We got a very early start on Thursday morning from our thoroughly miserable Comfort Inn, taking I70 from Denver all the way to East St. Louis. Fourteen hours into our drive, which found us in mid St. Louis, we planned to switch to I64 East. But a car blocked our exit onto I64 and we were forced to exit I70 into the heart of downtown St. Louis. And when I say "heart", I really mean the anus.
It was now well past dark. The area we entered was, at first, well lit and lined with new-ish buildings with nice bright signs and lots of young people walking the streets. It looked like a concert or game had just let out. It was Thursday night and the weekend was just ahead...happy times. The truck's GPS, however, was confused (probably signal loss due to overhead interstates) and it failed to find I64, let alone even I70. KC suggested we just sit back and follow the GPS, such as it was. Relax, he said, we'll get through this.
But, with one unfortunate turn, we were thrust onto a narrow street that, within a block and a half, decayed into one of those dark and tortured looking places that, deep inside the adrenal medulla, triggers a flight or fight response. My response was flight and KC's response was...well, I could hear him rummaging through is door side pocket and in seconds he handed me an empty holster, saying. "Hold this". I could hear something heavy sliding back into his door side pocket.
KC was, uh, prepared to fight.
We had passed, without warning, from the rich and newly developed downtown into the meanest streets of the inner city. It was a place where tragic documentaries are made and is the source of a thousand "Cops" episodes. The unlit street was lined with vacant lots and dark graffiti covered industrial buildings with bombed out windows and who's only economic activities went unreported. The street, devoid of any living thing, disappeared into the darkness in front of us. It was like looking into a dark, endless tunnel with no light at the other end. I could imagine the worst of humanity lurking around these dark corners. People who would see nothing but opportunity in this shiny white truck with two shiny white passengers pulling a shiny white trailer.
We were in a bad spot.
Whether the street actually narrowed or it was just my imagination, I could picture us getting stuck on this narrow, unlit street with no way out. I said, "KC, how the hell are you ever going get this thing turned around?". He said, "Watch me" and jerked the wheel hard left, pulling a sharp U turn which, thank you Baby Jesus, missed the curb by inches and headed us back towards the non-zombie part of town that we'd left minutes ago.
It occurred to me that we should simply get on the first interstate ramp we came to and just get the hell out of here, though I suspect KC was way ahead of me. Through some kind of divine intervention, good karma or dumb luck, we found I70 East and it took us directly to where we needed to go- I64 East. I can't explain how it happened or why, but to say we were both relieved and grateful would be a massive indulgence in the obvious.
In short order we saw the beautifully lit twin spires of the Stan Musial Mississippi River Bridge straight ahead taking us eastbound across the river and out of St. Louis. Amen brother...
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Whew.
The next morning I went to the lobby looking for breakfast, but I was too early. I sat alone in the lobby and read the newspaper. Around 6:00AM KC, pulling his rolling suitcase through the lobby, asked if I was ready to hit it. We were on the interstate by 6:05AM, ready to see home and to end our big adventure.
By now we'd been on the road for nearly three weeks and in each others company, other than for eight hours of sleep each night, almost constantly. Given our personalities, I give us both high grades for still being able to tolerate each other. Frankly, I can't imagine doing this with many people, but KC has been a great traveling partner and I really have enjoyed our time together.
By 5:00PM we were pulling into his driveway and my son Jon was right behind us, ready to load my gear into my SUV and head home. But first, Ethel served us delicious smoked salmon and dill hors-d'oeuvres. Thank you Ethel.
The trip itself is now over. After nearly a year of discussing it and planning for it, I am happy that we finished the trip but very sad that it is ended. It has been a great experience, probably the trip of a lifetime for me. I doubt I'll ever do another trip on this scale, but I might. Clearly now is not the time to consider such a thing. Now is the time to unpack my gear and my memories, to get reacquainted with my family and the dogs (there's a difference?) and to decompress.
My advice to you is to find a way to live out your dreams and fantasies, to start planning it now while you can. Remember that life's biggest regrets are the things that you DIDN'T do.
I've been on many long distance rides in my life. This trip was as much fun as any I've experienced. The blogs I've kept in the past were always with paper and pen, aka a journal. Bob's an excellent writer and is spot on in his assessment that at our age, without a written history of the event, we'd both be at a loss to remember jack shit that happened over 24 hrs ago. I'm very grateful to him for putting in the time and effort to keep this blog daily. It'll mean a lot to us both in another year or two……..hell, in a week or two!
ReplyDeleteKaren and I just laughed our asses off about the blog's description of our St Louis adventures. He did not exaggerate the depth of the fear factor of the area where we found ourselves. We're talking' not too far from all the Fergeson, MO of recent TV notoriety. What Bob didn't explain is that the "flight or fight" response implies that one makes a conscious choice. When you're as busted up as I am after all my "adventures" the choice is limited to FIGHT. Never fuck with an old man……he can't run, so he'll just kill you.
I'm unpacked now, and am wondering how far it is to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon…….