) highway? Well, nothing. I just wanted to thank Manny Ramirez and Wily Mo Pena for the big blasts last night, and thank the lowly Kansas City Royals for shutting out the Bombers. Way to go, everyone!

Well, this is it, people. Today we begin the journey westward. We got our Conestoga back from the dealer yesterday, presumably all ready to go. But before I could take the car home, the kindly folks at Lovering Volvo, hoping to avoid a lawsuit, printed up a list of authorized Volvo dealers in many of the states we'll be traveling through. Fills you with confidence, doesn't it? (Note to investors: There are no Volvo dealers in Wyoming, and one in Montana. Maybe it's time for Savelle Volvo of Cheyenne? Or Savelle Volvo of Billings? Have your people give my people a call.)

Not much more to say at the moment. We loaded a few things into the car last night and just about everything else is ready to go in, which I'll be getting to shortly.

Next post: From the Road, perhaps.

D-Day Minus One

A few things:

- First off, Stuart wants everyone to know that he has four teeth loose right now. Are we destined to have one drop out whilst we’re on the road? And how do we notify the Tooth Fairy to find us at the Days Inn in Gunnison, Colorado? (By the way, this is no endorsement of said hotel, simply a name and a probable destination used for narrative purposes. Hotel and motel endorsements will come later, like, once we’ve stayed in them.)

- Nice of everyone to show so much concern over the Volvo. I have been assured it will be ready today (by lunchtime, not that I have any way to go get it when it is ready) although no reason has been found for the ETS light to come on. Instead, we’re paying to have some electric cables replaced.

- Also, thanks to those who have left comments and those who have admitted to even bothering checking out this blog. We do hope you enjoy it.

Yesterday was Take Your Dogs to Camp Day, by which it is meant that “ye shall drive ye canines, which ye keepeth as pets, the three hours thou needst to drive into the provinces of yonder midcoast of the great state of Maine.” No amount of thanks can make up for the hardship Mom and Dad are about to endure in caring for Jigsaw and Hoover. Thanks, Mom and Dad! Anyway, I folded the seats down in Heather’s Focus, threw in the dogs, 50 pounds of dog food, and some other odds and ends, and hit the open road. Just a little taste of what is to come.

Of course along the way I asked the dogs, “Wanna see Oatmeal and Barley? Oatsie and Barsey?” in the classic sing-song voice that can only mean you are a.) talking to kids, b.) talking to dogs, or c.) talking to the highway patrolman who’s asking for your driver’s license and registration. They went from being complacent and sleepy to excited and eager and, finally, back to sleepy. They knew they were in for a treat, a vacation, a romp on the farm in Maine and the best way to show their excitement was by breathing their hot and stinky breath on the driver who’d foolishly asked the question to begin with. Let sleeping dogs lie.

With the dogs gone and Stuart headed to his friend George’s house this afternoon, Thursday, July 26th, has gone from being merely Garbage Day right on into Garbage-Laundry-Lawn Mowing Day.

Meanwhile, the kids are packed, the fly-fishing gear is packed, the snacks and maps and guides are packed. All we need now is to pack our clothes and put it all into the car. Right now, every last little thing we are bringing is stacked somewhere in the Dining Room. If this is the way Shackleton did it, I can only imagine what his dining room looked like before heading to the South Pole.

Wait. What car?

NOTE: You do realize that if the Volvo were not fixed in time, we’d be going West in the Focus, don’t you?

Warning Lights

This is the car we expect to drive across the country (the dog is vacationing elsewhere). That’s our hope, anyway. However, yet again, the car I seem to love seems not to love me back. Or it does love me, but is in one of those downward spirals a loved one sometimes finds him or herself in. Because love my car or hate my car, I am a little tired of warning lights glowing on my dashboard.

Last month, before the big trip to the Outer Banks, we dealt with a frustrating engine coolant warning light. It was basically a faulty coolant sensor, but the problem wasn’t solved until we’d had it to the dealer twice. Then the light came on before we were ready to head back home from Nags Head. Once again, and following another stop at Lovering Volvo in Nashua, New Hampshire, a faulty sensor was found to be the culprit.

What does the ETS (Electronic Throttle System) warning light mean? We’ll find out tomorrow. Or Wednesday. Or Thursday. The dealer couldn’t get me in before Thursday, but said if I dropped it off sooner, they might be able to squeeze it in. Yippee.

Am I supposed to have some sort of confidence in this vehicle? When I get to Kansas will I be looking for a new transportation option? I sense some drama unfolding. Perhaps even a wee bit of suspense for you, dear reader.

Anyone out there have a loaner for a three-week drive across the U.S.A. with three young kids?

By Way of Introduction

We're heading West in a big way, but in a rather small car. Most of you know that. Most of you know it'll be two adults and three kids (ages 6, 3, and 11.75 months) in one Volvo station wagon. And most of you know our ultimate destination is a log cabin -- being rented by two of our dearest friends -- on Spoon Lake outside the town of Columbia Falls, Montana, and just minutes from the west entrance to Glacier National Park.

This is our way of getting started. Our trip begins a week from today: July 27, 2007, some time after 1 o'clock in the afternoon (when the workday is over).

This is also our way of getting started with this blog. I hope there will be much more to come, including photos and commentary from others in the traveling party. We'll try to make you laugh, try to make you come back for more, and try to keep you entertained every day of our trip (as long as we get some WiFi on a daily basis). We hope you'll see a little of what we see along the road, including over half a dozen national parks and any number of roadside oddities, attractions, and museums.

More than just a road diary, with this blog we'll try to connect you to the West that we're heading off to enjoy.

Comments, suggestions, and general finger-pointing are welcome, of course.