Day 50 -- Springfield, Illinois to Bevier, Missouri -- 189 Miles

As Concetta just put it, "we're sure powering our way across the states." That was not my intention, I told her, but traveling as we are on Interstate Route 36, a non-blue highway, has presented us with a limited number of camps from which to choose. Trying to reach the next one has been adding a few more miles than I would like each day.

Tonight we're perched on a rocky hillside in the town of Bevier, which was the only camp I found on Route 36 between Hannibal and St. Joseph, Missouri that boasted full hookups. If you know the two towns I just mentioned, you know that they're on opposite sides of the state and are about 300 miles apart.

I looked up the town of Bevier on the web: "The community was named for Kentucky native Col. Robert Bevier, who afterward became a leader of the Confederate army. A post office called Bevier has been in operation since 1858. Coal was discovered in Bevier in 1860, and coal mining was an important part of the town economy well into the 20th century."

Ah, but such are the uncertainties of RV travel. The Good Sam book went as far as giving tonight's camp a pretty good rating. But I think that's because they didn't talk to us first. The spaces are immediately adjacent to a large cemetery, deliver water to the rig at the anemic rate of 30 pounds of pressure, and have for a view (not counting the cemetery) the back of an RV supply warehouse. Not exactly the Ritz.

But the park seems pretty quiet, if you ignore the RV center delivery trucks, and they did give us a discount for being Good Sam members. I know the next door neighbors in the Catholic cemetery are not going to kick up a fuss of any sort, so after dark things should settle right down -- we hope.

Our only stop today was for lunch in the town of Payson. We didn't pick out Payson for any particular reason other than the fact it was lunch time and I was hungry. Concetta almost never actually gets hungry, so I pretty much determine when we eat.

When we exited the freeway and rolled north for a few miles into Payson, I was hoping, as usual, for a nice Church with a level parking lot in which we could park the rig for an hour. Unfortunately, the only church we saw had a parking lot more appropriate for bob-sledding. We moved on from that one.

After that disappointment, we cruised through Payson until we stumbled over the town park which conveniently had a nice gravel parking area next to the park utility building. Relieved, we backed comfortably into the spot and had nice lunch surrounded by loads of greenery and the chainsaw-like buzz of cicadas in the trees.

This might be a perfect moment to mention our normal lunchtime regime. Naturally, after spending long spaces of time on the two-lanes, we like to seek out a quiet spot next to nature for our lunch. Sometimes it's not possible, but usually we try to find a city park or, should it be the weekend, a large expanse of lawn next to a school.

If it's a weekday, our next favorite spot for our midday meal is a church parking lot. Churches often have excellent landscaping, large adjacent parking areas, and a great lack of people to object to our presence. We have munched our sandwiches in dozens of church parking lots since 2013 when we started traveling by RV, and NO ONE has ever objected.

This great record came tragically to an end just yesterday when we stopped for lunch in Terre Haute, Indiana. Though we don't remember the denomination of the church, we do remember that the church building was huge, offered an equally large parking lot, and was located next to a lake. Our chosen lunch spot appeared to be perfect in every respect. It did have one car in the parking lot, but we thought perhaps it was some cleaning person and we didn't give the car much thought.

But we had only just begun to prepare our lunch when a shiny red SUV pulled up in front of the church and a blond lady got out and marched briskly up to our door. I saw her coming and opened the door to receive her. Expecting the usual cordial greeting that we have come to expect in all parts of the United States when people note how far we've come to be in their city, I was about to smile and say hello when she pounced on me.

"YOU CAN'T BE HERE," the blond woman said in no uncertain tone of voice. She reminded me of a female villain I'd seen on TV, but before I could say anything, she launched into a diatribe on the subject of people who park illegally and how much trouble this causes the church, especially when they want to fish in the nearby lake.

Concetta and I tried valiantly to explain that we were just having lunch and then moving on, but the brassy woman insisted on repeating, perhaps as many as a half dozen times, that we should have gotten permission before stopping in their parking lot for any reason whatsoever.

At that point I asked our assailant who I might have called on such an occasion, but she was tolerating no questions and went right on telling us that we should have asked for permission. At that point I said to her, in my most authoritarian voice, that we'd only be a half hour and then would be gone. At that point she didn't exactly calm down, but she did agree to let us to stay for the period I had said. First repeating a couple of times "just a half hour then," she retreated to the front door of the Church and disappeared inside

As you might guess, our lunch hour was a bit strained at that point. However I was personally determined to not give her the satisfaction of making us leave BEFORE we had eaten. Concetta thought she might call the police, but I did not consider that likely. Nothing more came of the incident. We ate our lunch in the half hour time allotted, then left. We didn't see the blond again.

Okay, so here's the question. What is the purpose of having a church and being a church member? If you answered fellowship, good will towards men (and women), and going out of your way to help others, I'd have heretofore agreed. So what exactly was this woman conveying to us in her needlessly strident tone of voice and abrasive manner?

As far as the blond woman could see, we weren't riding Harleys, we didn't have six hundred tattoos and half as many piercings, and we weren't making noise, a mess, or accosting church members. It would appear to me that all the teachings that occurred in the building alongside of which we ate our lunch were NOT demonstrated by the woman, even though she was quick to point out that she was the building manager and presumably a long-time member.

The disparity between church teachings and church actions became clear to me over a half century ago, and is the reason that I do not affiliate. But if the brassy blond had an opportunity to read this account, I would hope that she might take a few moments to reflect on her behavior. She might also want to talk to the folks at the Methodist Church members in Blue Creek, Ohio who, when they noticed us pulling into their door yard, did not seek to chastise us, but quickly sought to invite us to lunch.

Putting religion aside, I took a walk through the RV park here after I penned the blog up to this point, and I came across the two guys in the lower two photos. They were playing bluegrass music on the patio next to their rig and just singing their hearts out. I was so impressed that I marched right up to them and stood their listening. Their names were (left to right) Wayne and Dave and they told me that they're part of a larger musical group that plays professionally.

Naturally I asked if I could take photos and they said "sure!" They wanted to know if I knew bluegrass music and had a request for them. Thinking back to my early college days when my roommate, Dale Whortman and I used to play a little Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs, I asked them to do Foggy Mountain Breakdown.

Well these two ol' boys proceeded to belt out their version of Flatt and Scruggs, and I'd have to say that Lester and Earl would have been proud of Wayne and Dave. But then, the boys asked if I'd like to hear Foggy Mountain Breakdown with some creative changes they'd made. Of course I said, "Sure!" Dang, their version was absolutely terrific as well.

My visit with Wayne and Dave was over all too soon as shortly after our introductions they started packing up their instruments. Their group can be seen on Facebook under the title, "Brother's At Heart." Here's the URL: https://www.facebook.com/BrothersAtHeart/

The greatest things about being on the road is that nearly everyone you meet has a story that they're willing to share with you. And most times they'll come right up and talk to you, just as I did with Wayne and Dave. Your best bet is don't be shy. If you see someone you'd like to meet, walk up and shake their hand. You'll make a lot of friends that way and hear some very interesting tales.

And when you're out there on the two-lanes, searching for you next friendly face, The Happy Wanderers wish you happy travels and exciting adventures.