I left Rock Falls, Illinois early. Driving east into the sunrise. More morning fog. Dense fog, thin fog, stringy fog. Foggy foggy foggy. There wasn't too much to take pictures of.

I was headed Southeasterly through Illinois. When the fog finally cleared I was deeper into the farmlands of Illinois, the undulating hills of the previous day had flattened out into almost still waters. The fields had become even larger. They were huge! I was driving amongst endless corn, and endless soybeans. It wasn't just quarter sections of a crop it was full sections on both sides of the roads. The horizon was broken only occasionally by clumps of trees, otherwise it was miles of corn and miles of soybeans. As far as I could see, corn and more corn. The scale was immense. I stopped my truck and stood on its roof looking out over the fields of corn. I was adrift in an ocean of corn. The roof of my little truck a raft from which I could scan the horizon for passing steamers. Ah, but in the midst of farm land there are no steamers about. Were I lost, my only hope would be for a passing dirigible.

With farms so huge there are not as many other things to see. The old buildings from when the farms were numerous and smaller are all gone. The machines that work these massive spreads don't want interruptions. Plowing, planting and harvesting around trees and old buildings is costly. Tear the old things down and plant corn. When there is a house it is modern, well kept and not so photogenic.

I was fooling about in the back roads when I crossed into Indiana. I wasn't greeted by one of those "Welcome to Our State" signs. The little dirt road I was on gave no such consideration to its travelers. But there were tell-tale signs I was in a different state. Fields were suddenly smaller. Within a mile of crossing into Indiana I passed by two fields of Tomatoes. Illinois was just corn and so   ...Read more

It was nice to wake up in Iowa. The rolling hills and broad fields of crops are lovely to drive among. Within 15 miles of Iowa City I was once again off map wandering the back roads. Iowa is an easy place to drive off map without getting lost. While you are out there driving this way and that, you will find yourself occasionally passing pickups and people outside working. It is at these points you must remember to wave.

The Midwest is a friendly place, particularly when you are driving the back roads. If you have been doing it for a while then you are sure to know the art of the wave. The wave isn't practiced everywhere in some cities it might actually be a dangerous thing. I wasn't really introduced to the wave until I moved to Missouri. When I moved to Missouri everything changed. Everybody practiced the wave. The wave seems like a simple thing. You pass another car or a person or a house and you waive at it. Not as if you were standing on a float in a parade, stiff arm and hand twisting at the wrist. The wave can be as subtle as halfway lifting the index finger of the hand draped over the top of the steering wheel or as broad as a full arm swing out the window and over the roof of your vehicle.
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It was early, not too early, but early enough. I was heading North again. The morning was veiled in a light haze that sank and pooled into fog in the low areas. Garlands of the thicker fog were pulled like cotton candy over the roadway. When the sun rose above the horizon, the fog became gossamer coral, striped with the extended shadows of the trees on the hill tops. It was a magical drive.

About an hour into the drive, the coral had faded to gray and dissipated. I pulled into the Modernaire Cafe in Lancaster, Missouri for some breakfast. Northern Missouri is farmland. Crops and Cattle are scattered over the hills. The Modernaire Cafe is a local place, that caters to locals. I stepped through the door a stranger. All conversation stopped, all eyes were on me. The stranger with the black satchel over his shoulder. It was like one of those old Western movies. I was the cowboy who just pushed through the swinging doors, but I wasn't wearing a hat.
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Another beautiful morning in the Midwest. Can one weary of such things? The overcast of the previous day had moved on leaving a morning clear and bright. The smells were delightful and the sounds were a symphony. Crickets, tree frogs, and cicadas harmonized to sweetly serenade any passerby who happened to have their windows open as they drove. The clarity of the air and the light were uplifting.

Boonville was behind me, but before I left, I drove around to look again at the wonderful brick work in the morning light. Very nice. How I love nice brick stuff. And what a day I had in store for me! I crossed the river drove through New Franklin, more bricks! Oh gee, another town to drive about in and look at houses. Highway 5 joins with highway 87 in Booneville and together they crawl about where the Missouri River takes an upstream wiggle to the North. The little towns there, Estille and Fayette, are nice but when you get to Glasgow you are back to very nice. Glasgow has some lovely piles. Churches, homes and downtown.
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Seven days makes a week, and a week in Springfield was enough to do what was needed. It was time to say goodbye. Once again I was leaving Springfield. Practice makes perfect, maybe I'll get it right one of these times. For a week, mail had been accumulating at my PO box. It would be like Christmas, I was hoping for one essential piece of mail, would Santa bring it or would my stocking be filled with the coal of junk mail?

I would get my kicks on Route 66 when I left Niangua. Route 66 (now called highway CC) would get me to Lebanon where I could catch a road that would get me over the Lake of the Ozarks. Oooh, but there was that house. It was one of the first wrecked houses that I shot when I first arrived in Niangua. I might as well make it my last Niangua image, how poetical-like!
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Today was to be my last stretch of driving before laying over for a week in Springfield. Sikeston is in the Boot heel of Missouri, Flatland. I headed out on the little highway that passed Paul Eakins' place. Sixty miles further bumps began forming and before I knew it, I was in the Missouri Ozarks again. Though I lived on the other side of the Ozarks, this was instantly familiar. The same rocky soil, the same woods, the same bunnies.

Even though I was anxious to get back and start on the chores waiting for me, I still took a twisty road. I was driving through a section of the Ozarks I had never been in. I should notice it.
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I bailed Elizabethtown early... another night of little sleep. On my drive the night before I saw they had a Panera Bread place in the direction I had to go. I know Panera has wireless so I jumped in there for a cup and to get some work done. When finished, I hit the road again. After about 15 minutes something didn't feel right. I think I was tipped off by the highway number, I was expecting a different one. I consulted my map and realized I was heading Northwesterly when I wanted to be headed Southwesterly. Sigh. I managed eventually to hit the expressway. Yes I was starting out the day on an interstate. Kentucky is big, I wanted to get to Cairo and had 250 miles to go. Cairo is in Illinois at the juncture of the Mississippi and the Ohio River. Mark Twain's Huck Finn and Jim were trying to get to Cairo early in their adventure. For some reason I just had to go there.
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Gallipolis, Ohio is one of those places without a local breakfast joint... or at least one that I could find, so I did the next best thing, I went into a Bob Evens Franchise. Gallipolis is the home town of Bob Evans, the founder of the Franchise, so perhaps I can cut myself a little slack for eating there.

I was tired. On a roll of sleeplessness. I went a little south of town and turned away from the river onto a small highway and into the hills that comprise the southern tip of Ohio. It was a lovely day, but overcast and dark all day.
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I didn't really sleep that night. Perhaps something I ate. I understand that I will be predictably served mediocre food at a Franchise but the gamble that I might be unpredictably sick makes the venture even more exciting. OK, so it is likely something I ate. Anyhow I was still exhausted in the morning and the huge amount of coffee I drank at the breakfast joint didn't help much, neither did the greasy eggs.
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Decisions, decisions so many things to decide upon. I soaked up my coffee and stared at my map. I needed to be heading West again. Digressions are all well and good, but this was beginning to get ridiculous. Here I was, just past three months into my trip and I was still fooling about on the east coast. Eventually I will end up in California, I originally figured I could hit Canada, the Rockies, doodle about in the Sierras and be in California sometime mid-June. The thing to do was to head West again. Aim my truck at Missouri. I would drive across the Western tip of Virginia into Kentucky and be responsible.

Virginia, oboy another state, another notch in my steering wheel. I jumped into my truck, best intentions in mind and headed Northwest. At Gate City, just inside the state I would turn onto highway 23 to 421 and get up into Kentucky. I arrived at Gate City, my honor intact, double-checked my maps to make sure I had the highway number correct.
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When I woke I was still in the Smokey Mountains. This was no surprise, I was expecting it. The night before I walked by an espresso cafe in the downtown area. I figured this would be a good place to swing by and grab a cup on my way out of town. Ha! The folk can be so wild and crazy in these little towns, they just make up their own rules. The espresso place didn't open until 10am. Goodness what a time to start drinking espresso! It turned out to be a blessing in disguise, instead of coffee and driving into the hills right away I found a local joint for breakfast.

It was one of those places that has been there forever. A institution of the town founded on the success formula that states endless coffee and a breakfast for one that will serve three for about six bucks will keep the bubs coming back. There were two waitresses riding herd on the customers that morning, one who had been working there for forty years, the other starting her career. They whispered gossip at the end of the counter between rounds with the coffee pot as I worked my way around a plate-sized pancake.
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