Whiting Brothers

In 1961, after I graduated from the US Navy's Terrier Guided Missile School at the General Dynamics/Convair plant in Pomona California, I and Tom, another schoolmate drove back East in his brand new Corvair. It was a real adventure and truly a trip of a lifetime. This was right before the Interstate Highway System opened and so we basically drove back on Route 66. There was an interesting phenomenon, for lack of a better term, and it was the Whiting Brothers chain of gas stations.

The Whiting Brothers had a gas station every 200, or so, miles along the old road. They were placed so that whenever you saw a station, you knew that it was probably time for another fill-up.

As you can see in the picture above, not only was there a filling station, there was a motel and a small grocery, or convenience, store. These are pictures of one such abandoned station that I took last week on our road trip.

You may not believe this if you are under 45, but a uniformed attendant would come out to your car and not only pump your gas, they would also check the oil and "water" and even the tire pressures, if you asked. This was all done without any additional charge. There wasn't any two tiered pricing back then for full and self service. When you got hungry, you would stop at Bubba's Burger Barn, or Molly's cafe, or Lefty's diner. You didn't normally order a #5 with fries. Some of it was real good, some not so good, but most of it had character and individuality.

Alas that's all changed now. When you cruise down the interstate now, you are never really sure if you are in Montana or New Hampshire. It all looks pretty much the same now. All graded nicely with long sweeping turns. Sure, you can make a bit better time now, but at the price of loosing a lot of the character of this big beautiful country of ours. Few people these days have actually driven across the country. We all fly across it in the time it takes to listen to the safety announcement, drink a few beers along with a bag of pretzels, make a trip to the lav and then buckle up and put your traytable up for the landing. If you don't drive it, you don't realize that it takes five days to drive it, not five hours like it is to fly it.

There used to be regional differences around the country. Different accents, food styles, attitudes and paces of life. Thanks to McDonald's and Wendy's and NBC and Interstate 10, it's pretty much gone. There are a few pockets of regional individuality here and there, but you really have to get away from the Interstates and the chain restaurants. Good luck.

Home again

Although Sadie and I have been back since Tuesday, we both still seem to be adjusting. My body clock seems to now be on Mountain Time and Sadie isn't crazy about walking more than a quarter of a mile. Not that she ever was a marathoner.

I love snuggling up in my own bunk. Sadie also like climbing up with me. I was planning on going walkies today to get us both limbered up somewhat, but so far this morning is been classic a So. Cal. gray May morning. The Sunday morning news is on and the blond weather bimbo just said that at 63, it's warmer at Big Bear then at the beaches. Just what I needed, a reason to lolly-gag in my bunk today. Maybe I'll read some more of Atlas Shrugged or Jim Murry.

TWS Cinci, Indiana & the Long Road Back

On Friday 7 May, the 17 day on the road, we left Cincinnati and headed back to John R's. John, Sadie and I went to a great restaurant/bar, Bushman's Brewhouse

http://bushmanbrewhouse.com/default.html.

The place used to be the local Nashville Indiana Country Club. They had a great band and being it was Friday, we ate a creel full of of fish. Large Red Stripe beer was the special so we also drank our weight in Jamaican beer. All went reasonably well except I guess that in my diminished state, I, maybe, committed a social faux pas with Virgil, a local "character". Virgil is a semi-recluse who has a collection of Indian Motorcycles in his barn. I happened to have on a Triumph Motorcycle tee shirt on and Virg made a remark about the alleged sexuality of people who ride English motorcycles. When I pointed out that Indians, for the last 10-12 of their history, were made in the UK, and therefore he must also like to dress like Richard Simmonds, he hit the roof. Fortunately for me, I had walked out to the side porch to check on Sadie when Mount Virge erupted. Apparently, John was the only target of opportunity at the time, so Virg unloaded on John. By the time I returned, John was saucer-eyed, Virge had slinked off into the woods, so I finished my Red Stripe in peace. John and I laughed our asses off all of the way back to the red barn.

Saturday, we loaded up the BRT and headed west. We drove through the rest of Indiana and then all of Illinois. Before dark, we crossed the Mississippi River at St. Louis and drove through Missouri. The Oklahoma Turnpike is to be avoided if you ever plan to drive that way. The road's surface is crappy, food and fuel services are almost non-existent and they charge yoy a toll for this. Typical for government provided services. Somewhere in Western Oklahoma, I pulled over to catch a nap. Being I was chomping at the bit to get home, I couldn't sleep, so we continued on. As we were driving through the Panhandle of Texas, just west of Amarillo, I spotted a small group of people walking through a field and wondered where the hell they were going. Then I spotted them, the up-tilted cars. It was the Stonehenge of Texas, The Cadillac Ranch. I did a quick U-turn and headed back. I couldn't miss this cultural icon.

Miss Sadie, always the art critic had to sniff the work. She was intrigued my the work.

But, was it art?

We'll let you decide. I managed to drive to Holbrook Arizona by Sunday evening and I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer, so we hove to at the local dog friendly Motel 6. Monday morning, we got under way towards California and with a few Route 66 stops made it to Carl and Freda's that evening. Carl handed me a cold Mexican beer, flopped a few New York steaks on the barbie and we ate. Freda happened to have a few Jeopardies recorded on the DVR and put them on. Not conducive to a good social climate. I kicked their asses on the first one. I then really kicked ass on the second. By the third, Carl wasn't a good loser. That's good. Show me a good loser and I'll show you a loser. He put on his jamies signaling that it was bed time so we all crashed.

TWS, Day 10 Tennessee & Indiana

Scott and I went fishing in the Chattahoochee River in the morning while Sadie played water dog, sort of. The fish were literally jumping out of the water but neither Scott or myself didn't even get a single bite, let alone a creel full of fish. About mid-day, I reluctantly loaded the truck and set out for Indiana.

In some remote corner of Tennessee, I pulled into a BP truckstop to walk Sadie. After said walk, the truck wouldn't start. I have had this problem before. The first time was with my beloved Chevy pickup in California. When I stopped at the customer's, the truck was running fine. When I came out, it wouldn't start. It had a bad in-tank fuel pump. The second time, I was in Springfield Mass. I was driving my Jeep Cherokee and the same thing happened. One minute it was running fine and after I parked it, it wouldn't start. So when it happened with this Dodge pickup, I was pretty sure what it was. There was a truck mechanic on duty and he was able to get a replacement pump at nine o'clock. He said he would be back at eight Saturday morning to swap out the pumps so Sadie and I, having no other options, settled down in the truck for a long night. There was no motel to hole up in and it not only rained like hell with the wind howling and lots of thunder and lightening. The next morning, eight came and went and no mechanics. Nine also elapsed. Finally the two good ole boys showed and when they finally got to the task, they really knocked it out. It was still stormy as hell and I without any real "road testing" of the repairs, we hit the road. Without incident I will gladly add.

Saturday evening we arrived at John Runberg's barn in Nashville Indiana. John is a QC manager at the IU cyclotron. He lives in a hundred year old red wooden barn on a real working farm. Lots of cows, pigs and chickens.

There is a pond across the lane with ducks. Sadie loved chasing the ducks. The ducks weren't as enthusiastic. But all parties survived. After the Tennessee breakdown, this was a good place to settle in for awhile.

But all good things must come to an end, so Sunday evening we set off for Cincinnati.

Homeward bound

At 1513 yesterday, the BRT steamed into the marina parking lot and moored.

Ching ching, the bridge rang up ALL STOP and then SECURE ENGINES.

The Special Sea and Anchor Detail was secured and the Officer of the Deck shifted his watch from the bridge to the quarterdeck.

Liberty Call was piped and Sadie went ashore to pee & poop.

Holiday Routine was declared and I was designated a Late Sleeper.

We were, at long last, in our home port.

Film and more at eleven.

AWK

Forever, I've listened to hundreds of old farts blow tons of hot air about their grandchildren. I've politely listened while fantasizing in my mind about hoisting my gollywobbler while they endlessly yak on and on about their little houseapes.

Well here I go. Now it's my turn. I'm going to start cornering all of those SOBs whenever I make a visual contact and tell them about a real, live grandkid. Mine. While I was in Atlanta last week, Amy had the little guy. Seven Lbs. ten Ozs. I am told not only is he cute, and darling just like his gramps, see below

he is really smart. He is already, at 12 days old playing easy fugues on his toy piano and composing basic haikus with his finger tip in his soiled Pampers. He has also, already, turned down a job offer with the State Department. He wants to finish his education first. AWK, by the way, is the anagram for Alexander Wolf Koch.

Travels With Sadie, Days 13, 14 & 15. Cincinnati, Fort Wayne and back.

As you may, or may not, know; my aircard took a dump in Arizona two weeks ago. This means that I have to find the WiFi hot spots if I want internet access. It appears that McDonalds now has access at most of their locations now. It hardly matters however because I've been places lately that not only didn't have cellphone service, they didn't have a McDonalds.

Sadie and I left John Runberg's red barn Sunday night and arrived in Cincinnati early the next morning. The machine I was supposed to start-up needed a transformer, so we headed for Indiana for two days. We stayed at a Motel 6 in Fort Wayne for two nights. I stay at Motel Sixes at lot not because I am a cheapskate, which I am, but actually they are dog friendly, chain-wide. Motel Sixes are not know for their amenities, and true to form this one didn't have a WiFi. They did have a McDonalds across the street, but I couldn't get a usable signal. Being it was raining, lightening and thundering like hell, I didn't spend a lot of time in the McDonalds parking lot surfing the web. So needless to say, I mainly tried to catch up on my much missed sleep.

I inspected four machines in the area and will write up a quotation on refurbishing them. Today, Wednesday, we were, as Willy sang, back on the road again. For the next two nights, we will be staying at dog friendly Motel 6 in Cinci.

On the way, I saw the sign. Culver's, next offramp, 2 miles. After two miles, I pulled off and found the Culver's. One of the reasons, I am sure, why people in the Heartland are so heavy is Culver's Frozen Custard & ButterBurgers. If there was one of these near Long Beach, I would make a daily trip for a Turtle Sundae. A ButterBurger? I don't even want to know. I don't want to move to the Midwest.

One could say that there are four kinds of people in the world. One, there are people who have never heard of Cincinnati Chili. Two, there are people like me who have heard of it and never tasted it. The third class are people like DIL Amy, who knows about it and like it. And lastly, the fourth class are those who know it, but think it's not all that good. I, being a class two, thought that it was high time that that I matriculated to a higher class. So tonight I went over to Skyline Chili and bought a small 2-way. A two way is spaghetti topped with chili. A three way adds cheddar cheese, a four way adds diced onions or red beans and a five way adds onions and red beans. So there you have it, the complete knowledge base on Cincinnati Chili. I started out with a two way, to go. Back to Motel 6. To eat in my skivvies, with a cold beer. And the beer I had in mind was a Leinenkugel's. Next to the Skyline Chili place was a Kroger's Supermarket where I knew Leinenkugel's were lurking in the cooler. As I was reaching for the Leinie's out of the corner of my left eye I spotted it. A fifteen pack of Stroh's. If you live more than 200 miles away from Detroit, you probably never even heard of Stroh's Beer. It is the cult beer of the Eastern Great Lakes region. I figured, what the hell, I'm here in Ohio having Cincinnati Chili, what could be more appropriate than a Stroh's.

Conclusion, I have now been elevated to class three and a half. I have tried it but neither go nuts over it, nor do I dislike it. Basically, just another tick on my bucket list. It's cinco de mayo in Cincinnati, maybe I should have gotten a burrito supreme at the Taco Bell at the corner next to the KFC? Nah.