What you don’t expect can sneak up on you

The first two days on the road were exactly as expected—long, brain-numbing miles, one after the other.

But today, things got interesting.

I rolled out of my lovely motel (tongue firmly in cheek) just east of St. Louis and headed for Missouri. Not long after crossing the state line, I found my way onto Historic Route 66.

Now, at this point, there’s not much left of the Mother Road—very few people travel it, and it mostly winds through lush green vegetation, occasionally revealing an abandoned gas station or a house that’s seen better decades. Some folks do have, uh, interesting front lawns, though.

A front yard to die for!

Compared to the high-speed madness of I-44, Route 66 is a slow, quiet strip of beaten-up asphalt, with speed limits ranging from 35 to 55 mph. People often ask what use Route 66 has in today’s world of high-octane interstates. Well, about an hour into Missouri, I got my answer.

I came upon a massive transport truck that had not had a good day. It had veered off I-44 and—rather than simply dumping its cargo—seemed to have exploded it across the road.

Lifting the carcass

 

Cleanup crews were struggling to scrape together what was left of the truck, and eastbound traffic on I-44 was backed up for miles. But those of us cruising along Route 66? We just whizzed right by. So much for the Mother Road being useless.

Route 66 clear and free

   

About 40 miles southwest of Cuba (not the island) is a tiny place called Plato (not the philosopher). Just outside of town sits what’s left of a grand, plantation-style house, built around 1840. It’s in its final death throes and won’t be standing much longer, so naturally, I had to check it out.

The Bates-Geers house

 

Getting to Plato was an adventure in itself. For reasons known only to the GPS gods, my navigation system decided the best route involved a dirt road.

 

A lovely drive, ending in water

Twenty minutes in, I arrived at a flat cement bridge… with a fast-running river flowing right over it. A helpful sign at the bridge entrance read: “Non-navigable during high water.” I had serious doubts that most folks in these parts knew what non-navigable meant, much less that they’d stop to read it. Guess who the stupid one was!

Looks can be deceiving

If you’ve ever driven across the Spanish Town Road Bridge in Jamaica, you know exactly what I’m talking about—submerged roads where you cross at your own peril. I got out, assessed the situation, and figured I probably wouldn’t float away. Gunned it.

Turns out, the water was deeper than it looked. The car did a brief nose dive, dipped underwater for a second, then triumphantly popped out the other side. Success!

Moral of the story? Always roll up your driver’s side window before attempting this.

Eventually, I made it to Slabtown Road near Plato and found the beautiful, crumbling old house. After photographing the Bates-Geers house, I returned to my car and—of course—found my rear tire completely flat.

Rats.

So much for Ford’s tire sensors. The thing only started dinging as I got out of the car, and I just assumed it was scolding me for leaving the keys in the ignition. Nope—turns out it was actually useful this time.

 

Would have been nice if the tire sensor had gone off before the tire was fully flat.

Good thing for spare tires! The change would have been quicker, but I had to stop and chat with the friendly locals who kept checking if I needed help.

Made it to Lebanon (my intended stop all along), dropped the tire off at Sawyer Tire, and they’ll have it ready by 8 AM tomorrow.

Now, time to find a motel and relax.