The Adventures of Fric and Frac: Adventure 293: Beatrice, NE

Missouri's Ribbon Candy Road

The only thing missing was the umbrella drinks and the palm trees. Missouri offered everything else. We had blow furnace winds up past twenty-five miles an hour, hotness to 99 degrees, and the kind of sticky humidity that wrinkled my legs into the shape of my sweat stained cargo shorts. And the corn is growing, too! Lots of it. A gazillion soy beans, too. But the best part was the road. Since we had all day to get to Beatrice, NE (Birthplace of Judy, her mother, and home to her cousin Dale and her Aunt Alice), we decided to eschew the freeway in an effort to get a real taste of rural Missouricana. Missouri ain't flat, but the road is mostly straight, so up and down we went, whoopty doing along the back farm roads, thankful that Fric maintained a proper engine temperature, more thankful that the air conditioning worked, and even more thankful that all systems performed on the drive train, the wheels, the tires, and the propane system cooling the refrigerator (Since technically, we were in the middle of nowhere). Those worries aside, the rural terrain is home to corn grown for bio-fuel and livestock feed. It's shoulder high already, and as lushly green as the eyes of a red headed Irish girl. The farms, not as neatly kept as those in Iowa (Although there is some competitive lawn mowing going on), seemed busy and prosperous. The small towns, however, seemed dusty, forgotten and forlorn. We ate lunch along side the road in King City, Missouri, which they call the Gem of the Highway. The Frac Restaurant, where we enjoyed a finely created ham and cheddar sandwich, a few Washington cherries that we bought in Virginia, some assorted vegetables, and a smattering of pretend chips Judy likes to serve me, proved to be delicious and comfortable despite the ridiculous heat. I managed to eek out a win in cribbage, which brings me to the topic of the day: Cribbage. I couldn't get out of Tennessee fast enough. The Wiley Cager beat me so often in Nashville, that I felt like a snare drum on the set of some Honky Tonker. She strummed me so often, I felt like the fat string on a stand up base. And it was so humid, the cards were curling like the quivering lip of a country bumpkin standing on the stage of the Opry for the first time. My hands were sticky, my spirit was heavy, my heart was lonesome and I was sweating so much, the skeeters skipped off me like I was a slip and slide. Needless to say, all this stickiness put my normal dexterity into question, which meant I couldn't afford myself my usual cheater's edge. The bottom line is she won so often she started cackling like Donald Trump, "Believe me we're going to win, and win often, and win big. We'll win so often, we'll be great again." My ears hurt, but I knew I couldn't give up, so I hung in there like Bernie Sanders, and now that we've left Tennessee, I know there will be a few more egalitarians somewhere out there on the horizon, which naturally means my fortunes should change. I'm not saying that I'm a poor loser, but I did throw the curled cards into the trash. The new, barely used and very slippery cards are better for my style. It will be great to win again (Maybe The Donald has point)! On a more serious note, tonight we'll have dinner with Aunt Alice, Dale and his wife Kathy. This is another good family event. Alice is the last remaining relative Judy has on her mother's side. Aunt Alice is in her mid-nineties, and while she doesn't drive anymore, she's still sharp, lives alone, and has her memory intact. Judy used to come to Beatrice to the farm as a little girl. She and her cousins have fond memories of playing in the hay, gathering eggs, picking mulberries, milking cows, and taking turns cleaning the outhouse. I'm sure Dale and Judy will reminisce a little, which will be nice. Life was good for them then, and it's good for us now, especially today.