After next to no sleep and a slightly thick head from WoodChuck cider mixed with Pencloxin Trihydrate and tabasco sauce . . . I was in a shaky condition when the door was knocked and my astronomically expensive breakfast arrived. . .
Judging by the price of the eggs they serve in the "W" Hotel I estimated that the full chickens must retail for around $1.7 million . . . and the pig that provided the excellent bacon would be around $2.9 million for the whole thing.
Even the coffee was priced as though it had been brought from Columbia that morning by 14 year old mountain virgins from Alta Rica . . . although to be honest it tasted like crap.
Struggling through breakfast, shower and packing saw me leave the hotel and head to the Hertz lot to pick up my gleaming Hummer which would be awaiting my arrival. WRONG!
"No Hummer in stock sir."
Bollocks.
"Would you like the smaller Hummer sir?"
No, certainly not. Do I look like a girl?
Time for some quick thinking and decision making . . . the Shelby Mustang convertible (A brute capable of devouring whole chunks of tarmac with one light touch of the pedal) or a regular Mustang hard top but with GPS Satellite Navigation . . .
For once sense grabbed a hold of me and stopped me in my tracks. The choice was simple: drive a guided missile while map reading and end up spending the rest of my days driving in circles in Alaska or rely on a computer to steer me across America in comparative safety. . .
A regular Mustang hard top in candy red was promptly delivered and after much bitching on my part about the Hummer, a mighty discount was promptly offered on the Mustang and I was off.
To be fair, the regular Mustang is a bit of a brute anyway - the difference is that the Shelby version has been convicted for GBH, while the regular Mustang has just been cautioned for being rowdy. . .
Out on to Interstate 55 which has replaced much of the original Route 66 through Illinois (although there are regular signs along the way reminding that this road is the original "Historical Route 66") and off to St Louis in Missouri.
Music for this stage was:
Back to Black - Amy Winehouse. Excellent start to the day with a 21st century take on the 60s RnB / Detroit Soul sound from a mouthy Jewish girl from London. Fantastic.
The Very Best of Boubacar Traore - the bluesman from Mali. Great rhythms settled me into the clacking sound of the tires as they ran over road seams on the highway while cruise control allowed me to sit back and enjoy the ride.
Buddha Bar IX - disc one. Cool ambient lounge sounds to take my to the South of Illinois and clear my head of all crap before arriving in . . .
Springfield, Illinois. Population 110,000. Home to two of the greatest ever Americans . . .
Abraham Lincoln and Homer Simpson.
Strangely, while there is a whole host of memorials and historical sights dedicated to Mr. Lincoln, including his original home, there is little to celebrate Springfield's other great son - Homer.
I looked high and low for Mr. S, but i guess he was out of town promoting his new movie. In the meantime, Springfield is The Simpsons. Decidedly small town with little to commend it other than the fact that it is decidedly small town and has little to commend it.
It has a feel that more rural parts of the USA have - of superficial rectitude but underlying torpitude. There is a sadness about these towns. You can't help thinking of American Beauty and how behind the neat hedges and well cut lawns there is pain and angst ruling lives of certain direction and lack of escape.
And then there are the poor - who actually number many people in America, despite the nation's wealth - with a McJob to cling on to and then shopping at 7 Eleven and collecting food stamps.
All the more depressing when you can still see by the roadside the evidence of prosperity and hope that once existed in these towns 50 years ago with brightly coloured diners and stores with glowing neon, now faded to dust colours and rust and the neon lights long broken and never replaced. But people still plant the Stars & Stripes in their gardens or on the porches and continue you to believe in the Apple Pie American Dream, although the apples are now made with artificial additives and preservatives and the pastry is made in Korea or perhaps Mexico. . .
I "dined" at the Springfield McDonald's and watched a woman in front of me order enough food to have kept me "nourished" for a week - all pure grease - and then sit down and smother everything she ordered with ketchup and mayo and launch in.
It was almost enough to put me off my lunch - but not quite. I ate my burger in silence while contemplating small town America and keeping a watchful eye on the car to make sure it didn't get ripped off while I was busy furring my arteries with McCholesterol.
St Louis was less than 100 miles and the journey was easy - aided by the rich voice of Blues legend Lightnin' Hopkins . . . which saw me cross the Mississipi and leave Illinois and enter Missouri - and St Louis, the Gateway to the West. Famous for its arch, its baseball (The St Louis Cardinals) and its beer (Anheuser Busch, makers of Bud, has its home here).
I was taken to dinner in "The Hill" - a district of St Louis which is populated by the Italian immigrant community. Immigrant district always spells good food and I was not disappointed here.
My hosts were a business associate and her family and we gathered round a table and ate one of St Louis's specialities - Toasted Ravioli.
This dish was apparently discovered by accident and involves regular meat filled ravioli being coated in parmesan and breadcrumbs then deep fried. After deep frying they are drained, dusted with parmesan and parsley and then grilled until crispy. They are then served with a marinara sauce - delicious!!!!
St Louis is a nice "clean" city with simple street layout and pleasant architecture. The locals are into beer, music, food and baseball - the last being incredibly important. Crossing through this city - "The Gateway to the West" gives a sense of anticipation for what lays ahead on the planes of Kansas and Oklahoma. . .
Next stop Tulsa - and hopefully some great music in the tradition of the Okies - and in particular JJ Cale . . .
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