Illinois & Indiana

Sitting on the Western bank of the Mississippi and funneling traffic from Missouri across to southern Illinois, Cape Girardeau represents a cultural border town. Here, detailed and decorative architecture shroud the empty fronts of tired long closed homes and businesses that stand as a physical representation of a power that no longer stands independently, but as a major partner in a reluctant union.

Cape Girardeau is named after a French soldier called Jean Baptiste de Girardot, who in 1733 established a temporary trading post which, over time, has evolved into the pretty but tired town that you see here today. Now, via the Bill Emerson Memorial Bridge it connects Routes 34 and 74 and Route 146 on the other side of the Mississippi River. For us, it now also represents a (temporary) end of the Mid West and the beginning of our first (temporary) exposure to the American South.

And on to Illinois...

We were not going to be in Illinois very long and we needed to find a town where we could get both a badly behaved camera fixed, and some precariously exposed film developed. University towns are always a good bet for this, so we briefly ventured through the Shawnee National Forest to Carbondale, home of Southern Illinois University. This place had a vibe that both of us liked immediately. It seemed like a lively, friendly and creative community for which the university represented a strong beating heart.

This was my favourite town since Salida in Colarado.

Carbondale

Rebecca has a theory. I’m not sure that it would stand up in Europe, but here in America it has so far wrung true. Basically, she thinks that vegetarian restaurants tend to be located within the most interesting and creative parts of American towns. Well, from California right across to Illinois this theory has so far wrung true, and yet again, this time in Carbondale, it has wrung true once again. I guess that this has something to do with the fact that vegetarianism in this land of such staunch and enthusiastic carnivorism remains (for many) a deviance that can only be tolerated within same fringes of society that tolerate the most interesting art and music. Either way, it is a good rule that has served us well.

After a night spent close by in the cheap and well maintained 'Giant City State Park' we continued east on Highway 64 into Indiana. If our stay in Illinois was brief, our stay in the Hoosier State was going to be rapid, as we pressed forward with with haste on our journey to the Atlantic .

Whilst in Indiana, we stayed in a strange small town called Dale in a cheap motel from which we watched yet another perfect sunset disappear behind another endless American Highway.

Dale

Indiana Sunset

© All Images By Paul

Trail Of Tears

Eventually, we ended up on the Illinois border in the intriguingly named Trail of Tears State Park where we set up camp deep in a thick forest under the cover of an eerie and frightening darkness. Here, we could hear the faint rumbling of the mighty Mississippi River flowing aggressively in the distance. It felt satisfying to think about how far we had come, and exciting to think about how far we still had yet to go.

Then after what seemed like many hours, we fell asleep despite the concerted efforts of an officious park ranger and the movement of a plethora of unidentified tree dwelling animals.

The next morning we woke up to something truly beautiful. As we were now deep in the forest, the sun had taken longer then usual to wake us up. This meant that by the time we did emerge from the Beast it was already high in the sky, beaming down and illuminating the myriad of colourful leaves that dangled precariously from each and every tree.

Trail of Tears

Mighty Mississippi

Inspired, we quickly dressed and set out to hike a trail through a carpet of fallen leaves and under a threadbare covering of foliage.

In case you are wondering, the ‘Trail of Tears’ is the term given to the path taken by Native Americans (Cherokee, Creek, Seminole, and Choctaw) after their forced relocation to the small Indian territory that was ‘set aside’ for them in modern day Oklahoma. This long passage cost countless lives especially at this exact point on the Mississippi where between 4000 and 15000 Cherokee Indians died from exposure within the dead of winter. Surprisingly, to me at least, it was George Washington’s who instigated this policy. His proposal of cultural transformation for American natives inspired subsequent presidents like Andrew Jackson to pass and implement the Indian Removal Act of 1830. Think about it for a second. Not just one, but multiple cultures annexed or almost entirely obliterated by the ambition of an immigrant population. If this happened anywhere in the modern world, we would use two words to describe it; invasion and genocide.

Now, this wonderful state park preserves the native woodlands much as they appeared to the Cherokee back in the 1830’s.

This really was a beautiful, if poignant place to spend a couple days prior to the continuation of our journey east into Illinois and Indiana.

© All Images By Paul

Missouri

The 5 days that we spent in Kansas City is a testament to how much we both enjoyed being there. However, we had a journey to resume and many many miles to conquer; so with the Beast rested and watered, we continued east along Highway 35 toward Liberty, and outlaw country.

I didn’t know it before I got here, but it appears that throughout 19th century Missouri has offered refuge to many a thief and villain. Most notably, it was the home to one Mr. Jesse James, who after fighting for the Confederacy in the American Civil War in 1866, embarked on an anti-establishment robbing spree with his 2 brothers (as part of the now infamous James Gang). In the civil war, Missouri was a border state, which meant that it had both split allegiances and strong ties with the south. Therefore, Jesse James’ defiance of the post-war Unionist state authority was, and still remains something that has been romanticised and celebrated here. However, the fact remains that Jesse James did not actually admit to any of his crimes before Robert Ford assassinated him in 1882. This means that each criminal act now linked with his name is as much the product of speculation and hearsay as anything else.

Make of this what you will.

Liberty is the place where Jesse James supposedly staged his and America’s first daylight bank robbery at 103 North Water Street. The bank where this took place still stands (albeit recently renovated) on the corner of a well-preserved central square that is ringed by a neighbourhood of small well-maintained wooden houses. Understandably, and in-keeping with the outlaw-ishness of its history, Liberty is now a centre for law enforcement, with an impressive central courthouse and nearby jail.

103 North Water Street

Inside the Vault Robbed By Jesse James

Liberty Courthouse

With our bellies full of history, it was now time for something different, something natural and something detached from urban living. This involved taking a long drive southeast on Highway 7 toward the Mark Twain National Forest, via the small and avoidable towns that surround the otherwise intensely pretty Lake Ozark. With this journey came our passage into a new season and the final termination of our long hot Indian summer. Now, as the number of trees intensified on the landscape, so did the abundance of vibrant autumnal colours. As we looked out of the Beast intense reds, yellows and rusty greens caught the still intense sunlight and dominated the view as we passed through the hamlets, villages and small-scale agriculture that clung to this long and narrow winding road.

Such a pretty place.

The Town of Tightwad (You couldn't make this up)

Mark Twain National Forrest

© All Images By Paul

Kansas City

Before we arrived in this large but sparse city, we spent the night in one of its many southern out of town suburbs. As a consequence, and partly due to a deeply unpleasant meal in Applebees (not vege friendly at all), my already low expectation of the confluence of the Missouri and Kansas rivers managed to plummet to rock bottom. Honestly, at this point, after the rural endlesslessness through which we had passed to get here, I would have been happy if this city offered anything at all.

The next morning we set off through the first rainfall that we had confronted for 2 months. This trip immediately passed us through some of the most confusing and illogical elevated freeway systems ever constructed. Not for the first time on this trip, we were scared and bemused by a traffic system seemingly conceived after a long hallucinogenic drug binge. It was frightening. Lanes would suddenly split in two directions and present any inattentive driver with a concrete divider and a quickly issued ticket to oblivion. This was not good.

As the downtown area and the state of Missouri slowly emerged through the spray of a torrential downpour, our expectations were immediately surpassed. A sprinkle of intricately decorated gothic skyscrapers and large industrial brick structures poked through a haze created by the rain. This was by far the most interesting architecture that we had seen since leaving San Francisco, so armed only with a small umbrella we parked, and set out to explored the various central districts that define this city.

Kansas City is by far the most pleasant surprise that we have discovered so far this trip. Between an eerily quiet downtown area and a cosmopolitan 'Plaza' district sits a low lying (former)industrial sprawl that reminded both of us of Brooklyn. Here, countless bars and galleries and empty studio spaces are sitting, just waiting for the right kind of creative investment. I'm not sure what it was about this place, but it certainly felt like a place oozing with potential. I liked it a lot.

Downtown

The Missouri River

Local Fashion

The Local Brewes

Street Art

© All Images By Paul