Planes, Trains and Marvmobiles or Escape from Missouri

As you read below, the "first storm of winter" to hit most of the U.S. East of the Rocky Mountains brought most travel to a grindy halt. And I certainly wasn't immune. While trying to wait out the worst part of the front over an undercooked steak salad and some trucker chat at the Flying J in Joplin I had no idea from my booth that things were going from bad to fucking insane outside.

By the time I decided that I couldn't keep up the conversation with a scruffy fellow who was "haulin' an empty back to K-C-M-O with no extra supplies in the truck," or look at the remains of the steak tartar salad in my booth I saw that my truck (and by my truck I mean Randy Stout's truck) had frozen into a glacier and it was raining ice cubes. The Missouri Road Conditions Website showed every road I needed to take in a bright orange, code for "no road visible." So after chipping away at the truck so I could open the door and a quick phone discussion with Hobronto I decided to go ahead and spend the night in Joplin. Primarily because I didn't have any choice. So with zero visibility I drove to the "downtown" portion of Joplin to find salvation. With my windshield smeared past the point of even guessing distance I drove with my head hanging out the window like an eager golden retriever. I stopped at the first place I saw.


Here's the sign for the unseemly hotel I spent my Thursday night in.

The first place I saw wasn't a Motel 6, a Super 8 or a Ramada. No, that would've made too much sense. The first place I could navigate to was the kind of motel you normally see Robert Stack describing on Unsolved Mysteries or featured in a Quentin Tarantino movie. Back in its heyday the Riviera Motel was probably something out of a James Lileks wet dream. Cantilevered roofs, flower-umbrella tables around the pool and a multiple building complex of "pull up to the door" rooms. From the office I thought it was charming and chock full o' kitch, of course I was just happy to have made it to anything resembling a hotel. It wasn't until I got in the room that I realized it was a shithole. I mean that in the nicest way, but wow. Every crack pipe, dead hooker in the mattress, mobile meth lab scenario you could imagine looks like it could happen here. However if it was 1964 you can easily picture happy families vacationing here, although why they'd come to Joplin defies logic. Perhaps they wanted a change of scenery from Springfield or Neosho. Whatever. What should I have expected for $33.45 after tax. Renting a yurt at the DeGray State Park is more expensive.

So I spent the night in #38, a smoking double where according to the friendly night desk clerk, I had the best chance of getting out in the morning. That's reassuring, no? I got up pretty early partly because I went to bed about 9pm. What the hell else could I do? No internet, nothing in walking distance and the room was about 85 degrees when i walked in. I'm not complaining, it's 12 degrees outside, so it was a nice change. But the toasty make the sleepy. The other reason I was up early, and sporadically through the night, was because the people in #37 (I can only assume about 15 people are in there) have been making a hell of a lot of noise. Weird noise. Sounded like they were doing some redecorating around 2 am, clogging around 4, and doing a little Lincoln/Douglas debating at 6. I'll just be sneaking out to the car to avoid seeing what kind of carnival of humanity is going on in there.

The sun is up now and word on the weather channel is that the major highways are clear. I have about 170 miles of state highway before I get to "major" interstate, but once there it's smooth sailing. I'm going to give it a little longer in hopes the sun might unfreeze the door to the truck somewhat and maybe, just maybe, they'll plow the parking lot. Plus I want to see what strange skin diseases I'll get by using the Riviera Motel bathroom. For those of you who know of the story of the insane Country Bunk Inn motel in Pueblo, CO, this bathroom gives it a run for its money. It's a twister. So this may be my final dispatch from the road. Thanks for joining me on the last stupid journey of 2006. At least I hope.


Here's what the truck looked like after I cleaned it off and scraped. Pretty much a delight.


In other news:
According to Weather Channel there are 255 minute delays at Chicago/O'Hare. So it'll be a great day to be selling $9 frappuccinos at the O'Hare sundries shop.

Apparently nary a snowflake fell in Omaha, so this is doubly frustrating. Once I get north of St. Joseph, MO it's apparently the roads are dry as a bone. It's just the 3-4 hours it's going to take me to get to St. Joe. Feh.

Finally, I guess the Weather Channel has a nightly talk show, like a Regis & Kelly only weather themed (of course) called Abrams & Bettes. I caught a little last night. Take the most retarded "Morning Latté" sketch from Will Ferrell/Cheri Oteri era SNL, put it in the evening and make it all about weather and you'll have an idea. It's kind of a train wreck, only the rare kind you actually don't want to look at. They promise to take a look at the "high tech world of surge forecasting" this week. Wow. Just hearing that made my pants tighter.

Okay, that's it. I'm going to brave the creepy shower then go chip the Ford Ranger out of the ice and snow. Wish me luck. However, if you're reading this that means I made it.

Captain's Log Supplemental: I made it home.


This was part of the "cleared off" portion of the MO State Highway. I was too busy pooping my pants to take a picture of the rough spots.