Day 53 -- Emporia to Dodge City, Kansas -- 232 Miles

The surprise of the day as we drove was farm product known as S

Today we awoke, as we have so many days this fall, to the sound of rain pitter-pattering on the aluminum skin of the rig. Sometimes the rain came gently, and sometimes it fell heavily, making us certain that wet highways and the incessant flip-flop of windshield wipers would be accompanying us as we traveled west and south on Route 50 towards Dodge City, Kansas.

Based on the placement of camps along our intended route, we knew we had to drive a few more miles than usual today from where we spent the night in Emporia, Kansas, in order to get to Dodge City, and the "Gunsmoke RV Resort." The Gunsmoke appeared to be the last camp we could count on as we head for the northeast corner of New Mexico.

We have chosen to drift in a southwesterly direction from our camp two days ago in St. Joseph, Missouri, because it seemed to be getting progressively rainier and colder at St. Joseph's latitude. In fact, we had to dig out the heavy-duty comforter from the storage locker after I had to wear socks to bed the previous night.

Now here we are in Dodge City, and the weather is close to perfect. We lost the rain about mid morning, though we continued to be buffeted by a strong cross-breeze all day long. I don't think the wind was strong enough to lift the lea-side tires off the pavement, but sometimes I was afraid it might.

Sorghum or Milo? We started seeing a funny sort of plant with long pointy leaves and a huge seed cluster at the very top of the plant. The leaves tended to be dark green and the seed cluster was a sort of brick brown. Neither of us had ever seen this plant before. After passing hundreds of miles of either corn or soy beans, it was actually rather jarring to see this markedly different plant.

Here's the story on this plant from Wikipedia: "Sorghum is a genus of flowering plants in the grass family Poaceae. Seventeen of the 25 species are native to Australia, with the range of some extending to Africa, Asia, Mesoamerica, and certain islands in the Indian and Pacific Oceans. One species is grown for grain, while many others are used as fodder plants, either cultivated in warm climates worldwide or naturalized, in pasture lands. Sorghum is in the subfamily Panicoideae and the tribe Andropogoneae (the tribe of big bluestem and sugarcane)."

"One species, Sorghum bicolor, native to Africa with many cultivated forms now, is an important crop worldwide, used for food (as grain and in sorghum syrup or "sorghum molasses"), animal fodder, the production of alcoholic beverages, and biofuels. Most varieties are drought and heat-tolerant, and are especially important in arid regions, where the grain is one of the staples for poor and rural people. These varieties form important components of forage in many tropical regions. Sorghum bicolor is an important food crop in Africa, Central America, and South Asia, and is the fifth-most important cereal crop grown in the world."

"In the early stages of the plants' growth, some species of sorghum can contain levels of hydrogen cyanide, hordenine, and nitrates which are lethal to grazing animals. When stressed by drought or heat, plants can also contain toxic levels of cyanide and nitrates at later stages in growth."

"Global demand for sorghum increased dramatically between 2013 and 2015 when China began purchasing US sorghum crops to use as livestock feed as a substitute for domestically grown corn. China purchased around $1 billion worth of American sorghum per year until April 2018 when China imposed retaliatory duties on American sorghum as part of the trade war between the two countries."

So, as Concetta read to me today on the subject of Sorghum, this crop could take the place of more water-intensive plants. That could mean the difference between starvation and plenty in times of drought, even in the U.S. I was so fascinated with the new (to me) plant, that I just had to stop and take a few photos. Later I found myself wishing that I had "borrowed" a seed head to see if I could get sorghum to grow in Nevada.

Our lunchtime stop today was fun. We pulled off the two-lane and into the small town of Macksville, Kansas about noon, located the town park, then picked a level spot near the kid's playground. There are so many towns in the central part of the U.S. where the main street is largely boarded up and vacant, and such was the case with Macksville. Still, we could tell that the residents really, really cared about their park. All the benches and picnic tables (and there were many) had been recently painted a vibrant color of red. A small stream coursed its way diagonally through the park, and the residents had taken the time to construct two sturdy and picturesque stone bridges so that strolling couples could cross the tiny brook. And the playground equipment looked clean and well maintained. I decided to try the large slide just to make sure.

Our next adventure towards the end of the driving day was to Old Fort Dodge, which is just a six miles south of our highway 50 route from Emporia to Dodge City. We turned off Route 50 just a few miles short of Dodge City and headed down to Route 400, which runs from Wichita to Dodge City.

Before we had gone more than a mile on Route 400 we came across a historic marker and we decided to stop. Incredibly, the marker was placed to commemorate the journey of Francisco de Coronado who traveled through the southwest in 1541(Photo right).

According to Wikipedia: "Francisco Vázquez de Coronado y Luján (1510 – 22 September 1554) was a Spanish conquistador and explorer who led a large expedition from Mexico to present-day Kansas through parts of the southwestern United States between 1540 and 1542. Vázquez de Coronado had hoped to reach the Cities of Cíbola, often referred to now as the mythical Seven Cities of Gold, which is a term not invented until American gold-rush days in the 1800s. His expedition marked the first European sightings of the Grand Canyon and the Colorado River, among other landmarks. His name is often Anglicized as 'Vasquez de Coronado' or just 'Coronado'."

Back in the rig after getting acquainted with Coronado, we were soon pulling up in front of Fort Dodge. Not seeing any signs that forbid our entrance, we rolled right on in and down the street toward the parade grounds. Seeing no RV-friendly parking, we simply found a semi-vacant lot near the church and parked. From there we did our exploration on foot.

We wandered around taking photos for about a half hour until we finally reached the Visitor Center. Unfortunately the office was closed and there was no one around to answer any questions. We knew that an "old soldiers' home functioned on the base, but we didn't really have much to go on in the way of history.

We got excited when we saw that one of the structures adjacent to the parade ground was called the "General Custer House," but we subsequently learned that General Custer may or may not have stayed in the house as the 7th Calvary traveled southwest toward the subsequent battle of the Washita in 1868.

Here's a few more details about Fort Dodge from Wikipedia: "The site of Fort Dodge in the U.S. state of Kansas was originally an old campground for wagons traveling along the Santa Fe Trail, just west of the western junction of the Wet and Dry Routes and near the middle or Cimarron Cutoff."

"On March 23, 1865, Major General Grenville M. Dodge, who commanded the 11th and 16th Kansas Cavalry Regiments, wrote to Colonel James Hobart Ford to propose establishing a new military post west of Fort Larned. On orders of Col. Ford, Captain Henry Pearce, with Company C, Eleventh Cavalry Regiment, and Company F, Second U.S. Volunteer Infantry, from Fort Larned, occupied and established Fort Dodge on April 10, 1865."

"Fort Dodge was named for General Grenville M. Dodge. General Dodge wrote in his autobiography: 'Fort Dodge was named after me, not as an honor, by a command that I was sent out there in the winter, after it was too late to furnish them lumber or anything for an encampment and they had to make dug-outs in the Bluffs for the purpose of wintering and the Colonel in command of the detachment wrote me that they were so mad at being sent there in the winter with so little accommodations that they had named the place Camp Dodge. This location was a celebrated crossing of the Southern Indians of the Arkansas Valley.'"

"'There was a practical ford of the Arkansas near here and the trails all centered here and it had been an important point during all the time I was in command of the plains. From Camp Dodge, when a permanent post was ordered there, they named it Fort Dodge and after the war when the fort was abandoned, a city had grown up there, which is now known as Dodge City.' It has, however, been claimed that the post was named for Col. Henry Dodge. Moses Henry Dodge (he dropped the 'Moses' when he came of age) led the Second Dragoon Expedition of 1835 in a circuit to and from Fort Leavenworth, west along the Platte River to Colorado and back east along the Arkansas River and the Santa Fe trail, passing through the future location of Dodge City and Fort Dodge. There is no evidence that he established a camp at the site."

"Fort Dodge was used to maintain order along the Santa Fe Trail between there and Fort Lyon, Colorado. The post was raided by Indians several times, with many horses being stolen and a number of soldiers killed in the raids. In a June 1865 raid, the US Army Inspector-General, D. B. Sacket, reported the Indians took every horse at Fort Dodge. Corporal Leander Herron received the Medal of Honor for heroism in action about 12 miles from Fort Dodge on September 2 and 3, 1868."

"The first buildings were constructed after the Civil War. These generally are believed to have been sod houses for the officers and dugouts for the enlisted men cut into the bank along the Arkansas River, along the south side of the post. However, Sean Creevey, a professor at Dodge City Community College, claimed that all the first housing consisted of "dugouts with canvas roofs dug into the bank of the Arkansas River." He denied any were built of sod or adobe."

"Later, the dugouts were replaced with wooden and stone buildings. In its heyday, up to four companies of troops occupied the post. Apparently in its later years only about a dozen men occupied it and their main duty was to provide escorts to protect mail passing through the area. In 1882 the post was closed. A single custodian was assigned to keep watch over the property. A number of buildings were torn down or moved away, but many of the stone buildings remained."

"Dodge City residents worked to have the old fort used for a retired soldiers' home, since most of the buildings were still functional. After much work toward that goal, a federal law was enacted in 1889 authorizing the use of the post as a soldiers' home by the State of Kansas. In early 1890 the Kansas Soldiers' Home was opened on the site. The Soldiers' Home has been maintained at Fort Dodge ever since. Numerous improvements have been made through the years and the public can tour part of the site."

Once we had walked back to the rig and navigated off the post, all without being challenged by anyone, we rolled west on Route 400 for just a few miles before reaching Dodge City and our westside campground. Since I had called ahead early this morning, our campsite was ready and waiting for us. And that is just about it for the day other than the bit of laundry we did.

Tomorrow we're headed further to the southwest and will cross the panhandle of Oklahoma before dipping into the very northeast corner of New Mexico at the town of Clayton. From Clayton we have to make a decision, mostly based on the weather and expected temperatures, whether to continue west through New Mexico, or whether to track slightly north and west through Colorado. Nothing definite yet.

And when you are searching the horizon for you next great camping experience, The Happy Wanderers wish you happy travels and exciting destinations.

Day 52 -- St. Joseph, Missouri to Emporia, Kansas -- 188 Miles

Our camp last night in St. Joseph was nice enough if a tad un-level. But the grounds were suffering from what the camps in Kentucky were wishing they had: lots and lots of rain. Hence the grass surrounding the rig was soggy and the gravel pads not big enough to hold the rig and accommodate foot traffic at the same time. Consequently setting up and breaking down the utilities was just a bit damp and messy.

Our main plan for this morning was to visit the "Pony Express National Museum" in St. Joseph, Missouri. Although we've camped in the town of St. Joseph before, on that long-ago visit we spent our time at a very fine museum just up the street called the Padee. At that time the Pony Express Museum was not open. But today we learned that the Pony Express facility has recently undergone expansion and remodeling that accidentally made it advantageous for us to have waited for our visit.

We were just blown away by the quality of the new museum which is housed in what was once the St. Joseph's Pikes Peak stables. The original structure was built completely of wood, but in 1888 a brick shell was constructed around the wooden building. This is the structure as it appears today (photo top left)

So what was the Pony Express? The Pony Express could be likened to a very, very long relay race where each contestant takes his turn, then passes the baton to the next contestant. Only in 1860 when the Pony Express came into being, it was the U.S. mail that was being passed along.

Throughout half of the 1840s, and most of the 1850s, folks in covered wagons had been heading west to find a better life, look for precious metals, or to find a piece of land of their own. This journey from any number of "jumping off points" on the Missouri River to California or Oregon usually took about four to five months. Naturally, four to five months was far too long for the transportation of mail.

So an idea was hatched by a conglomerate of private businessmen, with encouragement by a member of the California Senate, to have a single horseman carry packets of mail all the way across the nation. Each horseman would have a set route of about 75 miles. This route would require numerous changes of horses so stations tended to be about 10 miles apart. When the rider reached the end of his assigned route, he would pass the mochila (mail carrier pouch) to the rider waiting for his arrival.

St. Joseph was the chosen terminus for the eastern end of the Pony route as the city served as the eastern terminus of both the incoming telegraph line, and the Central Overland California and Pike's Peak Express Company, which was owned by the backers of the Pony Express.

For more on the Pony Express, here's what Wikipedia has to say: "The idea of a fast mail route to the Pacific coast was prompted largely by California's newfound prominence and its rapidly growing population. After gold was discovered there in 1848, thousands of prospectors, investors and businessmen made their way to California, at that time a new territory of the U.S. By 1850, California entered the Union as a free state. By 1860, the population had grown to 380,000. The demand for a faster way to get the mail and other communications to and from this westernmost state became even greater as the American Civil War approached."

"In the late 1850s, William Russell, Alexander Majors, and William B. Waddell were the three founders of the Pony Express. They were already in the freighting and drayage business. At the peak of the operations, they employed 6,000 men, owned 75,000 oxen, thousands of wagons and warehouses, plus a sawmill, a meatpacking plant, a bank and an insurance company."

"Russell was a prominent businessman, well respected among his peers and the community. Waddell was co-owner of the firm Morehead, Waddell & Co. After Morehead was bought out and retired, Waddell merged his company with Russell's, changing the name to Waddell & Russell. In 1855 they took on a new partner, Alexander Majors, and founded the company of Russell, Majors & Waddell. They held government contracts for delivering army supplies to the western frontier, and Russell had a similar idea for contracts with the U.S. Government for fast mail delivery."

"By utilizing a short route and using mounted riders rather than traditional stagecoaches, they proposed to establish a fast mail service between St. Joseph, Missouri, and Sacramento, California, with letters delivered in 10 days, a duration many said was impossible. The initial price was set at $5 per 1⁄2 ounce, then $2.50, and by July 1861 to $1. The founders of the Pony Express hoped to win an exclusive government mail contract, but that did not come about."

"Russell, Majors, and Waddell organized and put together the Pony Express in two months in the winter of 1860. The undertaking assembled 120 riders, 184 stations, 400 horses, and several hundred personnel during January and February 1861."

"In 1860, there were about 186 Pony Express stations that were about 10 miles (16 km) apart along the Pony Express route. At each station stop the express rider would change to a fresh horse, taking only the mail pouch called a mochila (from the Spanish for pouch or backpack) with him."

"The employers stressed the importance of the pouch. They often said that, if it came to be, the horse and rider should perish before the mochila did. The mochila was thrown over the saddle and held in place by the weight of the rider sitting on it. Each corner had a cantina, or pocket. Bundles of mail were placed in these cantinas, which were padlocked for safety. The mochila could hold 20 pounds of mail along with the 20 pounds of material carried on the horse. Eventually, everything except one revolver and a water sack was removed, allowing for a total of 165 pounds on the horse's back. Riders, who could not weigh over 125 pounds, changed about every 75–100 miles, and rode day and night. In emergencies, a given rider might ride two stages back to back, over 20 hours on a quickly moving horse."

"It is unknown if riders tried crossing the Sierra Nevada in winter, but they certainly crossed central Nevada. By 1860 there was a telegraph station in Carson City, Nevada Territory. The riders received $100 a month as pay. A comparable wage for unskilled labor at the time was about $0.43–$1 per day."

"Alexander Majors, one of the founders of the Pony Express, had acquired more than 400 horses for the project. He selected horses from around the west, paying an average of $200. These averaged about 14.2 hands high and averaged 900 pounds each; thus, the name pony was appropriate, even if not strictly correct in all cases."

"The approximately 1,900-mile-long route roughly followed the Oregon and California Trails to Fort Bridger in Wyoming, and then the Mormon Trail (known as the Hastings Cutoff) to Salt Lake City, Utah. From there it followed the Central Nevada Route to Carson City, Nevada Territory before passing over the Sierra into Sacramento, California."

"The route started at St. Joseph, Missouri on the Missouri River, it then followed what is modern-day U.S. Highway 36 (US 36 the Pony Express Highway) to Marysville, Kansas, where it turned northwest following Little Blue River to Fort Kearny in Nebraska. Through Nebraska it followed the Great Platte River Road, cutting through Gothenburg, Nebraska, clipping the edge of Colorado at Julesburg, Colorado, and passing Courthouse Rock, Chimney Rock, and Scotts Bluff, before arriving at Fort Laramie in Wyoming."

"From there it followed the Sweetwater River, passing Independence Rock, Devil's Gate, and Split Rock, to Fort Caspar, through South Pass to Fort Bridger and then down to Salt Lake City. From Salt Lake City it generally followed the Central Nevada Route blazed by Captain James H. Simpson of the Corps of Topographical Engineers in 1859. This route roughly follows today's US 50 across Nevada and Utah. It crossed the Great Basin, the Utah-Nevada Desert, and the Sierra Nevada near Lake Tahoe before arriving in Sacramento. Mail was then sent via steamer down the Sacramento River to San Francisco. On a few instances when the steamer was missed, riders took the mail via horseback to Oakland, California."

"There were 184 stations along the long and arduous route used by the Pony Express. The stations and station keepers were essential to the successful, timely and smooth operation of the Pony Express mail system. The stations were often fashioned out of existing structures, several of them located in military forts, while others were built anew in remote areas where living conditions were very basic. The route was divided up into five divisions. To maintain the rigid schedule, 157 relay stations were located from 5 to 25 miles apart as the terrain would allow for. At each swing station, riders would exchange their tired mounts for fresh ones, while "home stations" provided room and board for the riders between runs. This technique allowed the mail to be whisked across the continent in record time. Each rider rode about 75 miles per day."

The part of the exhibit we found the most fascination today was a section where some two dozen pony riders were profiled with histories and artifacts supplied by their descendents. While I don't have that information at my fingertips as I sit here tonight, I can tell you that several of the riders had very exciting lives AFTER they survived being a Pony Express rider. The most interesting story I read detailed how one of the riders had a great, great grandson who became an astronaut in the space program.

Later today we did visit another museum, but didn't turn out to be very satisfied with it. Perhaps I'll tell you about that visit another time. Over the years we've found that the truly great museums seem to know just how detailed to make their exhibits. In other words, what to include and what to leave out. They key to good museum exhibits in our minds is leaving out more than you include.

Tomorrow we're headed west toward Dodge City. We've been there before, but perhaps we'll find something new to spark our interest. And when you hit the trail in search of fascinating places in this land of ours, The Happy Wanderers wish you happy travels and exciting adventures.

Day 51 -- Bevier to St. Joseph, Missouri -- 138 Miles

I didn't expect much for today. It rained hard last night and we awoke to gray, threatening skies. Slogging around in the mud to get the gear stowed has never been my favorite past-time. And all we had on the agenda was a visit to Walt Disney's home town, which I fully expected would be only mildly interesting. Just goes to show how wrong you can be.

First of all, the gray, threatening skies of 6:00 a.m. this morning morphed into a lovely shade of slate gray tinged with pink by mid morning and we actually came to find them quite beautiful as we rolled west on Missouri Route 36. Secondly, the cleanup wasn't as muddy as I anticipated thanks to the concrete slab on which the campground folks had parked us last night. And thirdly, the Walt Disney Home Town Museum in Marceline, Missouri was just about the most thought-provoking and soul-stirring museum adventure that we've seen on this whole trip. Who would have thought?

By now you're probably wondering how a Walt Disney museum could possibly be located in the middle of endless miles of yellowing soybean plants and fall-withered corn stalks. Well, Marceline, Missouri, was where Walt Alias Disney grew up thanks to his father Elias Disney deciding that living in Chicago was not the best place to raise a family. When Elias Disney's brother, Robert, who owned 400 acres in Marceline, encouraged him to move to what he considered an up-and-coming community full of potential, Elias took Robert's advice and went west.

Marceline, current population about 2,500, lies about halfway between Hannibal and St. Joseph Missouri. It's a farming town and it's a railroad town and it's hundreds of miles from the big city. Walt's life must have included lots of room to roam, to dream, and to let his creative mind invent.

The sky was still pretty leaden when Concetta and I pulled into the parking lot as you can see by the dullish exterior photograph above. But once we ventured inside, the two docent ladies who greeted us brought a great deal of warmth and friendly inquisitiveness to our conversation. One lady even lead us to the beginning of the exhibit path so that we'd get off to a proper start. Both offered to answer any question me might have and easily conveyed their tremendous enthusiasm in the Disney museum.

Lots of museums have wonderful static displays, and the Disney Hometown Museum did admirably in that category. But the Disney went a step beyond and furnished each room, and sometimes several places in each room, with large computer monitors that, with the push of a button, would acquaint the viewer with everything you needed to know about the displays around you. Concetta and I had seen this technique nowhere else. It was truly fantastic and immensely informative.

In that the museum is housed on both floors of the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railroad depot, constructed in 1913, you can't help but be in awe of the vintage architecture and railroad furnishings that have come to be home for the wonderful Disney family displays. Still, the museum displays are what you will remember for many years to come.

One of my favorite displays on the first floor was an authentic Autopia car that once ran on the Autopia track in Disneyland starting on opening day, July 17, 1955. As a child I know that Mom took brother Cliff and I to Disneyland around 1956. Though I seem to remember driving a color other than green, it's possible I may have sat in the exact car on display at the Hometown Museum back when I was seven years old. I liked to think I did.

There was a tremendous amount of Disney family materials that allowed the reader to get to know all of Walt's relatives, including his parents, aunts and uncles, and his brothers and sister. This material would take quite a bit of time to read and absorb if you were so inclined, and I think Concetta read a good bit of it. Much of this material came from Walt's younger sister, Ruth. Museum director Kaye Malins was a longtime friend of Ruth. She told Malins she wanted the family's "stuff" to be housed in Marceline. Malins says From Disney's daughter Diane, she learned that Marceline was all he talked about -- 'the only years,'Diane Disney said, 'when he could be a kid, to run free and roam.'"

When it came to the family biographies and correspondence, I didn't read much of that, but I did listen to the interview that Walt taped with his parents on their 50th wedding anniversary. I found that discussion fascinating, especially when Walt's mother told the listener about Walt drawing characters on the barn while she and Walt's father were away. They came home to find huge charcoal drawings all over the exterior.

Another room on the lower floor contained items on loan to the museum by collectors of Disney memorabilia. If you are fascinated by Disney collectibles, you will certainly be enthralled by this room. The most wonderful piece I photographed was the Colson tricycle that had Mickey Mouse on the "mudguard." The placement of Mickey on the mudguard with his legs and feet perched on the tricycle's pedals, made it look like Mickey was pedaling right along with the rider. The owner of the tricycle found it in a rusty condition, and decided to have Rick's Restoration in Las Vegas, Nevada do the restoration. Many of you have no doubt watched the history channel in the past as Rick and his crew turn rusty junk into museum pieces.

When we climbed the stairs to the second floor was when the real fun began. In one room, which I gravitated to immediately, a TV screen was showing Disney's "Great Locomotive Chase," with Fess Parker as the head of the Union spies who hijacked the Confederate locomotive "General" and took her on a spectacular and destructive spree across Georgia in 1862.

Here's Wikipedia's take on the chase: "The Great Locomotive Chase is a 1956 Walt Disney Productions CinemaScope adventure film based on the real Great Locomotive Chase that occurred in 1862 during the American Civil War. The film stars Fess Parker as James J. Andrews, the leader of a group of Union soldiers from various Ohio regiments who volunteered to go behind Confederate lines in civilian clothes, steal a Confederate train north of Atlanta, and drive it back to Union lines in Tennessee, tearing up railroad tracks and destroying bridges and telegraph lines along the way."

"Written and produced by Lawrence Edward Watkin and directed by Francis D. Lyon, the 85-minute full-color film also features Jeffrey Hunter, John Lupton, Kenneth Tobey, Don Megowan, and Slim Pickens. Paul J. Smith composed the score. Filmed in Georgia and North Carolina, along the now abandoned Tallulah Falls Railway, it was released in U.S. theaters by Buena Vista Distribution Company on June 8, 1956, and capitalized on Parker's growing fame as an actor from his portrayal of Davy Crockett. The film re-teamed him with Jeff York, who had portrayed Mike Fink in the 1954-1955 Davy Crockett miniseries."

As you may know, the name of the locomotive chasing Andrews and his crew in the stolen "General" is the "Texas." Both of these locomotives somehow survived the Civil War and are on display in or near Atlanta, Georgia. I probably haven't seen Walt Disney's "Great Locomotive Chase" since I was a youngster, so imagine my surprise when I saw that the Confederate hero onboard the Texas, as it chased the Andrews Raiders through the southern countryside, was Jeffery Hunter who you may remember from the John Wayne movie of that old-west era, "The Searchers." In addition, I was likewise astounded to see that the engineer on the Texas was none other than Slim Pickens, whom you probably know from dozens of western-themed movies and TV shows.

It took me awhile to tear myself away from the movie, but I eventually I moved on to view a number of great displays. The first one I came across was a limb taken from Walt's "Dreaming Tree." There was once a very old cottonwood tree that grew on the Disney farm in Marceline. Walt called it his dreaming tree as he would often go and sit in the welcoming shade of that tree and think about his love for art, and dream his BIG dreams.

In fact, as time went on and Walt became nationally, then internationally famous, he would still sometimes return to his home town and walk out alone to sit beneath the "Dreaming Tree." When the tree finally succumbed to old age in 2015, it was discovered that the venerable survivor had lived 150 years. The museum maintains a single limb from the tree in memorium, however seeds from the tree have been planted at all Walt's various properties so that the "Dreaming Tree" may live again.

Also on the second floor, and occupying significant floor space, are scale models of the buildings Walt wanted to have built on Main Street in Disneyland. According to the museum's descriptions, Walt took many of the designs from actual buildings in his beloved hometown of Marceline, Missouri.

Adjacent to the models is a giant portrait of Walt which I think captured the spirit of our whole experience perfectly. Though we neglected to note the artist's name, he also painted an impression of the "Dreaming Tree" on the stairway wall as you climb to the second floor.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, the story of Walt's life plays continually in a second-floor classroom which captured us as soon as we entered and kept us riveted to our seats throughout the showing. The film left us both a little teary-eyed at the tragedy of Walt's untimely death, but incredibly hopeful that there are people in this world willing to dedicate their time, their fortunes, and their very lives to making the world better for all they come in contact with. The film we watched was for us the most beautiful part of our incredibly wonderful experience in Walt Disney's home town today. If you are anywhere near, please stop and see this truly wonderful museum for yourself.

And while you're out exploring the wonders of our great land, The Happy Wanderers wish you happy travels and exciting adventures.

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.

Day 49 -- Nashville, Indiana to Springfield, Illinois -- 238 Miles

Okay, I can already hear your first question: "why so many miles today?" Well, the answer is that we had no intention of driving that far. We just started out from Nashville, Indiana, and the road was so enticing, and the weather was so beautiful and bright, that we weren't aware that we'd drive that far until we got to Decatur, Illinois on Route 36.

Our main objective after leaving camp this morning was to avoid, if possible, the heavy traffic in St. Louis. Studying the map, I saw that we had reached our camp in Nashville, Indiana, by driving west on Route 36 from Columbus. This same Route 36 basically goes straight west all the way to Denver. We just had to stay the course and enjoy the ride.

What the map doesn't tell you, and we only guessed at, is that Route 36 bisects thousands of acres of corn and soybeans and not much else. Yes, you occasionally come across the town that time forgot, but most times you just have to be content with wide-open vistas and a whole lot of farm equipment.

Personally, I love farms and fields and farm equipment. You could plunk me down in any average farm and I'd be content for hours -- provided my allergies would allow it. But for Concetta, we had the story of the Mayflower and the Pilgrims in America on the Disk player. I was mostly able to follow the story, but there were a lot of Indian names that I wish had been Bill or George.

We didn't find a lot or reasons to stop today, but we did stop near the Indiana border town of "Dana" that was totally unexpected. You see, the town of Dana, current population around 575, is the home of that most famous of war correspondents, Ernie Pyle. Unfortunately, though I think I own a biographical book on Ernie, I have not read it as yet. Therefore, I know almost nothing about him except Burgess Meredith played him in a movie.

So, to bring us all up to date on Ernie's life, here's what I learned from Wikipedia: "Ernest Taylor Pyle (August 3, 1900 – April 18, 1945) was a Pulitzer Prize–winning American journalist and war correspondent who is best known for his stories about ordinary American soldiers during World War II."

"Pyle is also notable for the columns he wrote as a roving, human-interest reporter from 1935 through 1941 for the Scripps-Howard newspaper syndicate that earned him wide acclaim for his simple accounts of ordinary people across North America. When the United States entered World War II, he lent the same distinctive, folksy style of human-interest stories to his wartime reports from the European theater (1942–44) and Pacific theater (1945). Pyle won the Pulitzer Prize in 1944 for his newspaper accounts of "dogface" infantry soldiers from a first-person perspective."

"He was killed by enemy fire on Iejima (then known as Ie Shima) during the Battle of Okinawa. At the time of his death in 1945, Pyle was among the best-known American war correspondents. His syndicated column was published in 400 daily and 300 weekly newspapers nationwide. President Harry Truman was among those who paid tribute to Pyle: "No man in this war has so well told the story of the American fighting man as American fighting men wanted it told. He deserves the gratitude of all his countrymen."

If you stop at Ernie's memorial park just to the east of Dana, the surroundings won't tell you much about Ernie. But the wonderful serenity you experience will, we're sure, speak volumes about the man, who he was, and who he might have been in later years had he lived. In addition to the stone monuments that you might expect, there has also been erected a magnificent covered bridge that hearkens back to simpler times and simpler values.

Back on the highway, our hopes were that we would find a nice camp in Decatur, Illinois, which was situated right on Route 36. So when we reached town, we pulled into what looked like a shopping center parking lot so that we might study our map and consult our camp directory.

But as we rolled to a stop, the very first thing I saw was a sign over the nearest building that said, "Chevrolet Hall of Fame Museum." Well, I decided, I DID have to spend a few moments exercising my legs from the long drive, didn't I? I asked Concetta if she'd like to visit a Chevy museum, but she said she'd stay back and research possible camps.

So, for the "small" sum of twelve dollars, I got to spend a pleasant half hour walking among the rows of mirror-polished Chevrolets and chatting with the manager about the collection. There was no one else in the building, and he and I had a very good time talking about our car hobby and about all the wonderful cars on display.

As an added bonus to the Chevrolet Museum, I was privileged to experience a rarity: an entire room full of nothing but Corvairs. That's right, they haven't all been melted and formed into dishwashers and refrigerators thanks to Ralph Nader. This Decatur museum has a good dozen of them in all body styles on display, some of which I had never seen in person.

I must admit that most of the cars on display in the museum proper do not fall into my areas of interest. Pace cars were especially well represented, as well as Corvettes and Camaros. But there were enough cool Chevies to excite my interest. I especially liked the 1933 Chevy sedan in a forest green color, and the 1927 Utility-body Chevrolet that reminded me of a truck you might see in an safari African movie.

Though I haven't been a fan of Corvettes for many years, I did see a couple from the early years that I wouldn't mind making garage space for. I think they even had a white one from the first year or two of production, as well as a cute red one from 1958.

At any rate, I thought the museum was a fair buy for my twelve dollars, and I would probably go again if I'm ever in the area.

Once I got back to the rig, I found that Decatur had no nearby RV camps, so we had no choice but to continue driving to Springfield, the one-time home of Abraham Lincoln. I'm not sure if we'll do any Lincoln-related activities while we're here. We've done the Lincoln Library, the Lincoln Law Office, and the Lincoln village where he lived. We've also done the Lincoln tomb, which is without a doubt one of our most memorable visits ever.

The bottom line is that we're not sure where we're going tomorrow, or what we'll see along the way, but stick with us as we meander our way on the two-lanes toward Nevada. And if you venture out this fall to explore those magic highways in your area, The Happy Wanderers wish you happy travels and exciting adventures.

Day 48 -- Frankfort, Kentucky to Nashville, Indiana

One of the things that I hoped I would be able to accomplish this trip was to visit the Kentucky Library and Archives in Frankfort. My goal was to determine if Kentucky knew the identify of the parents of my two times great grandfather, John Heath Preston Jones. Since we were in Kentucky to purchase spirits anyway, it seemed an easy task to find the Library and Archives buidling and ask.

Indeed it was easy, as last night's camp was only a few miles from the Archives building. Fearing rush-hour traffic, we took our time getting out of camp this morning. So by the time we had left camp, gassed up the rig, and headed downtown, traffic was not an issue at all.

In fact, we had feared that the location of the Library and Archives building in what we thought would be the downtown area would preclude the parking of our RV. But as the GPS directed us to the streets leading to our target address, we began to see that the Library and Archives location was out in the country. In short order we found the parking lot, parked the rig, and began looking for the entrance. On all sides of the building much of the parking spaces were vacant.

When we finally found the door after making a 300 degree clockwise circle around the building, we entered to find an older security guard who greeted us in the typical Kentucky-friendly fashion. He did ask that we leave my genealogy notebook and, of all things, my hat outside the library when I went in to talk to the librarians. "Too many things going missing," he said. "We're just being cautious."

We told him we understood security, having been state employees ourselves, and I filled out the necessary paperwork for entry. I gave Concetta the notebook and my hat, then I went in search of the proper library room that the guard said was "on the right." Since I've always been "on the right," I figured that part would be a cinch.

Once in the library, I was greeted at the front desk by a cheerful redhead who asked me to brief her on the search I intended to make. When I told her I needed to know just one thing today, who might be the parents of my great, great grandfather John Heath Preston Jones who was born in Louisville in 1811, she immediately looked apologetic. "I'm sorry," she said, "but our birth records begin with the year 1858."

"Ah," I said. "I was afraid of that."

"Perhaps on the census," she began, but then stopped short. "Well, I guess the early census documents don't include that information."

"No," I told her. "Births were most often recorded at the family's church. I don't suppose you have those records here."

She shook her head, and got up from her desk to come around to my side of the counter. "Some births can be found at the Historical Society," she said. She reached down and pulled a pamphlet off a nearby rack and handed it to me. "The only problem is that they're not open until Wednesday."

Of course, I thought to myself, since I'm leaving town today. To the redhead I said, "Thanks for the pamphlet, maybe I can just write to them." We stood together for a few minute or two while I perused the pamphlet rack and selected a couple others that might be helpful. When I was done with that, I turned and thanked her very much for her time, then I rejoined Concetta in the lobby.

Concetta and I said goodbye to the friendly guard and wished him good luck in the pursuit of the police force job he had told us about, then we walked back up the hill toward the rig. I was disappointed for sure, but not very surprised. Pursuing information on someone who was born more than 200 years ago is never easy, and sometimes it's just flat impossible. But I don't intend to give up, not by a long shot.

Leaving the Frankfort Kentucky area was easy enough, and soon we were motoring north in the general direction of Louisville. We didn't intend to actually drive through Louisville, as that wouldn't be pleasant, but we intended to cross the Ohio River further to the east at the Indiana town of Madison. Photos two and three here are taken at our lunch spot on the Kentucky side of the river crossing to Madison.

Madison is just the cutest, "Lost in Time," town you will ever find. Yes, there are lots of rundown buildings that desperately need repair, but there are also dozens and dozens of refurbished 19th century gems that just delight the eye. We actually stayed in an Ohio River municipal camp in Madison a few years back, and we strode the sidewalks of beautiful Madison. Today we could see that the town was even more beautiful and charming than the last time we saw it.

After re-provisioning at the Madison Walmart (which is well north of the cute part of town), we hit the road for the town of Columbus, Indiana, where we had found a nice-sounding camp. Here began one of our more strange and exasperating afternoons.

The first thing that happened as we motored north out of Madison was when we came upon a "Road Closed 10 Miles Ahead" sign that decorated our route to Columbus. Okay, we said, we'll just take the detour. But after we took the short detour, our GPS insisted that we keep following a non-existent detour route west instead of rejoining Route 7 north.

With the GPS shouting at us to "Make a U-Turn," I instead headed northeast on Route 3 that, according to the map, rejoined our original Route 7 at the appropriate point to avoid the construction. Not sure where the GPS would have had us go, I chose to just ignore her and move on.

Then, as we got close to Columbus, Concetta programed the GPS to take us to the camp supposedly located there. But the silly thing insisted that we turn around and head south in very nearly the same direction we had just come. It was complete pandemonium by now as I came dangerously close to tossing the fricking GPS out the window.

It didn't help that it was past 4:00 p.m., rush hour traffic AND road construction were beginning to hamper our progress, and yours truly was getting pretty hot even with the air conditioning on.

In the end we stopped to consult the KOA book to see if they had a camp somewhere nearby and luckily we found one in the unlikely town of Nashville, Indiana. The camp was supposed to be less than 25 miles east of Columbus. At that point we put away both squawking GPS unit, and I just navigated by map and by the seat of my pants. I have NEVER completely trusted ANY GPS unit and obviously today was not technology's finest hour.

So here we are in a very nice camp in Nashville. It was a tad on the pricey side, but I don't care a fig. The site was level, the utilities easy to access, and I still was able to enjoy a decent cocktail hour in spite of all the exasperation.

Tomorrow we're not sure whether to go northwest toward Terre Haute or southwest toward Vincennes. Each offer things to see that sound interesting, and each route us more or less toward St. Louis when we leave them. Not sure I would like to end up in St. Louis for any reason, but perhaps we can find a way to skirt the city somehow, whichever one we choose.

And when you head out on the two-lanes, be sure and take an up-to-date atlas and preserve your sanity. And while you're doing that, The Happy Wanderers wish you happy travels and exciting destinations.

Day 47 -- All around Frankfort, Kentucky -- 151 Miles

Today turned out to be a whirlwind of adventure. Our plans were to visit the Maker's Mark distillery near Loretto, Kentucky, which was at least 60 miles from our camp in Frankfort, and the Buffalo Trace Distillery which turned out to be about fifty-five files closer. The only problem was that since it was Sunday both weren't open until noon or later. This left us in a quandary as to how best to spend our morning.

After some discussion, we decided to head for Maker's Mark which would theoretically put us there close to noon, and leave Buffalo Trace for the return trip. This worked pretty well, though unfortunately we left the route planning to Concetta's IPhone application called Waze.

Ms. Waze decided that we certainly hadn't had enough hair-raising trips on this local Bourbon Trail. That meant we ignored the helpful roadside sign that told us to stay on Route 555 to Maker's Mark, and instead we got to pretend we were Daniel Boone and pick our way through the forest on tracks where only 18th century Indians and small animals were comfortable traveling.

Really, I kid you not, by the time we arrived at Maker's Mark we had navigated some of the narrowest roads we've seen since traveling the rural donkey-cart roads in England. In England they figure if they make the asphalt any wider than one car it's just a waste of materials. After all, you're expected to just drive into the hedges to let the opposing car pass

And that's just what we found ourselves doing. At first the two-lane road onto which Ms. Waze had routed us was pretty scary since it was just wide enough for two small cars and we could usually squeeze by the oncoming Honda by perching on the edge of the asphalt. But then Ms. Waze routed us onto a track that looked like someone's driveway. In fact, our own driveway is at least half again wider than this narrow ribbon of asphalt.

This ridiculously narrow track is naturally where we met the most oncoming traffic. We even had to figure out how to squeeze by another RV, which thankfully was able to take advantage of someone's driveway to edge off the pavement to let us pass. We finally made it, of course, but not before I had left noticeable finger-grip marks in the steering wheel.

But before we tackled these heart-stopping, 18th-century-width roads to Maker's Mark, we stopped about lunch-time at a picturesque historic site called "Lincoln Homestead State Park." Now Concetta and I most often go out of our way to visit anything and everything related to Abraham Lincoln. We've been to places he lived in his early years, we've been to his father's farm in Illinois, and we've been to his home in Springfield that he occupied before becoming President. But somehow we'd missed the site in Kentucky where Lincoln's father proposed to Lincoln's mother, Nancy Hanks.

Here's Wikipedia's description: "Lincoln Homestead State Park is a state park located just north of Springfield, Kentucky in Washington County. The park encompasses 120 acres, and features both historic buildings and reconstructions associated with Thomas Lincoln, father of President Abraham Lincoln."

"The two-story Francis Berry House is the only original structure; it was where Nancy Hanks, Abraham's mother, was living and working as a seamstress while being courted by Thomas Lincoln. Thomas is said to have proposed to Nancy by the large fireplace in the cabin."

"

Two other buildings are reconstructions: the "workshop" where Thomas learned blacksmithing and carpentry, and the "Lincoln cabin." The 16 feet by 18 feet structure was built on the site of the original Lincoln cabin where Thomas lived with his family as a boy. It is made of 115-year-old logs. The furnishings were made by Thomas Lincoln as an artisan."

"Captain Abraham Lincoln, the president's grandfather, had moved to the site from Virginia in 1781-2 with his wife Beersheba and their children following the American Revolutionary War. He was killed in May 1786 in an attack by American Indians. Thomas was saved by his oldest brother Mordecai's shooting an Indian before he could do anything to the boy. Captain Lincoln was buried near the cabin, but the exact location is unknown."

So there you have it. The historic site didn't do too much to impress the visitor other than to tell the story with a half dozen information signs and some antique furniture, but still it felt sort of awesome to be standing in the same cabin as Abe Lincoln's father stood in to ask for the hand of Abe's soon-to-be mother. While Abe's Father's house was a reproduction, the Nancy Hanks house was the actually cabin in which the future 16th President's father proposed to his future bride, the future President's mother. You just don't come across that sort of history every day.

Since the Lincoln Homestead Park was to be our lunch stop, we spent quite a bit of time walking the grounds and photographing the contents of the cabins. But what made the stop especially nice was the reception we received from the museum docent, Jackie. Jackie took one look at my U.S. Navy hat and perked right up. "Were you in the Navy?" she asked, a touch of excitement in her voice. When I told her I was, she said, "Me, too!"

After that we two launched into a mutual description of our respective naval careers, where we'd been posted, and how long our enlistment had been. Jackie had been in the Navy twenty years and had served places as far flung as Key West, Florida, and the country of Scotland. The two of us must have talked for a good 15 minutes. I learned she had gone in as a dental hygeniest, but had soon be designated a corpsman. I told her I had flirted with the idea of becoming a corpsman, but had backed off when I saw the movies of all the blood and gore corpsman dealt with on a daily basis.

Thankfully, Concetta spent the time looking at all the souvenirs in the museum store and kindly let Jackie and me wind down our Naval reminiscences. I had a great time reliving the old days and meeting a new friend on the road.

When we moved on from the Lincoln site was when Ms. Waze took us on "Mr. Toad's Wild Ride" with all the wild bumps and undulations of the Disneyland ride. But fortunately we finally made it to the Maker's Mark parking lot where a very nice level spot had been provided for RVs. The lot was a fairly long walk from the gift shop, but it was a bright and beautiful day and we didn't mind so much.

As it turned out, Marker's Mark really dazzled us with the quality of their operation. Everywhere you looked the grounds were thoughtfully designed and landscaped. There were loads of flowers, herbs, and beautiful trees surrounding the walkways as we descended the hill from the parking area. I think we could have waited for the shuttle, but the walk was a wonderful experience.

Once at the gift shop we quickly picked out several bottles of what we thought might make exciting presents, and we even had help from one of the customers who professed to be a collector of fine Bourbons. Seeing neither T-shirt nor hat that I especially wanted, I settled for a bottle of "Limited Reserve" that took my fancy. I'm not sure what it will taste like since we didn't opt to taste anything today, but I'm sure I'll like it.

When we left Maker's Mark we set our GPS to find the Buffalo Trace Distillery before it closed at 5:00 p.m. We had just two hours to make it the sixty miles back to Frankfort to make our purchases. Unfortunately, we didn't make it soon enough to grab a particular bottle that Concetta wanted. In fact she was told that they had just sold the last one before we walked through the door. But never mind, we chose a couple of others that we knew were good, found a t-shirt for my collection, and we were back on the highway toward our evening camp before closing time.

And that's our adventures for the day. We had a touch of classic Bourbon Trail fun. We had a bit of history from a couple of hundred years ago. And we had a beautiful day in Kentucky. What more could you ask for? And when you hit the two-lanes and head for all those places you've been dying to see, The Happy Wanderers wish you happy travels and exciting destinations.