Throughout the summer, we’ll be sharing weekly installments of a Route 66 travel journal written by association member Joe Razumich. It’s his entertaining account of a recent road trip from his home down Route 66 to Rolla, Missouri for the 75th anniversary of the iconic Munger Moss Motel. On his adventure, Joe passes through Illinois so you’re sure to recognize many of the places he mentions. So, without further ado, here’s Joe!

Sit back and enjoy a Journey Joe travel adventure. Is Journey Joe a real person? Well, not really. But he’s as real as any nickname, any stage personality, any thought or collection of travel experiences that any roadie might have. The real “Joe” is Joe Razumich, a lover of cars and the open road ever since his childhood, growing up around the corner from a hot rod shop, a busy Broadway, and a railroad track. But really all Real Joe does is drive. And put gas in the tank. And put Mr. Suitcase, Mr. Duffle Bag, Ms. Cooler, Mr. Road Atlas, etc., collectively known as the “Inanimate Objects,” in the trunk or behind the passenger seat. Or, to put it another way, Joe loves to drive. Journey Joe loves to write about it – and take you, Dear Reader, along for the ride.

Oh, and the car has a name too. The one we’ll be riding along with on this particular trip, is Angel the Corvette. She’s blue like the sky and she believes she can fly.

EPILOGUE: The Theme Song

So what was this road trip’s message to me? Funny how after a few days of thought, it’s  deeper meaning is growing on me, slowly but surely. Of course, the obvious comes first;  the celebration of an icon of my beloved Route 66. Starting from there, and drilling down  into the soul of this journey, I see so many more individual stanzas in lyrics of that song  

I heard in the restaurant. Individual experiences, distilled as if in those lyrics, sorting  themselves into an order that forms a living, breathing spirit in and of itself.  

This was my fifth trip to Missouri Route 66 in the space of four years, and the only one  of those that did not bring about a mechanical or a medical issue. And then meeting  Susan, the emergency room nurse who treated me two years ago? My “Angel on the  wing.” “Wasn’t for her, I don’t know what I’d have done.”, said Jackson Browne. Magic.  Finally a happy ending! 

There’s this feeling of being involved in something bigger than myself while I’m on this  particular road. I’ve felt that on previous trips too. But this time, the involvement was  more than a participation, it was an embrace. It “gave me back something that was  missing in me.” Being a mostly a loner on my journeys, getting a hug is a treat, indeed.  It lifts me up into the stars, if only for just a few seconds.  

And then there are the people. Mostly women did I “engage” with at the personal level,  which was a welcome change. Having Lulu traveling with me offered major blessings,  one being the absence of those annoying mommy glares. And the stories! Lulu took me  on a thousand journeys at once with her memories. Driving down the roads, following  the old telephone poles as if each one of had its own story to tell; each of them  representing a star in a night sky that the lofty piano solo of this trip’s theme song  reaches for but can’t slow down long enough (or go fast enough) to fully grasp.

At the Munger Moss epic center of this festival, I met so many ladies and gents who  became more than two-dimensional Facebook posts. Many singular personalities who  have accomplished greatly recognized things for this Route 66 world, but all who were  so nice to me, a relative nobody, just because I was there. Please forgive me for  misrepresenting the names, but there were Kristy’s, Melissa’s, Stephanie’s, Shellee’s,  Ramona’s, Phyllis’s, Cougar’s, Rita’s, Judy’s, Jacqueline’s, Kenny’s, Penny’s, Scotts,  Larry’s and Lulu’s just to get started. Any of you whom I met, who read this story and  listen to the theme song at the end, consider yourself conjured for me, somewhere in  this musical image by Jackson Browne. And I hope I see all of you again someday;  maybe “not good at saying goodbye”, but Au Revoir is the sane thing to do. 

Even those less brilliant stars Ms. Handcuff, whom we encountered at the beginning of  this trip and Ms. Lyndsay Parasite whom we encountered at the end of this trip, you’re  now “celestial bodies” in my magical sky too. May the Lord bless you and the Holy Spirit  show you a better way.  

On Sunday morning, having breakfast at the Elm Street Eatery, sitting alone in a booth  at 7:00 am in the not yet bustling restaurant, The Theme Song presented itself to me  from the background music system. Route 66 restaurants commonly feature music.  While the song played and Jackson Browne channeled the Muse, everything else in my  world ceased to exist for four minutes and thirty five seconds. The poetry of the piano,  the guitar, and the images in the lyrics tied it all together for me. I hope you can feel it  too, Dear Readers. Route 66, oh how this girl can sing. 

Theme song: That Girl Could Sing

That Girl Could Sing.

She was a friend to me when I needed one
Wasn’t for her, I don’t know what I’d done
She gave me back something that was missing in me
She coulda turned out to be almost anyone
Almost anyone
With the possible exception
Of who I wanted her to be
Running into the midnight
With her clothes whipping in the wind
Reaching into the heart of the darkness
For the tenderness within
Stumblin’ into the lights of the city
And then back in the shadows again
Hanging onto the laughter
That each of us hid our unhappiness in
Talk about celestial bodies
And your angels on the wing
She wasn’t much good at stickin’ around, but
That girl could sing
She could sing
In the dead of night
She could shine a light
On some places that you’ve never been
In that kind of light
You could lose your sight
And believe there was something to win
You could hold her tight
With all your might
But she’d slip through your arms like the wind
And be back in flight
Back into the night
Where you might never see her again
The longer I thought I might find her
The shorter my vision became
Running in circles behind her
And thinking in terms of the blame
But she couldn’t have been any kinder
If she’d come back and tried to explain
She wasn’t much good a saying goodbye, but
That girl could sing

This concludes Joe’s travel journal. We hope you’ve enjoyed the ride! Catch up on the series with previous installments here.

Throughout the summer, we’ll be sharing weekly installments of a Route 66 travel journal written by association member Joe Razumich. It’s his entertaining account of a recent road trip from his home down Route 66 to Rolla, Missouri for the 75th anniversary of the iconic Munger Moss Motel. On his adventure, Joe passes through Illinois so you’re sure to recognize many of the places he mentions. So, without further ado, here’s Joe!

Sit back and enjoy a Journey Joe travel adventure. Is Journey Joe a real person? Well, not really. But he’s as real as any nickname, any stage personality, any thought or collection of travel experiences that any roadie might have. The real “Joe” is Joe Razumich, a lover of cars and the open road ever since his childhood, growing up around the corner from a hot rod shop, a busy Broadway, and a railroad track. But really all Real Joe does is drive. And put gas in the tank. And put Mr. Suitcase, Mr. Duffle Bag, Ms. Cooler, Mr. Road Atlas, etc., collectively known as the “Inanimate Objects,” in the trunk or behind the passenger seat. Or, to put it another way, Joe loves to drive. Journey Joe loves to write about it – and take you, Dear Reader, along for the ride.

Oh, and the car has a name too. The one we’ll be riding along with on this particular trip, is Angel the Corvette. She’s blue like the sky and she believes she can fly.

Monday, June 21. Day 7

Ms. Parasite and her jellybean sedan were gone in the morning. I slept well. I didn’t  remember my dreams, but now I understood what that dream meant that I had on  Sunday morning. It was a premonition: “Remember what you came here for.”  Premonitions don’t happen very often, and I thanked the Lord in my morning prayers for  the guidance. This time, it worked. 

Lulu and I agreed, it was time to shift gears out of wander mode and into homeward  mode. Angel put us on interstates 55, 72, and 57, and then into Indiana on the US  highways. We made it to Lulu’s place just after high noon. She bade farewell to me,  Angel, and the spirit of this road trip. I got back in my Angel, wound our way around the  puddled potholes on Front Street, and in 30 minutes had us home in the driveway.  Unpack, unwind, and understand.

Follow along with Journey Joe’s travels! Click to read the following entries in this series as they’re published.

Sunday, June 20. Day 6, Part 2

Each of us got a key card at the check-in desk, that wouldn’t work. Another set of key  cards, no better. Third’s a charm? YESSS. The third set of keys worked, and for the  first time this entire week, I had a room with Kleenex in it. Journey Joe’s in heaven and  let the sneezes come as they will. 

I walked out to where I parked the car and there was a commotion, congregated around  the open trunk of the jellybean sedan parked next door to Angel. A third car was  stopped nearby, with two young men in it. There were three women standing near the  opened trunk, one of them being the hotel desk clerk, all having some sort of conversation. I did not sense any conflict so I went about my business without any interaction, getting stuff out of Angel’s trunk. On my second trip out, only one woman,  the attractive one, was standing by her car, ostensibly talking on her phone. As I got busy collecting stuff out of my car, she interrupted her phone call to engage me. Lyndsay was her name. Her first-pass conversation with me about Angel and how fast  she could go wasn’t anything out of ordinary. But soon enough I detected a motive; let’s  just say that my sixth sense sensed some fishing lines in the pond. Between her increasing coziness, and her friend who was sounding rather annoyed, talking from  inside a motel room through the window screen, Journey Joe was warily assembling another profile. This gal was a professional parasite. She had magnetism and good looks to set the hook, playing on your sympathies. Or foolishness. And she was good  at it.  

“You seem guarded. Are you a police officer?” was one question I remember her asking me. When I answered no, she added a little sauce. “How ‘bout let’s go for a ride and show me how fast it can go. I’ll bet you could give us a real thrill!?!” 

Then her friend, listening in from behind the screen in the motel room, sort of let the cat out of the bag. “You going with him, right? You can’t stay here!!” came the annoyed voice out of motel room 130, next to my room 128. There was a bit of hopefulness in that tone.

Followed by a “You got me if you want me, Honey” look from Ms. Lyndsay.  

“BEEN THERE, DONE THAT!” exclaimed Journey Joe, in my head in that immediate split-second. “Remember that guy we took for a ride in Naperville? Remember how close you were to getting carjacked? Don’t try to be lucky twice! This chick is trouble, her friend don’t even want her around!” I took JJ’s advice, and replied. 

“Darlin,” I said in reply, “We can’t just go out on that freeway and floor it. That’s how we end up in handcuffs. Thanks for asking but I been driving all day and this old guy is kind of tired out.”  

Handcuffs are stuck in my memory.  

“How ‘bout in the morning then?” she persisted. “Tomorrow?” I’ll look for you.”

“Okay, we’ll see tomorrow.” I pretended to get busy in the trunk, but kept observing. 

I laughed inwardly at the image that popped into my head. Me, Ms. Cuff whom we encountered on Thursday morning, with a handcuff attached to her wrist, and Ms. Lyndsay Parasite, all three of us handcuffed together and prancing around one of those  old telephone poles on Route 66. Imagine. 

Journey Joe didn’t bother to tap me on the shoulder. This time, he slapped me upside  the head. “WALK. AWAY. NOW!” No need to ask twice. I wished Ms. Lyndsay Parasite blessings and good luck. I parted company with the flirty thirty and did not walk out of my motel room for the rest of the night. 

But I did peek out the window. The commotion continued. The car with two men  stopped by and dropped off a six pack of beer, then left. “That tells ya somethin,’ don’t  it? The young men won’t even stick around!” said Journey Joe. After dark, the  commotion between Ms. Lyndsay and the other gal in the motel room gradually morphed into confrontation, through the wall in the room next door, and in the hallway.  In my half sleep, I heard “I’m never gonna help you again!!!” and “Leave me alone.  Please!”  

I got a text message from Lulu next door. In room 126, and insulated from the action by the physical space of my motel room, she had no idea what was going on. “What time  do you want to get on the road tomorrow?” I texted in reply, “Before the chick in the next room wakes up!” Hah, I bet Lulu wondered “What’s that all about?” 

The fracas either died down around midnight, or I just fell asleep anyway. So no longer can I say “You don’t get this at the bigbox on the interstate!” Now can I. Because we’re  in a bigbox and the interchange is right outside the parking lot.

Follow along with Journey Joe’s travels! Click to read the following entries in this series as they’re published.

Throughout the summer, we’ll be sharing weekly installments of a Route 66 travel journal written by association member Joe Razumich. It’s his entertaining account of a recent road trip from his home down Route 66 to Rolla, Missouri for the 75th anniversary of the iconic Munger Moss Motel. On his adventure, Joe passes through Illinois so you’re sure to recognize many of the places he mentions. So, without further ado, here’s Joe!

Sit back and enjoy a Journey Joe travel adventure. Is Journey Joe a real person? Well, not really. But he’s as real as any nickname, any stage personality, any thought or collection of travel experiences that any roadie might have. The real “Joe” is Joe Razumich, a lover of cars and the open road ever since his childhood, growing up around the corner from a hot rod shop, a busy Broadway, and a railroad track. But really all Real Joe does is drive. And put gas in the tank. And put Mr. Suitcase, Mr. Duffle Bag, Ms. Cooler, Mr. Road Atlas, etc., collectively known as the “Inanimate Objects,” in the trunk or behind the passenger seat. Or, to put it another way, Joe loves to drive. Journey Joe loves to write about it – and take you, Dear Reader, along for the ride.

Oh, and the car has a name too. The one we’ll be riding along with on this particular trip, is Angel the Corvette. She’s blue like the sky and she believes she can fly.

Sunday, June 20, 2021. Day 6. Part 1

I started out dreaming that I was at the party at Munger Moss Motel, mingling with  everyone new that I’ve met. But then my dream switched over to the work environment.  I was monitoring some safety function on one of the automation systems I was  responsible for at the refinery. One or two mis-clicks on the keyboard and I was in a  completely different automation system and could not get back to where I needed to be.  Eventually I resolved the issue. But I had to tell my boss. It took awhile, but I caught up  to him and explained the problem in private so he could understand the weight of the  situation. “These Programmable Controllers don’t have enough firewall between them.  I was trying to monitor one of those distillate hydrotreater furnaces, and next thing I knew, I was on a page where I could start your motorcycle!” Boss said “You’re definitely on the radar now!” Then I awoke, feeling content that for a change I remembered what I was dreaming about. Now as for what it means… don’t know yet. 

The agenda for this Sunday morning was “Easy.” At the Elm Street Eatery, I took  inventory. It’s difficult to describe the feeling of family that this Route 66 enigma carries  with it. From business owners, to wacky curio shop owners, to preservationists,  historians, poets, and to simple vagabonds like Journey Joe here, everyone is  welcomed like an old friend, visiting Mama’s house for an old fashioned dinner and gab session on the porch. The music played familiar melodies overhead and what caught  my attention was a most poignant tune composed by Jackson Browne. I put my head  down, tuned everything else out and focused in on his artful melody and the insightful  way that he described a singer he was enamored with. He’s singing tribute to just one  person, but in his brilliant lyrics I could find references to the spirits of every individual  I’d encountered this weekend. 

After breakfast, I sat out on the upstairs balcony at 8:00 am and ate an apple, while I  listened to the whirring rush of the interstate traffic just beyond the tree line. Almost no  traffic at all on Route 66 this Sunday morning. Count my blessings and let time stand  still. 

It was time to check out of my wonderful digs and collect Lulu and her valuables at the  Munger. After a round of goodbyes, we headed west for a mile or so, to the giant  Chicago Cutlery store that I never knew existed. Lulu did some shopping there, and  then afterwards, that inevitable inflection of the road trip was upon us: We turned  around and started heading home. 

With only two days available for the trip home, there wouldn’t be a whole lot of stops  and visits today. Our one “must-see” was the Fanning Outpost. Unfortunately it was  closed for Father’s Day. We kept on going, eastbound on Route 66, relishing in our  kicks and the scenery and the thrill of it all. Our destination was Springfield, Illinois, and  to get that far in one day we had to (gasp) jump on the interstate around St Louis and its western suburbs. No worries, Angel is quite comfortable at superspeeds. 

We made it to Springfield in good time, late afternoon. There’s a new place on the  south side of town called Motorheads. We decided to try them for dinner. So did just  about everyone else who was on the road this Sunday. Sitting at the bar, I overheard the bartender telling the couple next to us that “The kitchen is not taking any more orders for the next hour. They have to catch up with the backlog.” So we left Motorheads, hungry. Next option: Cracker Barrel across the street. It was fine with  me, it was fine with Lulu. While we were enjoying our Cracker Barrel dinner, I reserved us a couple rooms at the Baymont Bigbox next door. A big box modern room, right next door, for just sixty eight bucks, you can’t go wrong. Can you … ? 

TO BE CONTINUED…

Follow along with Journey Joe’s travels! Click to read the following entries in this series as they’re published.

Throughout the summer, we’ll be sharing weekly installments of a Route 66 travel journal written by association member Joe Razumich. It’s his entertaining account of a recent road trip from his home down Route 66 to Rolla, Missouri for the 75th anniversary of the iconic Munger Moss Motel. On his adventure, Joe passes through Illinois so you’re sure to recognize many of the places he mentions. So, without further ado, here’s Joe!

Sit back and enjoy a Journey Joe travel adventure. Is Journey Joe a real person? Well, not really. But he’s as real as any nickname, any stage personality, any thought or collection of travel experiences that any roadie might have. The real “Joe” is Joe Razumich, a lover of cars and the open road ever since his childhood, growing up around the corner from a hot rod shop, a busy Broadway, and a railroad track. But really all Real Joe does is drive. And put gas in the tank. And put Mr. Suitcase, Mr. Duffle Bag, Ms. Cooler, Mr. Road Atlas, etc., collectively known as the “Inanimate Objects,” in the trunk or behind the passenger seat. Or, to put it another way, Joe loves to drive. Journey Joe loves to write about it – and take you, Dear Reader, along for the ride.

Oh, and the car has a name too. The one we’ll be riding along with on this particular trip, is Angel the Corvette. She’s blue like the sky and she believes she can fly.

Saturday, June 19. Day 5

This bed and breakfast I picked out for myself is a slice of heaven. Now don’t get me wrong, I love the vintage motor courts and tourist cabins; they have a charm all their own. But it doesn’t take many nights sleeping in a 150 square foot room, to start longing for a bit more space. And as if that wasn’t enough added splendor, there were fresh bananas in the kitchen. And juicy red apples. Yum. I tried some samples before heading out on The Walk.

Lebanon is big. It would take a dedicated effort to see all of what’s available here on Route 66 with a walk, but I managed to take in four blocks worth on a trek from the Manor House to their partner restaurant, the East Elm Eatery. With little to no traffic yet on Mother Road at 7:00 am, I can hear the peculiar rush-whine of the interstate, just out of sight somewhere as I walk along. The street is clean. No weeds in the sidewalks. No abandoned ruins. A nice Visitor Center with some interesting artwork that no one would notice unless walking. A piece of Route 66 with identity and self respect.

Typical to Journey Joe’s luck of timing, I got myself seated right away and then watched the line grow quickly from the reception post to the door and beyond. I followed the advice of the nutritionist I sought out while in Florida suffering from repeated fatigue. She said, “Eat a dozen eggs and a pound of bacon if you want, but skip the potatoes and the toast.” So I ordered only bacon, eggs, and tea. Makes for a rather spartan picture, but I can say that it served its purpose.

By the time I finished breakfast, nearly every person seated had some kind of Route 66 logo on their person. Build it right, and they will come. I said hello to a few folks who recognized me – which of course is embarrassing at first because I have no aptitude for remembering names or faces. Their friendly greetings made me feel the welcome of the Prodigal Son.

It was time to walk back to Manor House and get ready for the parade. All of the literature I could find, said to line up at 10:00 and parade at 11:00. But nowhere that I looked had any information on where the parade started. But knowing car people, I figured they’d line up early and I’d be able to find the starting point if I just drove up and down old Route 66 for a few miles at 9:00. Sure enough, just east of the Munger Moss Motel, there were about 50 cars lined up already. So I hurried back to base, grabbed everything I’d need for the parade and afterward, and headed on out.

Holy moley was it warm already by 9:15 am. Driving back to the starting point, top down with the A/C on, I got behind the massive Cadillac hearse, with its vintage 1950 engine exhausting enough carbon monoxide to make me its next occupant. So I zipped around past Behemoth, who blew his horn at me. That nearly scared me out of my bucket seat. It’s a train horn!

Heading over to get in line, usually it’s customary to go to the end of the line. But if I did that, I’d be behind that Behemoth and his train horn. Luckily, I saw the white Skylark convertible and its humans, whom I befriended last evening at the town cruise-in.

“Hey, buddy”, I opened, “I need a random act of kindness from you. That big-ass hearse is behind me. He’s got a train horn and I do not want to be in front of him. And his exhaust stinks so I don’t want to be in back of him. Could you move up and let me slip in behind you?” Mr. Skylark agreed and moved up enough for me to squeeze in. I shoehorned myself and Angel in between Skylark and Big Yellow Ford Truck. And on the grassy spot next to my parking space, was a spot of shade. Worth its weight in gold today, my friends.

Next came my only disappointing moment of this whole trip. I walked over to a gorgeous 1966 Chevrolet Impala SS, to compliment the owner on his prize. His buddy was standing nearby and had this comment: “Ya don’t sees may white people drivin; one uh these heres.” I looked at him, an old white guy expecting everyone here to share his attitude. I decided to speak up instead of being quiet, this time. “What’s ‘white’ got to do with anything?” I asked him. “Everthang!” said the old buzzard. I just shook my head, turned around and walked away. What good would it do to argue or trade insults?

Surprise surprise, the parade started at 10:00. An hour earlier than I thought. Good thing I showed up early. Off we went, rubberbanding down the Route, past the Munger Motel and the few souls brave enough to take the Missouri heat to see the classic cars. In ten mercifully short minutes of hot, slow driving, we were finding our parking spaces on the grass at the downtown park.

At the park, it was hot, hot, hot. How could I have forgotten my ice pack and towel. I walked around for a couple hours, looked at the cars, talked to their owners. It was a pleasant time. A bit past noon, I succumbed to the ice cream temptation. Sitting up on the hill, at a picnic bench in the shade, listening to the greatest hits of the 1950’s, life was a breeze. An hour after the ice cream, the sugar crash came. Sweating and droopy eyed, I headed back to Manor House and was fast asleep five minutes after I laid down. Sweet dreams…

The big party for the weekend, the 75th anniversary celebration of the Munger Moss Motel, started at 4:00 pm. I showed up there, fresh from my nap, ready to mingle and meet. I had so much fun meeting people, previous and new friends, that I forgot to eat. A highlight: I finally got to meet Ms. Chance, the Belle from Baxter Springs – which I was very much looking forward to. And another fascinating deja vu … it turns out that I had previously met Kristy, three years ago during a motor tour encounter at the Ribbon Road. Au Revoir, Kristy, you made my day today.

They rolled up the sidewalks and folded the chairs around 8:30 and I made my way back to my Manor House, with it’s refreshing air conditioned spaces and delightful sitting rooms. But it had cooled off somewhat so I sat up on the balcony for awhile, just thinking to myself how good life has been and continues to be. I pray only that I’m doing enough good in my world to earn this gift.

Throughout the summer, we’ll be sharing weekly installments of a Route 66 travel journal written by association member Joe Razumich. It’s his entertaining account of a recent road trip from his home down Route 66 to Rolla, Missouri for the 75th anniversary of the iconic Munger Moss Motel. On his adventure, Joe passes through Illinois so you’re sure to recognize many of the places he mentions. So, without further ado, here’s Joe!

Sit back and enjoy a Journey Joe travel adventure. Is Journey Joe a real person? Well, not really. But he’s as real as any nickname, any stage personality, any thought or collection of travel experiences that any roadie might have. The real “Joe” is Joe Razumich, a lover of cars and the open road ever since his childhood, growing up around the corner from a hot rod shop, a busy Broadway, and a railroad track. But really all Real Joe does is drive. And put gas in the tank. And put Mr. Suitcase, Mr. Duffle Bag, Ms. Cooler, Mr. Road Atlas, etc., collectively known as the “Inanimate Objects,” in the trunk or behind the passenger seat. Or, to put it another way, Joe loves to drive. Journey Joe loves to write about it – and take you, Dear Reader, along for the ride.

Friday, June 18, 2021. Day 4. Part 2. 

The first event of this weekend festival, at least for me to be participating in, was the downtown cruise-in. Just a short jog down the road, one right and one left. I got behind a General Lee Charger, who was following a rat rod, who was following an orange GTO.  That worked out well for me, as the expected entrance was blocked. I followed the little  streetwise caravan through a parking lot, slaloming around the parked cars, into a back  alley that went past the fire station where the fire truck had not yet been pulled all the way out to block the sneak entrance.  

First thing I noticed on the cruise street, was the shade. One side of the street was all  shade, the other was all sun oven. I got Angel backed into a shade spot, aided by the owner of the clothing store on the oven side. “Come on in and cool off!” she invited.  For being helpful, I accepted her offer, went inside, and bought a nice shirt. Off to a  good start. 

I spent the next hour or so getting acquainted with the various vintage automobiles and their humans. All friendly encounters and welcoming conversations. I continued my observation walk. 

At the far end of the blocked off boulevard, all alone and baking on the sun oven side of  the street, was this little blue tent, with one lady standing underneath. With the angle of the 6:00 sun, the tent was offering her no protection at all. My heart went out to her and my feet walked towards her. 

She started the conversation as I approached. “Want some water? It’s free!” 

“Sure!” I said, “But really I came over here to keep you company, out here all by yourself roasting in the sun. How are you handling it?” 

“Oh, I’m used to it.” she said with a childlike smile. There was something familiar about  her. But how could that be?  

Then I got it. The blue tent said Mercy Hospital. Yes. THAT Mercy Hospital. 

“You work in the Emergency Room, don’t you.” I said to her. “Or at least you did, two years ago? Am I right?” 

“Yes.” She replied, somewhat surprised. “Well, I’m a manager now, but two years ago, yes I was on the E-Room team.” 

“I had a gallbladder attack here in Lebanon, two years ago in May. You took me in at  3:00 am and took care of me. I know it was you!!” I was smiling, ear to ear. So was  she. 

Magic?!? Could it really be the same nurse, out of everyone in this whole big city, in this whole big world, two years later? Susan was her name, and she certainly looked familiar. I could just sense the compassion in her soul. Maybe it was Susan two years  ago, or maybe it wasn’t. But some nurse in that hospital, two years ago, took me in and  helped a sick, scared traveler get back on his way. So right or wrong with my memory, I  got to make someone’s day, right here right now. Now that’s magic. I touched her hand to thank her and the tears welled up. Certainly, she’s seen that before. She made a lighthearted comment to snatch me out of the emotional moment and gave me my ice cold water bottle. I wandered off to enjoy the cars and my refreshing water. 

The rest of my encounters this day were friendly as well. Parked next to me was a high school age young man who came here with his mother, in the 1968 Cougar she bought new. A few spaces down were some of the folks I met at the Munger Moss earlier in  the day. The “General Lee” Dodge Charger parked next to Angel on the other side got all the attention and Angel just sat there contented in her space. I spoke to a senior couple who had a splendid 1963 Corvette. By 6:00 I was hungry and thirsty. I  wandered into this place called the Twist Fix Nutrition Café. I ordered this white chocolate macadamia protein shake thang that was supposed to fill me up, nutritionally. It worked. One of my FB friends posted a picture of shrimp scampi dinner, and it didn’t faze me one bit. I sat in the Cool Chair, shot the breeze with the owner, and life was good. 

I felt a tap-tap on my shoulder. A Journey Joe tap-tap. “Hey buddy, ya think maybe Nurse Susan might be ready for a break?” Oh if I could be so lucky. All charged up from my protein shake, I got outta that chair and on to my mission. 

She was still there alright, now joined by two friends. With all the brass-in-pocket that I learned many years ago on the dance floor, I sidled up next to her as she was putting more water bottles into the ice bath. 

“Youuuuu haven’t had your break yet. Come on, come with me and I’m getting you a  milk shake.” I offered my arm for the gentleman’s escort. Susan knew how to ride a wave, just as well as I do. And so we surfed ourselves down that bustling boulevard, to the Twist Fix Nutrition Cafe. The owner behind the counter recognized me from just a while ago.  

“Back already?” 

“Susan gets whatever she wants!” I exclaimed, to him and everyone else in the café.  “She took care of me in the ‘Mergency Room!” She ordered some kind of root beer thing and we waltzed out of there on cloud nine. I told her about wonderful hobby cars and she told me about her 200 acre farm that she works and owns, when she’s not nursing. I introduced her to Angel, told her about some of our road trips. This magic encounter lasted another half hour or so, until it was time for Susan to return to her tent post. I walked her back, hugged her one more time. This train of magic had reached the station. And just like that, my enchanted encounter with Nurse Susan was over.

I don’t know how much longer I stayed at that sweltering cruise-in. If it really was sweltering, I didn’t notice anymore, so joyful was I. Just before dark, I headed on home, just like all the other classic cars. FYI, there’s two reasons why car cruises end at dusk:  1) Us old men can’t see in the dark anymore. 2) The headlights on the old cars ain’t worth a darn. But Angel got us home in comfort and style. Thus ended another day of  Kicks on Route 66 Missouri.

Follow along with Journey Joe’s travels! Click to read the following entries in this series as they’re published.

Throughout the summer, we’ll be sharing weekly installments of a Route 66 travel journal written by association member Joe Razumich. It’s his entertaining account of a recent road trip from his home down Route 66 to Rolla, Missouri for the 75th anniversary of the iconic Munger Moss Motel. On his adventure, Joe passes through Illinois so you’re sure to recognize many of the places he mentions. So, without further ado, here’s Joe!

Sit back and enjoy a Journey Joe travel adventure. Is Journey Joe a real person? Well, not really. But he’s as real as any nickname, any stage personality, any thought or collection of travel experiences that any roadie might have. The real “Joe” is Joe Razumich, a lover of cars and the open road ever since his childhood, growing up around the corner from a hot rod shop, a busy Broadway, and a railroad track. But really all Real Joe does is drive. And put gas in the tank. And put Mr. Suitcase, Mr. Duffle Bag, Ms. Cooler, Mr. Road Atlas, etc., collectively known as the “Inanimate Objects,” in the trunk or behind the passenger seat. Or, to put it another way, Joe loves to drive. Journey Joe loves to write about it – and take you, Dear Reader, along for the ride.

Oh, and the car has a name too. The one we’ll be riding along with on this particular trip, is Angel the Corvette. She’s blue like the sky and she believes she can fly.

Friday, June 18, 2021. Day 4. Part 1

Forecast was 100 degrees today, so I devised a clever plan, which I discussed with Lulu over dinner last night: Lulu and I would wake up before sunrise and take the Angel out for a pre-dawn drive. Top down, eastbound on old Route 66, watching the sun rise until it tops the tree line. Then turn around and head back to the Wagon Wheel to finish packing, check out and move westward. Any time after 8:00 am today, the top is going to be up. It’s summertime here, no two ways about it.

My apologies here, to Lulu: After car wash, I parked the car on the other end of the parking lot, to keep it out of the dust. But Lulu was already tucked away in her room so I didn’t tell her. When she woke up and looked out the window of her room, she didn’t see the car and thought that maybe now I was “Mr. Handcuff”, gone forever and how would she get herself home. A knock on my door at 4:30 am cleared up this scary but ultimately amusing misunderstanding.

The pre-dawn ride was surreal. Think of how many times – not counting your commute to work – that you are actually out on the road viewing a sunrise. I can think of maybe five times right now, that I’ve done this on road trips. Five in an entire lifetime. But those five memories are so vivid in my mind that they could have happened just this morning. It’s like that because the morning light is so special, so … different. And today’s pre-dawn drive was just as special as those recent-feeling yesterdays. At seventy-two degrees, the wind on our faces was like an affectionate hug. The sunrise started out as a faint blue glow. Then an orange horizon as Mother Road peaked and valleyed and turned and straightened. And finally, a bright yellow orange glow peeking at us through the break in the trees created by the interstate swath. I imagined half of those people on the interstate, not knowing what they were missing. And the other half, the half who saw our drop top Angel cruising along at sub-light speed, wishing they were us. “Life is good.” says Journey Joe.

On westward we went, a little after 8:00 in the morning, feeling like a half day had already gone by. It was already A/C time. We narrowly beat the crowd at the IHOP restaurant on the west side of Rolla. Great timing. In no particular hurry, we arrived at Uranus. They’ve got the “campy tourist trap” routine down to a science, and they’re good at it. It’s not annoying, it’s an enjoyable dose of snark.

By early afternoon, we were to the outskirts of Lebanon, Missouri. This weekend’s destination. The innkeepers at the Munger Moss Motel were nice enough to let Lulu check in early, and also the innkeepers at my Manor House B&B let me check in early. Time for some unwinding and relaxation before this afternoon’s cruise-in to the downtown.

The Manor House Bed and Breakfast that I chose for my stay here in Lebanon is a total home run. I’ve got the carriage house suite. Full kitchen and a stocked refrigerator. The innkeepers are part owners of the East Elm restaurant a couple blocks away and that’s where I get my breakfast. I’ll sleep well.

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Follow along with Journey Joe’s travels! Click to read the following entries in this series as they’re published.

Throughout the summer, we’ll be sharing weekly installments of a Route 66 travel journal written by association member Joe Razumich. It’s his entertaining account of a recent road trip from his home down Route 66 to Rolla, Missouri for the 75th anniversary of the iconic Munger Moss Motel. On his adventure, Joe passes through Illinois so you’re sure to recognize many of the places he mentions. So, without further ado, here’s Joe!

Sit back and enjoy a Journey Joe travel adventure. Is Journey Joe a real person? Well, not really. But he’s as real as any nickname, any stage personality, any thought or collection of travel experiences that any roadie might have. The real “Joe” is Joe Razumich, a lover of cars and the open road ever since his childhood, growing up around the corner from a hot rod shop, a busy Broadway, and a railroad track. But really all Real Joe does is drive. And put gas in the tank. And put Mr. Suitcase, Mr. Duffle Bag, Ms. Cooler, Mr. Road Atlas, etc., collectively known as the “Inanimate Objects,” in the trunk or behind the passenger seat. Or, to put it another way, Joe loves to drive. Journey Joe loves to write about it – and take you, Dear Reader, along for the ride.

Thursday, June 17, 2021, Day 3. Part 2. 

“I am soooo mad, and sooooo scared!!” said the buxom yet slender young blond  walking towards us. She held up her right arm and a handcuff was attached, with the  other handcuff dangling. In addition to the handcuff, some well placed tattoos on  display. 

She went on to begin telling us her story. I was 15% listening, 85% raising my guard.  “Where the heck did she come from?!?!” was my first thought. Streetwise people can  appear and disappear at will. She wasn’t there just a second ago. It’s a mile drive  down to here from the dead-end road. But there she was, standing in front of us, one  very good looking young woman. With a handcuff dangling from her wrist. Dressed in bling jeans and a tight top. Lots of visible tattoos to draw attention. Clean. Hair tied  back. Eye lashes and eye liner. She was smiling. Journey Joe was awake, alive, and alert. Game on. He assessed the situation.

“She is smiling. That’s not scared, and that’s not mad.” Up with the awareness. No  one else standing around. Just that gray SUV behind her, where she must have come from. A young man in a ball cap in the driver’s seat.  

Three seconds had passed up to this point. I’ve trained my brain to work pretty fast when the alarm antenna goes up. Journey Joe is streetwise too. 

“I just got out of jail, and the cop forgot to take off the other half of this handcuff! I don’t  know what I’m gonna do!” I pretty much tuned her out after hearing that nonsense, choosing instead to focus my attention on where the next shoe was going to drop from. She went on conversing with Lulu about this absurd handcuff situation. I heard her tell  Lulu “I didn’t do it.” While that was going on, Journey Joe spoke in my head, defining  this situation unfolding for me in real time. 

“This is the most ridiculous story I’ve ever heard!!!” said the Journey Joe voice. “What, were you sleeping when they released you from jail and you didn’t notice a handcuff on  your wrist? Didn’t you ask the cop to please remove the handcuff? What kind of a cop would do that? Handcuffs aren’t cheap throwaways. And where was your own damn common sense???” How do you get out of jail, as cleaned up and rested as you look, with a handcuff on your wrist???” The questions kept on coming. But J J held them all  back, and I said nothing out loud. I let Lulu do the talking. She suggested to call the  police back. “I don’t wanna call the police!” Or go to a locksmith; she nodded. I finally  spoke up, suggesting that she go to a magic shop; she nodded. Cuff Lady paused for a  moment in her storytelling. I took that opportunity to walk between Cuff and Lulu, and  turned to Lulu. 

“Do not start another conversation with this girl!” I said to Lulu, quietly but succinctly  under my breath, so that only she could hear. I started nudging and motioning Lulu to  move back towards my car, which I could no longer see behind another car that had  pulled up next to it. The conversation continued. I did not hear a word. I was all  antennae. 

Lulu turned around to take one more picture, as Ms. Cuff walked back to her boyfriend’s  SUV, ostensibly to relay our suggestions. “Lulu, I am feeling less and less comfortable  here, every passing second.” She understood. 

I got us going again, walking towards our car. By now, Ms. Cuff had walked over to her  car and was shouting to some additional person in their party who was just out of sight in the woods. I heard another voice from the woods shouting something back. “We  need to leave NOW, Lulu. NOW.” Lulu, being the calm one on our team, wished Ms.  Cuff good luck as we got back in the car. I started Angel up and we idled out of there, through the nearly deserted, gravel parking lot at the bottom of the Chain of Rocks  Bridge. 

Somewhat less on-edge now in the safety of the automobile, I started picking apart the  absurd story with Lulu as we motored away. We agreed. “Absolutely ridiculous.” We came to the conclusion that more than likely this was either some kind of kinky game  that had gone wrong, or possibly it could have been some kind of setup for a robbery,  that didn’t happen because Ms. Cuff sensed right away that I smelled the rat. I’m glad  that Lulu was with me for this adventure. She kept me calm and rational. I think that if I  was alone, a gray haired guy with a Corvette out in the boondocks, Ms. Cuff and her  boyfriend would have set off some kind of scheme to roll me.  

You know what we say here, Dear Readers … “You don’t get this on the Interstate!”

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The drive over and around St. Louis was incident-less. So was the entire rest of today’s  driving. Who needs more excitement than this in one day? We meandered down old  66, this way and that, until we arrived at our next stop, the Wagon Wheel Motel in Cuba. It is 98 degrees, there’s dust in the air, we are hungry and it’s dinner and ice cream time.  

We managed to make a 130 mile journey last all day. Arriving at the Wagon Wheel  Motel at the height of the day-heat, we got ourselves checked in. My experience with  the Wagon Wheel Motel is kind of backwards. I’ve stayed here three times. First time,  in a very nice two room suite. Second time, in a small two-bed room. This time, in an  absolutely minuscule single bed room. Seriously, this room is barely 200 square feet.  Well at least the air conditioner works. 

Dinner at the Four Way. I purposely avoided world famous Missouri Hicks next door to  the motel. Last time I ate there, my gall bladder almost exploded. At the Four Way,  now renamed Weir Open, I had a chicken sandwich that was a full meal. The chicken  breast was almost as big as one of Ms. Cuff’s girlies. But no cartoons on the chicken  breast. Just some great seasoning and I ate just about all of it. 

Next up was the car wash. Thirteen miles west to the next town, for the nearest car  wash. But Angel needs a bath. The car wash kind of ripped me off; I got one minute of  water regardless of how many extra quarters I put in. But hey it’s karma. A couple  years ago in Springfield, IL, I got a car wash for free. When I finished, Angel was clean  and dry, and Journey Joe was wet and weary. Angel took us back to base camp and  we’ll be crashing out on the back porch with that warm humid summer sunset.

Follow along with Journey Joe’s travels! Click to read the following entries in this series as they’re published.