Dunbar: Heading Home

Reluctantly, I took my leave of Howard and Louise around 4;30 or so; if I had more energy I would have kept it up all night. But I had been up since 4AM, still needed to drive the 2 hours to Decatur, and it had began to rain. I left with a couple of souvenirs; a picture of dad's family taken in 1942 and Howard's autobiography of his WWII adventures and career as a biology teacher. Along with my Grandfather's Illinois Central Railroad watch that I got many years ago, I have a few things to hold on to from a vanishing generation.

Getting behind the wheel of a car again felt strange a bit, yet at the same time comforting. Mobility and freedom were mine again. Although I know now I have to play the game and have Dunbar licensed in Missouri to please the authorities bent on wringing every penny out of us they can.

Dunbar took me south on the somewhat familiar roads, past Peoria, down to Lincoln and then on to Decatur on the more familiar Route 121. It had become even more chilly from the steady fall rain and I had not brought a jacket it still being hung in my storage unit. Thus I infiltrated the blinding bright world of the Lincoln Wal-Mart, bustling at the dinner hour, to buy a cheap "Made in Indonesia" jacket for all of $10. Sadly, I think it is the only place on can buy a jacket in Lincoln, IL at that time of day.

My sister did not have to work Friday night, so immediately upon my arrival, I ordained a trip to "Los Matadores" in the once state of the art Fairview Plaza Shopping Center. What is now "Los Matadores" used to be part of the big Goldblatt's Department Store, closed many ages ago. Always good food, lots of it, good margaritas and sort of a tradition for me.

I stayed little in Decatur, needing to get back to KC, so I left Saturday AM after doing a few errands with my sister. The trip here was totally uneventful and Dunbar proved reliable and comfortable. HM Puggles was thrilled to see me home and enjoyed her first ride in her new limo on Sunday. She thinks it is fabulous, actually. She was out with me when I unloaded a bag of Purina from the trunk, purchased in Decatur when I found it on sale. She is convinced that her limo comes with food as standard equipment.

As I type this, I really wonder why I have taken the time. If you are reading, admit it, you really do not find this totally mundane story fascinating at all. I could be describing a trip to the gas station for all that matters. But it serves a purpose for me. Maybe someday, if all this gets preserved, a member of a future generation of the Clark family will find it and as it was with my Uncle's stories and a gold pocket watch, a bond of understanding will be forged between estranged generations.

Thus I go on.

Fetching Dunbar

Amtrak's "Southwest Chief" train is a bit of a different animal than the local service train I usually take from KC to St Louis or Springfield. Two powerful diesel locomotives power the train, this time consisting of a baggage car, a dining car and 5-6 big, double deck passenger cars. A couple of the cars were the sleeper cars, in reality rolling mini hotels. Since I was a short hop (the Chief starts in LA and goes to Chicago) I got one of the recliner regular seats. Long and comfy, fully reclinable and on the upper deck. For $52 and a quick trip, it could not be beat.

The Chief is the successor to the fabled Santa Fe Super Chief which ruled the LA to Chicago route during the peak of passenger rail service. Leaving KC in the AM, the Chief rolls through north central MO, stops in the hamlet of La Plata, MO serving Kirksville to the north, the river town of Fort Madison, IA and then on to Galesburg and Chicago. As the last time, Amtrak got me there on time and in comfort.

I immediately recognized my Uncle Howard, despite not having seen him in a while. Without going into a long psychological discussion, my dad's family is pretty much a mystery to me. We didn't do much with them and with the exception of my late Aunt Pauline, they were scattered here and there. Howard is the intellectual among the siblings and the most traveled and worldly. At 90, he still golfs, bicycles and is active in church and volunteerism. Tall, lots of white hair (where did mine go??, but his sons look much like me in the hair department) and sure footed and quick witted, he certainly looked less than his 90 years. Along with him was his long time friend Louise, his constant friend and companion, filling the void after his beloved wife Helen died 4 years ago.

We walked to the parking lot, like all of Illinois in the summer, undergoing construction, and there was Dunbar. I had little info on the car so I did not know what to expect. But there was a dark gray Century, resplendent in the 2 year old paint job (a story for later) despite the chilly, threatening weather. Instantaneous relief was felt when I saw the "Century Limited" badge on the back quarter panel. This meant Dunbar was of the rarer upper class, not just a lowly and ubiquitous "Custom". True to form, Dunbar is graced with power everything, the V6 instead of the underpowered I4 and a more cushy interior. I mean really, if you are replacing a Lincoln with a Buick, it should at least have some comfort!

Howard offered me to drive so off we went the few miles to his home in Knoxville. Dunbar seemed to drive fair for a 19 year old piece of machinery, but the brakes and front alignment are a bit suspect.

Lunch was in order, so we stopped at the newest incarnation of the Family Restaurant in Downtown Knoxville.

Over a fine walleye fish sandwich and two orders of beef tips and noodles (no, I did not have the beef tips) three people of two generations were to connect and re-connect. Stories told, catching up, realizing we had lots in common and a shared outlook on life.

I know better where I came from.

Notes from a Trip: Mayophobia

On board the Lincoln Service/Missouri Mule train from Chicago to Kansas City, one can usually find Pat in the last car manning the cafe. One benefit of train tavel is that you can actually get up and wobble down the aisle to the cafe car and purchase a drink or a snack. The fare is little better than airline food, and catering to a captive audience, it is quite pricey. But the pleasure of getting out of your seat and taking a stroll to get a coffee, microwaved hamburger or packaged deli sandwich is a bit of a pleasure.

Pat handled the cafe car on both days I traveled, so she recognized me from my frequent trips for coffee. Being about 7PM with my diabetic tummy needing some food, a trip to Pat was in order.

A lady was ahead of me and she got one of those awful Asian ramen noodle cups and a turkey and swiss sandwich. As Pat was heating the noodles, the lady opened the packaged sandwich and started to cover it with several packs of mayo...just like I was going to do as I had decided that was to be my choice (minus the noodles).

"OH!! I can't STAND the sight of mayonnaise"!!!!! Pat screamed while turning her head and shading her eyes from the offending condiment.

She handed the lady her change and the hot noodles while not looking at the mayo doused sandwich. "I am sorry, the sight of it makes my skin crawl, I can just imagine being buried in it.OOOOOOHH ahhhhgh!" She shuddered as the poor customer slinked away from the counter, feeling like she had just asked for a shit sandwich.

Needless to say, I slathered my mayo on mine out of sight of Miss Pat.

Mayoitis. That is the formal name for mayonnaise phobia, at least according to my net research. Apparently it is somewhat common; there is even a Facebook page for mayo phobics.

As for me, put mayo on a dead horse ass and I would probably eat it.

I am Don, I am a mayoholic... HI DON!

Notes From a Trip

First of all kudos to Amtrak for a great trip. For years, at least here in Missouri, Amtrak was synonymous with "late". I took Michael to the Independence station years ago for a trip back to Jeff City and the train was 45 min late from Kansas City, where it started! My sister was always late arriving, and two years ago I used it to Jeff City and could have walked there faster.

Some new sidings, allowing the freights to pull over, more double track, a new double track bridge and supposedly better co ordination with the freight trains has eliminated a lot of the delay. I think less freight traffic may contribute as well.

The train was clean, spacious, free of hassle (I carried 5 bottles of wine back in my bag, see if you can do that in a plane) and the passengers friendly and varied. Watching the scenery go by, observing life in the small towns, seeing the back side of the world (not always attractive, but certainly interesting), with the drone of the clack clack clack of the wheels is comforting and somewhat nostalgic.

And besides, it got me there in one piece.. what more could one ask?