Thursday 16th July 2009 – Bad Day, Good Evening

Most American motels don't run to a radio.  But the TV usually has a country station which serves much the same purpose.  Today, I was introduced to a new song by (I think) John Rich, called "They're Shutting Detroit Down".  It is a criticism of bank presidents on Wall Street using his money to remodel their offices.  It seems to come from the heart.  Kris Kristopherson (if that's how you spell it) appears in the video.  It could catch fire, and provide a focus for the very strong feelings presently abroad about these, em, what's the technical term, 'bastards'.  Let's hope so.

I started the day not feeling so well.  I went out for breakfast, and then was overcome with the need for a post-prandial snooze.  I think maybe my days of trans-continental rushes are over.

I went to Fayette, the county seat, to try to find some proper food (I'm presently equipped with a microwave), but failed to find a supermarket.  I should have checked on Google beforehand.  I must balance my new temptation to just rush into things with a modicum of good sense.

Anyway, I indulged the Mediterranean lifestyle, and felt considerably better (it's the sun-dried tomatoes and ciabatta what does it, you know).

I found a place in town which looked like it would serve salads, so I ventured in.  I forewent the char-grilled hamburgers flaming before my eyes, and chomped my way through the chef's salad, feeling more-and-more bovine.  But I did feel better (that came off my fingers as "batter", obviously a Freudian slip).

 

Later that night, I found out a little of the town's trade.

The Coast Guard were in port.  "The Coast Guard?" I hear you cry, "In the middle of Missouri?"  Yes, I'm afraid so: the Coast Guard are charged with maintaining the navigation of all the western rivers.  They were coming past fixing the buoys (they say something between boo-eeze and boo-ays).  I had been down at the river at dusk trying to do nothing for a little while, and noticed two things: there was a lot of river going by; and there was a regular light flashing upriver on the fulcrum of the bend.  And up pops a group who know the answers!

There is currently 74,000 cubic feet of water per second passing by.  That sounds so startling I will have to check for units and decimal points, but that's what they quoted.  It was certainly a lot of water.

And the flashing light is actually called the "Glasgow Light" (two 1-second red flashes every 5 seconds, on the nun's side,if you're ever looking out for it).

 

And they're painting the water tower.  I thought this chap had cut himself shaving: cut himself quite a lot actually.  But it wasn't toilet paper on his face, it was paint.  He was an ex-marine.  There was a lot of joshing with the Coast Guard, but it was laced with mutual respect.  He knew the exact height (41 feet, he said) above which 100% of falls were fatal.  The worst part of his job seems to be when they go inside the tank, dressed like spacemen, to sand blast it: not nice in this weather.

 

And the railway was not, as I expected, the Union Pacific, or the Burlington Northern: it was the Kansas City Southern.  It is the smallest of the 'class I' railways. 

I had assumed the grain elevators were now dead, but they're not.  The reason there are no trucks bringing in the grain is that it's not that time of year.  The railroadman, although polite, was more interested in a bit of banter with the girls than briefing a visitor.  And in his shoes, so would I have been.

By the way, the Kansas City and Southern is incorporated, not as a 'Railroad', but as a 'Railway'.