…Of Paul Revere.
Category Archives: insanity
Hannibal, MO
An honest recollection of the 1200 mile trip across Iowa, Illinois, Indiana, Missouri and back to Iowa again, could not possibly be complete without mentioning the Great Hannibal Snow-Globe Hunt of 2011.
Larry had been on the lookout for a snow-globe the entire trip, but it remained an elusive quarry. Upon arriving in Hannibal, MO Saturday night, Tom and I realized that the finding of The Globe was paramount, so we hit up every likely supplier that we came across, but to no avail.
We ventured off to Mark Twain State Park defeated. There was no snow-globe, no firewood, and no beer. Things looked pretty damn bleak. Luckily, a Casey’s supplied the beer and I was able to scrounge some firewood without going Black Op. There was light at the end of the tunnel… at least for Tom & I.
After paying our respects to Mr. Clemens and visiting the metropolis of Florida, Missouri, we made a run at Hannibal once again. Gift shop after gift shop turned us away. The Show-Me-State was showing us nothing but disappointment. Barges floated by on the Mississippi, probably loaded with snow-globes, but they might as well have been in China. We traveled deeper into Hannibal. Tom, being stressed out by the hunt, left us for a coffee house, but Larry & I trudged on.
Even I have no idea how many shoppes we went into, how many license plates, spoons, shot glasses and thimbles we had to look at, in the hope that one tiny snow-globe would be hidden among the trinkets.
We had reached the end of the street.
There was one more shoppe to go: A Book Store/Gift Shop. Larry and I glanced at each other, took a deep breath and opened the old wooden door. The door creaked with apathy for our plight. We asked, “Do you happen to stock any snow-globes?” The elderly woman sighed deeply. She made excuses about her suppliers, that most of her order was still on a barge somewhere, but that she might have one still unpacked… one with a river boat. Larry gasped & instinctively went for his wallet, shouting “I’ll take it”! The woman reached into a box that had been sitting on the floor at her feet. Would it, could it, possibly contain The Globe?
She asked for patience, so we waited with frayed nerves. Finally, with a wonderful grace, she brought out a river boat snow-globe with “Hannibal, Missouri” written on the base in beautiful golden script. There was a sigh of relief and then pandemonium. That little store had not seen such a celebration in many a decade.
I will never take the unheralded snow-globe for granted again.
Back in K-ville
It was opening night at Knoxville Raceway last night. The first time I had viewed a race from the Second Floor of the Museum since the end of the ’07 Season.
It was a beautiful night for racing, which was a welcome surprise from the week-long call for rain. I wish I could say that it was a thrilling night of racing, but the track conditions called for a lot of “follow the leader”, which put at least two to sleep on the second floor. The Powers of the Second Floor have always kept a tight ship, which deterred the masses from throwing the evening into total Chaos. Those Volunteers really are a group of Unsung Heroes.
Prior to the race, there was a classic car show at The Raceway. The participants were allowed to drive around the track at “intermission”. Damn, I couldn’t help but wonder if they would have let me enter The Rover into the show, because I had this great desire to drive the truck around that oval.
Lost opportunities can haunt a man.
Danny Lasoski won his 94th race at Knoxville, taking the 410 Main. Robbie Wolfgang, who had a nice & vocal following on the Second Floor, ran a strong 6th. Davey Heskin, the St Michael, MN native who won the B Feature to get into the A, had a tough job due to starting back in the pack, and finished 11th.
Russ Hall and Carson McCarl both won their first race at Knoxville, taking the 360 and 305 respectively. I heard today that Carson may be the youngest winner at Knoxville; he’s only 16 years old.
It was definitely fun to be back in Knoxville, seeing both the racing and some old friends again.
Cheers
I can’t afford the cops down here…
R*RATED for Language and General Attitude
*Edited at 6:55pm*
Driving towards Veracruz, I passed through two checkpoints: one was the Federales and the other was military. Both stopped me this time around. The soldiers asked me where I had been and where I will be going. The Federale asked me where I had been, then asked me if I had enjoyed the food, how did you find the people, and then finally he thanked me for visiting Mexico. He actually thanked me.
Now I know why. He knew what was up ahead.
This time the f****** officer was greedy and kept me on the side of the road until he wore me down. He cleaned me out of all the cash that I didn’t have hidden, and it still wasn’t enough, but he finally realized it really was all I had “available”.
I am trying very hard to not get a bad taste in my mouth for Mexico. It is a f******* shame two lazy, corrupt &%#(*!@$ can have such an impact. I can see why most Americans get turned off by the corrupt policia. UGH!
I said “f*** it” and pulled into a very night hotel for $70 U.S. with a beautiful room, a pool, and a very nice bar.
*I already feel better after the beer*
I couldn’t afford scotch.
Las Pozas
When I arrived at Las Pozas, three boys greeted me and
asked me if I wanted them to watch The Rover. When I finally caught
onto what they were getting at, I agreed to the deal thinking it
couldn’t hurt. It cost 30 pesos to get into Las Pozas and it is
worth every peso. It is a maze of stone, concrete and rebar that
climbs up into the jungle and dances among waterfalls. The place is
completely bizarre and utterly surreal in the very best definition
of each word. The stone steps take you up, over and down; they lead
you over bridges, into pagodas and through a myriad of doorways,
all with the jungle encroaching and reclaiming. It truly is
amazing. All of this was funded by the imagination and bank account
of Edward James, a patron of the arts and the rumored illegitimate
grandson of King Edward VII. My favorite quote I could find was
from Salvadore Dali who said to James: “Look, we move among a bunch
of pseudo-realists, who… produce nothing but junk. So, they try
to act like madmen to justify themselves. On the other hand, you
who are real labor to act sane.” When Edward James came to Xilitla
after WWII, it seems he fell in love with the area. I can
understand why: I just spent ten minutes watching two flocks of
parrots circle and squawk at each other. When I returned to The
Rover, the three boys had turned into four. I gave the ring leader
30 pesos to divide as he saw fit, saying it was the same as Las
Pozas. “Es bueno?” “Si. Es bueno.”
Ice fog
AJ: Ice fog happens in Fairbanks when it drops to -30 or colder. When moisture hits super cooled air that can not hold any more moisture, we get ice fog. The “extra” moisture comes from cars, homes, furnaces and power plants, as well as other sources. It is complicated by our temperature inversions, where the warm air is found at higher elevations and the cold air is forced lower, trapping the ice fog.
My buddy Peter did decide to ride along for part of the trip afterall. He arrived via Amtrak around midnight of the first visit to SA. When we drove down to Laredo, we drove I-35, but on the return trip north, we went the scenic route and drove Hwy 59 to Hwy 16. I drove to Freer, then had Peter drive north on 59. About 8 miles out from SA, a very enthusiastic gentleman, who was standing on the side of the road next to a white pickup truck, was frantically flagging us down. We assumed that he had passed us, and that there was something wrong with the Rover. Peter hit the brakes, causing the Rover to swerve just as the fellow walked closer to the edge of the road.
“Well, don’t hit him!” I shouted. I slid the passenger window open and the man said, “I’m sorry, but you just don’t see many 109’s out this way anymore.”
“Oh. Well. That’s ok.”
We chatted for a bit as traffic flew past us, and he gave me his cell number & email in case I need anything. He has “tons” of spare Rover parts. In the end, I gave him my email as well.
Crazy.
By now Peter had time to think over driving the Rover into SA, so I went back to the drivers seat and we left Mac waving us off.
I’ve never had that happen before.
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