It was a landmark rising from the Ozark hills, for decades the tallest building between Springfield and Cape. The ten story Tower Inn came down slowly, leaving a million memories of Salem’s Ozark Skyscraper. Gone now.
Ticket to Ride
Racking up more miles on her odometer than the distance to the moon, my 1999 Pontiac Sunfire became Trigger and Lassie and Old Faithful all rolled into one. Her sleek lines suggest roadster, and she handles through twists and turns … Read More
Drive in movie
In the darkness, I followed a silver Suburban for two hours. Visible through its back window was a video screen playing to backseat passengers, so as I drove along Route 60 to Springfield, I watched Finding Nemo on a small-screen … Read More
Winter Camping Alone
If you wanted to hide from creditors or a hit man, Lake Wappapello would do nicely. Isolated in rugged hills, wholly surrounded by the thick woods of Mark Twain National Forest, the lake stands apart from the crowd. Driving to … Read More
Ava is a palindrome
It looks the same coming from any direction. The water tower sits atop a hill off the center of town, shouting “Ava Bears” from its steel sides. This garden spot in the middle of the Mark Twain Forest missed a … Read More
Welcome Home
Doesn’t matter how long you’ve been gone. Maybe you circled the globe. Or you just stepped out the door to grab the newspaper. The committee assembles. With laser focus, they position themselves according to their own rules. You can return … Read More
Road Story
Erifnus waited patiently beside old hotels and farmhouses, chapels and prisons, diners and greasy spoons, graveyards, museums, creeks and canyons and unsavory encounters. She always escaped with a story. She won an Emmy. I just went along for the ride.
Foggy Memory
It was a giant, to a kid. The old hotel towered over Route 66 at Highway 63. Atop a glass penthouse that crowned the roof, a green neon pennant glowed through the fog, framed perfectly by my bedroom window as … Read More
Erifnus Caitnop
So I set out to feel every crack in Missouri’s pavement. As with all stories – and symphonies and carnal acts – it was an uneven ride. Although a dozen friends and a handful of reporters rode with me on … Read More
I drove all the roads
The map called out the names; I traced the stories. Every fold in the Ozarks, every bend in the rivers, every drive down the main drag in 700 towns reminded me that even as my map sets the stage, it … Read More