Today is Thursday, July 20, and I am now three days into my Great Plains adventure. I had hoped to write my first “on the road” post yesterday but I am having problems with WordPress and can’t seem to get a new post started. So for now I will just save to a Word document and upload once I get my WordPress problem figured out.
The trip started Monday, July 17. We got on the road a little before 11:00 a.m. and made it to St. Joseph, MO by around 4:00 p.m. I took some advice to take the less-traveled route of US 61 to US 36 through Hannibal, advice which turned out to be very good. Light traffic compared to the Interstates, especially as far a trucks are concerned, and no need to deal with the minor madness of going through/around a city like KC.
As usual, I spent some time the first evening driving around my new temporary home just to get the lay of the land. This is an approach I would recommend to any traveler who has the luxury of ample time and an unpacked, flexible schedule on their side. It is possible to get a feel for the places to see and the places that can be bypassed. One can also often get a sense for the character and personality of the city and its habitants. The people I have found in St. Joseph have been unfailingly nice. They all say “Hi” and patiently yield the right-of-way at stop signs. Walking through the parks and on the streets they give an cheerful, eye-to-eye greeting to passersby. Very nice and small-town middle-American of them.
I learned that there is a city-run dog park here in St. Joseph. The fee for usage is $5 yer year, and one has to go to City Hall with proof of vaccination and neutering (of the dog, that is) to obtain the required tag. Since we were going to be here three more days, I decided to do that, and Ollie has enjoyed the large, shady park – $5 extremely well-spent. As I write this, I am sitting on a bench in said park while Ollie chases some of the many squirrels that are native to the park. It strikes me as the height of bravery, or perhaps hubris, to be a dog-park squirrel. This city has extensive parks and green areas, and for a squirrel to set up shop in the four acres or so where his natural predators are actually encouraged to go is interesting. These must be the most agile, alert, and talented of the squirrels, if Darwin’s theories hold any sway here.
St. Joseph is an old river city. It was the starting point of the Pony Express as well as several of the famous trails heading west, and for many years was considered the last site of civilization and major supply point for those heading to the great wilderness of the western United States. It is clearly a city of past, and to some degree present, prosperity. There are an unusually large number of amazing mansions and other very large and rich homes for a city of its size. It was clearly a center of commerce where many fortunes were made in the railroads, stockyards, and provisioning of travelers. At one time near the end of the nineteenth century, St. Joseph boasted the highest per-capita income of any city in the country. There are homes in the city that look like small castles.
St. Joseph shows its age. The large, winding park system with huge, mature trees clearly have been in place and appear relatively unchaged for many years. Some of the older, grand building and homes have been repurposed as museums, tourist attractions, and monuments. Other, less prosperous areas of town have not fared so well, and it’s possible to see slow, steady decay of the decades in areas where the means do not exist to counteract it. The population of St. Joseph has been above 70,000, but has not exceeded 80,000, since the 1800s. I have not seen such a sustained steady-state in any other city I’ve visited. Places tend to either grow or decay, but St. Joseph just seems to keep going steadily. While its period of major glory was between 1850 and 1900 and will never reach that zenith again, it seems to have found a groove that keeps it a comfortable, handsome place even if some of her parts are a bit worn around the edges.
My first night here I met a trucker named Robert at the spot where I am camping. Robert is an independent operator who is 64 years old and hoping to retire in three years. He says the business has changed much in the last ten years. There are so many new brokers and new truck drivers since then. Many of the companies and drivers are from abroad, most notably eastern Europe and the former Soviet states, and do not generally adhere to the rules and customs of the U.S. Lots of unethical behavior takes place, and it has grown harder and harder for him to make a living as an independent. He is on the call boards many mornings at 4:00 a.m., hoping to pick up a load to haul somewhere. He averages over 200,000 miles per year and is gone from his home in Lakota, North Dakota for six months at a time. He had a beautiful dog, a husky/german shepherd/wolf mix named Gwin, who is his constant travel companion. Ollie and Gwin hit it off well and each got to burn off some energy as they played with each other while Robert and I talked. As it grew dark, Robert headed back to his rig so that he could get some sleep before his pre-dawn hustle for his next load began.
On Tuesday after getting Ollie’s park permit, we visited Weston Brewing Co. in Weston, MO, about 20 miles south towards Kansas City. Founded in 1842, it claims to be the oldest brewery west of the Hudson River valley, a claim which, as an avowed fan of Yuengling, I know to be false. Still, quite an impressive age. It’s a cute little brewery in a cute little town. The town itself seems to be a popular day trip for KC residents, as it is very close to the KC metro area. Weston Brewing also claims to have the tallest structure in town at six stories, although the top story is the only one above ground level. The other five were originally dug by the brewery as lagering caves for its most iconic beer product. I had a couple of pints as well as a delicious lunch of bangers and mash at Weston.
With a nod to the historical aspects of the area, I took in the Pony Express Museum and the Patee House Hotel and Museum Tuesday afternoon. The hotel was opened in 1859. It is a grand building, but only survived three stints as a hotel each of which lasted less than three years. It did subsequent runs aa a girl’s college and an army post (during and after the Civil War), but has been a museum for over 50 years now. It houses an eclectic mix of items related to life in and around the area, and I would recommend that anyone who visits the area spend $8 and a couple of hours to go through it.
Right next to the Patee House is the home of Jesse James. The house was not originally at this location, but rather a couple of blocks away. It is the home Jesse James lived in at the time of his death, and is actually the location where he was fatally shot. I did not go in.
Yesterday, Wednesday, we spent going to wineries in the area. All of the closest wineries are pet-friendly, which met our requirements. First was the Pirtle Winery, which turns out to be a block away from the Weston Brewery. Didn’t see it the first time. From there, Riverwood Brewery, and then Windy Brewery. The wines were far less enjoyable than the people we met at each place. Riverwood was by far the nicest of the three, both in terms of the attractiveness of the facility and the quality of the wines. All three locations were practically empty, not surprising on a hot, muggy Wednesday in July.
And today we chilled. A long trip to the dog park early this morning. Lunch at Hank and Aces Real Pit Barbecue, a quintessential hole-in-the-wall place on the north side. Pulled pork sandwich was first rate. After that we returned to the trailer and I read and wrote for a while. My camper air conditioner is not working as it should, and I was reluctant to leave Ollie in the camper in case the temp went high. Back to the dog park for a final visit, and then a drive through town to see some of the beautiful big houses from back in the day. There are so many of them, and while there are concentrations, you are still apt to find them on any street you drive.
I have seen enough of St. Joseph to suit me, and have had more than enough of the Love’s convenience plaza (that’s “truck stop” to you and me) and its fifteen-dollar showers to last me the trip. Tomorrow it’s off to Omaha.