What On Earth Are You Doing Out Here?

I left you on the rolling plains of middle America, driving quite fast. As the lights dim and the opening credits end you can see the two protagonists in a car listening to conservative idiots on the radio and staring at the straight road ahead, now oblivious to the never-ending fields. I started to feel a bit sorry for the early explorers of this region as for hundreds of miles they would have gone over a little hill with high expectations of some exciting discovery only to see the plains stretching on even further. I expect attacks from Indians would have been a welcome relief, although despite their stereotyped aggressive nature the native Americans were more likely to help the people who would eventually return in far greater number to destroy them.

In modern America there are fast food chains and billboards littered along the highway to break up the monotony. We passed the odd city or two with the skyscrapers rising out of the surrounding pastures and looking slightly out of place. Most nights were spent in cheap roadside motels, which have their own charm, but for one night we were drawn into St Louis, Missouri, gateway to the west.

St Louis is located where the Missouri meets the Mississippi. This conjures up a romantic image of paddle steamers, the blues and sippin’ gut ache whisky by the banks of the river. The reality is a stark contrast as St Louis has long since shed it’s small town image and has become a sprawl of highways and derelict buildings overlooking over-developed and polluted rivers. The city’s big tourist attraction is a giant arch, symbolic of its role as gateway to the west. It’s not a bad analogy to apply to the place as it felt like an unsettled transit point.

Funnily enough that’s exactly what Tim and I were using it for. We hunted out the youth hostel which was located in a charming part of town just next to the expressway. We were almost going to drive off as the hostel sign was attached to an abandoned building but they had just moved down the street. Looking back at that point we wished we had sought an alternative.

The hostel was run by a religious weirdo with a child molester’s gut and mottled skin. He also sported one of those Amish ‘beard only’ facial stylings which is a sign of a strange one. The only other bloke we’ve met like this was a human guinea pig for commercial drug companies in three states. A slightly strange hostel manager would have been no problem but spending the night in a semi-derelict dorm wasn’t an attractive proposition. Added to the mix was a crazy Canadian who loved to talk and a Prozac popping waitress who thought the best way to get a tip was to tell us a bad joke every five minutes and slap us on the shoulder.

We retreated to the hostel as night was falling and Tim administered some medication to help us achieve the sweet release of sleep. Unfortunately for us a pair of our fellow hostellers began a protracted conversation on the hardships of looking for a house in the area. After a brief respite from this the crazy Canadian came back to regale everyone with his night at the baseball and future travel plans. When all was finally quiet a string of electric lights flashed at me through the window and adjusted my brain waves to a sleeping pattern. The strangest thing about the youth hostel were the toilets. They were basically in the same room as the beds but instead of having a normal door they sported saloon style swinging doors. I’m not sure if this was to facilitate a quick entrance and exit but it did leave you feeling slightly exposed.

We left the city in the morning vowing never to return and hungering for some small town action. We were also hungering for some small town pie and following a newspaper tip we arrived in a town called Washington to sample the famous Cowan’s Pie. It was fantastic food. I ate a simple omelette and fresh hash browns followed by some homemade blueberry pie as ‘Stand by your man’ played on the jukebox. It made up for the previous night and we spent the morning lolling by the banks of the river being deafened whenever a freight train announced it’s presence and blasted through.

The rest of the day was spent meandering through back roads, soaking up the isolation. Missouri is a poor state yet even the homes with five abandoned pickups out the front had a huge satellite dish. Tim was getting into the hillbilly spirit by wandering around with no shoes on until he met his match at a gas station. The attendant refused him service if he remained barefoot and kicked him out of the store. I think she was right in her actions as once you let the standards start slipping who knows where it’s going to lead. No shoes could lead to pissing in the milk. We were right in the heart of conservative bible belt America and the huge wooden crosses in the fields were a reminder of days when they were used to scare away more than black birds. There’s a noticeable decline in the number of black people once you leave the east coast cities. It would be easy to assume that this is because of prejudice but I suspect it’s because black people have more sense than to live in a boring shithole.

One of the strange things about America is that in the middle of nowhere you come across these enormous Wal-Mart stores. Among the items sold here are a fine range of high power hunting rifles, knives and bows with razor tipped arrows. In a small town a little further along a pawn shop featured an assortment of handguns and assault rifles. To purchase these weapons you need to have lived in the United States for six months and be over 21 years of age. There was one youngster with his face pressed against the handgun cabinet who seemed all too keen to celebrate the happy conjunction of legal shooting and drinking age. We left the store feeling a lot less safe and tried not to get into any road rage incidents.

Next to the giant Wal-Mart’s you sometimes get giant supermarkets selling giant sized portions of everything. Tim had the following conversation with the checkout chick:
Jess: Do you mind if I ask you a question?
Tim: No. Go ahead.
Jess: Are you Australian?
Tim: Yes we are.
Jess: Do you mind if I ask you another question?
Tim: No.
Jess: What on earth are you doing out here?

It was a good question and seemed to sum up the attitude of a lot of people we met. Our usual response was “Just passing through”.

Dave out.