A Day for All Things Lincoln and Then Some

Saturday, Sept. 24, Springfield, Ill.

After a long day Friday and a late evening with our Springfield T-Bird friends, it seemed logical to sleep in on Saturday. Yes, but only just a bit. Duane was up-and-at-'em by 6:30 a.m. to see about getting his right window fixed. On Friday, it froze in the down position, and with suspected rain, something had to be done. Coming to his rescue was Keith Rose of the Springfield club who shared his garage, tools and talents to at least get the window into an up position; the electric window motor is burned out and those repairs will have to come later. Duane sends his heartiest thanks to Keith.

On the agenda was the chance to delve into Abraham Lincoln's life and to see where and how he lived in Springfield. First up was a tour of his home -- a modest frame house even for its day. It is the only house Lincoln ever owned. The neighborhood consists of other original homes from the era, and is closed to vehicular traffic. What an experience to be in the same rooms that this great American inhabited. Our guide from the Park Service warned us not to touch items in the recreated rooms with the exception of the stair railing to the second floor; it is the same wooden bannister Lincoln used on the stairs. It was surreal.

We also enjoyed Lincoln's Presidential Library and Museum, its incredible and lifelike tableau of Lincoln's life, from his childhood log cabin to the White House. There also were papers, memorabilia and the one thing that struck me most, his black stovepipe hat with two worn spots on the brim made by his fingers when he doffed his hat to others.

While some ventured out to the State Capitol and Lincoln's tomb, we let the road lead us. In Litchfield we tried to eat lunch at the Ariston Cafe, but they don't serve lunch on Saturdays. Nevertheless, they invited us in to look around. Owner Demi Adam's father-in-law built the restaurant in 1931 and it's been in the family ever since.

Route 66 took us into Mount Olive where a 1926 Shell station that sold gas along the road for 65 years is being restored. Soulsby Station sports antique red and yellow Shell gas pumps; the National Park Service recently approved a $10,000 matching preservation grant to complete the project.

Among Route 66's wackiest roadside attractions is one called Henry's Rabbit Ranch. Ah, you say, picturing all sorts of critters and hutches and such. But that's too simple and straightforward for the Mother Road. Instead, think of cars and one in particular. Yep, the Volkswagen Rabbit. We don't know if this is a love affair or a hate relationship with the Rabbit, but certainly it is being given its due. See how eight of them are displayed below.

And for a Judy whose maiden name is Hare, this sign was just too good to let go unnoticed!

And now it was time to head toward Hazelwood, Mo., and our overnight venue. As we drove west toward St. Louis we traveled through some of Route 66's most beautiful scenery -- rolling hills and lots of green away from the highways.

We were reminded by Bill and Doris that they are beginning their 66th year of marriage on Route 66. Sounds good to me!

Sunday, Sept. 25, Hazelwood, Mo., a St. Louis suburb

It was a day of diverse discovery as we went in several directions. One group returned to Illinois to see the Lewis and Clark Interpretive Center while others of us sought out the famed explorers in a different way -- their boathouse near their departure point on the banks of the Missouri River. Here replicas of their boats are on display next to gardens filled with plants native to the area in 1802.

But first, I have to back up. We left Hazelwood for nearby St. Charles to reach the boathouse. As we came in the driveway, a man waved us through to the "registration table." The what? We had inadvertently stumbled upon a classic car show, and because we arrived in our own classic cars, they naturally assumed we were participants! We demurred, but Les decided to register just so he could get another dash plaque for his collection. Later he decided to have his car judged -- and since there were only two T-Birds entered, he figures that at the very worst, he'll win second place. We weren't there for the announcement of winners, so any and all trophies will be mailed to Washington.

We decided to wander into the village of St. Charles, first capital of Missouri. This charming collection of beautiful brick buildings dating from the 1850s are stylish as befitting a state seat of government. Today the buildings house restaurants, shops and businesses along the tree-lined street.

While others decided to look at the car show or wander in and out of the shops, Gordon and I began our pilgrimage to the renowned Ted Drewes Frozen Custard, home of the "concrete" milk shakes and an icon in St. Louis for decades. En route downtown, we saw huge brick homes, canopies of trees, well-trod sidewalks -- all with a classic signature look that says "Midwest" to people of the West Coast.

And then, there it was, an unassuming white building that would be easy to miss except for the sign and the people lined up at multiple windows to place their orders. Faced with a huge selection of flavors, we opted for hot fudge/caramel concretes, so named because they are so thick that they are served upside down with a long-handled spoon firmly in place. A nice couple offered to take our picture with the concretes upside down, but apparently we had waited too long: mine dripped but held and Gordon's went kersplat on the driveway! You can bet we provided great laughs for those still in line. When I reported the spill, they gave us another one without charge, saying, "Oh, that happens to first-timers all the time."

But soon it was time to head for our overnight at Rolla, Mo., home of the newly named Missouri University of Science and Industry, and also home of Kappa Delta's Epsilon Alpha chapter.  As we cruised Route 66, we came upon a roadside attraction, Indian Harvest, complete with colorful teepees and a gift shop boasting Native American art, blankets and silver. We pulled in so Gordon could take a photo, and I was about to get out of the car to explore the gift shop, when a woman came out and asked us if we were going to patronize her store. We said we didn't know, and she said that until we paid a $2 per person fee to enter the gift shop there would be no photos allowed. We explained that we were writing an article for a major magazine, and she said, "Yeah, you and a hundred others." Then a man came out and invited us to leave, escorted us to the gate, and said, "Your photos don't pay our bills. Somebody has to pay for my driveway." When we mentioned this to the group, Jo said she'd read similar comments online. Quite a contrast to the wonderfully friendly people we've met ever since we left.

Our route took us along some lovely roads that led to interesting 66 icons -- the rusted 1950 Chevy painted in camouflage as a centerpiece at the Wagon Wheel Motel, the Pump Handle Snack Shop and of course, the world's largest rocking chair, 42 feet high and 20 feet wide.

The Birds and the Boys: from left, Duane, Les, Gordon and Bill

Our digs for the night was an honest-to-goodness tourist court, Zeno's Motel and Steak House. We'd all been longing for a good steak, but it was not to be; Zeno's and most every other restaurant in Rolla had closed at 2 p.m. Nevertheless, we were harking back to a bygone time when little family-owned motels were the standard lodging along America's highways. Zeno's opened in 1957 and has remained in the family for more than 50 years. Our room was spacious and exceptionally clean, yet the chairs had lost some of their wood stain; it was replaced by the patina of age and had become silky smooth. 

A disclaimer: Although I can usually operate a computer program with some success, this blog has been unbelievably difficult to format. For one thing, I can't get rid of the underlining in this text, and for another, some paragraphs insist on being centered instead of flush left, and for some odd reason, the text above is blue. What's more, the photos aren't placed the way I'd like -- but trying to move them around is impossibly time-consuming. So I ask all of you to bear with me. Maybe I'll get it right, and maybe I won't. But I am trying -- very trying. 

More to come,

Judy and Gordon

Catch Up Again!

Sioux Falls, S.D., Sept. 22: Generator Fails!

Our gloomy, gray morning matched our spirits when Bill and Doris' generator failed. Les, our master mechanic, donned his bright red coveralls, yanked out the recalcitrant part, got it to a repair shop, and soon it was back, fully rebuilt in a matter of an hour. Van's Auto Electric in Sioux Falls dropped everything on their schedule to get us back on the road. We dropped by to give our personal thanks, and then were on our way out of town.


We were in hog heaven, so to speak, as we passed the John Morrell packing plant with its building labeled Hog Pens and adjacent structure, Livestock Xchange. Little did we know that in the coming miles, we'd see lots of little piggies going to market, their little pink behinds showing through the openings in their travel pens. And, of course, if you didn't smell them coming, you smelled them going!

Departing Sioux Falls, we were back in the flat lands where the yellow plowed-under cornfields disappeared off the horizon with just an occasional copse of green trees for contrast. Again we were on a stretch of I-90 highway that ran straight ahead as far as we could see, bearing no resemblance to the I-90 of Western Washington. 

Today was a three-state day: South Dakota, Minnesota and Iowa, where we actually encountered rolling hills and gentle valleys. Smokestacks and silos stood tall in the distance while dairy cows and on-the-hoof black angus steaks grazed in fertile fields. We were in a Grant Wood painting!

We passed by Clear Lake, Iowa, which may strike a chord with those who remember that this is where “the music died” in 1959 with the death of Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and the Big Bopper. Departing in bad weather with a teenage (!) pilot, they all perished when the plane crashed in a cornfield shortly after take-off. Gordon and I paid tribute by popping a Buddy Holly tape into the cassette player and singing along to “Rave On.”


Who knew that there was a Golden Spike on I-90? Apparently this highway was built from the East and from the West, meeting near the Minnesota state line where a Golden Spike at a rest stop commemorates the two sections meeting.


Odd sighting: A boat for sale, parked on its trailer on the side of the highway next to a cornfield. 

Earl and Jane in the T-Bird Pace Car have been invaluable to our tour; they’ve made this trip more than a half-dozen times and have developed local knowledge of the area – where to find a good truck stop for gas, a park to picnic – plus the historical and geographical facts they’ve gathered during their trips. We’ve all be grateful for their help and insight into the area.

Our stop in Waterloo gave us an opportunity to do laundry. Doris, Jane and I killed time shopping at the Dollar Store next door, then returned to watch our clothes dry – isn’t there a joke about something like that? Watching paint dry? Watching grass grow? We’d been warned to keep an eye on our drying clothes, so that is what we did.


It had been a long but satisfying day, bringing us ever closer to the end of our long, steady trek east. Tomorrow we’d be in Chicago and soon the adventure would begin!

Waterloo, Iowa, Sept. 23: We departed under gray clouds, milky skies and humidity. There were storms all around us that we hoped to avoid. Today we would be in a hotel on Joliet Rd. (aka Route 66) in Countryside, Ill., a Chicago suburb.


But first we had a long way to go and a short time to get there (Smokey, do you read me?). We've noticed that Midwest drivers tailgate. We mean REALLY tailgate, within 10 feet of the car in front, and sometimes there are up to six cars in a line doing this. It seems to be a way of life here; it reminds us of the autostradas in Italy, but just not as fast!


At 12:15 p.m, we crossed the Mississippi River into Illinois, but the day was not to be without incident. As we moved east, the crosswinds became stronger. While traveling on I-280, the lid to Les' empty lightweight car topper attached to his small trailer blew open at speed. We pulled to the side, secured it and at the next truck stop, he took it off and tossed it. 

As Les was purchasing straps to tie down the lid to the trailer, he was approached by a man in an SUV who offered to give him some straps. While exchanging names, we learned this helpful stranger is a chiropractor who attended Palmer College, as did Les, and graduated just four years later. The Good Samaritan is Richard Everett, who practices at Princeton Chiropractic Center in Princeton, Ill.


"Are you really from Washington?" asked an SUV driver while we crept along in the Chicago traffic. "Yes, from Puget Sound," we replied. Turns out he used to live on Vashon Island (a mile across the water from our home in Gig Harbor) and could hardly believe we were there.

Let the party begin! 

Once ensconced in our Countryside Motel, we ventured out with Gypsy (our GPS) leading the way to Dell Rhea's Chicken Basket, a renowned Route 66 restaurant since 1946, still in the family and still fabulous. We were met there by members of the Chicagoland T-Bird Club for a spectacular dinner and T-Bird fellowship. Hinsdale, Ill., residents Pete and Marylu Kramer made the arrangements, and we had a great time. Besides the delicious chicken, we had a chance to mingle with fellow T-Birders, and we celebrated Bill and Doris'  65th wedding anniversary with a decorated cake, singing and gifts from us Puget Sound Early Birds. 

Our thanks to all the Chicagoland T-Birders who came to dinner with us on a busy T-Bird weekend. We so enjoyed meeting you and were especially happy to talk with Bert Eisenhour, a founder of Classic Thunderbird Clubs International and an icon in the T-Bird world, and Liz Werth, the CTCI regional director.

Pete and Marylu kindly led us back to our hotel through some lovely residential areas, and soon we were in our little beds with dreams of Route 66 dancing in our heads. Tomorrow it all begins!

Countryside, Ill., Friday, Sept. 24: We're he-e-e-e-r-e! At last we're driving Route 66! To avoid some of the traffic, we slipped through beautiful midwestern side streets, passed the ominous-looking Old Joliet Prison, where Al Capone took up residence for a time. All along the way we were slowed by roadwork; Earl tells us that there are two seasons in the Midwest, winter and construction.

Our Pace Car is no more. Now there's an explanation:

We reached our first giant sighting at the Launching Pad Drive-In in Wilmington, Ill. Meet the Gemini Giant, holding a rocket. As you can see, we really enjoyed getting to know him. We all opted to  sample the goodies at the drive-in, from sundaes to shakes; what the heck, eat dessert first!

As we wandered along Route 66, we came upon a caravan of vintage Chevys, headed as we were for the annual International Route 66 Mother Road Festival in Springfield, Ill. The T-Birds and Chevys met at the Odell restored gas station, a wonderful mix of old tools, gas cans, gas pumps, souvenirs and such.

Our next stop was Memory Lane in Lexington. One of the oldest sections of Route 66, this one-mile stretch has Burma Shave signs and old billboards to recapture the 1950s. However, it is only open several days a year to cars; otherwise you have to walk the area. And that's what we expected. But lucky us, the road was open today because of the Springfield event. So there we were, our own little birds on this remarkable road.

And on a personal note, one of my KD sorority sisters, Cheryl Sizer, who lives in Mahomet, Ill., met us at Memory Lane. It was great to see her in her own neighborhood, if only for a short time! Thanks, Cheryl, for making the trek to Lexington.

We're finding that Gypsy, our GPS, is doing pretty well in keeping us on Route 66. We programmed him (we have a male voice now) to avoid highways and for the most part, he agrees with our Route 66 literature and maps.

Charlie Gouveia, president/newsletter editor of For the Birds T-Bird club in Springfield, met us at our hotel and led us through the streets to a huge parking lot that was the staging area for the Route 66 parade and cruise-in to the historic downtown area. En route we picked up five Springfield T-Birds and arrived together. More than 1,000 cars lined up for the parade, and few of them were in groups such as ours.

It was a cacophony of testosterone and excessive horsepower as engine after engine revved up to begin the parade. A few cars ahead of us were several muscle-car drivers who were intent on laying down rubber on the road. They'd let the cars in front of them go ahead, then egged on by the crowd, they peeled out, burning rubber short and fast. Spectators cheered, and we inhaled the burned-rubber smoke from their antics. Still, it was a fun parade as people lined streets for six to eight miles, sitting in lawn chairs, on their truck tailgates, sidewalk benches or on curbs. We were popular, in some measure because there were nine of us, but the early classic T-Bird is an American icon; it simply attracts attention wherever we go.

Once we'd reached downtown, we parked among the displayed autos and walked to Augie's, a renowned restaurant where they set up a sidewalk table for about 22. The weather was perfect, and we were surrounded by collector cars of every imaginable kind. Just as we were finishing, Earl and Jane's son, Drew, who lives in Indianapolis, arrived to spend the night and next day with his parents. It was fun to meet someone we'd heard so much about.

After our leisurely dinner and goodbyes to our new friends, we returned to our cars, checked in at the beautiful President Abraham Lincoln Hotel in Springfield's historic district, and wended our sleepy and weary way to our absolutely lovely rooms on the hotel's club floor.

It was a glorious, wonderful, friendship-filled day and evening. Our thanks to Charlie Gouviea and all our fellow T-Birders in Springfield and environs for making our first day on Route 66 so memorable.

More to come tomorrow!
Judy and Gordon

It's time to catch up!

It is said that time flies when you're having fun.

And so it is on Route 66. Some of our days have been long, and I've had magazine proofing to do, so the blog has had to be set aside. But tonight we're in a St. Louis suburb, and I've got some time. Here's a day-by-day recap of our exceptional experiences, and I hope to be all caught up tomorrow.

Monday, Sept. 20, Buffalo, Wyo., to Keystone, S.D. -- This is the land of pink highways! Really! The I-90 roadbed is actually pink because native pink-colored stone, which you can see along the road, was used to surface the highway.

And Wyoming has amazing geography, with flat plains punctuated by pyramid-shaped mounds that resemble those you'd see in Egypt; others look like the top of the pyramid was sliced off with a knife to create a butte.

As much as we felt compelled to start building mountains of mud a la Richard Dreyfuss in "Close Encounters of the Third Kind," we eschewed a side trip to Devil's Tower because it would add another 50 miles to our already-long day. Passing Gillette, which suffers aesthetically, we saw an ingenious way of generating power -- a landscape-scouring coal mine on the left and the power plant on the right. In between was a conveyor that ran from the mine under the highway and directly to the plant.

Our morning rest stop at Moorcraft brought us to an oasis of trees in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Not surprisingly, we learned that it was a former stagecoach stop where, of course, horses and people were well-watered. And as we move along the highway, we see long rust-red buttes, ridges of reddish stone and, sadly, road kill -- deer, sheep, raccoon. After driving through the flat, yellow plains, we came over a ridge and voila! Trees! We had just entered into the Black Hills of South Dakota.

Deadwood, S.D. -- what grand architecture of brick buildings built in the 1870s -- to us it was reminiscent of the beautiful facades of Port Townsend, Wash. But taking a closer look, Deadwood is pretty much dead unless you're into slots and smoke-filled gaming rooms. There are empty storefronts, plastic-clad windows, cheezy souvenir shops, and in spite of the sunshine and blue skies, the town is a sorry tourist trap. There are two wooden signs that indicate important events for Wild Bill Hickock -- one shows us where he was shot (in front of a now-abandoned casino/it was a saloon in his day) and the other is where the shooter was captured; we had trouble reading this last sign because T-shirts from the shop that occupies the space flapped in the breeze and obscured the lettering.

What's so amazing about this route is that we're seeing flat, flat, flat -- and yet our elevation is more than a mile! We're traveling straight as a ruler -- no mountain passes -- and we're at 5,450 feet above sea level.

We arrived in Keystone in the afternoon, and after getting situated, departed for nearby Hart Ranch to meet Duane and Nancy's friends, Ron and Marla Sande (Duane and Ron went to high school together), who hosted us with wine and beer and some lovely and filling appetizers. Their friends Bart and Diane were visiting from Minnesota, and we had a great time meeting and talking with everyone. And then there was Tess, their wonderful dog who would have nothing but to find someone to throw a frisbee toy for the catching. Our heartiest thanks to the Sandes for having us to their lovely home.

We beat feet back to Keystone, grabbed jackets and headed for the night program at Mount Rushmore. We weren't quite sure what to expect, but knew we would see lights of some kind shine on the faces of Washington, Jefferson, Teddy Roosevelt and Lincoln. But how lucky were we -- with a full moon, the sculptures were already illuminated while we watched a very moving video about what these four great Americans contributed to our government. At the end, the Park Service narrator asked all men and women in the military to come down to the stage to participate in the lowering and folding of the American flag. There must have been more than 100 retired and active-duty soldiers there, including three of our party. We sang the national anthem, clapped continuously for the military representatives, and sniffed our way through the ceremony. It was such an extraordinary experience, and it made me so proud to be an American. One wonders what it would be like to be able to call on those four great minds today to help solve some of our country's problems.

Tuesday, Sept. 21, Keystone, S.D., to Sioux Falls, S.D. -- But we weren't done with Mount Rushmore yet. This morning we dashed back up the mountain to see the faces in sunlight. It was remarkable as the clouds played a light show on them; we went to one particular viewpoint where only Washington's face is visible in profile. Luckily our fellow 66er Les, who portrays George Washington several weeks a year in Colonial Williamsburg, was there, and after he stopped laughing, he obliged us with the chance to shoot his profile -- stone George above and live Les below. Remarkable!!

Today was a day to cover distance with nearly 370 miles to Sioux Falls. That's not a huge number of miles, but remember, we're traveling at 60 mph while the speed limit is 75 mph. We just don't want to push these babies too hard. After all, they were built when going 50 mph was a pretty fast pace.

We've left the Black Hills, and we're still on a high-plains plateau, but today we're only at about 3,000 feet above sea level. During the drive Les had a tire problem; he thinks he lost one of the wheel weights used to balance the right front tire. He went on ahead to the next town and had the tires rebalanced, meeting us later in the afternoon at a rest stop.

The song "You've got your dead skunk in the middle of the road . . . and it's stinking to high heaven" has been on our minds as we've sniffed our way across I-90. But today we actually saw the source of the stink -- We had our dead skunk on the side of the road, and . . . well, you know the rest!

In the interests of making good time, we decided to put off lunch until well after noon. But we didn't know that on the way to the next rest stop, we'd move into Central Time, losing an hour. When Nancy found out, she radioed us all that now, knowing it was really after 1 o'clock, we was REALLY hungry.

Driving the straight-as-a-board I-90 has been an interesting lesson in aerodynamics. We're all keeping close tabs on our gas consumption (although prices went down as we moved east), so compute the miles-per-gallon figures often. We've really paid attention to winds especially and how it affects our mileage. We've had head winds (15 mpg), crosswinds (17 mpg) and tail winds (20 mpg); we've also found that, of course, our mileage is much better on the flat, no matter what the wind is doing.

Other sights: Water towers that look like golf balls balanced on a giant golf tee, herds of Black Angus cattle, withering corn stalks mile after mile. And then, we came over a rise and suddenly we saw green -- lots of green -- and felt a new humidity to the air!

We passed the South Dakota Tractor Museum, but oh Deere, we had to miss it.

And Then There Were Four

They say nothing ever goes down easy, and it couldn't be more true with vintage Thunderbirds. On Day One, Earl and Jane got three blocks from their house and realized that their new tires were rubbing against the inside of the fenders. Scrape, scratch, screwed! But troupers that they are, Earl and Jane dashed back home and transfered everything from their T-Bird (which had seen a lot of preparation for the trip, including a new tranny, cruise control, seat covers and more) into the trunk of their trusty Volvo and were on their way to our meeting place.

So before we even started, we were down to four T-Birds and a Brand X, but nevertheless, five couples very much looking forward to a longtime dream. We departed at 9:30 a.m. in a cool, but not rainy, overcast, Doris and Bill in the lead. Our first break was at the Twin Pines restaurant in Cle Elum, where some of us took Les' advice to sample their peanut butter shakes; it was a good recommendation. From there we took back roads and I-90 to Vantage and ate a picnic lunch in the sun on the banks of the Columbia River.

Just outside of Spokane we met some fellow T-Birders -- Dan and Linda Garcia and Bob Willford -- at the Sprague rest stop, and they escorted us through Spokane into Post Falls, Idaho, where we stopped for refreshments at the Hot Rod Cafe. Quite a place -- cars on the ceiling, car parts turned into seating areas, red parking meters at each booth, signs and memorabilia galore. And reserved parking for hot rods only -- yes, we took those spaces.

Our route from Post Falls took us along the shores of beautiful Lake Coeur d'Alene -- sparkling blue water and high peaks all around -- to our overnight stop in Kellogg, Idaho. And then my computer problems set in -- including losing all my passwords, so that I could not get online to do this blog and some magazine work. Otherwise it had been a long, happy day.

Day Two found us in the rain as we departed for Big Sky Country. I can't think of a term that more aptly describes Montana than that. No matter where you are, the sky seems huge and the vistas are endless. Even though you can't see the horizon, you feel as though you can see forever. It's magical, and we enjoyed it all. We lunched at a rest stop just outside of Missoula and found ourselves standing, not sitting, around the picnic table. We looked at one another and asked why. The resounding answer was that it felt good to not be sitting! Vintage T-Birds have bench seats that give nary a nod to a bucket seat (those hadn't been invented in the mid-1950s!). And some of us wind up prying ourselves out of these wonderful cars -- there's leg room, but we're sitting low to the ground, and those of us with long legs and arthritis find getting in and out to involve several moves known only to contortionists.

On our way to the night's stay in Bozeman, we crossed the Continental Divide at 6,395 feet, followed by a 6 percent downhill grade where trucks were required to stop and get "instructions" on going downhill. With trucks limited to 25 mph downhill, there still were several runaway truck lanes just in case those brakes didn't work.

So how fast are we going? We're trying to keep these old engines at about 2600 rpm, which means about 60 mph. That's all well and good in some states where the speed limit is 65, but get into Montana and we felt like we were standing still as 18-wheelers, pickups, SUVs and cars pushed the 75 mph speed limit to well over 85 mph. As usual, our T-Birds attract a certain amount of attention as we travel in the right lane. However, it wasn't so for Earl and Jane in their Volvo; they were the lead car and set their cruise control to help determine our rpm speed. Nope -- they got dirty looks and several single-digit salutes from people who were passing on the left.

Problem solved: At our Bozeman hotel, Earl and Jane made signs that read "T-Bird Pace Car," and taped them into their windows, so today, Day Three, the rude salutes turned into one "Thumbs Up" after another.

As we went east in Montana today we began to see touches of fall color -- golds, yellow-greens and a bit of orange. No reds yet, but with just one more day left of summer, we're getting a glimpse of what is ahead. We left Bozeman in bright sunshine with a fall nip to the air. It was glorious until we hit a mountain pass and dense fog that lasted for about an hour. From there it was hazy sun as Montana flattened out -- no more canyons, just rolling hills, some square buttes and more Big Sky.

Lunch was at a rest stop in Wyoming where again we stood happily around the picnic table. As we were departing, Les, who's pulling a small trailer with spare parts should we need them, put down his soft top and said he'd catch up with us. Little did we know that within 20 minutes, he'd come flying by looking for all the world like Snoopy atop his dog house flying his WWI sopworth camel biplane. Yes, there he was in a leather aviator's cap and goggles, wind swirling all around him. It was a sight to behold!

Tonight we're in beautiful downtown Buffalo, Wyo., at the Econolodge. You gotta love this town: In a field on the outskirts, a billboard reads, "Not just a one-horse town." Nancy and I ventured to the nearby Family Dollar store -- looking for a bargain -- and then wandered across the street to the Crazy Lady liquor store. After picking up some beer, we decided to avail ourselves of margaritas-to-go. They're frozen margaritas in a Styrofoam cup, dispensed from what looks like a soft-serve ice-cream machine and available at the drive-through window. Yes, all you Washington staters, a drive-through cocktail lounge! The drinks are sealed in a plastic bag, so once you buy it -- sealed -- the liquor store is no longer responsible.

After dinner at a nearby steakhouse, we're turning in. Tomorrow we're off to Deadwood and then Keystone to see Mount Rushmore. We've taken some great photos, but I'm having trouble placing them in the blog. Sorry, but we're hoping to solve that problem in the next couple of days.

All our best to you all,

Judy and Gordon

Packed and ready to go!

It’s almost here! 
After 18 months of planning, our departure on this epic journey of discovery is now just days away. Some of our group have had their bags packed and placed in their Birds for days. And those of you who know me also know that packing early is not my style, but by golly, this time I am! My bag will be in the car tonight -- but I'll still be throwing things together at the last minute, I'm sure.     The laundry list of things to buy keeps getting longer: Do we have all the laundry stuff for washing our clothes along the way (check); how about the Delo 400 motor oil and the Dot 5 brake fluid (check, check); what about our spending cash (oops, gotta do that tomorrow); did we get the sun shield for the windshield (check) and the sunscreen for us (check); what about all the juices, colas, yogurts, fruit, etc. for the cooler (OK, need more); did we pay all the bills ahead of time (well, some) and cancel the paper and mail (yikes, haven’t done that yet) – and so it goes. On and on.     We had a T-Bird club event this past weekend, and nine of the 10 Route 66 road warriors showed up for it, with some coming just for our final group meeting. (I stayed home to work on the KD magazine -- always a deadline! Sigh.) Gordon reports that the 66ers discussed road etiquette and more importantly, our need to be forgiving of one another when whomever is leading makes a mistake and sends us down a dead-end road, or we have to backtrack to find an attraction we missed. That’s all part of the fun – and challenge – of trying to find the existing bits and pieces of the long bygone America.     So the serious stuff is coming up fast – giving out emergency contact numbers to neighbors and family, arranging for house sitters and pet feeders, drawing up lists of the details they’ll need to know so that they don’t over-water the plants and under- water the cats, etc. etc.     It’s hard to believe this is actually going to happen – for so long, it’s been a distant dream, something in the future -- but now it is fast becoming a reality. Gordon is fielding several phone calls and e-mails a day from T-Birders around the nation, wanting to know when we’ll be in Chicago, Tulsa, Springfield, San Bernardino, Arizona. Several groups have said they want to meet us and host us to a lunch, or dinner, or cocktails or escort us for a distance, just to be a part of this adventure.     We’re frantic right now, and loving every minute of it. Well, almost every minute. I’ll send you another blog when we hit the road, after it has really finally hit me that we’re actually underway!-- Judy (and Gordon too)