Meet me in St Louis

Road Trip: Day Eight. Miles travelled: 2799
States visited: 9. Time zones covered: 3

We woke up in Tulsa this morning in another dreadful motel. I've been looking for stamps for some time, and asked the man behind the counter if he sold any. He looked at me like I'd asked him to supply me with a whore! Actually, in the motel we were in, this would probably have been more acceptable than asking for a stamp!

As usual, we were on the road by 8am, tearing, yet again, along the Historic Route 66, which has accompanied us for a surprising amount of this journey.

First stop, at Cartoosa, just outside Tulsa, was the Blue Whale, a hugely beloved landmark on the road. It's made out of fibre glass, and is probably about 60 feet long. He sits, merrily, in a dirty little pond, which is full of turtles. He's got a big smiley face and a jaunty little cap, and you can walk through his mouth and stand on his back. He was apparently made as part of an animal themed park in the 1970s which almost immediately fell into disrepair. The whale was recently restored by the family of the man who'd made it. It's a really charming little spot, which is surrounded by painted concrete picnic benches with legs which have been shaped to resemble little whales.

It's free to enter but they ask for donations. It's their dream to restore the giant wooden arc next door, which was also part of the original attraction. I sincerely hope they manage to do so.

Further along Route 66, at a place called Foyil, is a hugely eccentric totem pole garden which was created by a retired violin maker and folk artist called Ed Galloway. There are all sorts of wonderful, colourful, wooden structures, the tallest of which stands at more than 90 feet. It's such a peaceful, atmospheric spot. The only sounds you can hear are the whistling of birds and the distant rattle of freight trains. At both the Blue Whale and the totem pole garden, I was thrilled to hear my first ever American-style train whistle. It's such a haunting, eerie sound which instantly made me think of On The Road.

We passed from Oklahoma into Missouri on the interstate at 10.18am: our eighth state on this road trip. Today was a day where we needed to hoover up the miles, so we've had our heads down and our feet on the accelerator. We stopped at Springfield, Missouri, which is another Route 66 town. Sam had read about a diner called Steak 'n Shake. It's a chain restaurant, but the one in Springfield had retained a great deal of its 1960s fixtures and fittings in a way which simply wouldn't have happened in the UK, where places like that are routinely, blandly and cheaply refitted every five or so years.

There must be more Springfields in the US than any other town name. Maybe the Simpsons live in a town called Springfield to represent everyman.




On the Interstate out of Springfield we saw the type of sickening, right-wing billboard I'm seeing all too often on this road trip: "I'm proud to be American. If you're not, leave." Not being proud of where you're from is certainly not a reason to leave ones country. I used to be terribly proud to be British until we voted Brexit, when I became utterly ashamed of my nationality and every single person who voted for it. Furthermore, I believe that Brexit was a contributing factor in Trump's victory, and this makes me doubly embarrassed. Patriotism isn't something which can be demanded. It is not unpatriotic to have issues with your government. In my view, patriotism is sticking around to fight until the lunatics are either thrown out or see sense. Just to compound my issues with USA citizens, we then pulled into a service station and came face to face with the "Jesus Barn and Grill Restaurant." The word Jesus was written on the restaurant roof in 10-foot high lettering.

The next stop on our journey was at Rolla, where they apparently have a half-sized replica of Stone Henge, made in 1984 to showcase the capabilities of the local university's High Pressure Water Jet Lab. I was expecting an exact replica of the landmark. Something excitingly realistic. It turns out that Rolla's Stone Henge is no such thing. It's really just a heap of evenly-cut granite blocks arranged in a circle, in a science park, by the side of a busy road! It is, in short, wildly disappointing. But amusingly so!

Missouri is full of flattened armadillos by be side of the road. Either there are countless armadilli in the state, or Missouri armadilli are particularly stupid. I was trying to find a portmanteau which would be appropriate for the massacre of innocent armadillos, but the best I could come up with was Arma-geddon!

We rolled into St Louis at about 3pm. I think all of us were keen to see the place. It's a fairy iconic American city which has played a considerable roll in shaping the country. For some time it was considered an outpost of civilisation: the gateway to the Wild West. In recent years it's fallen on hard times. In the 1950s it had way over 800,000 citizens. Fewer than half of that number live there now.

The freeways go right into the centre of the town, so we didn't get an opportunity to see the varying neighbourhoods. My gut instinct is that it's a very mixed place. There's a lot of graffiti in the riverside district that we were in, and some decaying art nouveau buildings, which, in the London, would have been turned into fancy apartments. Here, they're just falling down.

We parked up and headed down to the banks of the Mississippi River. I don't know what it is about that particular river which has gripped me throughout my life. It has a sort of mystique. A hint of the Deep South and an entirely "other" way of life. One of the first American TV shows I regularly watched and enjoyed was The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. It just seemed so exotic and exciting.

We paddled in the river. It was a somewhat eccentric thing to do because I'm sure the river is incredibly dirty. I'd never go down to one of the beaches on Thames and have a paddle there, but I think Nathan and I both had a sense of wanting to be at one with the river somehow. Nathan was singing Old Man River softly to himself.

There are many bridges over the Mississippi in St Louis, which vary in style and age. None stand out massively, but all are attractive in their own way. Paddle steamers packed full of tourists glide up and down. One is called Tom Sawyer, as you might expect. They play Dixie jazz and I'm sure it's a lovely way to see the city. They also emit the most incredible noises in the form of a deep, evocative, horn-like sound, which echoes across the Mississippi. They run helicopter rides over the city which take off from moorings by the river, so there's a fair amount of chugging as they pass, daringly low, over head.

Of course the big draw in St Louis is the Gateway Arch, which, at 630 feet, and made of gleaming stainless steel, towers above the city, glinting like an exploding angel. It is deeply impressive, particularly when it starts to reflect the sky. I could have sat for hour looking up at it but the temperatures were so high, I got into a bit of a panic. I was squinting just to avoid looking at the light coloured pavements around the structure which were blazing in the sunlight.

The state border in St Louis is actually the Mississippi, so as we crossed the river to leave the town, we entered our ninth State in this incredible journey. Illinois. Because everything feels so rooted in the Deep South here, it's quite difficult to comprehend that we're in the same state as Chicago.

We drove south to a place called Carbondale as the sun set. This part of the country is full of maize fields. The drive was charming. The sun was strobing through the trees and lighting up the paddocks and glades in lime green. Red wooden barns with mansard roofs rubbed shoulders with clapperboard houses wrapped in little white verandas. Every so often, we'd pull up to a railway crossing and see the tracks heading west. It's all rather lovely and affluent - dare I say twee - but I'm not sure it would be the best place to be gay! I have seldom seen so much evidence of religion.