Hannibal turned out to be an excellent town to serve as a basecamp. Brad and I had some beautiful scenic rides. We enjoyed viewing the Mississippi River, Mark Twin Lake, rock cliffs, a lock and dam on the river, and several small restaurants with excellent food. The town of Hannibal had a small town square that seemed to have nightly events during the summer. There was a night for classic cars and hot rods to cruise the boulevard. Neat place to visit.
Brad and I rode on both the Missouri and the Illinois sides of the Mississippi River. We rode as far south as St. Louis and visited an old military friend, Alan. We rode west around Mark Twain Lake, where Mark Twain’s birthplace had a monument. The lake was pretty clear with few boats on the water. The feeling was a little eerie comparing the lake to Lake of the Ozarks. Unfortunately, as time passes, the land around the lake will ultimately be developed.
From the RV basecamp, Brad and I developed a routine. We’d depart the campground around 7:30 each morning for our motorcycle ride. First stop is to fuel up in town, then ride a few hours and find a small town for lunch. Then we consult our road atlas for a route to return to camp for evening chow. Which at this time was leftover fajitas from Conesville, Iowa!
Gas Station Madness. It was a small gas station with two islands and four pumps. Brad and I stopped at this gas station two consecutive mornings. No traffic. Easy to fuel up and get on the road. The third morning was borderline chaotic. There was a line of vehicles lined up at the pump and in the street. It was difficult to identify the vehicles that were finished fueling and trying to exit to the street. This is because a couple of vehicles tried to circle the pump island to stop on the desired side of the pump. After a brief observation, there was a vehicle clearly leaving the pump, giving me an opportunity to pull beside the pump. I began fueling. Brad was awaiting his opportunity. He zipped around a pickup truck further from the pumps that was stopped. We couldn’t identify the driver’s intentions. Brad began fueling at the pump in front of me. That pickup truck parked at the opposite side of the pump from me. The driver exited the vehicle and walked to the bed of the truck and began throwing things around. The alarms went off in my head. This driver was pissed at Brad for zipping around him. I looked at Brad and smiled. I gripped the handle of the fuel pump just in case the situation escalated. The man cursed to himself and was visibly heated but did not make any advance toward Brad or me.
During one return route, I spotted a historical gas station complete with old signs and vintage vehicles. We stopped our motorcycles near the old garage and started admiring the antique trucks outside. A gentleman approached us from inside the garage. He declared the place private property, not open for public. He had purchased the property and was turning it into a campground.
Riding to St. Louis to have lunch with Alan. A jeep aggressively crossed three lanes of travel and came inches from colliding with me on my motorcycle.
Ice cream trouble. We were riding on the east side of the Mississippi River in Illinois. We stopped at a small, convenient store with fuel pumps. There were about four parking spots against the side of the building and four spots away from the building at the edge of the paved area. Brad and I parked in the first spot against the building because it was shaded. It was a hot day. We went inside to get a drink and ended up with ice cream. We stood in the parking lot near our motorcycles, eating the ice cream. A woman parked on the opposite side of the parking spaces near the grass, not the building. She walked by us angrily, stating that we took her parking spot. All the other spots were empty. We were the only customers present. She was angry and let us know it. After she departed, Brad and I were still puzzled. We thought maybe it was a local who simply liked her spot. Then I spotted it. Faded on the black asphalt parking lot was a very faint outline of a handicap symbol. You have to concentrate to see it. There was no other posting, such as a sign on the building or anything. I imagine the woman wanted the once-upon-a-time handicap spot. Even with that theory, we wondered why the woman didn’t park beside us near the entrance. Instead, she parked at the spot the furthest from the entrance to the store. We still don’t know. It was the same day that the pickup driver got angry at the fuel pump.
On a more positive note, Brad and I found ourselves fueling at a larger, more modern fuel station. Dark clouds were forming in the distance. In many cases, we fuel our motorcycles, then share a parking spot away from the pumps. This allows us to use the toilet, check the paper map, and drink or eat a snack while we are stopped. It is courteous not to block the fuel pumps. Anyway, a woman parked next to us in a full-size pickup truck. She doesn’t hesitate. She asks us to close the bed over on her truck bed. It was one of those folding covers. She wanted it closed before the storm came. This happened on the same day as the guy was angry at the gas station in the morning, and the woman was angry while we ate ice cream in the afternoon. We were skeptical but glad to do a good deed.
