After skirting Saint Louis, courtesy of I-270, we stuck with the interstate (now I-44) and pressed on to make up time lost earlier in the day. Not finding anything but fast food, we picked a White Castle for dinner since it was different from the places we had in our locale. Poor choice. The folks there were overworked but saw no urgency in clearing out the scores of waiting customers, thus moving at their chosen pace. Maybe it has something to do with wrapping up four hamburgers, singly, that amount to a regular burger anywhere else. Dinner, when we finally got it a half hour later, tasted vaguely stale. It was a remarkably unsatisfying experience and it steeled our resolve to do the White Trash Culinary Tour of the Old Road - strictly Mom-and-Pops for us from then on!
An unaffiliated motel in Lebanon was the logical place to stop for the night. The desk clerk, also probably the owner, was an unassuming Middle Eastern-looking gentleman who was reading a newspaper about Gospel music. The price was right and the room was pleasingly clean if a bit frayed. Wonder of wonders, they had the Speed Channel (now why can’t the Hilton Garden Inn do that?) and the beds were appropriately firm without benefit of Sleep Numbers or the wretched excess of padding that my work-related hotels have on their mattresses. Sleep came sweetly and swiftly.
The morning was overcast and we headed to the southwest, stopping for gas only once before entering Kansas. At the gas station we noticed that the list of people who could no longer write checks included some with the same last name as the station owner. Small town life can be just a little interesting. The Ozarks gradually yielded to the Plains, and after a fifteen mile drive through Kansas we were in Oklahoma, and in Indian country.
