June 16, 2001
Ah, the sweet feeling of having the awning over grass that has no fire ants hiding in it to put welts on my bare feet! We're in a cute little park (or "Parque" as they spell it) across the river from St. Louis, MO, (which puts us in Illinois) where the oldest boy, his wife, and our two adorable granddaughters live. Planning on spending a week or so here and then heading up to Nappanee, IN, to see if the factory where the trailer was built can find the entrance point for the water that soaks the floor of the closet (only on Barby's side, of course) when it rains really hard for an extended period of time.
Some of the hardest working individuals around these parts. On the left is the Mockingbird who objected strenuously every day, all day long, and most the night as well, any intrusion into "his" territory. And that pole he's sitting on is just outside our home, so every morning we'd wake up with grins at his enthusiasm. And on the right we have Norm, the manager, in the plaid shirt, and the fellow with him who's name I think was Brian. And the lady under that Tilly hat will be introduced in a little bit.
Remember me complaining about Tropical Storm Allison? Well, here are some before and after shots of the few days we spent here. On the left, taken in the morning of the 9th and on the right, the morning of the 13th. Needless to say, the many turtles that inhabited this pond were clearly delighted and their expanded food source as many of them were seen all day long along the pond's edges relishing their new-found taste treats. Many more days of rain like this and we'd have had more than water on the floor of the closet in the bedroom! Pretty exciting for this California boy, and was even a bit much for my Massachusetts girl.
Ok. That's RaeJean and Slim. Neighbors, and as you can tell, they were more than a little fun to be with. Like Barb, Slim retired from the Feds, and was the quieter of the two. Of course, you can't tell that from the pictures can you. RaeJean was into birding in a rather big way. Had a shirt made for Slim that had SOB on the back. Spouse Of Birder. Barb and I got a big kick out of that. Like us, they're fulltimers, and have been at it several more years than we have. And like us, they've had some health issues change some of their plans. It was good for us to be able to spend time with them and be encouraged by them while I took a few days to get to the point where we could travel again.
First day out, we made it from Quitman, GA, to Stone Mountain, GA, not far from Atlanta. Dry camping was the order of the day, and after wandering a bit--gosh, but we seem to do a lot of that before dragging out the GPS, we found the Wal-Mart and set up for the night. Shortly after to be joined by Marc, our friend from Escapees who lives in Bend, OR, with his wife Claudia and daughter Rachael that we enjoyed so much on several different occasions. He's driving "big rigs" now, as you can see. While we were sitting and chatting inside our trailer (had the generator running so we could have the air-conditioner running), we heard a frog croaking. Sounded exactly like those little green tree frogs we'd grown accustomed to in Quitman. Barby finally couldn't take it any longer and stepped outside to see where it was coming from because it sounded so close. As she peeked into the cavity the stairs roll up into, she saw the little frog peeking out at her! Hitchhiker aboard!! We heard him for most the night, but by morning, he'd hopped out and on to a life (however long or short) in Stone Mountain.
Really "big" rigs. Our front bumpers are in line with each other, and as you can see, there's a good 20 to 25 feet more of him than there is of us. And the side to side shows the difference as well. But that's only fair, for crying out loud, look at how much bigger than me he is!
His coffee mug is even bigger! Of course, Barb has her usual "small" cup, and Marc's really only holds his water, but still, there are some differences! What fun. And then talking about fun -- there's a huge grin on my face as I'm standing outside the visitor center of the Jack Daniels Distillery in Lynchburg (pop. 301), Tennessee. At last. I may have mention earlier someplace that some years ago a business partner of mine, Terry Laxton, was instrumental in having me appointed to the exalted position of Tennessee Squire and all the privileges that includes. Like owning a postage stamp piece of land here at the distillery. And special treatment when touring the place as well, we discovered. And because of my status, I get letters from "local" residents that are so much fun. They're folksy in nature, and one recent one was asking me if I knew how to keep eggs from rotting, because one of the local guys was raising chickens, and there was a problem with the electricity and every night the lights would go off and then come on again later and all his chickens thought it was another day and they'd all lay another egg, and he had twice the egg production he had sales for, and what was he going to do. Another one was inviting me to go 'coon hunting with this old boy and his buddies, and if I couldn't make it would I mind terribly if they happened to let their dogs run over my land. And one of my favorites was from this guy who had just bought a metal detector, and heard there was the possibility of civil war relics on land in the area of mine, and if I'd give him permission to hunt for them on my land he'd share in any profits from the sale of the relics. Clever marketing if I've ever seen it!
Sammy was our tour guide, bib overalls and all. Talked real slow with this drawl a mile long. Told us to make sure we were with the person we should ought to be with because the bus driver was going to take our group picture and put it on the web. Of course, I had to take a picture of the picture taker. And even though we've not seen it, we were told it would be published at www.jackdaniels.com for June 14, 2001. And on the right are the stacks of red maple wood that the charcoal for filtering the whiskey is made from. I got a kick out of the "Rickyard", because as any race fan knows, the "Brickyard" is the home of the Indianapolis 500. Sammy the tour guide was very knowledgeable and spouted off statistics that I couldn't begin to share here, but I was impressed with the making of charcoal here.
That's Sammy on the left explaining why the charcoal has to be just the right size for filtering. And on the right is the Jack Daniels fire brigade's newest addition to the fleet.
And here's the rest of the brigade. On the left is one that was built in 1926 and is chain driven, and on the right is the Reo from 1928 (these were set aside, under cover, as museum pieces, of course, but delightful to look at and see the difference between the old and the brand new!). (I think -- like I said, this guy was so full of statistics, my mind was in a swirl and we hadn't even had a taste of the product)!
On the left is the main reason the distillery is located where it is. The water. That's a spring coming out of the grotto. And on the right Sammy is explaining the statue of Mister Jack. When it was made, by whom, how much it weighs, how long it took to make, and probably some more information I can't remember. Of significance, however, was the physical description of the man: he was 5'2" tall and wore a size 4 shoe.
Like so many of this country's early successful men, Mister Jack loved to give back to the community, and these are a few of the horns from the early band he formed for Saturday performances at the Lynchburg Town Square. They're still held there every Saturday, but it's not just horns any more. And that fire truck was sure getting the attention. Today was its delivery day and the whole place was abuzz about it.
I hope the machined swirls in the aluminum ladder can show up on your monitor, because they were beautiful. And on the right is the original office where it all started in 1866. Square nails, pot-bellied stove, roll-top desk, and all. Wonderful historical old place, and on the National Register of Historical Buildings besides.
And then on to the process used to make whiskey. Again, all kinds of impressive statistics which were lost on me as I enjoyed seeing all the equipment and combination of art and science used to make the whiskey.
On the left is one of the fermentation tanks; it's a huge vat (as I recall, 40,000 gallons) which isn't distinguishable in the photo because you can't see the edge of it. Smelly stuff, and a mixture of rye, barley, wheat, and yeast. Barby asked how they keep the bugs out, as there wasn't a fly or crawly thing anywhere to be seen. Sammy said that all they have to do is keep the place clean and the bugs stay away (the fact that it was smelly might have something to do with it too). And on the right is what I'm doing. Mellowing. However, in here we saw the nearly finished product getting its filtering. Ten feet of charcoal that the mixture is drained through once for the Black Label and twice for the "Gentleman Jack" label. Either way, it comes out crystal clear (before the barreling process).
If I'd had the presence of mind, I'd have pointed to my 1" x 1" piece of land up there. It's right up there on the hill. Someplace. Beyond the fire hydrant, over the stream, and into the woods. Right there. Right. And on the right is a display that is self-explanatory. Was fun for me to see tools that my dad had in his collection that he'd gotten from his father who was a wagon maker/blacksmith. Brother Ken is in the process of building a shop at his place in Colville, WA, and tools will probably be displayed there at some point. We were in the barrel making area, obviously.
The filled oak barrels are stacked 3 high for reasons I either didn't hear or understand. And on the right are a couple of women labeling the bottles of Single Barrel whiskey. That's a special whiskey that the taster determines is so good that no other barrel will be blended with it for filling the bottles. It is a bit more expensive because of special handling as well as the superior taste.
The woman on the left did finally look up and see all the tourists and give us a smile. She was pretty well occupied by hanging the tag on each bottle, and checking the labels for alignment. Each barrel of Single Barrel is numbered, and each bottle from that barrel will have the tag hanging on it with that barrel number on it. On the right is the boxing, and the woman is a blur because she never did stop the whole time we watched. The bottles would pile up a bit at the end of the conveyer belt between boxes, but she was always back there with another box and would get all caught up before any damage was done. Sammy told me that one day someone else was doing the boxing, and was on the phone and the bottles were getting dangerously backed up so he stepped in and did some boxing until the regular worker came back. We could imagine him doing just that.
Barb and I appreciated all the brick used in the place. For some reason, we both like brick buildings and houses. Barb is standing by the barrels so you can have a perspective of size. See that timber next to her? It's nearly as big around as she is.
And the massive timbers were used throughout the building. The whiskey will stay in the barrels for 4 years, during which time it will be subjected to the weather patterns in the un-air-conditioned building. It will be absorbed by the oak during the warm months, and then expelled during the cold months when the oak contracts/ expands. This absorption/expelling is what gives the whiskey not only a distinct flavor but also its almost amber color. We spent that night in the park behind the Moore County jail there in Lynchburg, and the next morning "did" the town. This place will go down in history for a number of reasons, but particularly as the place where I first saw what East Coast folks are very familiar with--the firefly (also called lightning bugs in some circles)! What marvelous little creatures with built-in flashlights. A topic of study as some future time. And what we have here on the right is a Harley-Davidson. Yup, for several years in the early '70's the company was owned by AMF and one of the things they did was make golf carts. With the H-D logo of course. And the little leather shop there in Lynchburg happened to have this one, and they'd tricked it out with all kinds of saddle bags seat cushions and other neat leather trim. Really neat.
Then we left Lynchburg after I put a lot of air into one of the trailer tires. Hoping it was just a slow leak we decided to head for St. Louis until we got tired of driving, and I'd get the tire checked there. Then as we were taking the back roads from Lynchburg to I-24 there was a small town that had a pretty nice tire shop so we stopped. They pulled the tire off, removed a sizable nail, patched the tire, and we were on the road again heading to St. Louis about 360 miles away. Since we normally like to go about 200 to 250 per day, we figured we'd find someplace to dry camp before getting there. It was a beautiful day once we got out of the tail end of Tropical Storm Allison. We'd stopped at a truck stop to re-fuel, eat lunch, and take a nap, and were both feeling refreshed and comfortable. We decided that it might be a good idea to drive through St. Louis Friday night rather than trying to go through during the day Saturday, so we pushed on. The campground we'd picked was one of our $5 per night places (Camper Clubs of America) and since we were staying for a week, that made good $$ sense to us. And it would have worked except that there was construction. And a wreck. And more construction. And it was 11:00 PM by the time we left the interstate on a state highway for the 7 miles to the campground. And there were no lights on the sign, and if Barb hadn't been looking real closely, we'd have missed it completely. And after I'd turned us around and gone back, I couldn't see the driveway so I drove past to this abandoned (I thought) building that had a big rig parked in front of it. We walked back to the campground and decided that it wasn't for us. Not only was the driveway and interior roads in deplorable condition, the trees hadn't been trimmed and were all hanging out there waiting to grab our bikes. And we really weren't up to any more excitement for the day so we just went to bed. Didn't even pull the slides out. On the left is State Highway 79 which is busy 24 hours per day. Trucks without mufflers seemed to be the rule of the night. After about 5 hours of "sleep," we left.
And were our prayers ever answered in a favorable fashion! This cute little "Parque" is in Cahokia, IL. Yup, we're in the Cahokia RV Parque on Mississippi Ave. The river is about 5 or 6 blocks through the weeds behind us. We're just across the river from St. Louis, 8 miles from the kids house and 11 miles from Doug's shop, and while it's not $5 per night, it's $135 for the week! We're all set up and ready for visitors on the left, and on the right I'm wondering what it is with our living room slide out. Why does it like trees and posts and things like that so much?
Daughter-in-law Kerry was called by a camp she works for in the summer to fill in for a missing person on a trip the camp was taking some kids on to Prescott, AZ. Since the agreement was that she'd do that if needed, off she went the same day we landed. Which was just fine with us, even though we'd have loved to seen her our first day here, she'll be back on Thursday. The granddaughters are still in Fairbanks with Kerry's folks (they come back tomorrow), so we had Doug to ourselves. And he was kind enough to invite us to go to a "cruise-in" with him. He normally doesn't go, but suspected he'd have some customers there and maybe an employee or two as well, and he knew Barb and I'd enjoy ourselves. Of course, just before we got there, the 'caddy (1967 and big) had to be shined up. There are good pictures of it at www.dougjenkinscustomhotrods.com if you want to see some neat ghost flames. And on the right are a few of the 30 or so cars that showed up at the local Steak & Shake restaurant for the event.
And we're waiting for his call to tell us he's home from church and we'll go spend the afternoon looking at their 100 year old--new to them--home that they're re-building.