We spent the weekend in Oklahoma celebrating the in-laws 50th anniversary. My oldest son and his girlfriend were able to drive up from Texas and spend the weekend with the family and we all had a great time. I needed to make the return trip to Virginia in two days in order to get back to work, so I left Oklahoma around 6:30 Monday morning in a light rain.
Due to the rain and the need to make good time, I rode on the turnpikes (stopping to dig out my tolls) across northeast Oklahoma. The rain wasn’t hard enough to get you very wet, but it was enough to keep the windshield and my glasses a mess. The rain continued into Missouri until I reached Springfield where the clouds thinned and even a little sunshine began to break through. I decided to ride the interstates back for the speed, but I had also plotted out a few interesting stops along the way.
One of my first planned stops was to visit Daniel Boone’s gravesite near Marthasville, Missouri. There are a couple of reasons this stop had my interest. First, my mom’s side of the family was named Boone and the family lore had it that Daniel Boone was a great uncle of my grandfather (or something like that). The second reason the stop was of interest was because there is another Daniel Boone gravesite in Frankfort, Kentucky and I planned to stop there too. I wanted to see both sites and compare them. It’s unique that anyone has two gravesites, so I was intrigued as to how this occurred for Daniel Boone.
The story goes that when Daniel Boone died in Missouri they buried him with his wife Rebecca. But, since the plot next to Rebecca had been used, they had to bury Daniel at Rebecca’s feet. They are buried at the top of a hill in a small cemetery out in the country in Warren County, Missouri. I was a little disappointed that the cemetery wasn’t very well kept, but it seemed to be a peaceful spot.
Years later the City of Frankfort decided to bring Daniel’s remains back to Kentucky. They received permission to exhume his remains, but when they did so, they assumed Daniel was buried next to Rebecca. The locals in Missouri say they still have the real remains of Daniel Boone buried at Rebecca’s feet while Frankfort has the remains of some unknown person. I assume the mystery isn’t worth DNA testing and as far as I’m concerned, the controversy tells a better story anyway. So, you can decide which state is Daniel’s final resting place. I had one gravesite visited and plans to see the other the next day.
The weather was great by this point and I was thrilled to have the side trip to Daniel’s grave to give me a reason to bail off the interstate. I worked my way back to I-44 from Marthasville on state highway MO-100. Unfortunately, the urban sprawl from the St Louis area meant MO-100 was under construction as they expanded the lanes. So, instead of enjoying a quiet ride through the country back to I-44, I waited in lines of traffic where the road was down to one lane for both directions and picked my way through gravel where the road was being paved. Still, it was nice to get off the interstate for a little while.
I rode around the outskirts of St Louis on I-255 and made my return crossing of the Mississippi River. I-255 took me into East St Louis, Illinois, and offered me some nice views of St Louis and the Gateway Arch. I should have made a point of getting some pictures of the Arch, but by this time I was getting hungry and knew there was a Hooters about 5 miles east of I-255 on I-64. So, you figure out which option won out. Do you see any pictures of the Arch?
Lunch at Hooters was great! I had the ham and cheese sandwich. I highly recommend it as a good lunch. Since it was about 2PM, my waitress wasn’t very busy and spent a good part of the meal hanging out and asking me about the ride. People seem to be fascinated that guys like me ride our motorcycles across the country. I always get the “why” question and my usual response is “Why not?” I try to follow that short answer up with details about the places I’ve been and the things I’ve seen and encourage them to give it a try even if they travel by car versus motorcycle. Get out there on the back roads of America and you might be surprised what you’ll discover.
Unfortunately, this trip was going to involve interstates and 75-plus mph, so the opportunities for something interesting were going to need to be manufactured. To do this, I had the second Daniel Boone gravesite already on the plan, plus a few other stops along the way to break up the monotony. What I didn’t have planned was to see if I could run out of gas in the middle of nowhere. Since I was riding interstates, I didn’t pay as close attention to my gas stops as I should have.
My last fill up was in St Clair, Missouri where I exited I-44 to run up to Marthasville. I filled up at a station by the interstate then did the 15 miles or so to the gravesite, traveled the 15 or so miles back to I-44, rode around the south side of St Louis on I-255 adding another 45 miles, merged onto I-64 to head east and just kept riding. I assumed I would stop in Mount Vernon, Illinois (another 100 miles down I-64) for fuel, but the highway was under construction in Mt Vernon, so I decided to keep going assuming I could get off at the next town and fill up. Oops. There aren’t any gas stations on I-64 once you pass Mt Vernon. If they are there, they aren’t advertised and you can’t see them from the road.
I continued east hoping to get lucky, but knowing that the smart thing would have been to turn around after I didn’t see any gas stations in the first 10 miles past Mt Vernon. The next exit was another 10 miles and boasted two towns, Wayne City and Belle Prairie City. Beyond that was another 10 mile stretch until you reached the intersection of US-45 and I-64. I was sure there would be gas at US-45, but I didn’t think I had enough gas left to make it that far. I really needed a gas station at the Wayne City exit or I feared I’d be doing the one thumb shuffle to the nearest station.
I got lucky at the Wayne City exit. The sign advertised fuel on the north side of the interstate. I approached the stop sign at the end of the exit ramp, but didn’t see any indication of a gas station. I decided to ride toward Wayne City and hope for the best. My guardian angel was looking out for me again and I spotted the gas station a half a mile up the road. I loaded 4.75 gallons of fuel into my 5 gallon tank. I might have made it another 10 miles on a quart of gas, but it’s not likely, so this station saved me a lot of time and a lot of aggravation.
As I rode back to I-64 I realized the road I was on, IL-242, went south into a town called McLeansboro. This brought back some good memories for me from more than 30 years before. When I was 19 a buddy of mine, Daniel Taylor, and I drove from Mobile, Alabama to St. Louis to see my parents. They were living in St Louis and I was entering the Air Force, so I went up to spend a couple of months with them before leaving for basic training. Daniel rode up with me for the heck of it.
We took the long way up (would you expect anything different from me) and traveled through Mississippi on the Natchez Trace. We visited another high school buddy at Mississippi State University, and ultimately managed to get on I-55 toward Missouri. It was December and the farther north we went the colder it got. We hit snow somewhere near Cape Girardeau which is also about the time we had a flat tire. We were in a Ford Maverick and both of us still remember being on the side of the road changing that tire, neither one of us dressed for the weather and the tractor-trailers blowing snow all over us and rocking the car as they passed. We still get a laugh about that trip to this day.
McLeansboro reminded me of this because that’s where I ultimately took Daniel after he spent a couple of weeks in St Louis. Daniel has family in McLeansboro and I drove him there from St Louis. I still don’t know to this day exactly how he got back to Mobile. I need to remember to ask him that one day. Seeing the sign touting “McLeansboro 11 Miles” brought back those old memories and had me smiling for the next few miles on I-64.
Ok, now that I dragged you down memory lane with me, I’ll get back to my return from Oklahoma. I was hoping to get to Louisville, Kentucky before dark. There were three stops there that I wanted to make and wanted to get pictures. The first stop was at the Louisville Slugger Baseball Museum, home of the world’s largest baseball bat. The second was at Churchill Downs and the third was to visit the grave of Colonel Harland Sanders (of Kentucky Fried Chicken fame). I guess since it was October; I had some kind of macabre Halloween grave visit thing going on with this trip.
If you remember from the previous ride story, I plan out my rides in detail, but I also said I always deviate from the plan. This ride wasn’t any different. I was racing the sun and going east only means it gets dark earlier. It was dark by the time I crossed the Ohio River and rode into downtown Louisville. I got a poor picture of the world’s largest baseball bat and decided that the other two stops would have to wait for another time.
I tried to stop at Hooters on the east side of Louisville, but it was Sunday night and NFL football was on. The place was crowded, so I simply passed through the packed parking lot and continued on my way. I decided since I was going to skip dinner at Hooters I might as well get further down the road. I made Frankfort, KY my new destination for the night.
It was dark, but I was still on I-64 and making good time. As I neared the Shelbyville exit on I-64 traffic began to back up. Eventually, I was able to see emergency lights ahead and realized there had been an accident. I crunched my way through the broken glass at the accident scene and saw a couple of cars down in the grass in the median and a couple sitting on the left and right sides of the highway. I’m not sure who did what, but given traffic had been running in a large pack at about 75 mph, it didn’t surprise me that someone had made a mistake.
That’s why I rarely ride with a pack of cars. I’ll either go faster to leave them behind or slow down to let them get far enough ahead that even the dumbest of the drivers can’t collect me when they make their inevitable mistake. This is just one more reason why I despise riding on the interstate. Instead of just dealing with a jackass, you’re dealing with a jackass in a 2000 pound vehicle going 75 mph.
I rolled into the America’s Best Value Inn in Frankfort about 9PM Eastern Time. I covered 770 miles for the day and was on the road 13.5 hours. Now it was time to grab some dinner and relax. I asked the clerk for a recommendation for dinner and she pointed me to the Mexican restaurant across the street.
Her recommendation was solid. I sat at the bar and had a terrific meal along with a couple of Coors Lights. The only problem at the restaurant was a couple who were having a fight. They seemed to want to involve everyone in the bar in their drama. I viewed it as live entertainment and enjoyed the show with my dinner. I assume they worked out their differences since they sat back down together in a booth, but then again, I don’t really care. I was simply appreciative of the entertainment their little show provided. From where I sat, I think they were both morons, but that seems a little judgmental, so I’ll withhold my opinion (Oops, too late!).
Frankfort is the home to the other Daniel Boone gravesite and the state capitol of Kentucky. I was able to sleep in since I wanted to get pictures of both and needed to give the sun a little more time to rise. I left the hotel around 7:45 that morning and rode into downtown Frankfort. The hills around Frankfort offer you some terrific views of the capitol. One overlook in particular is on US-60 and sets you right above the capitol building. The only problem with it was that you are facing east from that overlook and at that time of the morning the sun was shining in my face rather than at the subject of my photo. Regardless, I got the shot and rode on over to the Frankfort Cemetery to find the other Boone grave.
I entered the cemetery from Glenns Creek Road. As I entered I saw a sign pointing the way to Boone’s grave. I followed the road in that direction and as I rounded a curve I was met with an ominous welcome. A large white headstone was catching the early morning rays of sun and had four inch letters indicating it was the final resting place for someone named Riddle. “Damn, welcome to Frankfort”, I thought. Holy Cow, I didn’t even know I was dead.
As unnerving as it was to see my name on the headstone, that really wasn’t the purpose of my trip. I was here to see what the fine people of Frankfurt had done with their version of the Daniel Boone gravesite. As I approached the area of the cemetery where the grave was located a large buck ran across the road and headed into the brush on the west side of the cemetery. I didn’t have the camera out yet, so I wasn’t able to get a shot of him.
Daniel Boone’s grave was set on the top of the hill with a tremendous view of the capitol and the city of Frankfort. The gravesite in Frankfort was in better shape and more spectacular, but I have to admit, the country setting of the site in Missouri did have its charm. The two sites were so different that it was hard to claim one was better than the other. I liked them both.
My original plan was to turn off the interstate and travel through southern Ohio and across West Virginia to get back home. I had arranged a photo shoot with a model in southern Ohio where I hoped to get some pictures for this article, plus some to add to my portfolio for future stories. Unfortunately, Julie canceled on Saturday, so that left me with a hole in the plan.
I contacted another model in the Ashland, Kentucky area, coincidentally Flatwoods, KY. If you read the story on the ride to Oklahoma you might remember that I spent the first night on the road in Flatwoods, WV. Who would have thought I’d be hitting two towns called Flatwoods in two different states on this trip?
Brittany, the model in Ashland, turned out to be a bit of a flake and while she agreed to meet for a shoot on Tuesday, she didn’t give me anything but an email address to contact her. So, when I didn’t hear from her on Monday, I dropped another email message and let her know I would check email when I got to Ashland. If she was still interested in shooting I needed her to give me some method of contacting her locally.
Had I stayed with the original ride plan through southern Ohio I was going to stop in Portsmouth where I understand the town has painted large murals depicting scenes from the area on the levee along the Ohio River. Another stop included visiting the Bob Evan’s farm near Adamsville, OH. Bob Evans has the restaurants around the US and is one of my favorite places to grab breakfast when I’m on the road and ready for a sit down breakfast versus a McDonald’s breakfast burrito and coffee. I figured since I liked the restaurant, I might as well visit the farm.
But, as you know by now, my routes are fluid and with the photo shoot with Julie out and the possibility of a shoot with Brittany still open, I decided to make for home on the fastest route possible. I left Frankfurt and was back on I-64 about 8:20 and hauling butt east. I bypassed Lexington and avoided any repeats of skidding uncontrollably through red lights. By the time I took the split on I-64 east out of Lexington, I was retracing the same path I took getting to Oklahoma a few days before.
I didn’t make an effort to go back and get a picture of the University of Kentucky football stadium or anything else that I had missed due to the rain on my way to Oklahoma a few days before. I did look for the Chevron station with the cute girls working the gas and food counters. I knew they were somewhere in northeast Kentucky, but couldn’t remember which exit it was and I missed it.
I checked email on my Blackberry when I reached the Ashland area, but there were no messages from Brittany, so there would be no photo shoot on this run. I blew through Huntington, WV, not stopping to get the pictures of Marshall University that I planned. Bottom line, once I turned the bike east in Frankfort, I was like a bat out of hell flying for home.
I rode I-64 east then I-79 north back the way I had come. I exited I-79 in Weston and rode the beautiful Appalachian Highway System (brought to you by Senator Robert Byrd) back to Elkins and beyond. It was late afternoon when I got to the more scenic parts of WV-55 and US-33 in eastern West Virginia, so I decided to slow down and enjoy the last couple of hours of the ride. I stopped in Seneca Rocks to get a picture of one of West Virginia’s rock climber’s heaven.
A short distance down the road was another set of rocks called Champe Rocks. After that, it was a pleasant ride down WV/VA-55. I avoided the temptation to stop for a haircut in Petersburg from the cute hair stylist and then made an accelerated run for the last 40 miles on I-66. I got home before dark and brought another ride to a close. Slightly more than 500 miles were covered on this day and overall, the trip was 2885 miles over a four and a half day period.
It always feels strange to get off the bike after several days of riding. I find myself deep in thought plotting the next ride and looking for the opportunity to saddle up and go again. That opportunity presented itself with Jeremy's (my oldest son) announcement that he and Casey were finally going to tie the knot. They planned to keep it simple and get hitched in Las Vegas in May. That sounded great to me for a couple of reasons. First, because Casey is a great gal and seems to truly make Jeremy happy and, second, because it gives me an excuse to ride from Virginia to Las Vegas. Road trip, anyone?
