[Sketch Trip America] Episode 16: Red Oak II, a Jewel of Route 66

Red Oak II - Part 1

Out from Spencer, the country road merged onto the main road, and the traffic had picked up. This somehow made me forget where we were headed next. Let's drive! I stepped on the gas while Sumi was browsing something on her phone.

"Lowell Davis is an artist and sculptor. He grew up in the town of Red Oak, Missouri. After the WWII, people began to move to the big cities in search of good life. After some sixty years later, when he returned to his boyhood home from one of those "good life" careers in the big cities, most of these rural communities had become ghost towns. That's when he began buying the homes and businesses of his beloved Red Oak and moving them twenty three miles to his Fox Fire Farm near Carthage, Missouri and restoring them to their original grandeur a place known as Red Oak II."

Sumi read out loud. Sounded interesting. Why are you telling me this by the way? Sumi reminded me that it was the place Gary at the Gay Parita Sinclair had told us to go to. Oh, right. The problem with fast road is that it makes you forget and pass everything. The photos of the place looked good, too, Sumi said. She also said we have to make a right hand turn to go there.

"When?"

"Right now! Turn right, then stop!" she yelled.

Screeech! I stopped the car as Sumi instructed me to, and we were at an entrance of a narrow road between rows of cornfields. Just like when we entered Spencer, it didn't look very welcoming so I asked Sumi for a confirmation.

"You sure this is the road?"

"Look, there's a sign for it."

'Red Oak II, MISSOURA'

The signage was intriguing enough to make me want to go and find out about Red Oak II. But there seemed to be no end to the cornfield. It was five o'clock in the afternoon. We should look for a campground or something to spend the night and this road would put us far away from the main route. I hesitated for a minute and asked Sumi again for her opinion. Her answer was very straight forward.

"Let's go. When are we going to come back here, again?

"Right. Let's go, then."

When not sure whether to do it or not, doing it is the best option, if it was during a road trip. I saw many times in the movies, the narrow roads between cornfields. I wanted to drive on one once. This was the sort of road.

"What movie was it?  Jeepers Creepers?"

We briefly joked and entered the road between the cornfields. Cornstalks in wind made swashing sound.

Within three to four minutes, there was another rooster shaped signage pointing to the right. 'Red Oak II, 1 Mile' This rooster signage was also very intricate. We made a right turn and kept driving through the cornfield.

Another two minutes, there was a wide gate in the middle of the cornfields. Considering the country road we traveled to get here, the gate was surprisingly large and fancy-looking. The columns on either side of the gate was stone-walled. One side of the gate was covered with ivy vines and the other was iron wall which was mosaicked with circular metal parts. The two signs that we saw must've been made by the same person who made this gate.

We parked the car and looked for a booth to pay entrance fee. Well, we couldn't find it, so we decided to look around first. Right inside the entrance way, there was a chestnut-red-colored two story building with green roof. It was tidy and clean and most of all, a tree with a large trunk created perfect shade at the front door of the house. The houses were said to be moved here from a nearby town, but trees were not likely. The path from the front door of the house to the front yard was also perfectly laid out that in the late afternoon, it went completely under a shade from the tree. It is 5:40 PM now in summer time, there should be enough hours to enjoy oneself under this cool shades. The stone patio area seemed to have been hand built from scratch. A professional touch. The design and surrounding space were also excellent. Wait, the outside area couldn't have been moved here. The old town would've been few generations before us, and couldn't have had designs like this back then. Unless Frank Lloyd Wright had designed it.

On our way here, I thought, maybe they say they had moved the buildings from the old town, but really, just copied the exterior shapes. However, as soon as I laid my eyes on the first house, I fell in love with Red Oak II. I asked Sumi what she thought of the place. She said she loves not only the houses, but the garden, sculptures, and every little objects in and around the place. She said she wanted to build our gardens back home just like these. She must really like it, but I quickly regretted that I had asked her. When we return from our trip, there will be a lot of work.

As I was worrying about the yard work back home, a cat strode straight toward me. It was coming toward us so rightfully that I naturally thought this cat must be the owner of this place. A spell made him turn into a cat during the day, but he still has to greet the visitors even if he was in the body of a cat. Sumi shook hands with the cat holding its paw, rubbed on the back. They greeted each other excitedly.

Then, suddenly, there were two turkeys appeared in front of us. They walked around as if they had their arms crossed with each other. They looked alike like twins. They strode around even more rightfully than the cat. If the owner of this place was under a spell, the turkeys were more likely than the cat.

A welcome greeting by these animals led us toward the inside of a farm, which was on the right side from the entrance. In a few steps, a white dog with black patches also came out to greet us. We've been wandering around here for over twenty minutes now and we hadn't met anyone other than few tourists just like us. If not the tourists, the animals were all we had met. Wait a minute, the entire family must've turned into…. We looked around the farm houses guided by the family that had turned into the animals under a spell. The cat meowed, turkey twins gabo-gaboed, and the dog woofed while busy showing the farm ground to us. We couldn't quite understand them well enough, but few things became clear from the body languages. 'It's very nice to meet you.' 'Please, take your time and look around.' 'The spell will break soon, give us some time, okay?'

This is the end of Episode 16. In episode 17, we finally find out the shocking truth about the turkeys and who the owners of the Red Oak II really are.




Read in Korean http://blog.naver.com/hwangjinkook/220247056005

[Sketch Trip America] Episode 15: Treasure Map of Route 66

Gary drew on the map the road that goes east and west as north and south. Without the '96 West' on the map, it would've been hard to find the cardinal direction. For the town's people, a place is where one reaches by following a road. Who would bother with azimuth or cardinal points? Those are for people who don't know anything.

From Sinclair, Sumi and I began searching for a town called Spencer according to the map Gary drew with his shaking hands.

Ignore any new and straight road!

Straight line is boring!

Crinkum crankum find only the old ones!

From this town to next!

Like the treasure map of a pirate captain!

If we followed the map, there would be an old landscape and abandoned shops, a town filled with treasures that had been out of fashion for over fifty years. For anyone who wants to get there, you must give up speed. The right turn into Spencer was narrow and dark, it seemed like once you miss this turn, you'd end up in a roundabout for a long time. If we weren't going thirty miles per hour, we could've easily missed the turn. Not so much because it was hard to see, but because we normally wouldn't be so tempted to make the turn. We were humming along and wouldn't care if we made circles all day, so we happily made the turn onto the road to Spencer. Soon, inside the road, a bridge with paint stripped halfway appeared.

'Johnson Creek Bridge(1926) is a stately steel truss bridge located near the hamlet of Spencer.'

It was written in the book we just bought at Sinclair. Very simple editing of the book with only pictures and dates. It served  the purpose within less than an hour from the point of purchase. "It already paid for itself $1 worth out of $35," I said to Sumi. From the name of the bridge, I figured the small stream running under the bridge was Johnson Creek, and the bridge was the gateway to the small town Spencer. It wasn't much of an attraction coming in through the winding road, but with the bridge, suddenly created a wonderful view. However, this intimate landscape was also the reason for its disregard. The highway that opened just a few miles away cut off traffic into this town. This town didn't create enough reasons to be stopped in place of giving up speed.

All it was in hamlet of Spencer was a small store building. In the boom of travel on the Route 66, it would've been all travelers' stopping point with all the necessities like gas station, food store, barber shop, and even post office. It must've been hard to compete with the big highways. The entire Route 66 was losing its charm because of the highways, a small town would've suffered the most. The outcome from the battle was a few random visitors like us holding a map which was drawn by a shaky hand. Sumi and I started collecting the remnants of few things that went out of fashion long ago. Pepsi Cola adverts that looked to be over sixty years old, gas pump, and building facade were collected in our cameras. The desolate surrounding was collected in our eyes. And the things that we couldn't collect by the two methods, we collected in our hearts--curiosity, awe, and excitement of the things that are two generations before us.

The roads in the past connected a town to town, but the highway system made towns disappear. Then the road that connected the towns also disappeared. A generation had passed and even highways became the thing of the past. Then a new stream of travelers began driving on this road instead of on fast highways. We were one of them. "You are once again being acknowledged and remade now. Hurry and get up. Make a new album, a movie, or anything. Here is the contract." I wanted to tell the old and run-down refrigerator and gas pump and the barbershop sign that people started to come around here again.

When the next traveler crossing the Johnson Creek bridge was in sight, we got in our car and on the road again, with the map that Gary drew in our hand.

   

  

    

[Sketch Trip America] Episode 14: Drive to any place in life, 1966 Ford Pickup Truck

Before we left Sinclair, I looked at some old automobiles strewn on the station ground. I sure remember seeing few of them in American movies or photographs. They certainly looked different from the ones at the museums which had shiny coat of bright colored paints. These here must have been driven on the road around this area until they ran no longer. One of them was looking down on a fallen headlight in front of it. Perhaps, old things that hadn't been thrown away get even older and become antiques. These cars that surpass one or two generations before me were as romantic as they can get and were whispering to me to reminisce the memories that did not exist in me. I was a blank sheet. I've never spent time in these before. So I wondered what they could ever mean to me.

As we were leaving Sinclair, I found another old Ford truck someone had driven here parked on the side of the road. A Missouri plate, must belong to someone from around here. I don't know about cars much, but looked like it ran for several decades. Is everything, even the trucks that people drive around here antique? I thought briefly, but that is just a nonsense a city person thinks up. It is just that the things around here exist longer than those in the cities. They are stronger and healthier, and there are plenty of apt care and maintenance around for them, so they thrive without the worries of getting thrown out or stopped working. I could not start calling these antiques simply because they are thriving longer than the others. So I did some research online. They were 1966 Ford F-Series pickup trucks. If it was bought the first year it came out, it is running in its 49th year between the cornfields in the Midwestern United States. Now I knew the model of the car, but that didn't mean that I had particular feelings toward it. Staring at it certainly wouldn't bring out any emotions, either, however, I looked around and around at it. I looked at the back of suspensions of rear wheels and underneath the oil pan as if the non-exsistant sentiment is hiding under the car. Then a couple of men wearing blue jeans hopped in the car, noticing me looking at their car, talked to me,

"Where are you from?"

"New York… no, Korea."

I almost said the word that would get myself killed the next scene.

"Are you traveling?"

"Yes, your car is very nice."

"Thanks, it got a lot of work done on it."

"Does it run well?"

"Good enough to pass onto my son."

"It looks like it"

Two men in jeans drove away bidding me a good travel in the truck that looked older than themselves. Heavy metal sound and dirt cloud from the disappearing 1966 Ford truck again told me to go search for the memories. So I decided to think of the memories of past few days driving through the Midwestern states.

It's a crack of dawn. Sleepy eyed, I'm driving my 1966 Ford pickup through the cornfields. Twenty years had passed since I was able to drive by myself. Loading and unloading this truck countless times. I went to the large corn contest and county fair with this guy every year. Baseball games and football games were with him always. We went to Indiana for the Popcorn Festival and dodged tornadoes. It was beautiful and exhilarating looking at lightning strikes out front of the windshield. Numerous camping trips with friends and looking at star studded night sky with my girlfriend next to me on the hood of the truck. My young son sat in the seat next to me smiling at me. Looking back, this truck was my best buddy that was with me at any time and any place in my life, a part of me. Once again, I'm driving through the cornfields toward the sunset.

This was what 1966 Ford F100 meant for me.

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[Sketch Trip America] Episode 13: Road Guide on Route 66

At a remote gas station in southern Missouri.

The battle between the meter gauge cheat dragon and the straight edge of justice had ended and a peace came upon this dry desolate place at last.

 

Rest in Peace, you wicked dragon!

Don't ever wake up again.

While this straight edge of justice keep shining, you'll sleep forever.

We knew the reality wasn't exactly so, and we wished that day would soon arrive.

Since we had fought with a dragon, naturally we got very hungry. Then we saw an old lady who seems to be the owner of the establishment selling some donuts and drinks. Hurriedly, we went over and grabbed some donuts and coffee. When we were getting ready to pay, she said we don't need to pay for them. Wow, This must be the southern hospitality that we heard so much about!

Ray's Donuts.

This must be a local donut shop. I saw the packaging and there were three of them around. Donut tasted great. Sweet bread was rolled up in a spiral shape and it was soft and chewy when I bit into it. It was better than all of donut flavors in Dunkin Donuts combined. Sort of like the donuts in traditional markets in Korea.

 

Even with the notion of southern hospitality, this seemed too much. There must be many people who pass here. We already see several people in front of us. In a day, there should be dozens, even a hundred. We looked around for some tip jar with no avail. Again, we tried to pay something for it, but the lady declined, again. Then she pointed to a direction with her chin and said, "If you want, you can buy a book, or some other souvenirs over there." Puwahahaha-. It was a marketing gimmick hidden behind the country hospitality. Sumi and I decided to buy a book about Route 66.

 

It was a book of photographs from all points along Route 66. This may serve as a good reference guide. The price was $35. Once we paid for the book, the kind old lady told us to go inside the office where we can get the book signed. She said the book was made by a friend of his. We weren't sure why we should get it signed by the author's friend, but we decided to go in anyway. There seemed to be lots of interesting stuffs in the office.

 

Inside the office was well-preserved from the time the gas station was in full operation. All four sides of wall had shelves that are filled with old stuff that even a tiny mouse would have hard time to roam about. Inside this  gap, there was an old gentleman sitting like one of the antique collections. He was signing a book brought to him by another party of tourists. While we wait for our turn, I decided to look around the shelves. Just when I thought he might be done signing the book, he started to turn the pages and explained at length which seemed to span the entire book. I looked around and around the shelves, but the story did not end. So I looked some more. Then, I started to notice something inside this seemingly random pile of antiques on the shelves--layers depicting generations and places. Different kinds of motor oils and automobile products from the time gas station was in operation were one layer. Another layer had nothing to do with gas station but things brought in to remind of Route 66. They were all old, of course. Then, there were this last layer that looked mostly like souvenirs, waiting for people looking to buy memories of old times' sake. This souvenir layer could've left bitter taste in my mouth, but being on Rt 66, this actually brought me certain warm nostalgia.

Each layers sang to me,

We were part of gas station and we were popular once

Everyone going east and west stopped here

Got gas and cared for their cars

A noble woman and Hollywood stars were no exception

It was time that we were the hipsters

Then the antiques said,

We are not from the gas station

but were popular else where in the same time period

Original Coca-Cola bottle, hand-stitched baseball, peanut vending machine...

If there is anyone on earth that lived without us, show us your face

It was souvenir's turn,

I won't say much, I'm just here to sell you memory

If you want to remember anything from the old Route 66, you'd better buy me

Who knows, after many years, I will also become an original

You'd better take me home with you

Then there was a chorus,

How about it? Isn't it beautiful?

Anything with glorious past still holds value

Everything old is beautiful

Even with a little bit of extraneous things

The last line was the souvenir's solo.

 

Speaking of the extraneous things, there were more of that in the places that had Route 66 museum signs on than Gary's Gay Parita. And those places also collected entrance fees. At least Sinclair still stands where it used to be and receives the test of time, along with Gary and Lena.

 

 

It is our turn finally. The old gentleman's name is Gary Turner.

Just like the lady told us, the book is by his friend and Gary is selling it for him. A strange system that a seller signs in place of the author. However, Gary's signature is very unique, it definitely added to the value of the book.

After signing our book with shaky hands, Gary said, "I'm not the age that I can travel. Instead, I meet folks from all over the world here on route 66. Then, he told us stories from old days, about his son's website, the friend's book, even though it wasn't his, and most of all, about the town. He told us we must stop at nearby town of Spencer and Red Oak 2. He even drew us a map in detail on a piece of paper. He then came out to the front of Sinclair gas station with us and had us hold a Route 66 flag and take picture at a pre-determined spot. I'm a bit sorry to say, but all this seemed quite manneristic. With this, we bid good-bye with self-claimed Route 66 guide, Gary Turner. As we move away in our car, watching Gary and Lena waving at us, I thought that they know very well that they are the best and most valuable collectibles and souvenirs for the travelers on Route 66. In other words, they were the professionals. They knew how to spread the message and the atmosphere of the old Route 66 more than any of the museums along the way. I was glad we stopped here. Sinclair led us into the world of the old Route 66 from being the tourists merely looking in from outside. A whole new world was about to open up in front of our eyes.

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