What we didn’t plan on was the Midwest flooding. Or detours. Today, we got both.
We were on the road before the sun came up. Mark did great—he went to bed late, and I worried the early morning would make him cranky. But he simply moved from the bed to the car and immediately fell back asleep.
Yesterday, all South Dakota had to offer visually was the plains—wide, empty prairies wherever you looked. Today, as we crossed into Iowa, the view changed a bit—now the prairies were filled up with corn, corn as far as you could see in every direction. (Edra changed her “360 degree view of nothing” observation to “360 degree view of..corn!”)
Our constant companion for the next few days...corn!It was astounding how much corn was out there. Edra and I thought of one local guy who said we should sell our corn to oil-producing countries for the same amount they charged us for oil. It seemed like a reasonable plan to us.
We stopped three hours later for gas. Edra filled up the car, and Mark was still sleeping, so I went inside the store. I was searching the aisles when Edra said, “C’mon, let’s go, time to get back on the road.” I turned around to see not just my friend, but also my son sipping on electric blue slushies. It was 9:15 in the morning!
I just cracked up. A few days early, Edra had admitted to a slushie craving, and jokingly said she was gonna get one for breakfast. Mark immediately answered, “And I will go with you!” I reasoned it was just like drinking a Jamba Juice, except, you know, the slushie was loaded with food coloring, had no vitamins, no nutritional value, and twice the sugar as a Jamba Juice. But other than that, they were similar, right? And hey, what’s a vacation without a breakfast slushie??
Pretty soon, the corn gave way to another view—water. It was weird, trees seemed to grow right in the middle of the river, and I wondered how that was possible. They didn’t look like swamp plants. low with sprawling roots; they looked like all the other trees on the side of the road.
But then we passed a small town where not only the trees were underwater, but most of the buildings were as well. Walls of sand bags lined the buildings, unsuccessful fortresses that failed to keep out the rising tide. You could see that the bottom floors were underwater, as were the roads and homes surrounding them. What had simply been a story on the nightly news in California (record flooding in the Midwest!) became horrifically, unbelievably real in Iowa.
The devastation was everywhere—we passed more towns underwater, more roads and trees swallowed up by the swollen river. We could see the flooded cornfields—they grew in the middle of huge lakes, the plants yellowed and dying from overwatering. Then, nearby, we’d see a little farmhouse, and our hearts would break, thinking of the loss those poor farmers faced, and how their livelihood and dreams had drowned with their crops. We saw signs along the road asking for support, including one that said, “Pray for the farmers.” Though I’m not normally a religious person, I complied. I hoped the over saturated land would dry out soon, and that those farming families recovered quickly.
Even the roads were affected. Some sections reminded me of driving in the Everglades—the water creeped right up to the edge of the road. I realized one small misstep, and the car could easily slide off the road, and into the deep water. That made me concentrate even harder on driving as safely as possible. At a couple parts, the water was actually above the road—a temporary barrier had been built to shield the road from the water, and we drove below “sea” level.
Our trusty GPS, Adele, got all the way to Iowa without once getting lost. However, she did not count on the flooding, either. Road closures and detour signs popped up, re-routing us from the flooded highways on to tiny rural roads. Adele protested, recalculating over and over again, insisting we make a legal U-turn when possible. We finally turned down her volume, following the 18-wheelers and the detour signs instead.
I tried finding our location on the road atlas, but couldn’t figure out where the heck we were. The roads we drove were so small, so rural, they weren’t even listed on the map!
I couldn’t even figure out what state we were in—I was pretty sure we were in Nebraska, until we hit a tiny town named Clarinda, which proudly proclaimed to be the birthplace of Glen Miller. We drove along Glen Miller Road, until suddenly, out of nowhere, we saw a sign welcoming us to Missouri. I didn’t even know we were anyway near Missouri! I double-checked the atlas, confirmed Clarinda actually was in Iowa, and that we were on the correct route now. Edra, smart girl that she is, began to doubt my navigational skills. She silently turned Adele’s volume back up, and instead of being insulted, I was relieved.
The detour took us two hours out of our way. Which would have been a bummer on any other day, but adding two more hours to an already long day made us all a little crazy.
After seven hours of driving, we rolled into Kansas City, MO. We were hungry, a bit gritchy, and really needed to get out of the car for awhile. A short consultation with Yelp! helped choose a barbecue place, and drove into the lot, mouths already watering in anticipation.
It wasn’t quite what we expected—we’d hoped for a local dive with amazing barbecue for a steal. Instead, the restaurant was a bit fancier, filled with business people and white linen tablecloths. Luckily, it wasn’t as pricey as it looked.
Mark and Edra ordered the ribs, and I had barbecued chicken and smoked turkey. It was all amazing! It was seriously the best chicken AND turkey I’ve ever had, all at the same time!
We also ordered beans, which were seriously fantastic, a word I would never have used to describe beans before today. And to top it off, we had some kind of creamed corn smothered in cheese, with bits of ham inside. Again, not much into ham or creamed corn, but I would have licked that bowl clean had it been a less fancy joint.
This was the best meal we’d had the whole trip, hands down. We’d been subsisting on free hotel breakfasts, PB&Js and granola bars, and this was a far cry from any of that. I wanted to just lie down at the table afterwards and nap, it was that good.
But we had some serious miles to cover before nightfall. So it was back to the car, where we headed East toward St. Louis.
All the miles made us loopy. We got a little punch-drunk from driving so long, to the point where even a silly comment or the billboards sent us into hysterics. Here are a couple of our favorites:
I'm sorry, is this supposed to make me hungry???
The doc's parents really liked alliteration.Finally, finally, we passed the Welcome to St. Louis sign. It was gray and overcast, but we searched for the iconic landmark. And then, there it was, the giant silver arch, looming high, right next to the freeway. We all cheered!
As we exited into the city, and we saw hordes of people in red shirts walking around. “Maybe there’s a Cardinals game tonight,” I said. “I wonder if the stadium’s nearby?” Then Edra turned the corner, and there it was, right in front of us—Busch Stadium!
We checked into our hotel, right around the block, and learned that we’d missed happy hour (and dinner) by 15 minutes. After 13 long hours, we were not happy about that, even when the concierge offered us free popcorn and sodas.
However, we were pretty stoked about the view from our room:
I was so excited I sent the picture to my sis-in-law, who promptly texted back, “Where’s the other half?” I replied, “Budget cuts,” which cracked her up.
All three of us needed to stretch our legs. We walked back to the stadium, where scalpers were selling tickets to the baseball game. Edra asked one how much, and he looked us over, then finally said, “For you, $15 each.” But we couldn’t fathom the thought of sitting down any longer, and we kept on walking. I heard the guy offer the same tickets to another family right afterwards for $10 each. Guess it was pretty obvious we were out-of-towners!
It was hot and HUMID in St. Louis. I didn’t notice as we walked, but the minute we stopped, we were drenched. Like, irrationally drenched, as in, “We only walked a block, why are we sweating like pigs???”
Mark and Edra admiring the arch at sunsetWe walked by a cool-looking courthouse, which turned out to be a very famous historical site. It was the courthouse where slave Dred Scott had sued for his freedom, only to be shot down by the court, who ruled that that held that blacks could not be citizens of the United States. This decision led to Abraham Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation, and eventually to the Civil War. (This is my childish, fifth-grade historical version of a hugely important case—treat it as you would an ignorant little child regaling you with history lessons.)
The court houseMark had little interest in history or the cool local architecture. He’d been a trooper in the car all day long, so we ended the night at his favorite place, the swimming pool.
He frowned when he put on his bathing suit, and remarked that he wasn’t getting as tan as he usually does on vacation.
“That’s because all the pools are indoors,” I reminded him.
It’s hard to get a tan when you’re not outside. But on the upside, there are virtually no mosquitoes or humidity in the indoor pools—the chlorine-drenched air is a might bit stifling, but hey, it keeps the bugs away.
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