II.
Off alone, Ottawa, Henry, Pekin Boat Club, A leak, Stop in Havana, The first anchorage, Mel’s Yellow Dock and Illinois River Restaurant, Grafton, Parrothead party, Johnny and Sharon arrive.
Dear Friends and Family;
I awoke early for having gone to bed at five A.M but I was at the fuel dock and I wanted to get a proper slip for the night. It was Sunday and I would rest and leave on Monday morning. Beau had been good company and a good mate to have aboard. We had fun and he was indispensible in some pretty tight situations. I am thankful that I have been able to spend time with each of my three sons from time to time. They are good sons and fine young men.
I spent the day doing little. I worked on the motor a bit cleaning the spark plugs; this would become my ritual; fearing being caught on the river with half power or worse yet, no motor at all. I chatted with a fellow who had a sailboat he was working on. He planned to take it to Lake Michigan. Interestingly, he purchased the boat in Wisconsin and had it trucked to Wilmington, Illinois to the marina where it now sat.
Monday morning I started out at a leisurely time after having made sure I had cold water, a sandwich, all the other items I would need easily accessible in the cockpit. I would not be able to go below to retrieve things I may have forgotten. I had the charts, maps, binoculars, rain gear, cooler with drinks and food. Things like paper towels and handy wipes I kept inside within easy reach. I had the radio on to channel 16 and the mic hung outside in the cockpit. With my tarp, all would withstand sun and mild showers.
The Illinois gets prettier the further south you go. Always, however, there are a few heavy industrial sites; chemical plants, petroleum distribution sites, cement, aggregate, sand and gravel, and the like. That is the economic force that keeps the rivers open and the locks functioning. When I came to the first lock of the day I had to wait for one tow to be locked up before I could be locked down. I was directed to a place on the dam wall next to a spillway. It was secure enough, but it was a bit disconcerting to look over the wall and see the spillway pouring water to the river twenty feet below. This would be the first lock I would negotiate alone; I was happily surprised to find that I was the only boat there. The lock workers were helpful and friendly. This would only be a twenty some foot drop, less that the near forty foot drops Beau and I had experienced earlier. By standing amidships, I could hold both the bow and stern lines that were dropped to me. I slipped one under the bow cleat and one under a stern cleat. I had to add an extension to one but overall, the process worked quite well. Locking through was otherwise uneventful. When the doors opened, I was off.
I locked through the twenty-four foot drop at the Marseilles Lock in a short time. This was the first lock where there was no wait. In a way, it seemed a lot of engineering for one man and his little sailboat, but the system works for all vessels. Priority is given to commercial traffic, of course, but pleasure craft are afforded the same rights, and on the Illinois, the same courtesy as all others. It was late afternoon as I motored out of the lock and I was an hour from my night stop.
I had decided to stay at the Ottawa courtesy dock. It seems the city of Ottawa, Illinois had created a beautiful river walk that included a courtesy dock on the Fox river immediately off the Illinois. There was no electricity and no showers but also no fee. And a very nice dock an easy walk to town. I secured the ship and walked to the local library to use the Internet before it closed. This was the first time that I put my hatch boards in and locked everything before leaving. The Group in the gazebo seemed harmless enough with their bottles and slurred greeting, but I felt precaution was best.
As I crossed through the park, I learned that Ottawa, Illinois was the site of the first Lincoln-Douglas debate. The statues of both men on pedestals in the little park were ample evidence of the pride this community felt.
The library was open, the staff friendly and the Internet adequate for my needs – e-mail. The librarian directed me to a restaurant where I ate. I asked the bartender about the depth of the water at the mouth of the Fox River. I told her that I had dragged my rudder through mud on the way in. She told me that she and her husband were boaters and she would call him to ask him about the situation. Within a half hour, when she had a few extra minutes, she had her husband on her cell phone. He advised me that I had just cut the corner too hard and if I stayed close to the dock on the way out, I would have no problems. I was just beginning to learn that there are a lot of very nice people along the rivers of America. Every town and every landing has them. And in reality, I know they are everywhere. My faith in humanity was already being renewed.
Next morning, I made coffee on my grill in the park. A young man fished nearby with little success. Before I awoke he had tangled a hook in the netting on my life line. I retrieved it for him. On my way to town I asked a mail man where an auto parts store was. He got out of his trick to gesture and point the way to two stores. I went looking for new spark plugs, still concerned with my problem. At the auto parts store I talked with two of the fellows who worked there and they had several ideas, but one decided to call a man they knew who worked on outboard motors. He handed me his cell phone. I talked with someone whose name I do not know and whom I have never met. He gave me some advice that I believe may have fixed my problem. He said that either there was too much oil in the crankcase which would cause it to blow through and foul the plugs, or the engine was burning too rich, causing it to put gasoline into the oil. He also told me to use a heavier weight oil. I purchased a siphon, a can of oil and two plugs from the store. Back at the boat, I checked the oil and discovered that it was in fact overfilled. I siphoned it down to a point where I could add about a half liter of oil and changed the plugs again. I hauled gasoline from the station a few blocks from the waterfront and by 1:45 P.M. local time, I was on the river again.
The lock at Starved Rock was again no wait and by dusk I was entering the marina in Henry, Illinois. I entered through an old lock made of cut granite blocks and I tied off at a rickety dock that seemed to be for transients. At the restaurant my suspicions were confirmed and I was able to eat a nice meal before retiring. In Henry, I did laundry and bought a few things at the grocery. It was a rainy morning and I was not too in too big a hurry to get back on the river, but by the time I finished my chores, the rain had stopped and I was soon making my way downstream.
I passed the riverfront in Peoria, Illinois. As with many of the towns and cities along the rivers, Peoria has revitalized its riverfront with bricked walks and retaining walls, restaurants in old warehouses and the like. There are docks for three hour usage mainly for riverfront events and to allow boaters to stop for a meal. I passed on, working my way down the river. I locked through the Peoria Lock quickly.
As the day wore on I came to my evening destination, the Pekin Boat Club in Pekin, Illinois. I tied at the fuel dock which was on the river and climbed the stairway to the top of the bluff where the boat club’s clubhouse stood on concrete pillars. I climbed the stairs to the deck. A fellow named Steve greeted me and asked if I needed fuel. I told him I needed fuel and a place to stay for the night. He immediately went about helping me. It was later I learned that he was not in charge of anything, just a member helping out. We filled my tank and Gerry jug that I had partially emptied and walked to the other side of the grounds that contained an RV park for members to a bay off the river where the members docked their boats. The dockage was very shallow and I used a stick to measure the depth of each spot he showed me. Very near the mouth of the little bay I found enough water to allow me to dock. Steve climbed the steel wall twenty feet to check if there was electricity for me above where the RVs were parked. There was. I moved the boat around with Steve’s help and plugged in my electric cord. Finally I went to the clubhouse for a beer and something to eat.
On the way, Stan stopped me. Stan is the caretaker of the club site. He told me that Steve told him that he should take me to town if I needed anything. I had asked Steve where town was and was told it was a mile or so walk. I took Stan up on his offer to look for the exact brand of spark plug I needed for my engine. I was still nervous about my power source. We repeated the trip in the morning with more success.
Finally, after Stan and I got back, I made it to the clubhouse for a beer. The bartender heated pizza in an oven for a meal. All the members were warm and friendly. I asked someone who was in charge how much I owed for the slip. “We don’t do that.” I was told almost sternly. “You are a river traveler.” I thanked him and his wife asked me to have a drink for her at Irish Kevin’s when I reached Key West; it is her favorite place in Key West. I promised her I would.
The members told me that there was very little after Pekin as far as places to fuel and marinas to stay. I should stop at Havana and refuel and ask Bob about anchorages. Havana was the last fuel stop before Grafton; over a hundred miles down the river. Bob knew the river as it went south. ” Tell Bob you were referred by the Pekin Boat Club. He knows us.”
Next morning I awoke to water puddled on the deck in the main cabin. It had rained in the night, but this was coming from below. I had a leak somewhere. With sponge and pan I got the water out. The water did not seem to be coming in at any alarming rate, so I finished my business; a trip to town with Stan, a shower at the club’s shower room and breakfast. The situation was frustrating but without urgency, and with nowhere to go to fix it I packed and got back on the river.
As civilization thins, the Illinois becomes more beautiful. It rolls along through farmland and woods and spreads into large lakes, sometimes the river is enclosed in levies; sometimes it just spreads itself over hundreds of acres of wide shallow lake, necessitating careful marking of the channel and similar navigation. The wildlife on the Illinois is abundant, bald eagles, turkey vultures, wild turkeys, hundreds of herons both blue and white, deer, and of course, fish popping across the surface. It rolled slowly along and was a pleasant trip.
Midway through the afternoon I came to Havana where I fueled and talked to Bob. Bob, either out of politeness or truth, admitted knowing the people at Pekin Boat Club. In either event, he was able to show me a good anchorage an hour or two further down the river. This would be my first anchorage of the trip. Wes and Mike at Wolf’s Marine in Benton Harbor had equipped me with a suitable plow type anchor with chain and rode. I would use my old Danforth as a second anchor to prevent swinging in the river setting.
I crept carefully up into the slough that Bob had shown me on the chart. Indeed there appeared to be plenty of water and I could get well out of the channel, off the river and away from the path of any tugs and tows that would be passing in the night. I chugged slowly forward; then, putting the motor into neutral, I scrambled forward to drop my bow anchor. Once it was over, I gauged the water depth and let out an appropriate amount of rode. Moving back to the cockpit, I reversed the engine and backed off before I set the stern anchor, my old Danforth. All in all it was a very successful exercise. I was pleased; and the anchorage was as pleasant a place as one could ask for. Nature surrounded me and the sounds at night were a delight. After a good dinner, I retired early and slept very well.
Next morning I had early coffee and cereal and weighed anchor to reach the Yellow Dock, home of Mel’s Illinois River and Restaurant. Seventy miles from my location and ten hours of traveling at my cruising speed. At Mel’s I could spend the night tied to the Yellow Dock and, being at mile twenty-one, make a short day Saturday to arrive early in Grafton, Illinois where the Illinois meets the Mississippi and I would meet Sharon and Johnny Dred.
I had a two hour wait at the first lock I came to, but still managed to get to the Yellow Dock by dusk; around eight central time. The Yellow Dock is exactly that, a long yellow dock that Mel mainains below his restaurant. He charges to spend the night and is more than willing to serve travelers at his restaurant. He has no showers and no fuel. My two gerry jugs plus my tank were sufficient to get me to Grafton Yacht Harbor.
The restaurant was busy; it was Friday night. Most diners in that part of the world eat early and my after eight o’clock arrival found most people finishing their meals and leaving, and an overworked buffet. When I told the hostess that I was on the river and needed to spend the night, she immediately got Mel. I told Mel that Mike at Pier 1000 Marina had recommended his restaurant to me. Mel then left and returned shortly with a small plate with samples of his pork chop and brisket. Both were good, but I opted for ribs and chicken from the buffet.
Mel sat with me for a few minutes and told me a story about his restaurant during the great 1989 flood. Mel’s restaurant is two hundred yards back from the river and a good forty feet above its bank. As he sandbagged his building on news of the flood he took time to rest. As he slept, Mel says, his late wife came to him in a dream and told him to get out of the restaurant. He did and soon his restaurant had eight feet of water in it. For river travelers, Mel’s is a must stop. I signed the book that is kept of all river travelers as I paid.
It was 12:30 when I arrived at Grafton Harbor. Pulling to the fuel dock I filled and asked about a slip for a few days. The young man fueling boats asked if I had reservations. I did not. It seems that I had chosen the weekend of the fiftieth anniversary party for the yacht club that used the marina as its home. Boats were everywhere and more coming. Many were decorated for the boat parade later in the afternoon. Fortunately I was there just early enough to get a slip and get settled in before the entire marina was packed with boats and people.
By late afternoon the festivities were full force. Not really interested, but surrounded, I joined in a limited way. I had a beer and cigar and listened to a band playing Jimmy Buffett and inviting everyone to Key West in November when they will be playing there. The marina itself was very nice and I met a few people who had either made “The Loop” or who had been down the Mississippi. The Loop is transiting from north to south (or south to north) and back by using the Intracoastal Waterway on the East Coast through the Hudson River and across through the Great Lakes and down the rivers to Mobile as I was doing. They had good information. Mostly people said to stop at Hoppies. I would get a full indoctrination from Hoppy before leaving. Hoppies was in fact my planned first stop, just south of St. Louis.
I was apprehensive about the Mississippi River. For that reason, Sharon had agreed to join me for that part of the trip. Johnny Dred, our friend from Key West, wanted to visit friends in Georgia and Tennessee as well as accompany me for the remainder of the trip. They arrived Sunday. We loaded Sharon’s things onto the boat and Johnny took our car and was off back to Georgia. He would meet us somewhere on Kentucky Lake in Kentucky or Tennessee. Sharon and I spent a nice afternoon in Grafton and readied for an early departure on Monday. We could see the big river from the Marina. It did not look too awesome or intimidating from that vantage. But we would soon learn that it lives up to all that has ever been said about it. But that will have to wait -
Until the Next Connection,
Dan
Dear Friends and Family;
I awoke early for having gone to bed at five A.M but I was at the fuel dock and I wanted to get a proper slip for the night. It was Sunday and I would rest and leave on Monday morning. Beau had been good company and a good mate to have aboard. We had fun and he was indispensible in some pretty tight situations. I am thankful that I have been able to spend time with each of my three sons from time to time. They are good sons and fine young men.
I spent the day doing little. I worked on the motor a bit cleaning the spark plugs; this would become my ritual; fearing being caught on the river with half power or worse yet, no motor at all. I chatted with a fellow who had a sailboat he was working on. He planned to take it to Lake Michigan. Interestingly, he purchased the boat in Wisconsin and had it trucked to Wilmington, Illinois to the marina where it now sat.
Monday morning I started out at a leisurely time after having made sure I had cold water, a sandwich, all the other items I would need easily accessible in the cockpit. I would not be able to go below to retrieve things I may have forgotten. I had the charts, maps, binoculars, rain gear, cooler with drinks and food. Things like paper towels and handy wipes I kept inside within easy reach. I had the radio on to channel 16 and the mic hung outside in the cockpit. With my tarp, all would withstand sun and mild showers.
The Illinois gets prettier the further south you go. Always, however, there are a few heavy industrial sites; chemical plants, petroleum distribution sites, cement, aggregate, sand and gravel, and the like. That is the economic force that keeps the rivers open and the locks functioning. When I came to the first lock of the day I had to wait for one tow to be locked up before I could be locked down. I was directed to a place on the dam wall next to a spillway. It was secure enough, but it was a bit disconcerting to look over the wall and see the spillway pouring water to the river twenty feet below. This would be the first lock I would negotiate alone; I was happily surprised to find that I was the only boat there. The lock workers were helpful and friendly. This would only be a twenty some foot drop, less that the near forty foot drops Beau and I had experienced earlier. By standing amidships, I could hold both the bow and stern lines that were dropped to me. I slipped one under the bow cleat and one under a stern cleat. I had to add an extension to one but overall, the process worked quite well. Locking through was otherwise uneventful. When the doors opened, I was off.
I locked through the twenty-four foot drop at the Marseilles Lock in a short time. This was the first lock where there was no wait. In a way, it seemed a lot of engineering for one man and his little sailboat, but the system works for all vessels. Priority is given to commercial traffic, of course, but pleasure craft are afforded the same rights, and on the Illinois, the same courtesy as all others. It was late afternoon as I motored out of the lock and I was an hour from my night stop.
I had decided to stay at the Ottawa courtesy dock. It seems the city of Ottawa, Illinois had created a beautiful river walk that included a courtesy dock on the Fox river immediately off the Illinois. There was no electricity and no showers but also no fee. And a very nice dock an easy walk to town. I secured the ship and walked to the local library to use the Internet before it closed. This was the first time that I put my hatch boards in and locked everything before leaving. The Group in the gazebo seemed harmless enough with their bottles and slurred greeting, but I felt precaution was best.
As I crossed through the park, I learned that Ottawa, Illinois was the site of the first Lincoln-Douglas debate. The statues of both men on pedestals in the little park were ample evidence of the pride this community felt.
The library was open, the staff friendly and the Internet adequate for my needs – e-mail. The librarian directed me to a restaurant where I ate. I asked the bartender about the depth of the water at the mouth of the Fox River. I told her that I had dragged my rudder through mud on the way in. She told me that she and her husband were boaters and she would call him to ask him about the situation. Within a half hour, when she had a few extra minutes, she had her husband on her cell phone. He advised me that I had just cut the corner too hard and if I stayed close to the dock on the way out, I would have no problems. I was just beginning to learn that there are a lot of very nice people along the rivers of America. Every town and every landing has them. And in reality, I know they are everywhere. My faith in humanity was already being renewed.
Next morning, I made coffee on my grill in the park. A young man fished nearby with little success. Before I awoke he had tangled a hook in the netting on my life line. I retrieved it for him. On my way to town I asked a mail man where an auto parts store was. He got out of his trick to gesture and point the way to two stores. I went looking for new spark plugs, still concerned with my problem. At the auto parts store I talked with two of the fellows who worked there and they had several ideas, but one decided to call a man they knew who worked on outboard motors. He handed me his cell phone. I talked with someone whose name I do not know and whom I have never met. He gave me some advice that I believe may have fixed my problem. He said that either there was too much oil in the crankcase which would cause it to blow through and foul the plugs, or the engine was burning too rich, causing it to put gasoline into the oil. He also told me to use a heavier weight oil. I purchased a siphon, a can of oil and two plugs from the store. Back at the boat, I checked the oil and discovered that it was in fact overfilled. I siphoned it down to a point where I could add about a half liter of oil and changed the plugs again. I hauled gasoline from the station a few blocks from the waterfront and by 1:45 P.M. local time, I was on the river again.
The lock at Starved Rock was again no wait and by dusk I was entering the marina in Henry, Illinois. I entered through an old lock made of cut granite blocks and I tied off at a rickety dock that seemed to be for transients. At the restaurant my suspicions were confirmed and I was able to eat a nice meal before retiring. In Henry, I did laundry and bought a few things at the grocery. It was a rainy morning and I was not too in too big a hurry to get back on the river, but by the time I finished my chores, the rain had stopped and I was soon making my way downstream.
I passed the riverfront in Peoria, Illinois. As with many of the towns and cities along the rivers, Peoria has revitalized its riverfront with bricked walks and retaining walls, restaurants in old warehouses and the like. There are docks for three hour usage mainly for riverfront events and to allow boaters to stop for a meal. I passed on, working my way down the river. I locked through the Peoria Lock quickly.
As the day wore on I came to my evening destination, the Pekin Boat Club in Pekin, Illinois. I tied at the fuel dock which was on the river and climbed the stairway to the top of the bluff where the boat club’s clubhouse stood on concrete pillars. I climbed the stairs to the deck. A fellow named Steve greeted me and asked if I needed fuel. I told him I needed fuel and a place to stay for the night. He immediately went about helping me. It was later I learned that he was not in charge of anything, just a member helping out. We filled my tank and Gerry jug that I had partially emptied and walked to the other side of the grounds that contained an RV park for members to a bay off the river where the members docked their boats. The dockage was very shallow and I used a stick to measure the depth of each spot he showed me. Very near the mouth of the little bay I found enough water to allow me to dock. Steve climbed the steel wall twenty feet to check if there was electricity for me above where the RVs were parked. There was. I moved the boat around with Steve’s help and plugged in my electric cord. Finally I went to the clubhouse for a beer and something to eat.
On the way, Stan stopped me. Stan is the caretaker of the club site. He told me that Steve told him that he should take me to town if I needed anything. I had asked Steve where town was and was told it was a mile or so walk. I took Stan up on his offer to look for the exact brand of spark plug I needed for my engine. I was still nervous about my power source. We repeated the trip in the morning with more success.
Finally, after Stan and I got back, I made it to the clubhouse for a beer. The bartender heated pizza in an oven for a meal. All the members were warm and friendly. I asked someone who was in charge how much I owed for the slip. “We don’t do that.” I was told almost sternly. “You are a river traveler.” I thanked him and his wife asked me to have a drink for her at Irish Kevin’s when I reached Key West; it is her favorite place in Key West. I promised her I would.
The members told me that there was very little after Pekin as far as places to fuel and marinas to stay. I should stop at Havana and refuel and ask Bob about anchorages. Havana was the last fuel stop before Grafton; over a hundred miles down the river. Bob knew the river as it went south. ” Tell Bob you were referred by the Pekin Boat Club. He knows us.”
Next morning I awoke to water puddled on the deck in the main cabin. It had rained in the night, but this was coming from below. I had a leak somewhere. With sponge and pan I got the water out. The water did not seem to be coming in at any alarming rate, so I finished my business; a trip to town with Stan, a shower at the club’s shower room and breakfast. The situation was frustrating but without urgency, and with nowhere to go to fix it I packed and got back on the river.
As civilization thins, the Illinois becomes more beautiful. It rolls along through farmland and woods and spreads into large lakes, sometimes the river is enclosed in levies; sometimes it just spreads itself over hundreds of acres of wide shallow lake, necessitating careful marking of the channel and similar navigation. The wildlife on the Illinois is abundant, bald eagles, turkey vultures, wild turkeys, hundreds of herons both blue and white, deer, and of course, fish popping across the surface. It rolled slowly along and was a pleasant trip.
Midway through the afternoon I came to Havana where I fueled and talked to Bob. Bob, either out of politeness or truth, admitted knowing the people at Pekin Boat Club. In either event, he was able to show me a good anchorage an hour or two further down the river. This would be my first anchorage of the trip. Wes and Mike at Wolf’s Marine in Benton Harbor had equipped me with a suitable plow type anchor with chain and rode. I would use my old Danforth as a second anchor to prevent swinging in the river setting.
I crept carefully up into the slough that Bob had shown me on the chart. Indeed there appeared to be plenty of water and I could get well out of the channel, off the river and away from the path of any tugs and tows that would be passing in the night. I chugged slowly forward; then, putting the motor into neutral, I scrambled forward to drop my bow anchor. Once it was over, I gauged the water depth and let out an appropriate amount of rode. Moving back to the cockpit, I reversed the engine and backed off before I set the stern anchor, my old Danforth. All in all it was a very successful exercise. I was pleased; and the anchorage was as pleasant a place as one could ask for. Nature surrounded me and the sounds at night were a delight. After a good dinner, I retired early and slept very well.
Next morning I had early coffee and cereal and weighed anchor to reach the Yellow Dock, home of Mel’s Illinois River and Restaurant. Seventy miles from my location and ten hours of traveling at my cruising speed. At Mel’s I could spend the night tied to the Yellow Dock and, being at mile twenty-one, make a short day Saturday to arrive early in Grafton, Illinois where the Illinois meets the Mississippi and I would meet Sharon and Johnny Dred.
I had a two hour wait at the first lock I came to, but still managed to get to the Yellow Dock by dusk; around eight central time. The Yellow Dock is exactly that, a long yellow dock that Mel mainains below his restaurant. He charges to spend the night and is more than willing to serve travelers at his restaurant. He has no showers and no fuel. My two gerry jugs plus my tank were sufficient to get me to Grafton Yacht Harbor.
The restaurant was busy; it was Friday night. Most diners in that part of the world eat early and my after eight o’clock arrival found most people finishing their meals and leaving, and an overworked buffet. When I told the hostess that I was on the river and needed to spend the night, she immediately got Mel. I told Mel that Mike at Pier 1000 Marina had recommended his restaurant to me. Mel then left and returned shortly with a small plate with samples of his pork chop and brisket. Both were good, but I opted for ribs and chicken from the buffet.
Mel sat with me for a few minutes and told me a story about his restaurant during the great 1989 flood. Mel’s restaurant is two hundred yards back from the river and a good forty feet above its bank. As he sandbagged his building on news of the flood he took time to rest. As he slept, Mel says, his late wife came to him in a dream and told him to get out of the restaurant. He did and soon his restaurant had eight feet of water in it. For river travelers, Mel’s is a must stop. I signed the book that is kept of all river travelers as I paid.
It was 12:30 when I arrived at Grafton Harbor. Pulling to the fuel dock I filled and asked about a slip for a few days. The young man fueling boats asked if I had reservations. I did not. It seems that I had chosen the weekend of the fiftieth anniversary party for the yacht club that used the marina as its home. Boats were everywhere and more coming. Many were decorated for the boat parade later in the afternoon. Fortunately I was there just early enough to get a slip and get settled in before the entire marina was packed with boats and people.
By late afternoon the festivities were full force. Not really interested, but surrounded, I joined in a limited way. I had a beer and cigar and listened to a band playing Jimmy Buffett and inviting everyone to Key West in November when they will be playing there. The marina itself was very nice and I met a few people who had either made “The Loop” or who had been down the Mississippi. The Loop is transiting from north to south (or south to north) and back by using the Intracoastal Waterway on the East Coast through the Hudson River and across through the Great Lakes and down the rivers to Mobile as I was doing. They had good information. Mostly people said to stop at Hoppies. I would get a full indoctrination from Hoppy before leaving. Hoppies was in fact my planned first stop, just south of St. Louis.
I was apprehensive about the Mississippi River. For that reason, Sharon had agreed to join me for that part of the trip. Johnny Dred, our friend from Key West, wanted to visit friends in Georgia and Tennessee as well as accompany me for the remainder of the trip. They arrived Sunday. We loaded Sharon’s things onto the boat and Johnny took our car and was off back to Georgia. He would meet us somewhere on Kentucky Lake in Kentucky or Tennessee. Sharon and I spent a nice afternoon in Grafton and readied for an early departure on Monday. We could see the big river from the Marina. It did not look too awesome or intimidating from that vantage. But we would soon learn that it lives up to all that has ever been said about it. But that will have to wait -
Until the Next Connection,
Dan
