Following the Trail of Hansel and Gretel...

Let’s face it—as a geologist, I’ve driven on some bad roads…  Some VERY bad roads.  I’ve made it through Eastern KY on old logging roads, that aren’t really roads at all, but are more like pathways through the forest, clinging to the side of a mountain.  Coal mining roads, where one must dodge loaded coal trucks and various mining implements to just get to the office, not even to the place where we’re drilling.  The Long Island Expressway, in rush hour traffic, sandwiched behind a truck with a ladder out the back, who loved to put on his breaks unexpectedly, and a taxi in the back, who loved to blow his horn.  Roads created by the drilling crews through corn fields and soy bean fields. 

So let me say this, Highway 160 in Missouri is not that bad a road—it has good pavement, few breaks in the pavement, and few of those places where the bottom drops out of your car and then there’s a little sign that says, “Dip”.  Are they calling me a dip?  Surely they can't mean that that giant cavern I just fell into was just a little "dip".  I give the state credit, for maintaining this road as well as they do, and I want to say thank you, State of Missouri.  Now, just straighten it out a bit…

We left Marion, KY, and headed west, trying to get as far into Missouri as we could before dark.  That was about 3:30 in the afternoon.  Please remember that I’ve been recently diagnosed with a herniated disk, an impinged disk, and accelerated arthritis in my left hip—so I’m not in such great shape.  I also have had a stroke in one eye, so I’m driving with one good eye, which was my bad eye, (poorest vision), and I have heart failure, so stamina is NOT my forte.  The pain has been so bad in my back and down my legs that I’ve voluntarily taken shots in my back to ease it.  Fortunately, they are working, so I’m able to lift my feet again, and not walk dragging my toes around the ground.  Yes, I am grateful!

Thanks to my one good eye, I can still drive, though I’ve become a somewhat fearful driver—I have no depth perception any more, up close, although far away, I do all right.  This means I can see that the semi is closer to me than the farm tractor, but I can’t grab a piece of paper from my son’s hand, with any accuracy.  What is, is, and I figure I’d better be able to drive or I’ll be stuck, forever, at home.  My son had this little window of opportunity to take a vacation, (although my poor husband is stuck working every day), so Matthew and I decided to take a road trip.  We had never been to Branson, MO, and I’ve always wanted to meet Kavika and his family, so off we went.  Since I was planning the trip, and my son was amenable, we decided to visit the local geologic and historical wonders—then head to Branson, then come back towards Louisville and see the Shut-ins, Elephant Rocks, and maybe even the Wickliffe Mounds State Park in far western KY.

My son has been my navigator—and may be dismissed from the position, permanently, if he takes another one of the “scenic routes” like we took…  It is obvious to me that whoever designed and laid out Highway 160 in MO found a deer trail or two and followed them, like the little bread crumbs of Hansel and Gretel…  First, we went through the far western part of KY, which is, in and of itself, a trip.  From Marion, KY, we drove back to Kuttawa, where we started that morning, finally picked up I24, and then got off at Lone Oak, just west of Paducah to get on Highway 60.  Highway 60 is an old friend…  It goes through Owensboro, my home town, and we even live off of Highway 60 in Louisville—so I felt reassured that it was a decent road— if two-lane— and it would be fine, just fine.

It was…  Until we got near Kevil.  At this point, the road narrowed, and the farmers decided to come out and parade their implements.  Farmers are a busy lot, and they are kings here in the state, so the whole world waits as they chuggity-chug their giant combines and other equipment down the highway and if you’re in a hurry, just tough luck.  I would probably feel the same, but when you’ve managed to back up 30+ cars into a line behind you, it’s time to pull over and let everybody go past you.  No dice.  We slowly drove through Kevil, which is a large enough wide spot in the road to actually have numbered streets—up to 7 ^th Street.  Yes, you should be impressed.  This is a booming Metropolis, compared to a lot of places in the state.  We passed Monkey’s Eyebrow and Devil’s Elbow on our way to Kevil, with nary a glitch, but at Kevil, we hit a snag.  The snag was named Farmer Joe and suddenly, we were just creeping along, hoping that the oncoming traffic would not hit the implement and snarl traffic further.  We made it through Barstow, another exciting little lit cemetery, and finally, FINALLY, to Wickliffe.

Wickliffe is at the edge of things.  It feels as if it is the stepping off point to the end of the world, but it is really at the junction of three states, KY, MO, and IL.  There is a state park there, Wickliffe Mounds State Park, that we hope to hit on our way home, and there is a giant bridge over the Ohio River.  Fortunately, Highway 60 spits you directly onto the bridges, because there are two—one over a large creek and one over the Ohio River.  We crossed that bridge and we were in Illinois, briefly, just long enough to turn left and take the GIANT bridge over the Mississippi.  On the other side of the bridge, we were in Missouri, and I felt a surge of joy as we had reached at least one of our goals, we made it to Missouri!  The road doubles back on itself, (after all, it had nothing better to do), and we got a view of the mouth of the Ohio River.  I had never seen this before, and in brief glances from my good eye, I know it was there—but there were so many islands, I’m not really sure which body of water it was…

We stayed on Highway 60, which is a LOVELY road, 4 lane, somewhat limited access, and all, down to Poplar Bluff, and then, the navigator, my son, said, turn left here.  “Get off here?”  I asked in disbelief…  Yep, go south on 67, to 160 W and that takes us straight to Branson.  STRAIGHT?  YOU”VE GOT TO BE KIDDING!

From this view, the Ohio River is the large river coming from the north and the Mississippi River is the one on the left.  You can see the road doubling back, sort of, and you can get a view of where the two of them meet.  All the islands are confusing, as to which river is where....

Highway 160 is nothing but twists and turns, scaling huge hills, and winding around tight corners…  Speed limit 55.  All I can say is HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?  Try 45, top speed.  Plus, whoever measured the mileage from place to place either guessed, or used several different methods of measurement—maybe a chalk wheel?—because everything moved.  The sign read Alton 24 miles.  We drove 5 miles, by my odometer, and the sign read Alton 22 miles…  Was Alton running away?  We would get to the top of a hill, have to pirouette like a ballet dancer on the left bumper to make a sharp right at the top of the hill.  Next sign Alton 18 miles, and we had driven 10 miles…  Were they measuring as the distance to Alton via St. Louis, or what?   The scenery was beautiful—forests, quiet farms, loads of cows—lots and lots of cows—guineas, turkeys, a few chickens, and then BAM, at the foot of a hill, the road took a sharp left, almost heaving us up into someone’s driveway, and the sign reads: “Briar”.  This is a town?  There is one house here—but maybe it is really a dumping area…  The very next sign read “Handy”—is Handy a suburb of Briar?  Neither is on the map…  Next sign, Alton 15 miles and we had driven another 10 miles, at least…  At this point, I asked, “Just Where the Hell is Alton?”  My son, who doesn’t drive yet, said, “It’s just up ahead, Mom…”

One could see the road, way ahead, going straight up a hill, and I would wonder, “How in the Hell do I get there?”  It’s one of those questions that you don’t really want to know the answer…  It’s around this pond, side-swiping this barn, skittering between the trees, around this hairpin curve, which is also on a hill, and then, suddenly, you’re there and trying to climb up the side of a mountain…  Finally, at 9:30 pm, my hands frozen into claws from gripping the steering wheel, both legs numb, that we passed Alton—a flash in the pan, and came into West Plains, that actually had a nice hotel…  Thankfully!

This was one of the few road hazard signs we missed on our trek...  But I fully expected to see it, as we tried to find Alton....

We got to our room and both of us collapsed into bed…  The next day, we made it into Branson, which was also a MIRACLE…

I feel fairly miraculous today, as we are still on our trip and still alive… 

Thanks for coming by!