I had to move from Lawrence, Kans., to Lafayette, Ind.; I thought that it would be a good idea to travel along the rivers to get to Lafayette. How? There are rivers through town A and town B, and every river eventually gets to river C. Downstream on the Kaw, the Missouri and the Mississippi and then upstream the Ohio and the Wabash, that was my plan. I was homeless for a week, too, having just recently finished graduate school, so a little trip to placate the gods was in order.
So said the cookie after supper at the Chinese restaurant. Could there be any better compliment, at the end of the first day on the road? I was in Boonville, MO, having had to change my destination twice; I had first planned to get to Hermann, MO, a long way downstream on the Missouri, but having left Lawrence only after lunch, I had changed it to Jefferson City. Even that wasn't achieved, owing to a long stop at the Kansas City Union Station to buy some Amtrak tickets. Then I misread the map twice; I forgot to take the road to Glasgow, and later, to my dismay, found that the road that I was on wouldn't get me to Boonville. I wasn't happy about all this myself, but the Goddess of Travel was indeed pleased.
There are only two ceremonies in this trip; the first --- to leave Lawrence by crossing the Kaw --- was today. I followed the Kaw through Linwood and Bonner Springs, KS, to its confluence with the Missouri at Kaw Point, in Kansas City, KS. This Kaw Point Park is well-hidden behind warehouses and some buildings that look like factories, and I have to loop several times through truck traffic to get there. It is adventurous; my backpack leans over blocking my view of the mirrors, then some boxes roll over and I woundn't even notice if my bike falls off its rack.
I saw the highway to Napoleon, MO, but passed it. I could have returned, but then, why bother? The Goddess wasn't to let me off that easily; she showed me another road to get there. This time I took it. First, soon after Napoleon, there is a good view of the river. Then comes Waterloo. Further ahead lies --- what else --- Wellington. Then entire road is scenic, and is so designated, bounded by orchards and vineyards. To imagine that I had almost missed all of this! Lexington, a county seat, had a well preserved and beautiful main street, but, where were all its people? Most of the towns had only a handful of peole out. Boonville, though, was an exception.
A lady answered the bell. Hello. Can I help you. Do you have a room for a night. Yes, Thirty-two dollars. Is it a non-smoking room. No. Do you have any. No. Is there one in town with non-smoking rooms. Yes, up the road. What is it called. Star Motel. Can I check with them and come back if there aren't any non-smoking rooms there. Yes. How late are you open. Ten.
After that encounter at Homestead Motel (``Cash And Check Only'', ``American Owned''), and after receiving the sign from the Goddess about today's work, I headed to Star Motel. The owner --- a fellow countryman, from Gujarat in western India --- showed me a room.In broken Hindi (on my part) and broken English (on his part) we conveyed to each other that I was travelling from a town called Lawrence, slightly west of Kansas City, to Indiana, and that the room had been recently painted (true, there was work outside many other rooms too) and that if I hadn't eaten, he would be happy to make me some dinner. No thank you I have already eaten. The room had looked fine, but it has no three pin electric outlets. The battery in the laptop must be conserved.
No, I didn't part with that quarter. I didn't care about my wate. My fate? the rain gods, angered by my boasting of how pleased the Goddess of Travel was with me, lashing out their ire against me. The aftermath of Hurricane Dolly, so they say. I say, it was only an excuse for the rain gods. I had to give up on camping at Pere Marquette State Park, near Grafton, IL.
Oh! traveller, leave the high roads, and take to the scenic byways along the Missouri. You will like the winding roads from Boonville to Jefferson City. From Jefferson City, after driving around the Missouri State Capitol building, in pouring rain, I took MO-94 east, on the north side of the river, just at far edge of the flood plains. I had to watch out for possible high waters, as the radio kept issuing flood warnings on the Missouri. There would have been little I could do in that rain anywhere, so I drove, without stopping, to Hermann. Hermann is in the middle of German immigrant communities, and has a museum. There are many wineries around Hermann.
At Hermann, I yielded to the rain and abandoned the rest of scenic route for the day. On to Washington, where I had hoped to visit the Missouri Photojournalism Hall of Fame (which might be run by the newspaper ``Washington Missourian'') but found it to be closed. Head for the interstate now, and forget my sorrows in the excruciating traffic around St. Louis. Which I did. It took me a good part of two hours to get to Alton, IL, across the Mississippi. It was getting late, and still raining, so I postponed the visit to the confluence of the Missouri and the Mississippi rivers to tomorrow. The Mississippi was full too, and I headed upstream to Grafton. Out here is the Ruebel Hotel, where, being the only guest on a Wednesday night, I got a room with a view of the river, at half the price. A machine in the lobby wanted a quarter to tell my wate and fate, but I know them already.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went
down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy bosom turn
all golden in the sunset.
-- Langston Hughes.
At Grafton, IL, I had no frame of reference to see how full the Mississippi was. I could see a lot a water, and the current in the middle seemed to be strong. The Great River Road, IL-100, keeps close to the river, till Alton. I headed back to Missouri to see the Confluence Point. Now came the trouble with being overly smart with Google Maps. I had worked a way online to get to the confluence, but, in reality, a part of it turned out to be unpaved. It was also under water, at various places, so I had to get back to the actual road leading to the rivers. Which was `Closed Due to Flooding'. I returned to Illinois.
The National Great River Museum at the The Melvin Price Lock and Dam had some very beautiful sketches about life on the river, the port cities, and commerce. Barges, which was all the traffic I saw, went through the lock. Children steered virtual barges though the lock, sitting in a simulation console.
A quick drive took me back St Louis for lunch with Sooraj. I headed south, first on an Interstate, and then on a smaller highway. My next stop was Ste. Genevieve.
I had read that Ste. Genevieve was the first French settlement in those parts along the Mississippi. A very nice town. The museum was in the town square, overlooked by the Church of Ste. G.. The model of a train ferry between Ste. Genevieve and Illinois and the original steam whistle took me to the new ferry. The boat was struggling, I thought so, against the high waters. Back in town, there are examples of the Creole style of architecture. One such house has a tour.
I camped the night along the Mississippi, at Moccasin Springs, in the Trail of Tears State Park. A Burlington Northern Santa Fe line lies between the campground and the river; three freight trains came by at night, shaking the ground. The neighbouring camper said the next morning that the trains came with a vengeance. It was a quiet night, under the stars, but for the trains but for the barges going upstream.
Cape Girardeau was a port town, but now the port has been converted to shops and restaurants. I saw a Jewish synagogue there, but couldn't say whether it is still used as a place of worship. To cap this day of missing confluences was Cairo, IL. There was work along the highways and the bridge. I was herded in and out of Cairo, into Kentucky, without getting a glimpse of the confluence of the Ohio with the Mississippi. The waters of the Ohio carry me now. It is harder work, I am going upstream!
Bluegrass. Horses. The Kentucky psyche is vibrant even in its westernmost regions. The hills that greeted me as I crossed the Ohio gave way to flood plains, and corn. Paducah is a port city, but its brick houses and buildings have now been converted to artists' studios and apartments. Many old houses in the Lowertown neighbourhood carried references to the Artist Relocation Programme, whatever that means. The downtown, on the banks of the river, just by the port, has many newer businesses; the city is thriving. On the wall of the port is a huge mural, describing the history of the city from the time of native Americans to early settlers to a thriving port city. Upstream travellers from New Orleans got off the large boats at Paducah, and boarded smaller boats to travel along the Cumberland and the Tennessee rivers further inland. Only the Ohio would take the larger boats.
I crossed the river to Illinois --- and after failing to get to Fort Massac State Park for a better view of the river --- I drove east along the Ohio River Scenic Byway. After miles of winding roads, I got to Golconda. I was curious how it got its name, but the clerks at the gas station, which was the only open business as much as I could see, had no idea. (Golconda was the capital of the Hyderabad sultanate in India, famous for its diamonds, including the Koh-e-noor.)
In Old Shawneetown, there aren't many old buildings standing, except for the Shawneetown Bank, which was much in a state of dilapidation. The town has moved further inland. Continuing on the scenic byway, I crossed into Indiana, paid my toll at the bridge over the Wabash. More senseless driving through Mt Vernon and Evansville, to get to Rockport, where I was going to stop for the night. The next morning I crossed the river back into Kentucky, to cut short some driving around a huge bend in the river. At Cannelton, I crossed back, so that I could get a good view of the Cannelton Locks. I couldn't find a tour so I could only staret at it from from the road.
The spectre of low gas hit me soon, but this time I was far away from any town, climbing steep hills. The last time it hit me was in an earlier trip through Missouri, without any cash and cheques on me. As I drove up to this gas station, which was mostly a mechanic's shop, it dawned upon me that all the credit cards that I carried would be of no use. So it turned out to be. I told the owner that I could send him a cheque if he gave me his address. Give me what you have, and I will pour you gas for five dollars, and we will call it even. Thank you. I counted the changes in my pocket. Two dollars and change. Now I am far away from anywhere, in the middle of the Hoosier State Forest. The car made it to the Interstate, and, after fuelling, I got to Louisville.
I was to meet with Erin, Ryan and her mother here. The 21c hotel in Louisville has a gallery of contemporary art. We drove to the McAlpine Locks on the river, but, it being a Saturday, visitors were not allowed in. That brought me to the question: why are locks built where they are built? Which came first, the idea to build the lock and then, why not, a dam or first the dam, and then, to move the boats through, the locks. Most likely the latter, but I don't know. The Louisville Bluegrass festival was going on at the Riverfront, which also had its plaza tiles done to show the course of the Ohio from Pittsburgh, PA to Cairo. We drove around Churchill Downs; there were horses stabled there, but I didn't think any event was happening.
Sunday afternoon, after saying good-bye to them, I headed east to Milton, KY. My destination is Columbus, IN, and the Brown County State Part, where I had reserved a campsite for the night. I stopped to look at the Ohio once more, before I crossed into Madison, IN. Indiana is going to be my home for the next three years.
From Madison along the river to Columbus, IN, the architectural wonderland. The plan is to just drive; I was tired of missing what I think to be nice photographs because I got too close and could not stop. Now onwards, I desire no pictures, but only want to watch. The landscape is very green and beautiful, but flattens out around Columbus. As the visitors centre was already closed, I headed to Brown County State Park, where I had booked a camping spot.
What didn't surprise have in store for me? From the flat lands, hills rose up. All of a sudden, I land in something like the foothills of the Smokies, including the flea markets lining the highway. The guard at the park welcomed me: `You are packed to the gills'. Yes, I said, I am moving.
Back, next morning, to Columbus. Eliel Saarinen's First Christian Church, I. M. Pei's County Library, Eero Saarinen's North Christian Church, The City Hall, Irwin Union Bank, St. Bartholomew Catholic Church. This town is a mecca. Thankfully, the manager at a bike shop where I had stopped to get new grips (I was doing the tour on my bike, I am quite tired of having to drive!) showed me some streets where there are examples of beautiful residential architecture, that were not on the official tour guide. There is a Lustron house, a prefab steel house from the post-WWII era.
Then on to Paynetown campsite on the Monroe Reservoir near Bloomington. If the Brown County State Park were a mountain village, this is a whole city in itself. Bikes, boats, baseball, horseshoes, what not. The tent camping area was all for me, but for some cyclists who got there about midnight.
Rivers, have I forgotten them? I tried to get to the Wabash, but construction work along the highways blocked my way. I gave up, took to US 231 to Lafayette. The road leads more or less as a straight line, between walls of corn plants. Like a corn maze, but not the twists and turns!