Pontiac GTO’s, Firebirds, Chevrolet Chevelles, Camaros,
Cadillac Coupe De Ville’s, Dodge Chargers, Challengers and my all-time
jizz-in-pants classic: The 1971 Plymouth Hemi Cuda. We are at the Du Quoin Muscle
Car show and I am in 7th heaven.
Muscle, just Muscle.
We left St Louis this morning with the overall plan of
heading north towards Chicago. The Du Quoin motor show takes place about 100
miles in the wrong direction but it was absolutely worth the detour. Coming from
South Africa we romance over these sorts of cars with never (ever) seeing them.
Sure we have a hand full of Mustangs and maybe the odd Camaro but they are
hidden away inside a garage somewhere in the Highveld. You never see them. This
show was absolutely incredible.
It was really the middle of nowhere. I couldn’t believe the
pool of cars that arrived seemly just for this show. There were pristine
classics, modified street smokers, rat rods, slammed pickups and converted VW
beetles. Such a huge array of vehicles that all shared one thing in common: Muscle.
Bit fat scary pulsating vein muscle.
As we were walking about Barbara kept giving the army guys there the sexy eye. So i approached them, embarrassed here and got picture with them.
Using the Army Guy photo as brownie points I forced Barbara to walk around with me as I took tons of pictures,
smashed in a corn dog and snuck in a Bud Light. We spent a few more hours there, I gave the big Harley a good
pump down the main drag on our way out and we headed up back north.
Losing our Grip on Danger
Back onto Route 66. As you travel along this section to
Bloomington you travel past these lifeless, desolate paces. Not run down, not
dusty…just lifeless little towns. No people, no movement no noise other than a fresh breeze and some rustling
leaves. Seeing as we have spent three weeks in America already we have let our
guard down and for the first time in a long time, we enjoyed being all alone. We felt absolutely isolated from civilization on the stretches between those little towns. Not worried about being jacked or thinking about what happens after the bike
breaks down. The space didn’t make us feel alone, it made us feel relaxed. Weird sensation.
Okay, maybe as we passed the sign “Do Not Pick Up Hitch
Hikers” outside of the Correctional Facility near Decatur we had a little bit
of that old feeling – but hey – we couldn’t fit a hitch hiker on anyways.
We stayed over in Bloomington with the plan of a short trek
up to Lisle tomorrow for the beer fest.
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