TheJessicaness

Caleb tries the pancake maker machine (two griddles with a glass viewing window) after we load the car in a lot that smells like horse manure. I’m not usually one to look at so many carcasses and try to avoid them, but it seems to turn into a road game like license plate bingo or cloud-shape spotting as we continue to see so many armadillos, averaging one almost every three miles.

We won’t count all day, just on the short drive to Stones River National Battlefield, and I am glad to see a curious box turtle on the rumble strip that has yet to be unalived and looks to be going back to the trees. This park has a few spots to stop at, and Caleb chooses the Fortress Rosecrans so we can see the 1,400 ft. long curtain wall. This defense structure had over 14,000 ft. of earthwork walls in 1863.

It was built by 40,000 men in 130 days, between the Union Army and their “contrabands,” who were newly freed and paid for their labor. Today, it looks more peaceful and provides a home for turkeys and American giant millipedes. The name seems fitting, and I squat and watch all the tiny legs forming v’s and then fanning out in quick succession. Caleb is impressed with the little guy’s ability to move so many appendages with such grace.

Admiring Lytle Creek, I’m stung by the first mosquito of the trip. I’m sure there will be more, but the temperature is in the 60s here, and the encounters are too few to require bug repellent just yet. In the gift shop, they have recipe books, raccoon earrings, and a sticker of Lincoln’s hat. I was looking around while waiting for my turn for the park stamp and then put Stones River next to Shiloh’s spot.

I laughed it off. I will just switch them instead of buying a sticker to cover it up. I can add this story to the one where I put the stamp upside-down, which I let the rangers know is helping to create memories. They engage with us, and I let them know we’re here to stretch our legs. Our trailer rental determines our travel time. Otherwise, I’d have spent the day exploring and learning more about the importance of this place and the battle’s effect on the Civil War.

Caleb is reading the website for Dunbar Cave before our arrival. We continue to get lucky that each stop seems to have space for at least one vehicle towing a trailer. He wants me to know that we might not see the cave, something I was already prepared for – more for tour timing issues than it being closed because the woman at the front desk could barely handle that responsibility. 

We walk the Short Loop as we are told by a local man who has been coming here for 30 years that the Recovery Trail is where the dead cedars lie and it’s more a workout than a stroll under the canopy we find ourselves. We part ways, and I tell Caleb that the friendly and sweaty man reminds me of Uncle Ed. We cross paths with a Kentucky flat millipede and many fallen blossoms from the Tulip tree, the state tree of IN, KY, and TN.

Dunbar Cave’s cooling entrance allowed it to be extravagant. The first dance floor was packed with sawdust in 1844. The cave became a resort in 1879, and a wooden dance floor was added in 1891, which was replaced with concrete in 1916. As air-conditioning grew, the resort closed in 1971, and the only dancing inside today is by the Carolina wrens who nest in the corners provided by the construction over a century ago.

We didn’t plan on stopping in Kentucky, but after 40-plus miles of the jerkiest road (Hwy 24), we needed a break to look for a chiropractor and check the trailer’s contents. I haven’t been doing the 70 mph speed limit because the trailer says 55, but I was forced to go even slower to accommodate the bumps at a more reasonable aggression than to worry about the rain and the possibilities that presents.

It’s quite the upper-body workout to maintain such weight at such speeds in these conditions, and I joke that perhaps too much bourbon was consumed while someone was “repairing” this road. I will make a similar comment about the state of our boxes when I see them disheveled as if they had been partying all night. Caleb shoves them around and tightens their safety net so we can get back on the road.

I’m glad we set so many days to get across as we hit a slowdown that would take us 30 minutes to drive the five miles to the Illinois border. It will be another half hour until we reach Ferne Clyffe State Park with a few spots to accommodate our length. We are interested in the waterfall and grateful for the wide and absorbent path that led us to it, along with an old man and his 10yo dog Ruby.

On our return trip, we passed a large family, three women who smelled like a bingo hall in the 80s (smoke, carpet, and desperation), and a couple dressed in wedding garb with two photographers. There’s a tricky water crossing, so I’m guessing the bride will wait to put on her nice shoes until safely in front of the perfect backdrop, which some of these rocks would do beautifully.

There’s a church by the park with a sign: Duct tape is good, but 3 nails fixed everything! Driving through Carbondale, I noticed giant dog paws painted on the lanes. I’d look up why, but we got in late (on time) tonight, and it’s getting close to bedtime. I had us going to one or the other O’Fallon, but Caleb will find us a place in Red Bud so we can avoid going through another large city.

I feel a sense of renewed energy when I see the sun hit a field of flowers, especially after a day of driving under gray skies. I might’ve kept going had it not been time to eat, and then it would have been too dark to continue, so we stopped and got a new hitch to raise the trailer and more straps (one that’s not torn in half) to fix the contents situation.  The Kaleb working there says his other job spelled his name Kalub, which looks phonetically correct.

Back down the road, I checked us in while Caleb switched the hitches. The carpet is lush, and we’re at the back, away from the road, so it’s very quiet. Caleb makes me dinner while I write. There’s a paper towel dispenser on the wall of our motel and a glass dish in the bathroom with cotton balls and swabs. We could fit another bed in here, but one will be enough.