August 31

The desk clerk at the hotel gave us a card for the only garage around. We were surrounded by truck garages, but they only serviced semis. Don's Garage. Oh well, it couldn't be any worse than when the van blew an engine in West Virginia! I called and Don himself answered the phone. He was very polite and to the point -- he'd get us in right away and get us back on the road as soon as possible. His uncle John did the towing, and he'd be right over to pick us up.

John called. In a delightful midwest drawl, he politely explained he'd have to let the truck warm up and then he'd be down -- probably 25 minutes. Since it was only 7:30 a.m., we took our time checking out and grabbed some breakfast in the lobby. In no time at all, there he was, dressed in freshly laundered (I think they were actually ironed!) camoflage fatigue pants and an equally clean work shirt with his name embroidered on it. What threw us a bit for this lanky sixtyish man was the gleaming pair of diamond ear studs offset by a Bluetooth headset. We gave the car a jump to get it started and I drove it over to the waiting flatbed truck. After a thorough explanation of which cables and straps he was using and the reassurance that he'd never lost a vehicle he was transporting, we climbed in the cab and headed off to Don's Garage.

The 10 mile ride went quickly with John's recount of his more memorable tows, and his years as a supervisor for the state department of transportation. He preferred to call in the AAA report himself, because, honestly, I believe he knew every square inch of road surface in the county. In no time we arrived at Don's Garage -- an expansive building with multiple service bays, which were all open and each busy with some type of auto repair.

Don came by and greeted us personally. He was the stereotype of an Hoosier -- polite, well dressed -- with a long cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. We had broken an alternator belt -- one of those long serpentine belts that wound around several pullies. We were assured we'd be back on the road as soon as possible. A young mechanic started working on the car immediately as it rolled off the tow truck. In the meantime we could wait in the customer lounge. It was the showroom of a former car dealership, very spacious, with numerous tables and chairs -- even a piano in the corner. Several young children ran around, which we later found out were Don's grandchildren. His daughters worked in the office. His son was our mechanic. Uncle John did the towing. I got the idea this was a family business. A fellow waiting for an oil change assured us that Don could fix anything. For some reason I believed him.

John made sure I had coffee and sat to chat until he received a phone call on his Bluetooth, whereby he politely excused himself and went outside. Don came in and appologized that the alternator belt that had just been delivered was the wrong one and he'd have the correct one soon. Within minutes another parts truck arrived and Don informed us it would be ready shortly. He worked the garage, flitting from vehicle to vehicle observing the progress, then coming into the office barking out parts that needed to be ordered, and finally going through the waiting room to update everyone on the progress of their vehicle, then back to the garage. Before long his son, our mechanic, came in like a surgeon announcing the outcome of an operation, and informed us he wanted to let the car run for a bit to recharge the battery, then we could go.

Peggi paid the bill and came back with a rather stunned look on her face. "How much do you think that was?" she asked. I thought it would be $200 -300. It was $64! Don breesed through again to say goodbye, and John came by to make sure I had the directions to get out of town and back on the Interstate. These folks were so nice, I almost didn't want to leave! But we did. It had been under 2 hours, but added to the hours we lost last night, we had some catching up to do.

We arrived in St. Louis around noon. You can see the Gateway Arch about 15 miles outside of town. It sticks up above everything else, and got bigger and bigger as we got closer. Promising we would just get in and out, we parked and walked through a nice park full of noon-time joggers overlooking the Mississippi. The arch was so huge, there was no way I could get a full shot of it in the camera that close. The entrance was below ground via a long sloping ramp. We bypassed the gift shops and got tickets for the tram that took you to the top, which was leaving immediately! We had to run to get in line.

If you think of a tram as a train, then think of a bunch of commercial sized laundry dryer drums travelling on a winding track inside the arch. There was room for 5 very small people in each and you could not sit straight up -- hunched over was the way to go! Arriving at the top, there was still a flight of steep narrow stairs to reach the viewing area. Once there, you could look out some very small rectangular windows by literally laying down on an angled carpeted cutout in the wall. But, what an amazing view! You could see for miles from this perch nearly 1000 feet in the air. From the east side was Indiana and the Mississippi River -- the official dividing line between east and west. On the other side was St. Louis, Bush Stadium, and the west! Our excitement of actually driving west lasted only momentarily until the call came for the next tram to go down. We hopped on (rather, squeezed in) with the same young couple we rode up with. And shortly, after a brief stop in a rather shady part of town for gas, headed on to I-44.

Missouri is called the "show me" state. I was waiting for them to show me something other than farm land. The only thing to break the monotony was the end-to-end construction zones of zillions of orange cones. It was Sunday, so there was no work going on. On clear stretches, I was able to set the cruise control on 90 and just boogie.

When we crossed into Oklahoma, the only difference was the road sign announcing we were now in Oklahoma. We stopped to eat in Tulsa, and as darkness approached, we vowed to drive as long as we could. Mike, our driver, told us it would take him 3 days to get to Scottsdale, and considering he left on Saturday, we figured he was well ahead of us. So we wanted to make up time as not to hold him up since we were the first load off. We made it almost all the way through Oklahoma, stopping in Weatherford -- one of the last big dots on the map. We settled in at the Scottish Inn -- not quite the Bates Motel, but I'm sure I saw one like this in a murder movie once.

Tomorrow we tackle Texas and New Mexico.