Jim left right after breakfast, and the weather was sort of okay, so we took the dogs to a local state park where there were lots of mosquitoes. It was cool and sometimes the sun came out a little, but that’s all, so we were able to play miniature golf while the kids napped in the car. Then we made that second trip to Culver’s, and then we went back to pack.
This was another party night on the property with lots of people from the area, door prizes, cornhole, volleyball and a beer truck. We just dodged the whole thing as much as possible. It’s a small area, though, and you could hear each and every person and activity. So we just left them to their boogying in the rain, and packed up our gear.
Honestly, it’s funny when you think of all the stuff we crammed into a week up there, and the weather sucked most of the time, and a lot of the things we did weren’t what we really planned to do.
On the road the next day, it was just like our arrival: pretty much a dead deer every mile until we hit Illinois. Both Joyce and I have lived in Illinois, and I visited there a lot, and we knew there wasn’t much to see, so we just drove straight to Springfield and because Illinois is flat and pretty dull, there’s not a whole lot more to say about it.
Next, the Land of Lincoln.
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Dead/Lead/Wood
So we stayed in Saturday and Sunday it wasn’t raining as much. At first we thought we’d try the Custer Wildlife Loop, but the fog was just too thick, so we started driving toward lower elevations where we could see. We thought we might check out Cedar Rapids, but before we got there, we were offered (at an intersection, not by the Governor or anyone) the option of seeing Deadwood and Lead, which have starred in many a Western. So we thought, why not? and turned left. On the way, we observed Lake Pactola, which is in fact a reservoir, and decided to see it on our way back. What we were hoping for in DeadLeadWoodLand was simply a restaurant where we could sit down and be served a meal, rather than eating takeout in our room or in the car as dictated by Super 8, because we couldn’t leave the dogs “alone.” Since it was a moist, cool day, they could be safely left in the car with all appropriate safety precautions in place.
Outside the “Twin Casino Cities” we had to choose one or the other. We were already AT Deadwood so we chose that. Deadwood is characterized by – you guessed it – dead wood:
The other things in Deadwood are casinos and smoke.
It was the last week of smoke being allowed indoors in South Dakota, and everyone was puffing up a storm. We did manage to locate one smoke-free place and ate there, bison-burger for me, and Joyce had a steak sandwich. It was the first time we had sat down for a meal since Sioux Falls. Seriously. After that unusual experience, we just took a few pictures of what a tourist trap DeadLeadWood is, and left.
All you can do there is buy junk, gamble, and smoke. But we saw it, we had a nice drive, we got out of Custer, and we spotted the local helicopter concession! Yes!
On the way back, we did stop at Lake Pactola, which is very nice and clean and clear (All the air out there is worth the trip in and of itself. Never smelled anything like it.)
And in the lake is a funny island, a tiny little thing, very picturesque, with an American flag planted on top.
Now, this brings up an interesting question: Why, in an interior state, in the middle of a national forest, in a lake, on an island too small to support even one private dwelling, would you need a flag? Is there some danger it might be claimed by Mexico or Canada?
Foreign nation: “Excuse us, our island slipped. Can we have it back, please?”
South Dakota: “No, by God, this is OUR island! Get out of here!” (Slams flagpole into ground). “Well, I guess we showed them!”
Yeah, that must be how it got there.
Outside the “Twin Casino Cities” we had to choose one or the other. We were already AT Deadwood so we chose that. Deadwood is characterized by – you guessed it – dead wood:
The other things in Deadwood are casinos and smoke.
It was the last week of smoke being allowed indoors in South Dakota, and everyone was puffing up a storm. We did manage to locate one smoke-free place and ate there, bison-burger for me, and Joyce had a steak sandwich. It was the first time we had sat down for a meal since Sioux Falls. Seriously. After that unusual experience, we just took a few pictures of what a tourist trap DeadLeadWood is, and left.
All you can do there is buy junk, gamble, and smoke. But we saw it, we had a nice drive, we got out of Custer, and we spotted the local helicopter concession! Yes!
On the way back, we did stop at Lake Pactola, which is very nice and clean and clear (All the air out there is worth the trip in and of itself. Never smelled anything like it.)
And in the lake is a funny island, a tiny little thing, very picturesque, with an American flag planted on top.
Now, this brings up an interesting question: Why, in an interior state, in the middle of a national forest, in a lake, on an island too small to support even one private dwelling, would you need a flag? Is there some danger it might be claimed by Mexico or Canada?
Foreign nation: “Excuse us, our island slipped. Can we have it back, please?”
South Dakota: “No, by God, this is OUR island! Get out of here!” (Slams flagpole into ground). “Well, I guess we showed them!”
Yeah, that must be how it got there.
The Swimming Pool Wars
After spending the whole day cooped up in our room, we thought a swim would be in order. The pool is open from the crack of dawn until 10 PM, and we hoped the kids would finally get out of it and go to bed so we could swim in peace. We don’t care if kids are just in there, swimming and playing, but we keep our glasses on to swim, and we don’t want to be splashed in the face. Previously, we just asked the kids to be careful, and it worked. Not this time.
In fact, the whole hotel experience at the Super 8 in Custer, SD was so horrible that I don’t even want to describe it again, so I’m going to just reproduce some things I’ve already written. The first is the complaint I will be sending Super 8 motels and hotels.com as soon as I have a good internet connection and the time and energy to do it. The second and third are posts to one of my on-line groups, We Kid You Not, which is for people who are child-free and loving every minute.
To Super 8 management:
We booked months early, asking for ground floor because of our pets. When we arrived, we had to BEG for a ground floor room. Keep track of your reservation records and requests.
When we arrived, we asked for a refrigerator, and were told we were supposed to have reserved one when we reserved the room. Excuse me! How were we supposed to know that? How, on hotels.com, were we supposed to do it? You weren't prepared to provide the room we DID ask for in advance. Be nice. Have enough refrigerators for each room. Problem solved.
Breakfast isn't available late enough. We bet most people using hotels in the Mount Rushmore area are on vacation. We don't want to, or have to, get up early. At least have late hours on weekends and holidays.
There's no local restaurant information available in each room. You have to go to the desk and get the book, then bring it back. Moreover, it's incomplete. We found more on our own. Update and make copies.
No luggage carts. Get some.
No elevator. Install a luggage dumbwaiter while you get permission to install an elevator.
Miniature trash cans. So small, we emptied them twice a day ourselves. So move on up to a more realistic size.
Not enough shelves, hooks or closet space. Get the iron/ironing boards OUT. Make them available on request, and use the space for storage.
The nerve of demanding we sign to pay $100 if anyone complains about our dogs, yet no one is fined for slamming their doors, letting kids run wild in the rooms, or shrieking in the halls, or horseplaying in the pool area. I want $100 for every screaming kid and slamming door.
The door slamming is especially outrageous. There are many ways to keep people from being inconsiderate boors. Tell them not to. Put little brass/plastic stick-on signs on the doors (at eye-level) reminding guests to close doors gently. Demand they agree to pay $100 for each slam of their door. Install slow-closing hinges.
The halls stink of smoke. Move the outside ashtrays far away from the doors so non-smokers don't have to walk past them and through clouds of smoke. Confine smokers to one wing.
A band of small children occupied the pool for about six hours, non-stop. We finally went in because we wanted to relax, and got into an argument with a laissez-faire parent who suggested we leave if we didn't want to be splashed in the face while wearing glasses. We saw adult swimming hours posted at another pool we visited on this trip. Why don't you give adults the same consideration? UPDATE: We finally got these after continuous complaints to the local management.
We can't leave our dogs "alone" in the room even confined to crates and wearing bark collars. How are we supposed to eat? Sightsee? Shop? This is a vacation. We want to do things together.
There's no decent area to walk dogs. Put in some grass. You have more than enough rocks.
If you don't want to accommodate people with pets, fine; just say so. At this point, you are NOT dog-friendly. You aren't even really people-friendly.
In defense of the staff, they were pretty darned nice when we asked for things. They provided a refrigerator. They moved a late arrival upstairs and put us on the ground floor. They took our side and handled the parents of the badly-behaved children. But your rules and procedures run from useless to barbaric. You don't threaten guests and reprimand them for their "failures" to know what you expect in advance. Send some of your staff to the La Quinta School of Hospitality, please! They know what "dog-friendly" really means.
One last thought: to be fair, the uncivilized behavior of your guests is not your fault. They should know how to act. But our considerable experience demonstrates they probably will be selfish, clueless and downright mean. So if you take some precautions, such as slow-closing hinges, smoker-only areas and adult swims, you can cut down on some of the friction. Yes, it IS a holiday weekend, and it IS a tourist area. But it is everyone's vacation, and we are all tourists. You expect us to make our dogs behave, and rightfully so. No one wants a hotel full of howling, pooping canines. But no one wants a hotel full of uncontrollable brats and indifferent parents, either. ADDED: This, we discovered, was not just about us. A group of elderly people we met in the spa before attempting the pool complained to us that they hadn’t been able to get in the pool all day. But they didn’t confront anyone, and we will. And we will not stop until we get what we paid for.
Posted on We Kid You Not:
I'm resurrecting this thread near Mount Rushmore. Yeah, it's a holiday, but it's a holiday for everyone, not just the seven little boys who have been hogging the pool since three PM. It's now just after 10. We went in at nine after hoping all evening they'd be gone, because we'd already had a run-in with some of them slamming doors and screaming in the hall. But the pool closes at ten, so we finally went at nine. First we got in the hot tub, where three senior citizens were already relaxing. We chatted a while, and then I asked how the pool was, temperature wise, if they'd been in yet. One woman said they hadn't been able to because of the kids. I said, "Just go in and they'll move." I know this because we make them give us some space. We point to our glasses and say, "Don't splash us." But the woman declined. After a while, though, we wanted to go in ourselves. We did the same routine, and one kid told us to take them off. I said, "I like to be able to see, so don't splash me." Sure enough two minutes later, one of them did, and I asked both him and his parents to prevent it. At this, the mother said, I should get out of the pool. I said, "What, is this your private pool? I just got here. You've been here for hours." She suggested again that I leave. So I did. I went to the front desk and cited the rules they were breaking, and they went out of the pool.
Arrogant, selfish breeders and their absurd sense of entitlement. I told them at the desk the next time I wanted to use the pool, this wasn't going to happen again. BJ was very upset and didn't want to "make trouble" (she thinks everyone wants to kill our dogs in revenge) but I won't tolerate that crap. We are all on vacation and all have a right to use all the facilities. We didn't ask anyone to leave so we could swim, we only wanted to share.
I decided don't just hate kids; I hate their benighted, soulless moronic parents as well. Not just for making it difficult to have some fun, but for upsetting my spouse.
Oh, and this is the hotel where we had to agree to pay $100 if anyone complained about our dogs making noise. They don't make noise. We trained them not to, and that's why we can travel with them.
Finally, the resolution, so far, at least. I will be posting reviews on Hotels.co, too.
Well, I have some great news! After the second swimming pool war, I went to the front desk and said, basically, "Adult swimming hours or else." I mean, I was nice, and I was sympathetic to their plight (breeders are crazy) but said, "We are paying. We want to swim." And the very next morning, the sign went up. We get the last swimming hour child-free, and it's been great!
PS: I know some parents and child-lovers may well take offense. However, please keep in mind that these events are indicative to us of a huge problem. People don't know or care how to raise kids as far as we have seen. If parents want kids to have a better reputation, start early and train them right. You are not their best friends; you are their parents. Do you want to teach them how to act, or let the prison systems do it? Set rules, enforce them consistently. Watch Supernanny, and do what she says. Unless and until they can control themselves in public, or you can control them, leave them home. If you are already a decent, responsible parent, thank you. We need good examples.
In fact, the whole hotel experience at the Super 8 in Custer, SD was so horrible that I don’t even want to describe it again, so I’m going to just reproduce some things I’ve already written. The first is the complaint I will be sending Super 8 motels and hotels.com as soon as I have a good internet connection and the time and energy to do it. The second and third are posts to one of my on-line groups, We Kid You Not, which is for people who are child-free and loving every minute.
To Super 8 management:
We booked months early, asking for ground floor because of our pets. When we arrived, we had to BEG for a ground floor room. Keep track of your reservation records and requests.
When we arrived, we asked for a refrigerator, and were told we were supposed to have reserved one when we reserved the room. Excuse me! How were we supposed to know that? How, on hotels.com, were we supposed to do it? You weren't prepared to provide the room we DID ask for in advance. Be nice. Have enough refrigerators for each room. Problem solved.
Breakfast isn't available late enough. We bet most people using hotels in the Mount Rushmore area are on vacation. We don't want to, or have to, get up early. At least have late hours on weekends and holidays.
There's no local restaurant information available in each room. You have to go to the desk and get the book, then bring it back. Moreover, it's incomplete. We found more on our own. Update and make copies.
No luggage carts. Get some.
No elevator. Install a luggage dumbwaiter while you get permission to install an elevator.
Miniature trash cans. So small, we emptied them twice a day ourselves. So move on up to a more realistic size.
Not enough shelves, hooks or closet space. Get the iron/ironing boards OUT. Make them available on request, and use the space for storage.
The nerve of demanding we sign to pay $100 if anyone complains about our dogs, yet no one is fined for slamming their doors, letting kids run wild in the rooms, or shrieking in the halls, or horseplaying in the pool area. I want $100 for every screaming kid and slamming door.
The door slamming is especially outrageous. There are many ways to keep people from being inconsiderate boors. Tell them not to. Put little brass/plastic stick-on signs on the doors (at eye-level) reminding guests to close doors gently. Demand they agree to pay $100 for each slam of their door. Install slow-closing hinges.
The halls stink of smoke. Move the outside ashtrays far away from the doors so non-smokers don't have to walk past them and through clouds of smoke. Confine smokers to one wing.
A band of small children occupied the pool for about six hours, non-stop. We finally went in because we wanted to relax, and got into an argument with a laissez-faire parent who suggested we leave if we didn't want to be splashed in the face while wearing glasses. We saw adult swimming hours posted at another pool we visited on this trip. Why don't you give adults the same consideration? UPDATE: We finally got these after continuous complaints to the local management.
We can't leave our dogs "alone" in the room even confined to crates and wearing bark collars. How are we supposed to eat? Sightsee? Shop? This is a vacation. We want to do things together.
There's no decent area to walk dogs. Put in some grass. You have more than enough rocks.
If you don't want to accommodate people with pets, fine; just say so. At this point, you are NOT dog-friendly. You aren't even really people-friendly.
In defense of the staff, they were pretty darned nice when we asked for things. They provided a refrigerator. They moved a late arrival upstairs and put us on the ground floor. They took our side and handled the parents of the badly-behaved children. But your rules and procedures run from useless to barbaric. You don't threaten guests and reprimand them for their "failures" to know what you expect in advance. Send some of your staff to the La Quinta School of Hospitality, please! They know what "dog-friendly" really means.
One last thought: to be fair, the uncivilized behavior of your guests is not your fault. They should know how to act. But our considerable experience demonstrates they probably will be selfish, clueless and downright mean. So if you take some precautions, such as slow-closing hinges, smoker-only areas and adult swims, you can cut down on some of the friction. Yes, it IS a holiday weekend, and it IS a tourist area. But it is everyone's vacation, and we are all tourists. You expect us to make our dogs behave, and rightfully so. No one wants a hotel full of howling, pooping canines. But no one wants a hotel full of uncontrollable brats and indifferent parents, either. ADDED: This, we discovered, was not just about us. A group of elderly people we met in the spa before attempting the pool complained to us that they hadn’t been able to get in the pool all day. But they didn’t confront anyone, and we will. And we will not stop until we get what we paid for.
Posted on We Kid You Not:
I'm resurrecting this thread near Mount Rushmore. Yeah, it's a holiday, but it's a holiday for everyone, not just the seven little boys who have been hogging the pool since three PM. It's now just after 10. We went in at nine after hoping all evening they'd be gone, because we'd already had a run-in with some of them slamming doors and screaming in the hall. But the pool closes at ten, so we finally went at nine. First we got in the hot tub, where three senior citizens were already relaxing. We chatted a while, and then I asked how the pool was, temperature wise, if they'd been in yet. One woman said they hadn't been able to because of the kids. I said, "Just go in and they'll move." I know this because we make them give us some space. We point to our glasses and say, "Don't splash us." But the woman declined. After a while, though, we wanted to go in ourselves. We did the same routine, and one kid told us to take them off. I said, "I like to be able to see, so don't splash me." Sure enough two minutes later, one of them did, and I asked both him and his parents to prevent it. At this, the mother said, I should get out of the pool. I said, "What, is this your private pool? I just got here. You've been here for hours." She suggested again that I leave. So I did. I went to the front desk and cited the rules they were breaking, and they went out of the pool.
Arrogant, selfish breeders and their absurd sense of entitlement. I told them at the desk the next time I wanted to use the pool, this wasn't going to happen again. BJ was very upset and didn't want to "make trouble" (she thinks everyone wants to kill our dogs in revenge) but I won't tolerate that crap. We are all on vacation and all have a right to use all the facilities. We didn't ask anyone to leave so we could swim, we only wanted to share.
I decided don't just hate kids; I hate their benighted, soulless moronic parents as well. Not just for making it difficult to have some fun, but for upsetting my spouse.
Oh, and this is the hotel where we had to agree to pay $100 if anyone complained about our dogs making noise. They don't make noise. We trained them not to, and that's why we can travel with them.
Finally, the resolution, so far, at least. I will be posting reviews on Hotels.co, too.
Well, I have some great news! After the second swimming pool war, I went to the front desk and said, basically, "Adult swimming hours or else." I mean, I was nice, and I was sympathetic to their plight (breeders are crazy) but said, "We are paying. We want to swim." And the very next morning, the sign went up. We get the last swimming hour child-free, and it's been great!
PS: I know some parents and child-lovers may well take offense. However, please keep in mind that these events are indicative to us of a huge problem. People don't know or care how to raise kids as far as we have seen. If parents want kids to have a better reputation, start early and train them right. You are not their best friends; you are their parents. Do you want to teach them how to act, or let the prison systems do it? Set rules, enforce them consistently. Watch Supernanny, and do what she says. Unless and until they can control themselves in public, or you can control them, leave them home. If you are already a decent, responsible parent, thank you. We need good examples.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Badlands: Not all that bad
Sorry for the lengthy absence. We had computer/internet issues in Custer, and couldn't even be sure what was wrong until we left. But I kept writing and uploading pictures, and now, at least, here are some blogs; pictures to follow.
So today was our reason for the extra night in Wall: the Badlands Loop. You drive 20 miles back east on the Interstate, drive west on the loop for 32 miles, and end up right back in Wall. Guess how long that takes. Give up? Six hours. Could take even longer if you hiked some trails, which we didn't because dogs aren't allowed. You really don't want to get off the boardwalks on a hot day anyhow; you would die out there. So it's bad because there's almost no good weather in this area. It's either hot and dry or wet and nasty. Hot and dry is better for seeing it, so we were lucky that way. The Badlands were originally named by the French explorers who tried to pass through. They were "bad lands to travel through." Silly explorers, they should have used the Badlands Loop! All you need is a good road and an air conditioned car, and the lands are not so bad at all.
I'm putting up a link: http://www.nps.gov/badl/
as well as a few photos because there is just so much to look at. The Prairie Home is interesting, and they have Prairie Dogs.
There is wildlife in there, but we only saw deer quite close up.
The best thing is the fascinating geology of the place. Lots of pretty rocks and vistas. Very colorful and crazy- looking, like the moon, or Antarctica.
We stopped everywhere, and walked all the little boardwalks, taking turns holding the dogs. It was a little overcast sometimes, but mostly sunny and clear. If you get up this way, make time for the Badlands Loop in the lands that are not so bad after all.
So today was our reason for the extra night in Wall: the Badlands Loop. You drive 20 miles back east on the Interstate, drive west on the loop for 32 miles, and end up right back in Wall. Guess how long that takes. Give up? Six hours. Could take even longer if you hiked some trails, which we didn't because dogs aren't allowed. You really don't want to get off the boardwalks on a hot day anyhow; you would die out there. So it's bad because there's almost no good weather in this area. It's either hot and dry or wet and nasty. Hot and dry is better for seeing it, so we were lucky that way. The Badlands were originally named by the French explorers who tried to pass through. They were "bad lands to travel through." Silly explorers, they should have used the Badlands Loop! All you need is a good road and an air conditioned car, and the lands are not so bad at all.
I'm putting up a link: http://www.nps.gov/badl/
as well as a few photos because there is just so much to look at. The Prairie Home is interesting, and they have Prairie Dogs.
There is wildlife in there, but we only saw deer quite close up.
The best thing is the fascinating geology of the place. Lots of pretty rocks and vistas. Very colorful and crazy- looking, like the moon, or Antarctica.
We stopped everywhere, and walked all the little boardwalks, taking turns holding the dogs. It was a little overcast sometimes, but mostly sunny and clear. If you get up this way, make time for the Badlands Loop in the lands that are not so bad after all.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
(Hole in the) Wall
By the way, if you haven't already done so, go back and look at the pictures in the earier posts. You can enlarge them by clicking on them.
Also, I want to thank the folks who have commented. I have tried to answer you but Blogspot won't let me answer my own comments! If anyone knows how to overcome this, please leave a comment!
So we thought this leg would be just bloody awful: 300 miles due west in high winds and heat. Having lowered our expecations, it didn't turn out as badly as we had feared.
The AAA TripTik was marked "Rough" "Rough" "Rough" all the way across the state, and with the high winds on the rough roads and all the road work going on, we started thinking we ought to return east through North Dakota. Luckily, the really bad roads lasted less than 100 miles. The state quits being pretty about one third of the way across, and you have endlessly straight roads and flat, treeless countryside. But then, about two-thirds of the way over, it gets interesting again, because you reach the Badlands.
We will discuss why these lands are bad tomorrow, but for now you're going to hear all about Murdo and Wall, South Dakota. We're driving and driving and driving along this long straight road through basically featureless landscape, and after a while we get hungry. So we decide we'll get off at the next promising exit.
The next three exits are "No Services" and two more are nothing but gas stations with maybe a convenience store. Nah, not that hungry. Finally we see an exit coming up that guarantees "Dining" so we get off in Murdo. Probably Murdo was a person. I have't been interested enough yet to look. In Murdo, we found two "Dining" opportunities. One looked like an old-fashioned ice cream/burger joint so we went there. And just after Joyce went in to order, the middle and high schools let out for some sort of break and they all descended on this one place. This was the school district for an entire county, six grades, maybe 60 kids, total. Depresssing! Because we could leave! There is nothing in Murdo except this rather questionable car museum and several gas stations where you PAY INSIDE. It was very much like American Graffiti in terms of social development. One girl had an iPod. No one had a cell phone. Out of curiosity I tried mine and "No Service." Honestly, it was another place I was glad to leave. Once we got to Custer, the Western terminus of our trip, we actually found a tour brochure for Murdo advertising nine restaurants and seven hotels. Bite me. Maybe in 1955, and then again, maybe never.
So we drove on to Wall. All across the desert, I mean, plains, there are these never-ending signs advertising Wall Drug and other Wall "points of interest." So we thought it would be something like South of the Border in South Carolina, where you see signs for the place for 300 miles from any direction, and then, when you arrive, it's a super-enormous tacky-fest.
Wall is a tiny little tacky-fest. It's a block-long store selling "Western souvenirs" out the wazoo. Oh, sure, we bought some of the darned things. I had to have a back-scratcher. Joyce persisted in her never-ending quest for embroidered tee-shirts and refrigerator magnets. But we bought a lot less than we expected to be able to, because the stuff is pretty picked-over and tacky, although it IS cheap. And they have other "attractions" such as petrified cowpunchers you can pose with and a Western "art gallery" (think velvet paintings and thigs made out of twigs).
When we came out, we found a busload of German tourists laughing their asses off in the street, and we didn't blame them a bit.
Our hotel was so bad, it was hilarious. The pool looked like a swamp and smelled like a cesspool. We asked for some things we considered rather basic and they didn't have any: take-out menus, a candy machine, hangers, cream cheese at the continental breakfast. They had no hand lotion, but offered us a lot of shampoos. I think it was a family-run place and they were struggling. We didn't give them any grief because we had the place to ourselves for two days (apparently no one stays in Wall for two days) and they were very nice, though frequently apologetic. The room itself was enormous, and the place was again, a little piece of 1955 motor court.
Next time: Why badlands are bad.
Also, I want to thank the folks who have commented. I have tried to answer you but Blogspot won't let me answer my own comments! If anyone knows how to overcome this, please leave a comment!
So we thought this leg would be just bloody awful: 300 miles due west in high winds and heat. Having lowered our expecations, it didn't turn out as badly as we had feared.
The AAA TripTik was marked "Rough" "Rough" "Rough" all the way across the state, and with the high winds on the rough roads and all the road work going on, we started thinking we ought to return east through North Dakota. Luckily, the really bad roads lasted less than 100 miles. The state quits being pretty about one third of the way across, and you have endlessly straight roads and flat, treeless countryside. But then, about two-thirds of the way over, it gets interesting again, because you reach the Badlands.
We will discuss why these lands are bad tomorrow, but for now you're going to hear all about Murdo and Wall, South Dakota. We're driving and driving and driving along this long straight road through basically featureless landscape, and after a while we get hungry. So we decide we'll get off at the next promising exit.
The next three exits are "No Services" and two more are nothing but gas stations with maybe a convenience store. Nah, not that hungry. Finally we see an exit coming up that guarantees "Dining" so we get off in Murdo. Probably Murdo was a person. I have't been interested enough yet to look. In Murdo, we found two "Dining" opportunities. One looked like an old-fashioned ice cream/burger joint so we went there. And just after Joyce went in to order, the middle and high schools let out for some sort of break and they all descended on this one place. This was the school district for an entire county, six grades, maybe 60 kids, total. Depresssing! Because we could leave! There is nothing in Murdo except this rather questionable car museum and several gas stations where you PAY INSIDE. It was very much like American Graffiti in terms of social development. One girl had an iPod. No one had a cell phone. Out of curiosity I tried mine and "No Service." Honestly, it was another place I was glad to leave. Once we got to Custer, the Western terminus of our trip, we actually found a tour brochure for Murdo advertising nine restaurants and seven hotels. Bite me. Maybe in 1955, and then again, maybe never.
So we drove on to Wall. All across the desert, I mean, plains, there are these never-ending signs advertising Wall Drug and other Wall "points of interest." So we thought it would be something like South of the Border in South Carolina, where you see signs for the place for 300 miles from any direction, and then, when you arrive, it's a super-enormous tacky-fest.
Wall is a tiny little tacky-fest. It's a block-long store selling "Western souvenirs" out the wazoo. Oh, sure, we bought some of the darned things. I had to have a back-scratcher. Joyce persisted in her never-ending quest for embroidered tee-shirts and refrigerator magnets. But we bought a lot less than we expected to be able to, because the stuff is pretty picked-over and tacky, although it IS cheap. And they have other "attractions" such as petrified cowpunchers you can pose with and a Western "art gallery" (think velvet paintings and thigs made out of twigs).
When we came out, we found a busload of German tourists laughing their asses off in the street, and we didn't blame them a bit.
Our hotel was so bad, it was hilarious. The pool looked like a swamp and smelled like a cesspool. We asked for some things we considered rather basic and they didn't have any: take-out menus, a candy machine, hangers, cream cheese at the continental breakfast. They had no hand lotion, but offered us a lot of shampoos. I think it was a family-run place and they were struggling. We didn't give them any grief because we had the place to ourselves for two days (apparently no one stays in Wall for two days) and they were very nice, though frequently apologetic. The room itself was enormous, and the place was again, a little piece of 1955 motor court.
Next time: Why badlands are bad.
Monday, May 18, 2009
On the Great Plains: Beauty and the Blast Furnace
There's going to be some overlap of yesterday's impressions with today's.
On our way north, out of Iowa, we saw our first wind farms. Joyce took tons of pictures. Lots more wind farms throughout the rest of yesterday's drive.
Many charming and well-kept farms, more and more beautiful countryside bursting into bloom.
So many flowers, mating (and apparently suicidal with lust as well) red-winged blackbirds, pheasants, geese and ducks in a hundred little blue ponds.
Turned left in Minnesota, which was a little dull and flat at first but then became almost as pretty as Iowa. Crossed the state line into South Dakota, and just couldn't believe how pretty it was! We didn't go far; just to Sioux Falls, where we had a two-day stop in puruit of Laura Ingalls Wilder and family.
Although we were freezing when we got up in the morning, within four hours of leaving Clear Lake: blast furnace! temperatures in the 90s! baked dogs! Okay, so that last one is a slight exaggeration, but it could happen if you weren't paying attention to the heat on the cement in the sun.
Drove north and west to De Smet, which the locals pronunce "duh-SMETT." This kind of thing drives me nuts. The correct pronunciation is "Dismay" as in the original name of the original French priest for whom it was named. Even the original settlers pronounced it "Dismay" and if you've read The Long Winter you can easily see why. Are Americans collectively such ignorant boobs that we have to have everything dumbed down for us? Can we not learn at least one more language that isn't a computer programming language? Can we stop expecting the whole world to conform to us? We are not the international cultural standard. Grow up, people. Open a book. Learn a thing or two from a source other than Entertainment Tonight.
Anyhow, because we like the Great Plains so much, it was no surprise that we enjoyed the Ingalls-Wilder homestead, and the town, too. One thing I learned is that all the pretty copses and groves weren't there when the Ingalls arrived. Almost every tree was planted by individual farmers or government programs. So it wasn't pretty then, or easy, or any romantic thing. Those PBS shows on frontier and pioneer life are pretty accurate. It was hard. We should have learned something from the native Americans who preceeded us, and left things as they were. The dogs loved the homestead, too, with all the animals and holes in the ground and interesting smells, but then, they are animals, and this land belonged to animals first.
On the return from De Smet, the weather turned really hot and windy again. It was really unbearable, and was another reason homesteding must have been so hard. We headed for the pool and didn't go out again until the sun was down. Next day: off to Wall, a 300-mile leg.
On our way north, out of Iowa, we saw our first wind farms. Joyce took tons of pictures. Lots more wind farms throughout the rest of yesterday's drive.
Many charming and well-kept farms, more and more beautiful countryside bursting into bloom.
So many flowers, mating (and apparently suicidal with lust as well) red-winged blackbirds, pheasants, geese and ducks in a hundred little blue ponds.
Turned left in Minnesota, which was a little dull and flat at first but then became almost as pretty as Iowa. Crossed the state line into South Dakota, and just couldn't believe how pretty it was! We didn't go far; just to Sioux Falls, where we had a two-day stop in puruit of Laura Ingalls Wilder and family.
Although we were freezing when we got up in the morning, within four hours of leaving Clear Lake: blast furnace! temperatures in the 90s! baked dogs! Okay, so that last one is a slight exaggeration, but it could happen if you weren't paying attention to the heat on the cement in the sun.
Drove north and west to De Smet, which the locals pronunce "duh-SMETT." This kind of thing drives me nuts. The correct pronunciation is "Dismay" as in the original name of the original French priest for whom it was named. Even the original settlers pronounced it "Dismay" and if you've read The Long Winter you can easily see why. Are Americans collectively such ignorant boobs that we have to have everything dumbed down for us? Can we not learn at least one more language that isn't a computer programming language? Can we stop expecting the whole world to conform to us? We are not the international cultural standard. Grow up, people. Open a book. Learn a thing or two from a source other than Entertainment Tonight.
Anyhow, because we like the Great Plains so much, it was no surprise that we enjoyed the Ingalls-Wilder homestead, and the town, too. One thing I learned is that all the pretty copses and groves weren't there when the Ingalls arrived. Almost every tree was planted by individual farmers or government programs. So it wasn't pretty then, or easy, or any romantic thing. Those PBS shows on frontier and pioneer life are pretty accurate. It was hard. We should have learned something from the native Americans who preceeded us, and left things as they were. The dogs loved the homestead, too, with all the animals and holes in the ground and interesting smells, but then, they are animals, and this land belonged to animals first.
On the return from De Smet, the weather turned really hot and windy again. It was really unbearable, and was another reason homesteding must have been so hard. We headed for the pool and didn't go out again until the sun was down. Next day: off to Wall, a 300-mile leg.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Hotels and motels and restaurants and things
So I'm reading McCullough's biography of Harry Truman, and in it there's this joke meant to exemplify the typical small-town Missouri politician around the turn of the previous century. I think it's hilarious, and Joyce hates it.
This small-time politician wangles an invitation to a big East Coast political convention, which includes a formal banquet. So he sits at this table full of unfamiliar silverware, all dressed up, watching the others to see what to do. The waiter brings out celery, and he eats that. Next, the waiter brings out consomme, and like the people around him, the man from Missouri consumes that as well. The next course is a lobster, and the waiter places this in front of the man.
At this, the guest throws down his napkin and exclaims, "I ate your flower. I drank your dishwater. But I'll be God-damned if I'll eat your bug!" Okay, I just laughed out loud at this, again. Is it funny, or is it just me? Or is it the influence of too much Laura Ingalls Wilder?
Anyway, today we drove from Iowa, through Minnesota, and into South Dakota. It was a nice drive, and we visited a tiny roadside chapel in Luverne, and a little state park on the Minnesota prairie. The ranger told us there was nothing to see, but apparently he isn't looking anymore. If you are from Florida , there's plenty to look at and enjoy. So we made him take our money. When we left Clear Lake, it was blowing hard and freezing (to us). Wind chill was around 35 F. By the time we arrived in Sioux Falls, it was 83 F. We were finally able to get out of shoes and long pants.
But what I really want to talk about is accommodations. I'm not sure why, but not one hotel has managed to get it completely right so far. We stayed at one whose claim to fame was complete soundproofing. But they had their smoking and non-smoking r0oms all mixed up, and it stank. Several of the ones that claimed to have pools had empty, dirty or otherwise unavailable ones. Few have slow-closing hinges, so that when the clueless and inconsiderate guests let the doors go, they slam like cannon-fire. We don't seem to be able to teach manners anymore, so go ahead and stop the slamming mechanically. These hinges would not be available at all if someone had not already figured out that it is easier to fix doors than teach people. And it is easier to soundproof rooms than to ask guests to consider their neighbors.
Then there are the "free" as in, included, breakfasts. You either get plain bagels or something good. One place will have nothing but fruit and cereal; at the next, you can get sausage and biscuits. One will have hard-boiled eggs, another will have a broken toaster. We think each chain ought to at least have minimum standards, and whatever was available at 6 AM should be available at 9:45 (assuming breakfast is 6 - 10 AM). There should also always be protein option, not just a lot of different carbohydrates.
Then, the joy of beds. Marshmallow or firm? Loose sheets or fitted? The best has to be the LaQuinta effort to be European, with the blankets pulled up over sheets triple folded into some kind of strange origami. And would you like your pillows stuffed with Kleenex or whole raw potatoes? Not real sure what the decorative strips are all about on the bottom of the bed, but they are NOT much of a substitute for a comforter. Usually the dogs make a little nest out of them after they slide onto the floor. Probably not what the management had in mind.
Refrigerators come in all sizes, starting with none at all, running through breadbox to industrial washing machine. Some have freezers, some don't, some are caked with ice. I am baffled by the ones with tilted door shelves but nothing to hold items in. Every microwave is a new adventure, too.
And what is it with the postage-stamp bedside tables, one per room (that may sleep as many as four adults)? Our usual routine on arrival is to unplug the clock radio and stick it in a drawer, put the phone on the bottom shelf or on the floor, and remove all the little plastic advertising signs. This gives us enough room to put our glasses on the top when we shut off the lights.
Hmmm. I think I'll save restaurants for tomorrow.
This small-time politician wangles an invitation to a big East Coast political convention, which includes a formal banquet. So he sits at this table full of unfamiliar silverware, all dressed up, watching the others to see what to do. The waiter brings out celery, and he eats that. Next, the waiter brings out consomme, and like the people around him, the man from Missouri consumes that as well. The next course is a lobster, and the waiter places this in front of the man.
At this, the guest throws down his napkin and exclaims, "I ate your flower. I drank your dishwater. But I'll be God-damned if I'll eat your bug!" Okay, I just laughed out loud at this, again. Is it funny, or is it just me? Or is it the influence of too much Laura Ingalls Wilder?
Anyway, today we drove from Iowa, through Minnesota, and into South Dakota. It was a nice drive, and we visited a tiny roadside chapel in Luverne, and a little state park on the Minnesota prairie. The ranger told us there was nothing to see, but apparently he isn't looking anymore. If you are from Florida , there's plenty to look at and enjoy. So we made him take our money. When we left Clear Lake, it was blowing hard and freezing (to us). Wind chill was around 35 F. By the time we arrived in Sioux Falls, it was 83 F. We were finally able to get out of shoes and long pants.
But what I really want to talk about is accommodations. I'm not sure why, but not one hotel has managed to get it completely right so far. We stayed at one whose claim to fame was complete soundproofing. But they had their smoking and non-smoking r0oms all mixed up, and it stank. Several of the ones that claimed to have pools had empty, dirty or otherwise unavailable ones. Few have slow-closing hinges, so that when the clueless and inconsiderate guests let the doors go, they slam like cannon-fire. We don't seem to be able to teach manners anymore, so go ahead and stop the slamming mechanically. These hinges would not be available at all if someone had not already figured out that it is easier to fix doors than teach people. And it is easier to soundproof rooms than to ask guests to consider their neighbors.
Then there are the "free" as in, included, breakfasts. You either get plain bagels or something good. One place will have nothing but fruit and cereal; at the next, you can get sausage and biscuits. One will have hard-boiled eggs, another will have a broken toaster. We think each chain ought to at least have minimum standards, and whatever was available at 6 AM should be available at 9:45 (assuming breakfast is 6 - 10 AM). There should also always be protein option, not just a lot of different carbohydrates.
Then, the joy of beds. Marshmallow or firm? Loose sheets or fitted? The best has to be the LaQuinta effort to be European, with the blankets pulled up over sheets triple folded into some kind of strange origami. And would you like your pillows stuffed with Kleenex or whole raw potatoes? Not real sure what the decorative strips are all about on the bottom of the bed, but they are NOT much of a substitute for a comforter. Usually the dogs make a little nest out of them after they slide onto the floor. Probably not what the management had in mind.
Refrigerators come in all sizes, starting with none at all, running through breadbox to industrial washing machine. Some have freezers, some don't, some are caked with ice. I am baffled by the ones with tilted door shelves but nothing to hold items in. Every microwave is a new adventure, too.
And what is it with the postage-stamp bedside tables, one per room (that may sleep as many as four adults)? Our usual routine on arrival is to unplug the clock radio and stick it in a drawer, put the phone on the bottom shelf or on the floor, and remove all the little plastic advertising signs. This gives us enough room to put our glasses on the top when we shut off the lights.
Hmmm. I think I'll save restaurants for tomorrow.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Iowa: the 50th state
What, it isn't? You think it's Hawai'i? Well, maybe for some people, but for me, it's Iowa, which until yesterday, I'd never been in. Until this year, it was never on the way anywhere. In case you're curious, Joyce has about ten to go, but we'll knock off a bunch on this trip.
Here's what Iowa is like, so far: Missouri. Well, flatter, but green rolling hills all the same, and fresh air and breezes. Nice, normal people. Progressive laws. Too bad it's so cold in the winter. We drove straight up from Independence and stopped at a welcome center to take a picture of me in my 50th state. And there are a lot of Amish.
Not much later, we got to Des Moines, where the hotel has a nice indoor pool and spa.
Got up exhausted this morning, and it was raining, so we decided on a day off and went back to bed. Limited food choices forced us to eat Wendy's twice, but they have an excellent spicy chicken filet.
Tomorrow we'll visit the Old Fort Des Moines Army museum. Yes, I am writing a book. And I'll tell you all about that after our visit.
Here's what Iowa is like, so far: Missouri. Well, flatter, but green rolling hills all the same, and fresh air and breezes. Nice, normal people. Progressive laws. Too bad it's so cold in the winter. We drove straight up from Independence and stopped at a welcome center to take a picture of me in my 50th state. And there are a lot of Amish.
Not much later, we got to Des Moines, where the hotel has a nice indoor pool and spa.
Got up exhausted this morning, and it was raining, so we decided on a day off and went back to bed. Limited food choices forced us to eat Wendy's twice, but they have an excellent spicy chicken filet.
Tomorrow we'll visit the Old Fort Des Moines Army museum. Yes, I am writing a book. And I'll tell you all about that after our visit.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Truman Territory
Did I say we love Missouri? Well, not Branson, but everything else so far this trip. I remember some of it from when I used to visit relatives around Hannibal when I was a kid, but Joyce hadn't seen anything except St. Louis. (Ick) Except for those pesky tornados, the climate is mild almost all year, and they can and do grow anything. Right now as spring has just arrived, it's pretty spectacular. The countryside is filled with all these trees and bushes budding in a thousand shades of green on rolling hills and along scores of creeks and rivers.
Which is why Harry Truman was so proud of Missouri, and never wanted to live anywhere but Independence. You can't really understand all that unless you come here. Of course, Harry died in 1972 and a lot about Independence has changed since then. However, luckily, for the 1976 Bicentennial, the townspeople got the idea that preserving it would be a good thing, so they managed to snatch a lot of it away from progress and it looks very like it once did.
The city has of course sprawled out to the south, so it's like two separate places. Downtown and the Truman library and home are one part and then there's where modern life goes on.
The day we were there, the preserved downtown was pretty dead, except for knots of homeless people standing around the many churches. There's a tour just of the religious locations, and we skipped that. Apparently not a lot of interest in Truman at the moment, which is too bad. Lack of teaching history has cost people the pleasure of learning about Harry and the bitch he was married to. Anyway, we took the walking tour, went through their house, and did the library and museum, and came away liking him better and hating her worse. Bess was a mean-spirited old woman when she was twelve years old. If ever anyone needed Prozac, she did. She made him miserable for the 16 years he served as Senator, Vice President and President. She basically abandoned him. Fortunately Margaret loved Washington, and spent a lot of time with him. They were very close.
You should really see the house. You just park on the street and go in, eight at a time. They got back to it in 1953 and changed nothing since, and the Parks Service has kept it the same.
The library has a wonderful setting and is just beautiful. No one around but us to enjoy it.
Anyway, the whole place is as unpretentious as he was. Just not the sort of place you would associate with a leader of a major world power. To Harry, which is how everyone refers to him, it was just another job to be done to the best of his ability. That's why we're wild about him.
Which is why Harry Truman was so proud of Missouri, and never wanted to live anywhere but Independence. You can't really understand all that unless you come here. Of course, Harry died in 1972 and a lot about Independence has changed since then. However, luckily, for the 1976 Bicentennial, the townspeople got the idea that preserving it would be a good thing, so they managed to snatch a lot of it away from progress and it looks very like it once did.
The city has of course sprawled out to the south, so it's like two separate places. Downtown and the Truman library and home are one part and then there's where modern life goes on.
The day we were there, the preserved downtown was pretty dead, except for knots of homeless people standing around the many churches. There's a tour just of the religious locations, and we skipped that. Apparently not a lot of interest in Truman at the moment, which is too bad. Lack of teaching history has cost people the pleasure of learning about Harry and the bitch he was married to. Anyway, we took the walking tour, went through their house, and did the library and museum, and came away liking him better and hating her worse. Bess was a mean-spirited old woman when she was twelve years old. If ever anyone needed Prozac, she did. She made him miserable for the 16 years he served as Senator, Vice President and President. She basically abandoned him. Fortunately Margaret loved Washington, and spent a lot of time with him. They were very close.
You should really see the house. You just park on the street and go in, eight at a time. They got back to it in 1953 and changed nothing since, and the Parks Service has kept it the same.
The library has a wonderful setting and is just beautiful. No one around but us to enjoy it.
Anyway, the whole place is as unpretentious as he was. Just not the sort of place you would associate with a leader of a major world power. To Harry, which is how everyone refers to him, it was just another job to be done to the best of his ability. That's why we're wild about him.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Yakov Smirnov and friends
What do you think of when you hear that name? Apparently we don't get out nearly enough, because we had thought he was funny. He writes a funny AARP column, and I had seen him many times on TV. However, apparently YS has made some serious changes to his act for the Branson crowd, or we are on drugs. Take your pick.
He's the only comedy act IN Branson, which was why we went. Also, it was raining. We went to Table Rock Lake State Park earlier for a hike with the kids, but it started raining on the way back to the hotel, so we went to see a show. We thought it would be more wordly and sophisticated than the rest of the Jesus-drivel being advertised. Every other subtitle is "God and Country" and we find that way too narrow-mindless.
Of couse the theatre was full of geezers, with us at the way younger end of the spectrum. There wasn't a child in the place, which I thought boded well. Even when a couple younger than we came in at the last minute, I didn't think anything was wrong. Well, he came out and started telling jokes, most of which we had heard in some form on other occasions. Every fifteen minutes or so, YS would disappear and a Russian dance troupe came out, and they, at least, did a good job. Whenever Smirnov came back, he was wearing something else.
There was a presentation about his citizenship and his patriotic art and the whole thing got schmaltzier by the minute. The woman next to me, along with many others, kept taking flash pictures even though we'd been asked not to. And the dance troupe came and went, and at one point we thought it was over, but no, it was just an intermission for shilling and autographs and pictures. For fun I took pictures of people taking pictures.
Then the show started up again, and he pretended he was President and answered pre-written questions from shills in the audience. Next was a long and confused ramble about married love involving only straight people and red, white and blue magnets. Then he started in with the hyper-patriotism again, and when he started crying, we left. The whole thing was both a waste and a learning experience. There wasn't much religion, but there wasn't much clarity of thought, either. On the whole, Branson is an intellectual wasteland stuck in a 1950s time-warp. We were really glad to move on come Tuesday morning.
I'm about a day and a half behind with this. Smirnov was Sunday. Monday Joyce was still fighting a sore throat and sinus probems from the smoke in the restaurants, so we didn't do anything except hang around the hotel. Went and sat in the hot tub and swam and that seemed to help. Got up and out early today so we could make a side trip to the Ingalls-Wilder museum near Springfield. It's a very pleasant spot, green and peaceful and apparently fertile, so we could se why they stopped traveling at last. They still traveled on vacations and visits but they never moved again.
That went well, and we drove on toward Independence in and out of rain. Spring is just barely here and the entire countryside is just beautiful. We haven't seen a spring in a long time, and we are really enjoying all the budding trees and new flowers. We arrived in Blue Spring in the early evening, and called a local sandwich joint who delivered our supper.
Next stop: Harry S Truman historical sites. We're just wild about Harry!
He's the only comedy act IN Branson, which was why we went. Also, it was raining. We went to Table Rock Lake State Park earlier for a hike with the kids, but it started raining on the way back to the hotel, so we went to see a show. We thought it would be more wordly and sophisticated than the rest of the Jesus-drivel being advertised. Every other subtitle is "God and Country" and we find that way too narrow-mindless.
Of couse the theatre was full of geezers, with us at the way younger end of the spectrum. There wasn't a child in the place, which I thought boded well. Even when a couple younger than we came in at the last minute, I didn't think anything was wrong. Well, he came out and started telling jokes, most of which we had heard in some form on other occasions. Every fifteen minutes or so, YS would disappear and a Russian dance troupe came out, and they, at least, did a good job. Whenever Smirnov came back, he was wearing something else.
There was a presentation about his citizenship and his patriotic art and the whole thing got schmaltzier by the minute. The woman next to me, along with many others, kept taking flash pictures even though we'd been asked not to. And the dance troupe came and went, and at one point we thought it was over, but no, it was just an intermission for shilling and autographs and pictures. For fun I took pictures of people taking pictures.
Then the show started up again, and he pretended he was President and answered pre-written questions from shills in the audience. Next was a long and confused ramble about married love involving only straight people and red, white and blue magnets. Then he started in with the hyper-patriotism again, and when he started crying, we left. The whole thing was both a waste and a learning experience. There wasn't much religion, but there wasn't much clarity of thought, either. On the whole, Branson is an intellectual wasteland stuck in a 1950s time-warp. We were really glad to move on come Tuesday morning.
I'm about a day and a half behind with this. Smirnov was Sunday. Monday Joyce was still fighting a sore throat and sinus probems from the smoke in the restaurants, so we didn't do anything except hang around the hotel. Went and sat in the hot tub and swam and that seemed to help. Got up and out early today so we could make a side trip to the Ingalls-Wilder museum near Springfield. It's a very pleasant spot, green and peaceful and apparently fertile, so we could se why they stopped traveling at last. They still traveled on vacations and visits but they never moved again.
That went well, and we drove on toward Independence in and out of rain. Spring is just barely here and the entire countryside is just beautiful. We haven't seen a spring in a long time, and we are really enjoying all the budding trees and new flowers. We arrived in Blue Spring in the early evening, and called a local sandwich joint who delivered our supper.
Next stop: Harry S Truman historical sites. We're just wild about Harry!
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Eating in Branson
Has anyone ever done an anthropological study of a culture just by visiting its eating establishments? Because there have to be a few theses, dissertations and monographs in there someplace. We are learning a lot just by observing people in restaurants.
Take Saturday night. Please! But seriously, folks, we went to Applebee's, because we could walk there. And what luck! We arrived just before a whole busload of . . . Mennonites? Okay, I know that Mennonites have a much more modern philosophy than the Amish, but in Branson, a place known for entertainment? Of course, at that point, we had only been in Branson for half an hour, and had seen very little of it.
We entered with about eight Mennonites, and all sat down to wait for a table. Since there were only two of us, we were called first. But we did have a funny little encounter with them. They were all young adults. The men looked fairly normal. You couldn't have told them from average 21st century guys on the street. The women, however, do look different. For instance , they don't wear makeup, and that's sensible. They wear flat shoes, and that makes sense, too. But then they go and ruin it all by adding in the long prairie dresses and the little dixie cup hats. And here's another indication they're more "worldly" than the Amish: as soon as they all sat down, one woman jumped up again and announced she was headed to the restroom. At this, all the other women leaped up and ran off after her, causing all the men to laugh and comment. So I turned to them and said, "Why don't you have some fun with this? When they come back, you all jump off and run off to the men's room together!" They laughed at that, too, but I don't know if they did it because we got our table before the women came back.
During dinner, we were surounded by screaming brats evenly spaced around the restaurant. In among them were loud, apparently drunk geezers. Or maybe they were just off their meds, who knows? I'm allowed to say these things because I'm a geezer ON meds, so I ought to know.
Next morning, Joyce went to the "free" breakfast the motel provides, and this was Sunday morning. She said it was pretty quiet for a while, but at about 9:15, a whole crowd of people came in, all dressed up for church. Among them were a little girl and an older woman who might have been her grandmother. And Grandma said to the little girl, "You kin putcher BAH-bull rat cheer!" So Joyce, fearful of evangelism, got up and left. They were also playing Faux News on the TV in there, but Joyce had turned the volume all the way down while she was eating.
We guessed the group was headed for one of the local revivals all around town, or a church service for Mother's Day, or whatever. And here's a part I don't get: why carry a Bible to church? Don't churches HAVE Bibles? I can see carrying your Bible to someplace where there might not be one, like a whorehouse or a crack house. But Bibles are standard church equipment. They have the same ones in all the pews and Sunday schools so everyone can have the same one and be on the same page. Back down in Arkansas, we saw a bumper sticker : "If it ain't King James, it ain't Bible." Really? What did Jesus use, then? So even fundie churches must all have stacks of KJVs lying around. You can leave your own home.
Went out for Chinese that night. Once again, they had a smoking section, and as we all know, smoke can't read signs, so we had to get up and move. After two nights of restaurants with smoking (Applebee's, too) Joyce ended up with a sore throat so we stayed in all day, except to use the swimming pool. I got pictures; it's really nice.
From now on, if we get to a restaurant and there's smoking, we'll get ours to go. And by the way, if this is the hyper-religious capital of the Midwest, and smoking is a vice, why do they encourage it, especially in restaurants? I can't imagine these good Christian folks could be so hypocritical!!!!
Tomorrow: all about Yakov Smirnov. Hang on to your hats.
Take Saturday night. Please! But seriously, folks, we went to Applebee's, because we could walk there. And what luck! We arrived just before a whole busload of . . . Mennonites? Okay, I know that Mennonites have a much more modern philosophy than the Amish, but in Branson, a place known for entertainment? Of course, at that point, we had only been in Branson for half an hour, and had seen very little of it.
We entered with about eight Mennonites, and all sat down to wait for a table. Since there were only two of us, we were called first. But we did have a funny little encounter with them. They were all young adults. The men looked fairly normal. You couldn't have told them from average 21st century guys on the street. The women, however, do look different. For instance , they don't wear makeup, and that's sensible. They wear flat shoes, and that makes sense, too. But then they go and ruin it all by adding in the long prairie dresses and the little dixie cup hats. And here's another indication they're more "worldly" than the Amish: as soon as they all sat down, one woman jumped up again and announced she was headed to the restroom. At this, all the other women leaped up and ran off after her, causing all the men to laugh and comment. So I turned to them and said, "Why don't you have some fun with this? When they come back, you all jump off and run off to the men's room together!" They laughed at that, too, but I don't know if they did it because we got our table before the women came back.
During dinner, we were surounded by screaming brats evenly spaced around the restaurant. In among them were loud, apparently drunk geezers. Or maybe they were just off their meds, who knows? I'm allowed to say these things because I'm a geezer ON meds, so I ought to know.
Next morning, Joyce went to the "free" breakfast the motel provides, and this was Sunday morning. She said it was pretty quiet for a while, but at about 9:15, a whole crowd of people came in, all dressed up for church. Among them were a little girl and an older woman who might have been her grandmother. And Grandma said to the little girl, "You kin putcher BAH-bull rat cheer!" So Joyce, fearful of evangelism, got up and left. They were also playing Faux News on the TV in there, but Joyce had turned the volume all the way down while she was eating.
We guessed the group was headed for one of the local revivals all around town, or a church service for Mother's Day, or whatever. And here's a part I don't get: why carry a Bible to church? Don't churches HAVE Bibles? I can see carrying your Bible to someplace where there might not be one, like a whorehouse or a crack house. But Bibles are standard church equipment. They have the same ones in all the pews and Sunday schools so everyone can have the same one and be on the same page. Back down in Arkansas, we saw a bumper sticker : "If it ain't King James, it ain't Bible." Really? What did Jesus use, then? So even fundie churches must all have stacks of KJVs lying around. You can leave your own home.
Went out for Chinese that night. Once again, they had a smoking section, and as we all know, smoke can't read signs, so we had to get up and move. After two nights of restaurants with smoking (Applebee's, too) Joyce ended up with a sore throat so we stayed in all day, except to use the swimming pool. I got pictures; it's really nice.
From now on, if we get to a restaurant and there's smoking, we'll get ours to go. And by the way, if this is the hyper-religious capital of the Midwest, and smoking is a vice, why do they encourage it, especially in restaurants? I can't imagine these good Christian folks could be so hypocritical!!!!
Tomorrow: all about Yakov Smirnov. Hang on to your hats.
Ms. Toad's Never-Ending Wild Ride
Today (Saturday the 9th) we drove from Memphis to Branson, our longest leg yet, around 317 miles, or 117 miles longer than Joyce wishes to travel in one day, which she started telling me once a mile every mile past 200. Also, about the last 117 were over a narrow, winding, two lane road through the Boston Mountains of Arkansas. We passed through Toad Suck, Chigger Hollow and Booger Hollow (probably pronounced "Holler") and lived to record the events.
Picturesque but not recommended when you are transporting an extremely frantic and nervous person in the passenger seat. Of course, Joyce could have driven, in which case we might have arrived sometime Sunday, instead of late Saturday afternoon. It rained on and off all day, but there were a few spectacular views. It has just turned spring in the Ozarks, and it's chilly.
Now for Joyce's point of view. She spent Saturday riding with Maria Andretti, shifting her body to prevent the van from going over the cliffs around hairpin turns. Click on this picture to enlarge it and read the sign.
She is happy to take full credit for our arrival, without incident, in Branson. She believes she prevented numerous accidents. At the crest of the mountains, we stopped at a country store and Joyce bought a corn cob back scratcher for Lizzie's collection. Now she has one for the car and one for the room.
Arkansas was the only state so far, that I felt the need to unlock the gun from the glove compartment at rest stops. You really get the feeling that something is not quite right with many of these people. One man got out of a car and promptly told Joyce he wasn't doing too well because he had just taken a laxative and it was working. They look extremely unbalanced, and they drive in a singular manner that is characterized by parking suddenly just about anywhere and walking off, including in front of you while you are trying to exit a parking lot. Many of them are missing teeth and common items of apparel, and frequently, their brains. We were happy not to be spending the night.
However, that meant we would be spending the next several nights in Branson, blue hair capital of the Midwest. The national bird is an eagle killing something (anything!) , and the national pastime is praying and singing Gospel music, even in Chinese restaurants. We are forced to detach and just observe the local phenomena as cultural anthropologists would, because nothing here has anything to do with us.
However, that's enough for today, because it's time to go swimming in the beautiful indoor pool! Lots more on Branson and environs next time.
Picturesque but not recommended when you are transporting an extremely frantic and nervous person in the passenger seat. Of course, Joyce could have driven, in which case we might have arrived sometime Sunday, instead of late Saturday afternoon. It rained on and off all day, but there were a few spectacular views. It has just turned spring in the Ozarks, and it's chilly.
Now for Joyce's point of view. She spent Saturday riding with Maria Andretti, shifting her body to prevent the van from going over the cliffs around hairpin turns. Click on this picture to enlarge it and read the sign.
She is happy to take full credit for our arrival, without incident, in Branson. She believes she prevented numerous accidents. At the crest of the mountains, we stopped at a country store and Joyce bought a corn cob back scratcher for Lizzie's collection. Now she has one for the car and one for the room.
Arkansas was the only state so far, that I felt the need to unlock the gun from the glove compartment at rest stops. You really get the feeling that something is not quite right with many of these people. One man got out of a car and promptly told Joyce he wasn't doing too well because he had just taken a laxative and it was working. They look extremely unbalanced, and they drive in a singular manner that is characterized by parking suddenly just about anywhere and walking off, including in front of you while you are trying to exit a parking lot. Many of them are missing teeth and common items of apparel, and frequently, their brains. We were happy not to be spending the night.
However, that meant we would be spending the next several nights in Branson, blue hair capital of the Midwest. The national bird is an eagle killing something (anything!) , and the national pastime is praying and singing Gospel music, even in Chinese restaurants. We are forced to detach and just observe the local phenomena as cultural anthropologists would, because nothing here has anything to do with us.
However, that's enough for today, because it's time to go swimming in the beautiful indoor pool! Lots more on Branson and environs next time.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Fried Green Tomatoes: Overrated
You may well wonder why no personal pictures yet. Because uploading them, sorting them, and inserting them would be way too much like work. This trip is enough work already. Maybe if we get stuck indoors on a rainy day. So far we've spent all our rainy days driving.
But enough about logistics. This entry is all about lunch. In Mississippi. Our second special meal was in Robinsonville, at the Hollywood Cafe. We saw this on "Fried Food Heaven" on the Travel Channel, same show that had Dyer's Burgers. We drove back down into Mississippi from Memphis to find this unique alimentary experience.
This is it: http://www.thehollywoodcafe.com/
Our pictures look exactly the same, I swear to God. Nothing about this place ever changes, apparently.
Of course, we didn't eat inside, because we had the dogs along. I thought they could stay in their cages, in the van, with the back door and windows all open, under a tree. It was an overcast, breezy day in a tiny, nearly dead town in the middle of nowhere. But Joyce, ever concerned that everyone everywhere will all do the wrong thing at the exact same time, insisted we get takeout and eat it standing up in the alley behind the restaurant. This was all that saved the puppies from being let loose or shot by passing enraged casino goers returning broke from Tunica, escapees from federal prisons, local Klansmembers, and geeezers from the VA off their meds.
As you can see on their site, the big draw is the fried dill pickle. Actually, pickle slices. I hate pickles and we had never tried fried green tomatoes in all of our combined 121 years on this planet, so we ordered those, and fried chicken dinners, cheerfully served in the alley, by a waiter, on styrofoam. Fried green tomatoes are as slimy as okra, but not as hairy. So we ate only one each, which is how we knew not to eat any more. The chicken dinners, however, were excellent.
Then we drove back to Memphis, with several stops along the way to photograph weird signs representative of the local culture, and I promise these will be worth seeing when I get them up here.
Also filled the tank and bought fresh baby carrots and chocolate for the kids and us in West Memphis, which is the Black part of the metropolitan area. Every place we went, we were the only white people, and everyone stared at us, apparently thinking we were lost. No, just shopping, thanks. The only people who bother me here in the Deep South are white trash, because they're historically dangerous and violent. If we're in among minorities, we feel safe. After all, we're minorities ourselves, which most people, except maybe Sudanese cab drivers, seem to grasp the minute we open our mouths.
And that was our whole day, along with napping, reading and getting ready to drive through Arkansas to Branson. We'll write all about that tomorrow.
But enough about logistics. This entry is all about lunch. In Mississippi. Our second special meal was in Robinsonville, at the Hollywood Cafe. We saw this on "Fried Food Heaven" on the Travel Channel, same show that had Dyer's Burgers. We drove back down into Mississippi from Memphis to find this unique alimentary experience.
This is it: http://www.thehollywoodcafe.com/
Our pictures look exactly the same, I swear to God. Nothing about this place ever changes, apparently.
Of course, we didn't eat inside, because we had the dogs along. I thought they could stay in their cages, in the van, with the back door and windows all open, under a tree. It was an overcast, breezy day in a tiny, nearly dead town in the middle of nowhere. But Joyce, ever concerned that everyone everywhere will all do the wrong thing at the exact same time, insisted we get takeout and eat it standing up in the alley behind the restaurant. This was all that saved the puppies from being let loose or shot by passing enraged casino goers returning broke from Tunica, escapees from federal prisons, local Klansmembers, and geeezers from the VA off their meds.
As you can see on their site, the big draw is the fried dill pickle. Actually, pickle slices. I hate pickles and we had never tried fried green tomatoes in all of our combined 121 years on this planet, so we ordered those, and fried chicken dinners, cheerfully served in the alley, by a waiter, on styrofoam. Fried green tomatoes are as slimy as okra, but not as hairy. So we ate only one each, which is how we knew not to eat any more. The chicken dinners, however, were excellent.
Then we drove back to Memphis, with several stops along the way to photograph weird signs representative of the local culture, and I promise these will be worth seeing when I get them up here.
Also filled the tank and bought fresh baby carrots and chocolate for the kids and us in West Memphis, which is the Black part of the metropolitan area. Every place we went, we were the only white people, and everyone stared at us, apparently thinking we were lost. No, just shopping, thanks. The only people who bother me here in the Deep South are white trash, because they're historically dangerous and violent. If we're in among minorities, we feel safe. After all, we're minorities ourselves, which most people, except maybe Sudanese cab drivers, seem to grasp the minute we open our mouths.
And that was our whole day, along with napping, reading and getting ready to drive through Arkansas to Branson. We'll write all about that tomorrow.
Beale Street, Memphis
Joyce drove almost all the way up here from Jackson, because Liz couldn't stay awake. Motel is in the industrial outskirts of Memphis. Third La Quinta, third pool not ready for the season. Raised hell. Contacted La Quinta. They refunded Tallahassee stay. All righty, then!
Did our usual bag and dog drag into the room, hot and mad. Why do they think it suddenly gets hot on Memorial Day? Hello! The weather doesn't read our calendar. It gets hot when it damned well pleases, and everyone should know when that is.
Anyway, the reason we chose Memphis at all was two restaurants in the area, Dyer's Burgers on Beale Street and the one we'll discuss in the next blog. So after an annoying arrival and an understanding of our location vis a vis Beale Street, Joyce cleverly called a cab. We got an overly-talkative Sudanese driver and no air conditioning. He asked our relationship and we said "Married! For almost 22 years!" which he took to mean "sisters." We let him rabbit on and hoped we wouldn't get him for the return trip. Just because we called Arrow Cab, that doesn't mean we're straight.
Beale Street is a combination of Key West, Greenwich Village and New Orleans, but very much smaller. Seedy characters rubbing shoulders with gawking tourists. Street entertainment. Mostly bars, live, competing music. Head shops, souvenir stands, lots of neon, lighted caleches. (No, don't e-mail me; look it up. I'm a teacher).
Walked two and a half blocks to Dyer's and were constantly harassed by barkers to enter bars and restaurants. Street is closed to motor vehicles so we walked in the middle to escape them.
Here is Dyer's. They deep fry their burgers in 97-year old oil. Bring your Immodium.
http://www.dyersonbeale.com/
We bought mandatory postcards, keychain and refrigerator magnets, and got a cab back. This driver was a very talkative local who apparently felt she alone was responsible for continued tourism. I guess there's no such thing as a quiet cab driver in Memphis. I always feel we have to entertain cab drivers. Why can't they just shut up and drive?
It's really nice to stop for two days. A chance to rest up and sleep in and not haul baggage. The dogs are tired, too. They go into their cages to rest, or hide under furniture. They seem to like rest stops, parks and sniffing, but it probably wears them out a little.
Tomorrow we return to Mississippi. No, we didn't forget anything. We'll explain later.
Did our usual bag and dog drag into the room, hot and mad. Why do they think it suddenly gets hot on Memorial Day? Hello! The weather doesn't read our calendar. It gets hot when it damned well pleases, and everyone should know when that is.
Anyway, the reason we chose Memphis at all was two restaurants in the area, Dyer's Burgers on Beale Street and the one we'll discuss in the next blog. So after an annoying arrival and an understanding of our location vis a vis Beale Street, Joyce cleverly called a cab. We got an overly-talkative Sudanese driver and no air conditioning. He asked our relationship and we said "Married! For almost 22 years!" which he took to mean "sisters." We let him rabbit on and hoped we wouldn't get him for the return trip. Just because we called Arrow Cab, that doesn't mean we're straight.
Beale Street is a combination of Key West, Greenwich Village and New Orleans, but very much smaller. Seedy characters rubbing shoulders with gawking tourists. Street entertainment. Mostly bars, live, competing music. Head shops, souvenir stands, lots of neon, lighted caleches. (No, don't e-mail me; look it up. I'm a teacher).
Walked two and a half blocks to Dyer's and were constantly harassed by barkers to enter bars and restaurants. Street is closed to motor vehicles so we walked in the middle to escape them.
Here is Dyer's. They deep fry their burgers in 97-year old oil. Bring your Immodium.
http://www.dyersonbeale.com/
We bought mandatory postcards, keychain and refrigerator magnets, and got a cab back. This driver was a very talkative local who apparently felt she alone was responsible for continued tourism. I guess there's no such thing as a quiet cab driver in Memphis. I always feel we have to entertain cab drivers. Why can't they just shut up and drive?
It's really nice to stop for two days. A chance to rest up and sleep in and not haul baggage. The dogs are tired, too. They go into their cages to rest, or hide under furniture. They seem to like rest stops, parks and sniffing, but it probably wears them out a little.
Tomorrow we return to Mississippi. No, we didn't forget anything. We'll explain later.
Friday, April 24, 2009
We're (almost) off!
We're leaving in about ten days for our (projected) seven week trip through the Great Plains states. We're thinking of calling it "Antiques Road Show" because we're 65 and 56, our transportation, Van O'White, is 17, and our eldest dog, Nick, is 14. We hope the little ones, Stella, who is five and three-year old Ollie, will be patient with us.
Here we are at the beach last summer:
Here we are at the beach last summer:
Our route, if we make it the whole way, will go something(!) like this:
Tampa - Tallahssee- Mobile (outskirts) - Jackson (outskirts) - Memphis - Branson- Independence - Des Moines - Clear Lake- Mount Rushmore - Wisconsin Dells - Springfield, IL - LandBetweenTheLakes and home again. If we don't kill each other first. There's a lot of wiggle room in there for detours to various "Little House" locations which we have recently become obsessed with. I read all the Laura Ingalls works as a kid, but Joyce didn't, and just now we have both (re)read them. So we'll be stopping here and there to see the sites/sights. We only have three "real" reservations where we plan to stop for a week at a time. For example, we'll be a week, including Memorial Day, in Custer, South Dakota, because we don't want to travel on that weekend. Another week in Wisconsin and a third in Kentucky. The rest of the time, we'll just amble along and give the kids a chance to poop all over the Great Plains. We will also stop and see friends we first met on the internet.
So we'll see how we like an extended road trip. and if we survive, maybe we'll take another one someday. Joyce just thought, in this economy, it would be better to do a "pay as you go" more or less trip, instead of having to plunk down megabucks all at once.
Stay tuned!
Tampa - Tallahssee- Mobile (outskirts) - Jackson (outskirts) - Memphis - Branson- Independence - Des Moines - Clear Lake- Mount Rushmore - Wisconsin Dells - Springfield, IL - LandBetweenTheLakes and home again. If we don't kill each other first. There's a lot of wiggle room in there for detours to various "Little House" locations which we have recently become obsessed with. I read all the Laura Ingalls works as a kid, but Joyce didn't, and just now we have both (re)read them. So we'll be stopping here and there to see the sites/sights. We only have three "real" reservations where we plan to stop for a week at a time. For example, we'll be a week, including Memorial Day, in Custer, South Dakota, because we don't want to travel on that weekend. Another week in Wisconsin and a third in Kentucky. The rest of the time, we'll just amble along and give the kids a chance to poop all over the Great Plains. We will also stop and see friends we first met on the internet.
So we'll see how we like an extended road trip. and if we survive, maybe we'll take another one someday. Joyce just thought, in this economy, it would be better to do a "pay as you go" more or less trip, instead of having to plunk down megabucks all at once.
Stay tuned!
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