Blastoff Start from Chicago

Let’s set the stage.  Friend Maury flew home to New York City Sunday afternoon.  New friend Erica prepared for foot surgery Monday.  Sister-in-law but like a sister, Dee, arrived by train mid-afternoon Sunday from Ft. Worth, Texas, a 23-hour trip.  While Dee napped,  I did a fast survey of the mammoth Chicago Art Institute, lingering the longest in the Impressionist rooms and the new wing’s modern art.   Dinner was an easy choice: Chicago deep dish pizza streetside at an Italian outdoor cafe, people watching as a side dish.

Monday, September 17 — Day 1

We hopped out of bed to start the Route 66 journey.  You have to start at legendary Lou Mitchell’s Diner, like the one in the old TV series, “Alice”, and right behind the Route 66 starting marker.  We went in style, in a limo, totally by accident.  When I asked for a cab, a chauffeur asked where we were headed.  He heard Lou Mitchell and told us to jump into his sleek black Cadillac limo.  And off we went with Louis, Mr. Personality Storyteller.  He said we could pay him whatever we thought fair.  Good on ya, Chicago.

Lou’s is one of those places everyone loves.  The waitresses have been there for ages and they got lip, great fun lip.  Ladies, as soon as you enter, you get complimentary mini-boxes of Milk Duds, and only ladies get them.  Now that’s a way to start the day!  There’s 66 signs everywhere, old photos, mementos and a huge case of fresh produce and fruit at the front.  Darla was our waitress.  Starting the day with another dame with the initial D was the second good omen of Day One 66.

The raisin toast is homemade.  The coffee was good.  The portions, big surprise, were huge.  My one scrambled egg covered the plate and was an inch thick.  We sat back with happy tummies, then Darla brought the clincher, a tiny cup of vanilla soft-serve ice cream.  She suggested we put a tad of their homemade orange marmalade over the ice cream for that old-fashioned orange Creamsicle flavor.  Did it, loved it.

Since it was Dee’s first trip to Chicago, we did a trolley tour.  It was a beautiful Autumn day with a breeze, perfect for sitting atop a doubledecker trolley and seeing the city. Too soon, time to leave.  We checked out and did the big city litany of shelling out money.  The valet parking was $46 per night, yes $46, not a typo.  Tip the valet who brought the car up from underground parking.  Tip the porter who collected our bags from the room.  Tip a different porter who took our luggage from the lobby to the car.  Mere persons cannot use luggage trolleys, only porters and bellmen.  No, mere people must tote their luggage or pay, and because I am a crazy person on a six-week road trip, I had a mishmash of bags and a cooler.  No brainer: I paid.

The Great Gods of Travel blessed us with good directions from the hotel and we whizzed out of Chicago with no problem.  Open road, so in went the CD:  “Get Your Kicks on Route 66.”  Some long driving, some heavy rain, dark earlier than usual, and hotel check-in at 9pm.  So much for trip plan to get off the road before dark and settle down for R&R.  Little did I know this scenario would become more or less normal.

 Tuesday, September 18

The real deal day, the start of the 66 icons.

In Joliet, Illinois, we stopped in front of its downtown Rialto Theatre, turned on the car flashers, and asked at the box office if we could take a fast peek into the theatre.  It looked gorgeous through the locked glass doors, marble and gilt galore.  The box office gal steered us to the administrative offices upstairs, and I worked some word magic.  Bingo, a staff member would give us a quick tour if we each contributed $5 to its restoration fund.  OK!  When she saw how impressed we were — and how could you not be with its dazzling architecture and lofty floor plan — she took us into the theatre, turned on all the lights, let me stand center stage and sing off-key, opened the dressing rooms, led us to the Green Room where performers relax, and most especially, a stairwell and walls covered with signatures, wishes and autographs of every famous performing artist you can think of.  The quick peek turned into a half hour, and we thank Sandy for the impromptu tour.

Pushing on through Illinois, the next stop was our first icon, the Gemini Giant in Wilmington, one of three “Muffler Men” in Illinois, fiberglass, hollow and mighty impressive.  In nearby Odell, we visited the Standard Gas Station, lovingly restored and manned by an elderly volunteer couple. The little town of Pontiac was a goldmine.  We ate at the Old Log Cabin Restaurant, where 66 signs and memorabilia covered every surface, including special fabric backs on dining chairs.  The waitresses twisted our arms for homemade pies, blueberry for Dee, butterscotch for me.  Pontiac also boasts the Route 66 Association of Illinois Hall of Fame and Museum.  It was amazing: four floors of museum with plenty of display reading, memorabilia galore, a Volkswagon van stuffed with 66 items easily numbering in the thousands, but the best was the Forties Floor, typical rooms from the 1940s and a wartime USO theatre with instruments sitting on the stage and recorded music by Big Band greats.  As if that weren’t enough, there was an adjacent series of shops full of terrific antiques and collectibles.  Next up: Atlanta with another gigantic muffler man and murals done by signmakers who call themselves Letterheads.

We raced dusk to find Lincoln, which claims the world’s largest covered wagon.  It sat in front of a Best Western Hotel, convenient for two tired gals.  The hotel recommended the local Blue Dog Cafe for dinner, which sported dozens of dog photos, paintings and one giant blue plastic dog over the bar.  There were lots of locals, classic home-cooked dishes, and really nice folks who took care of us.  I sp0tted several pieces of German chocolate cake on the counter, my favorite cake in the world, and asked that they save me one.  No, those were for the waitresses from a customer celebrating a birthday in the restaurant.  When the birthday folks left, I asked where they bought the cake.  A pert woman, daughter of the birthday man and a flight attendant, told us where to go, but when she heard how disappointed we were that the cake wasn’t for sale, she insisted that her son cut two pieces for us on the spot.  We ate every delicious crumb.  As we left, the waitress called out, “Goodnight, sweeties.”

Chicago and Illinois are full of wonderful, gracious, and helpful people.

Status & more to come

I’m not writing every day because I’m having so much fun.  My husband and friends say I can pack more things into a day than most humans.  My mantra seems to be:  ooh, one more thing.  So when I hit the hotel room 7, 8, 9 pm after a jam-packed day, and maybe the wifi isn’t working right, my brain and body are so happy tired that I fold my tent and sleep so I can do the same – -or more — the next day.

Today is Saturday, September 23 and I’m in Branson, Missouri.  Blogwise, I’ m still in Chicago soaking up Chi-town esprit.  Hang in there with me.  Next blog will be the formal start of The Route 66 Adventure.  Promise!  Stay tuned…

Three Fun Guys in Springfield, MO

Today I got lost in Springfield, Missouri while trying to get to Branson.  On the map it looked simple:  go south on the interstate.  Well, there was construction and after two misses that landed us on the same business street instead of the southbound interstate, I stopped at the nearest building, an Applebee’s Restaurant.

I was rescued by a trio of really nice guys.  Here’s a shoutout to The Guys: bartender Justin the Pro, the dark-haired cutie Kool Kat, and the blonde, blue-eyed kissin’ cutie.  Guys, I wish I could say your directions did the trick, but somehow I messed up again, third time was not the charm.  Fifth try, directions from a Sinclair station lady, finally got me to Branson.  I never had so much fun getting lost or laughed so hard at helpers.

Yo to Springfield, MO,  better signs, please, please.

Last words to the guys: leaving Branson Monday am to continue my Rt. 66 adventure,  moving on to Joplin and Oklahoma.  If the 65/60 interchange defeats me again, I’ll look for you at Appleby’s.  Thanks again from the Arizona blondie!

Chicago, my kind of town

How do I love Chicago?  Let me count the ways:  

  •  hanging baskets of flowers and curbside planters so lush and colorful a master gardener would weep with joy
  • extraordinary architecture both vintage and cutting edge
  • the river that winds through the city
  • expansive Lake Michigan that gives the city a downtown beach (take that, NYC)
  • sidewalk cafes spilling out of great restaurants
  •  and hundreds of other things.

Driving into Chicago was the one thing I worried about for this trip.  Turned out I had reason to be anxious, hitting Chicago outskirts at 3:00 pm on a Friday afternoon.  I inched along for an hour and was beginning to wonder what sane person would choose a traffic nightmare on purpose.  But I took a deep breath, moved across four lanes of wall-to-wall traffic to the nearest exit and actually figured out how to get to my hotel.  Jubilation!  I’m happy to say that leaving the city later on was fairly easy.

My second trip companion also arrived that afternoon, friend Maury from New York, for a Chicago weekend.  We hit Chicago running and eating.  Dinner was at Graham Elliot of Iron Chef fame.  Chef Elliot does essence food with a capital E.  I really liked his staff in jeans, black t’s and black kitchen jackets.  Dessert was oatmeal light like a souffle, topped with puffed and toasted grits, juicy raspberries on the side.  Those teensy grits were the size of sesame seeds and they were memorable.  We met Chef Elliot briefly after dinner.  He  wore jeans, a plaid shirt and  sneakers and his hair had that cute, quirky peak.  He looked and acted just the way he does on TV.

My favorite experience was a city architecture tour by boat.  The skyscraper was invented in Chicago after the Great Fire destroyed most of downtown, when planners realized they needed to build up and fit tall buildings into specific spots.  Seeing the skyscrapers from a river view was great perspective.  The new Trump Tower is a triple level of graceful curves in shining charcoal blue.  An expert guide gives you history with a little humor  and points out plenty of architectural details.  It’s a terrific way to learn and see a lot while enjoying the weather and a breeze.  I would take it again in a heartbeat because no two guides do it alike.

Speaking of architecture, Chicago is full of buildings by the masterful Frank Lloyd Wright.  He’s the architect who turned design on its head by scorning boxy plans and Victorian excess.  Wright wanted his buildings to look like they grew out of their sites naturally, using clean lines, angles, natural light, and blending indoors and outdoors seamlessly.  

I love his work and couldn’t wait to see his famous Robie House and the FLW bonanza in Oak Park.  Nothing disappointed.  The Robie House is considered the best example of his revered “prairie style”…extensive use of wood interiors, built-ins, his signature art deco-like windows, sleek lines, spaces created within spaces, quiet nooks mixed with open rooms for family  and gatherings.  Decades later, this house remains classic — still modern today.  Ditto all that for his home and studio in the toney Oak Park area.  This neighborhood is a treasure trove of Wright designs.  You can buy a map and amble the streets.  Wright’s homes are easy to spot — each makes a statement but looks natural in its space.  And if other styles appeal to you more, Oak Park has plenty of grand mansions and Victorians.

Enter Erica, Maury’s longtime friend and a Chicago resident for 30 years.  She loves the city like crazy, and it was great fun to share some of her haunts and hear a local’s take.  Plus she says “swell” which is, well,  swell.

Exploring with a good friend, meeting a new friend, in a great city, so very swell.

Indy’s Indian Treasure

Friday, en route to Chicago in pouring rain, I whipped off the freeway to look at the Eiteljorg Museum in downtown Indianapolis, considered among the top 10 Native American museums in the USA.  This museum swells out of the ground organically.  Indian flute music welcomes you.  The collection focuses on Native American and Western art…a wide assortment of Frederick Remington and Charles Russell bronzes and paintings, a stunning variety of baskets and pottery, and many other beautiful works of art and Native spirit.  I have wanted to see this place for years, especially to see how it stacks up with Phoenix’ Heard, the LA’s Autry and D.C.’s American Indian Museum–and it more than holds its own.  

Note:.  The name is pronounced:  eye-tull-jorg.  The  j is a gh sound like John.  Mr. Eiteljorg loved the Southwest, especially Santa Fe.  His collection and appreciative eye are a credit to Indy.

Leaving Indianapolis, I found a jazz station on FM radio.  Indy’s annual Jazzfest was just starting.  Jazz and Indianapolis never occurred to me before, but it all fit perfectly that day.  Hour by hour on my way to start Route 66-ing, I learn something new about America.

Nashville, Louisville & Columbus in Indiana

It’s Monday and bye to lush and green Tennessee.  Moving through the twisting hills of Kentucky, we hopped off the interstate to see a downtown landmark in Louisville, the genteel Brown Hotel.  Talk about Southern hospitality.  The doorman allowed us to park at the entrance during rush hour for 15 minutes of admiring the lobby and its multi-star restaurant.  The lobby was full of beautiful traditional furniture, mixed with antiques like the classic curved love seat and a round sofa with flowers and ferns in the center.  The staff was impressed that someone from Arizona would get off the freeway for a quick look at their hotel.  They were proud, and rightfully so.  The Brown is worth more than 15 minutes.  Someday I hope to return and enjoy it to the max.

I left Best Bud Bob in Columbus Tuesday morning, and I spent some hurried time with family in northeastern Ohio, my hometown state.  Two Ohio observations:  its roads were full of potholes or under heavy construction, and its fields of summer corn were pitifully dry. A shout-out to a high school friend now living in Mexico:  Karhnie, I said hello to your old house on Rt. 84 and sighed a little when I saw that the old junior high school is now an empty lot with grass. 

On to Indiana Thursday, where the land flattened, the freeway speed limit jumped to 70mph, and more fields sat sadly with dried-up corn.  I was excited to revisit Columbus, Indiana.  My first and only other visit was in the 70’s, one of those places I fell in love with after seeing one building.  If you’re scratching your head about Columbus, Indiana, you probably never heard that this town with 44,000 population has an amazing amount of buildings designed by world-famous architects.  It’s a must for architecture lovers.

Cummins Engine deserves huge credit for putting Columbus, IN on the map.  They hired the cream of architects:  Mies Van der Rohe, the Saarinens, and a bevy of talent from Skidmore, Owings & Merrill.  In the 70’s you could see the key buildings in a few hours by driving around town.  That building I fell in love with back then was the local daily newspaper…all glass and you could see the presses rolling.  For a journalist with ink in her blood, it was like a window into heaven.  

Today the newspaper building remains, but printing is done elsewhere.  Today the visitors’ center sells a map with a downtown walking tour and extended car tour to see 50 plus historical register buildings and structures that have won national and international awards.   What used to be a nondescript downtown crossroads is now full of galleries, interesting shops, and unique restaurants sprinkled among a host of architectural treasures,  I wasn’t the only only one walking, snapping photos and admiring — I heard Japanese, German, French, Spanish, Russian and every possible American accent.  And kudos to Columbus.  They offer a pack of 10 handy cards of key buildings, each with a color photo, short description, architect’s name, and date of completion.  You dial a local phone number, punch in the building’s ID number, and listen to brief comments — genius and totally easy.

I wrapped the day by driving up and down residential streets, with the windows down and the sun roof open, openly ogling one gorgeous home after another, in every style you could imagine:  mansions, brownstones, Tudor, ultra modern, Tara-style, shotgun, brick, stone, a feast of building styles.  No one minded that I braked for photo ops or a minute of sheer admiration; in fact, many locals waved, smiled, nodded hello, or gave me a thumbs-up.  My last stop was the recently restored 1900’s Zaharakos Ice Cream Parlor for supper.  I sat at the 50-foot marble and mahogany bar in front of the original 1905 onyx soda fountain, savoring my homemade broccoli soup and an ice cream sundae I created on the spot.

I’m still in love with Columbus, Indiana.

Leave a comment

Ok it’s techtime at the blog, Donna’s favorite.  Several people have said they cannot leave comments, so I think I have that fixed.  You hit the comment below the entry you want to comment on.  Once a person starts, you keep adding to it.  I have to approve them, we do have a number of crazies that have been on the site thus why no comments. So this will happen at the end of the day.   Here is the one I posted, you have to literally add a number to make the comment submit.

Nashville’s Treasures

Nashville is fun, at least what we saw in a day and night.

It’s all about the music.  “The District” has every kind of music you could want.  Just walking down the street is like concert hopping.  It’s rowdy in a good way, and it was hopping — even on a Sunday evening.

One of its downtown gems is the original Grand Old Opry in Ryman Hall.  They say that only the Mormon Tabernacle has better acoustics — surpassing Carnegie Hall.  The building was built as a church, one of the first sites to have performances in the round.  It seats 2,000 on two levels and uses the original wooden seats.  The backstage tour takes you through the dressing rooms:  men’s, women’s, the headliner act, and the makeup room.  Along the way are cases with costumes, photos, mementos and plenty of history. The gift shop has unique stuff and a wealth of music on CD and DVD.  Our guide was an aspiring singer/songwriter, as perky and charming as a young Dolly Parton.  And if you’ve always wanted to make a record, just fork over $25 and sing your own CD.

Although the Ryman stages concerts and an annual Christmas series with the Rockettes, today’s Grand Old Opry is 20 minutes away in Gaylord Opryland Resort, a sprawling, hotel complex with over 2,000 rooms and 9 acres of spectacular indoor gardens.  It’s over the top like Vegas and ab fab with cascades, waterfalls, pools, exotic plants, and flower laden, green niches that make you want to run to the nearest garden center.

Here’s something impressive.  One of the largest downtown hotel parking lots gives free parking to the handicapped, with proper ID.  That’s the height of cool. 

Three cities in a row that make me want to return and explore:  Little Rock, Memphis and Nashville–probably way more to come.

Memphis Surprises

Memphis is marvelous.  I didn’t know much about it before arriving Saturday.  I came to see Graceland and the duck parade at the Peabody Hotel.  Both were great fun, but what I didn’t expect was its vibrant downtown.

Graceland is all things Elvis — and if he is alive, he’s mega-rich from the tons of things for sale in the many, many shops.  The mansion is nice, not a Bill Gates super mansion, but there’s plenty to ooh about:  the living room with 3 TVs (each set to one of the 3 networks), the jungle family room, the mirrored glass bar, racquetball room, recording studio, a little building in the back yard for target practice.  Oh yeah, his jet and a stable of to-die-for cars were pretty nice, too. 

But the commercialism was really amazing.  I think Graceland beats Disney when it comes to organization and licensing merchandise.  Roped sections to buy tickets, timed mini-buses that whisk you from the ticket area to the mansion, audio earphones to guide you start to finish, and plenty of line standing.  After the mansion, numerous exhibits await:  his cars and other big toys with wheels, his planes, his costumes, a film of his 1968 comeback tour — and each finishes in a gift shop.  Hundreds of Elvis items to buy: lip balm, gold records, Christmas lights of his glowing face, cocktail napkins, dangling earrings that spell out Elvis vertically — you name it, you could buy it.  Three restaurants serve his favorite foods.  The fried peanut butter and banana sandwich was terrific.   

No doubt about his talent and charm.  He had the “it”factor in spades.  Long live The King.

If you’re wondering about the Peabody Hotel ducks, well, it’s one of those crazy wonderful things.  Every day for 70 some years, the gorgeous grande dame downtown hotel does the parade of ducks.  At 11 am the ducks leave their rooftop penthouse, ride to the lobby in a gilded (gilt!) elevator, and file across a special red carpet to a fountain in the center of the lobby.  They play and swim in the fountain until 5pm when the parade is repeated and they retreat to their home upstairs.  The hotel’s official Duckmaster, in full red tails regalia, announces the parade and supervises their care.  Gotta love it.

Then there’s Beale Street with its blocks of music bars and clubs…loud, crowded, drinking on the sidewalks and street closed to traffic until 3am, a nightly party.  The music draws you.   And ya gotta eat barbecue in Memphis.  We partook at the Blues City Cafe, and it was mighty fine ‘cue.

Memphis’ topper is the living, breathing downtown…fun restaurants, sidewalk cafes, clubs, mini-marts, dry cleaners, health clubs, elegant and funky home decor, commerce mixed with apartments, condos and artist studios, colorful  streetcars with wooden interiors restored to their full beauty, and people everywhere at 11pm.  I loved our late evening trolley ride around the city, as alive as New York City, amazing. 

Exciting to see such successful urban renewal.  Memphis is doing it just right.

Little Rock, Arkansas & the Clinton Presidential Library

I would go back to Little Rock happily.

The people were friendly and helpful.  I expected a city of blight, but it’s a city of successful downtown renovation.  Wonderful, old brick and stone buildings house eclectic restaurants, galleries, shops and offices.  The Clinton Presidential Library anchors the far end of what used to be a derelict warehouse district.  His modern, glass Library hangs over the Arkansas River, brilliantly cantilevered over the riverbank, encompassing old and new city, past and present, land and river.  

Inside the Library, Clinton’s life and presidency are presented both high and low tech.  Countless touch screens unfold the overview of his two terms…highlights, legislation, successes and struggles…mixed with letters from ordinary Americans, world leaders and famous figures…priceless gifts from heads of state, and tons of great photos.  All the facts and numbers are there–as well as the Clinton Family’s warmth, concern for their fellow man at home and abroad.

I loved the re-created cabinet room, each chair around the table labeled with the names of his Cabinet members.  I assumed the President sat at one end.  But no, he sat  in the middle, with the Secretary of State to his right, Secretary of Defense to his left, the Vice-President opposite. 

This building is an archive in overdrive, but its detail and vast information are easy to access and digest.  Way down the block is the gift shop, separated from the library on purpose.  Clinton chose the separation to draw others into the restoration effort.

It doesn’t matter whether you love, hate or ignore Bill Clinton.  This library takes advantage of the latest technology to tell the story of one president.  Impressive!