Travel Archives

November 17, 2015

Buck-73 Gas

Remember a little over a year ago when I was all excited that gas in Jackson had dropped all the way down to $3.03?

It’s down below $1.73 now

I was at half a tank when I headed up to St. Louis to pick up Curator Jessica at the airport. Gas around Cape was going for $1.99 to $2.16, so I rolled the dice that there would be cheaper gas south of St. Louis.

Indeed, a sign I passed an exit south of Pevely said unleaded regular was $1.73. I usually stop at the exit above it, but I was wondering if I was going to kick myself for not pulling in.

Nope, to my relief, I was able to fill up for $1.73 a gallon at my usual truck stop in Pevely. I was feeling pretty good until I passed a station on the way to the airport that had it going for $1.69.

I’m loving this. I’m filling the tank for less than half what I was paying early in 2014.

Gas station stories over the years

October 31, 2015

Remember Student Standby?

I ran across an old TWA ticket stub from March 19, 1967. I was flying from St. Louis to Cleveland on what the airlines called “Youth Fare,” but most of us dubbed “student standby.”

St. Louis to Cleveland for $16.54

I was able to fly from Missouri to Ohio for $16.54. I was racking my brain trying to figure out why I was going to Cleveland, then I figured out what was going on.

In March of 1967, I flew to Cleveland and probably got a ride down to Athens with one of Jim Stone’s friends so I could visit him at Ohio University to check out the school. It was a good thing I did. I had applied to OU, but I hadn’t gotten a rejection letter or an acceptance letter. Jim suggested we go by the admissions office to see what was going on.

“Your grades aren’t high enough to meet our standards,” I was told.

“Not good enough?” I countered. “I have a 3.85 average on a scale of 4.0. How smart do I have to be to get into this place?”

She pulled out my file, shuffled through the paperwork, then said, “Somebody made a mistake. You’re in.”

You were good unless you got bumped

The airlines were clear that your seat was safe only so long as the seat wasn’t sold to a full-fare passenger. Planes flew with lots of empty seats in those days (which is why they calculated that a half was better than a nothing), so the odds were pretty good that you were OK.

I never got bumped, but I saw others having to leave the plane. That always made me nervous because I had seen enough of those crash stories where some kid was interviewed, “Yes, I was going to be on that flight, but, at the last second, I was bumped. If that hadn’t happened, I’d have been on that smashed tin can still smoking in a cornfield in Iowa.”

I was doubly nervous when I finally became a paying customer that bumped the last standby. That was REALLY tempting fate.

When did it end?

I tried to find a little of the history of student standby, but didn’t run across much. The Daily Pennsylvanian had a story in 1968 that said that several airlines were phasing out the half-price standby fare, going for one charging two-thirds of the tourist class price. The trade-off was that it would be considered a reserved seat not subject to bumping.

TWA, interestingly enough, was NOT one of the airlines eliminating standby at that time.

In addition to bringing in revenue from what would otherwise be empty seats, the youth fares hooked a whole generation on flying, and airline execs were quoted as saying they hoped to build brand loyalty for future sales. “With a student fare, the student’s taste is catered to a particular airline. When he is 22, he is more likely to use that airline.”

October 22, 2015

I Missed my Warriorettes

I like driving across the country, but this was a duller than usual trip.

All my Road Warriorettes came up with excuses why they couldn’t go with me this time. (What are the odds that they ALL had to wash their hair during those dates? And, how many times do you have to wash your hair, anyway?)

I got a characteristically late start, so the sun was dipping below the horizon before I got out of Okeechobee county. You can click on the pictures to make them larger.

Florida Citrus Tower

I only made it Clermont the first night. The first place I stopped for lodging wanted too much money. It only took a sweep of my headlights to scratch the next joint off my list. I pulled into a parking lot to do a Google search for what my other options were. It happened to be across the street from the Florida Citrus Tower.

This wasn’t the first time I had ogled the tower.

Road Warriorettes Anne and Jessica drop a dime (OK, it was only a penny, if want to quibble.)
Mother and the tower
Warriorette Anne wants to get frisky with Abe Lincoln

Mississippi River Bridge at Memphis

I usually take two different routes from Florida to Missouri:

Mostly Interstates through Orlando, Atlanta, Chattanooga, Nashville, Paducah and Cape
Cross-country on U.S. 27 through the center of Florida to Marianna, Fla., then Dothan, Montgomery, Birmingham, Nashville, Cadiz, Land Between the Lakes, Wickliffe, Cairo, Cape. Interestingly enough, both route are almost exactly the same distance – 1,110 miles.

This time, I decided to go the U.S. 27 route to Birmingham, then cut across to Memphis and up I-55. That added about half a day to the trip because I pulled into Tupelo at dark and decided to stop so I could drive the rest of the way in the daylight. I mean, why go a new way if you can’t see the countryside? This was slightly longer than my usual routes, but the roads were much improved over the last time I had gone that way.

“Just go”

When I got to the Jasper exit, I called Wife Lila to ask if she wanted me try to find the worst motel we had ever stopped at.

It was well past Cranky O’Clock, with few prospects anywhere near, so I acceded to the requests (demands?) to stop at the first available place, sight unseen. I registered and handed her the room key while I started to unload the car.

She opened the door, turned around and scurried back to the car. “Let’s go,” she said. “Don’t even stop to get our money back, just go.”

She said I didn’t need to search for the place.

September 7, 2015

Mayfield’s Wooldridge Monuments

These photos of the Wooldridge Monuments in Mayfield, Ky., were taken October 19, 2008, a date which will become important later on.

The RoadsideAmerica website quotes the Mayfield Monitor’s obituary as calling Col. Henry G. Wooldridge “a very eccentric man.” The horse breeder, who never married, spent most of his 77 years living with relatives. Before he died in 1899, he commissioned what is now called the Woodridge Monuments, a collection of 18 life-sized statues of humans and animals, including a horse named Fop and two dogs named Tow Head and Bob.

He’s the only one buried there

Despite all the statues, Wooldridge is the only person buried in the 17 x 33-foot plot.

A City of Mayfield website lists the human statues as belonging to his mother, Keziah, his brothers, Alfred, W.F., John, and Josiah. Also included are his sisters, Susan Neely, Narcissa Berryman, Minerva Nichols, plus his two nieces, Maud Reeds and Minnie Neely.

There is a story that the statue of Minnie, is Henry’s childhood love who died in a riding accident. However, family records prove that Minnie was actually one of the Colonel’s great-nieces.

Tree destroyed the monuments

I mentioned that the fact that I shot these photos in 2008 was important. It’s because an ice storm toppled a tree on the monuments in 2009, smashing all the stones except for the three women in the back row. My pictures show the original statues.

Things looked bleak for one of the area’s biggest tourist attraction until federal disaster money was made available to help out hard-hit Kentucky. The funds covered most of the $100,000 it took to restore the monuments. (Col. Wooldridge supposedly paid only $6,000 to have them built.)

Wooldridge had drunk escort

The city’s website reports, “According to folklore, the Illinois Central Railroad supplied a special flatcar with “new-type air brakes” to transport from Paducah, Ky., to Mayfield the large statue of Col. Wooldridge astride his horse.

It was told that Mayfield’s “town drunk” happened to be in Paducah when the flatcar left for Maplewood Cemetery. The story goes that he climbed aboard the horse and rode behind Col. Wooldridge’s statue to enter Mayfield in grand style.

Click on the photos to make them larger.