Destination: St Louis/St Charles
Travel day September 24, 2012

I leave the hotel at 515. I really want to get through Atlanta before their rush hour starts. I violate my “one a year” rule and get coffee from the McDonald’s next door, along with a plain English muffin.

Interstate 75 is already busy. It’s busy with crazy people. Aggressive people. Speeding way above what’s reasonable people. Tailgating people. It’s almost as frightening as driving through those sudden rain storms. I emerge at the other side with a sudden understanding as to why NASCAR is the favourite sport down here. It’s the same way they all drive, but the pros are faster, and safer.

I enter some beautiful hills that border on mountains. The vegetation is lush, green, and the views lovely.

By 715 I’m passing through Chattanoga without a choo-choo in sight. That's a musical reference for those of you under 30. I like the look of the town. Nestled on a river and surrounded by mountains I find it a “comfortable” skyline view. At least what I saw as I made way off I-75 and onto I-24 looked nice.

I fuel up in Manchester, Tennesee. I also try to buy a six pack of Land Shark to throw in the chiller bag, but it’s against the law to sell beer before 9 in the morning. I know as I move further north my beloved Land Shark will be harder to find.

Along the way today I pass over the Ohio, Missouri, and Mississippi rivers. Here’s a little tidbit of useless trivia for you. Once you cross the Mississippi River the first letter for call signs of media outlets (TV & Radio) changes from W to K. It’s been that way since the earliest days of radio. K Stations to the East and W Stations to the West. That's one of the little things that my father told me when I was but a small lad.

The way through Nashville is more frightening and dangerous than Atlanta.

 

It takes thirty adrenalin fuelled minutes of speeding in construction zones, narrow lanes, short on/off ramps, quick lane changes, and nearly throwing up the coffee and English muffin that was breakfast, to get out of the hellish nightmare. In my day to day life I drive a large truck in addition to my other duties. In essence I can be considered a professional driver. In the same essence, drivers in Nashville can’t even be considered licenced drivers. I got the impression that even if there were laws surrounding driving, nobody cared enough to obey them. It takes me nearly an hour to calm down.

I have changed Interstates and numbered roads so many times that I can’t keep track. Mostly, I blindly follow the Nav instructions as we make our way through Tennessee, Kentucky, and Illinois. The scenery changes from the lush and lovely hills of Georgia and Tennessee, to the rolling and visually entertaining farmlands of Kentucky, to the dull and boring flatlands of Illinois.

 

I do eventually make my way into the annoying state of Illinois. The speed limit  drops to 65. The mountains and hills have dropped away to cultivated farmland. At the new speed limit I have a lot of time to watch the scenery go by. At 1230 I stop at McDonalds in Vienna, Illinois (ever notice that Illinois rhymes with annoy?). My back is hurting and I need to stretch it out more than usual. I stand in the parking lot and eat a couple of cheeseburgers. They’re like a dollar each so my food budget isn’t in any danger of coming up short.

Somewhere along the way I have also changed time zones. Out of Eastern time to Central time.

I arrive at tonight’s hotel by 245 Central time. I made a conscious choice to not stay in downtown St. Louis, but rather in historic St. Charles, 21 miles west. I have chosen a Quality Inns and Suites. After checking in I get a look at the hotel and realize that it might have more history than the historic town it’s in. It’s badly in need of a makeover, and when I check at the desk for dining options, the jack hammering of renovations is in full swing.

I take the clerk’s advice and walk across the parking lot to the Texas Roadhouse. It’s an Anheuser Busch chain. All they serve is Anheuser Busch products, at least for beer. I have to be a bit firm with the girl at the front. She doesn’t seem to understand that a party of one wants to sit at a table, not at the bar. One of her co-workers understands and we walk away leaving the poor girl a bit flustered. I’m sure she’ll go far as a hair dresser or in makeup sales. The rest of the staff are just delightful especially my server, Sam I Am. She has a beautiful sounding southern accent that is neither cloying or affected. She also has a great sense of humour. I order a pint of Stella as there are no local options. Sam I Am however makes a really salient point. It’s St. Louis, most beer is brewed here, so really it’s all local.

I enquire as to the size of the rib serving. Since the Corky’s experience I have made it a point to ask. So I order a half rack, baked potato, and fresh vegetables. Finally some broccoli and carrots!! The ribs are nicely coated with a sweet and thick sauce that doesn’t overpower either the flavour or texture of the meat, and are fall off the bone perfectly cooked. It’s a perfect comfort food meal to finish up a horrific driving day.

 

I savour a second beer as I write up some notes about the day. I find it’s been another day that's light on pictures. I rather enjoy the surroundings they’re comfortable and welcoming. The wooden décor, the neon beer signs, the NASCAR driver caricatures over the bar. It’s about half full even at 530 on a Monday with a mixed crowd of families and couples.

I spend a quiet evening typing up some blog preliminaries, and reading. I also contemplate my journey, and how far I have come in more ways than can be measured in miles. See what cold beer, a bright and funny server, and broccoli and carrots can do for you? Philosophy Lite!

Tomorrow it’s the journey to Sioux City, through Missouri and Iowa. I’ll need to be well rested to make it through Iowa. Yawn!