the day started nice. it really did. but missouri ruined it.

the first sight of the day:

and, the obligatory panorama:

missouri is only more populated than it is horrifying. i really have little complimentary reporting to offer. in fact, even their political illustration is bad. its not even the content i do or do not take issue with. its the simple fact that they choose illustrations that are so... horrifying.

but i digress. here's what i have to say about goddam missouri.

last on my list of gripes, its not that there are a lot of people covering the state, as with NY or CA, but rather that the landscape is all claimed. and grotesquely, jon-benetesquely, groomed. damn groomed. in fact, the state-wide obsession with grooming is most evident in the meticulously well-groomed men, women and lawns that are slightly larger than the people and slightly better groomed. everyone's out mowing their lawns. they have carts and tractors and pull-sleds and every conceivable mechanization for taming the wild growth that spurts from the ground in front of their humble home. and they do this while minimizing their own movement

consequently, the state is full of fat people obsessed with grooming.

some good things happened. i found a road that ended in water and i went swimming and saw fish that looked like dogs with shattered heads.

i visited a cavalry outpost and learned about the Dragoons that killed all the local Osage indian tribes.

i visited an Osage indian tribe reservation (long deserted) and learned about the 13 year-olds who, out to make a name for themselves, killed all the local Dragoons.

i picked up a hitch-hiker named Phil who had an original frank frazetta tattoo (or so he claimed. it was the Vampirella design that frazetta made that much was clear) and a story about being broken. he'd been hit by a train and then spent 10 months in the hospital. he got out only last year. apparently he broke one humerus, both collarbones, all of his ribs, both sides of his hips, one leg, and four vertebrae. when he got hit one of his arms got tangled up in those metal ladders that hang off the side and that was the last thing he remembered. he woke up in the hospital with morphine in his arm and a pen in his hand. "Sign here and the railway will cover all your expenses." so he signed. i wondered what really happened there, but when i asked him he said he was too high on Sweet Sister to be able "to even read, much less unnerstan what the thing said." he was headed to a rainbow gathering that's apparently happening up in seattle next week. "So why you headin east when you're really goin west?" i asked. "Well, i only got about 40 miles out of town, so i'm givin up for the day and headin back to the shelter where i can try again tomorrow."

i didnt press him on this logic. instead i dropped him off and kept on for St Louie.

But here's what's really wrong with the state - it is full of fear that has neither reign nor reason;

sometime around 8pm i head north to cuivre national park hoping to find some little nook or cranny to bed down in there. the pickings were already picked and any campsight with people in it isnt my idea of a campsight in the first place. so i headed back into the country, away from town, hoping against my already-bruised hopes that i'd hit with the same luck i'd had the previous few nights.

it wasnt to be.
i was tired, i was damn sick of driving and i got sloppy in my selection process. my usual method is this: start looking before the sun sets. find a dirt road that's at least two deep (in other words, turn off the pavement onto dirt, then at a second intersection, you might get lucky). this process can take a couple hours if you're unlucky enough to find yourself in a populated state like Missou'reh.

it was dark, i was tired (did i mention i was tired? yes, i see i did mention this. its worth mentioning again because The Road is a tiresome thing at times) and so i just stopped at the first place i found that was passable - i was three deep - but wondered if it would be alright since it didnt FEEL right. intuition is critical if you're living on the road. i've hitched the length of the US 7 times and the only thing that i ever go on is intuition. and when you get tired the intuition gets wobbly. its just like eyesight.

i shut off the truck, but i'm so tired i'm still buzzing. so to shift down into a sleepable gear i brush my teeth, drink some water, play my concertina, stare at the sky for a while, then finally grab my dream recorder, and crawl into the sleeping bag. the mosquitoes were quick to find me, tiny bastards, singing songs of blood next to my throat, so i pulled the tarp over my head and relaxed on my squishy blow-up mattress and fell into the deep, still bliss of

.....

REALLY bright lights from somewhere and the loud male voice "PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR! ... PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!" and knowing that only cops do this sort of thing i did so and laid there staring at the tarp that was covering my head.

it was bright green in their spotlight. it smelled like hay and fresh highway air. i made it a point to appreciate this. i wondered what time it was and figured that they probably had their guns out if they were repeating things they felt the need to yell in the first place. but they hadnt even seen me yet, so how could they....

"SIT UP SLOWLY! SITUP... SIT UP SLOWLY!" i tried but because my arms were in the air i started to rock backwards on the truck.bed mattress that was my soft salvation some 10 minutes previous. so my feet came up instead of my head. i layed there with my feet and hands slowly waving in the air, covered with the tarp.

"SIT UP NOW!"

i was sleepy and i dont, honestly, remember the specifics beyond this but i do remember asking, with that damn tarp over my head, if i could use my hands cause they were asking me to perform something that i just wasnt capable of doing...

three gooey-brained minutes later there i am, in just a pair of shorts, kneeling in the grass behind my truck, handcuffs on, blinking at those excruciatingly white lights that cops seem to have a monopoly on. its 1:15 in the morning and i knew, for certain, that my intuition had again been right and i'd gone to sleep in the wrong place.

this submissive position would have been bad enough were it not for the fact that one cop had just handcuffed me while the other stood there with both hands on his gun. he was alternating between shouting at me and shouting into the radio transmitter that was clipped to his shoulder. soon they were both pointing their guns at me. this made me wonder if i was going to get executed on the spot.

the handcuffs on my wrists were far far colder than the wet grass on my knees

my head started to clear at this point, as you can imagine.
and i was answering questions.

"What's your name?"
"mark meadows"

"Where do you live?"
"california"

"What are you doing here?"

if we made it this far, i figured, then i wasnt going to be summarily dispatched.
i had to wrestle a smirk at this one. i was being polite and cooperative, i must admit, but it was silly. missouri cops are absurd. in fact all cops are absurd.

i calmly answered, "i'm headed to tennessee to visit family. i'm writing a book, and taking pictures along the way. and i'm drawing, too."

"WHAT's the book on?"
"uh, how we tell stories and how computers are changing that."
i felt like a real nerd at this point. i had just, with that last clause, despite being 6'2" and having a scar on my face, made the quick descent from serial killer to computer-nerd cum art-fag and it was a descent i suddenly found more disturbing than ever. secondly, and more importantly, i didnt want them thinking i was smart. i didnt want them thinking i was homeless. i didnt want them thinking i was drunk. i also didnt want him thinking that i was a homo. in fact, i didnt want him thinking at all. the less a cop thinks the better it is for everyone involved.

"O-kAY!" (he shouted with a strange 2nd-wind emphasis) "How long have you had this truck?"
(this question, also, made me restrain a chuckle since the truck belongs - or doesnt belong - or something - to this guy that disappeared in the philipines.... see the chapter on california for details.
"A friend is loaning it to me."

"Okay. How long have you been he..."
his partner interrupted "Yeah, and how did you find this place?"

i looked at them, left, right, left, right.

"How long have you been here?"
now i knew who's alpha-cop ass i had to kiss.

"i got here at about midnight, officer."

"What is that?"

he pointed at my box of drawing supplies with his gun.
"its my pencils and pens for drawing and painting."

"How did you find this place?" his partner asked.
this baffled me because either it was an idiotic question, a bit like asking "how did you park the truck on the side of the road?" or maybe i'm mis-remembering and it was just that i was sleepy. this was where i started to get a little bit smart-assy and replied with the mildest of sardonic sing-song "uhm, i drove and watched?"

"What is that?"
the alpha-cop again, pointing to my concertina, again, with his gun.
"its my concertina, sir. i play concertina sometimes. just for fun."

they looked at each other then both looked at me.
it was getting weirder, impossible as it seemed.

i couldnt believe they still had their damn guns out. hitting a kid with glasses is one thing, but if you and your buddy are going to shoot a homeless art-fag cum computer-nerd ... well, that should be punishable.

at this point the radio started squawking, saving us from continuing this awkward dynamic. cop radios are always at the edge of comprehensibility for me but apparently it was in my favor.

eventually,their goddam database confirmed who i was and they took the handcuffs off. i was impressed with myself. this time i hadnt even pulled against them and damaged my wrist. i've been handcuffed four times in my life, and the last three times have left me with a numb-spot on my left thumb, so i guess i'm getting better at handcuffs as i get older.

the backchannel was that, apparently, once i had parked and gone to sleep, the woman that lives down the road called the local jokers with badges. somehow the fact that i had a california license plate came to the fore and this put everyone into a panic. evil lives in california. criminals and drugs come from california. this was the reason for their over-reaction of pulling a sleeping guy out of his bed and handcuffing him while you have at least one gun to his head, shine a bright light in his face, and ask him about his squeezebox.

in an effort to gently point out that their show of force was less-than-appreciated and more-than-necessary, but knowing that i wasnt yet out of the county, i said "you know, i've been studying martial arts for a few years and, boy, it sure doesnt do any good when you're sleeping and two guys pull guns on you!"

i tried to say it as jovially as possible, wondering if they'd get the joke.

naturally, they started laughing.

ha ha.

if a cop wants to be my friend - especially if he's just held a gun to my head while i'm kneeling with handcuffs on, i let him be my friend. no one is above the law, save a cop. i would rather deal with pachuco-cross steel-wheel ghetto-masters. i would sooner deal with loose-lipped mafiosos. i would rather cope with future-cons, papal residents of hell, and the armies of genghis khan than cops. cops are pinched between a paycheck from those they serve and a disdain for those they serve. this puts them between obligation and disgust, neither of which i want pointed at me. i think most cops are fine people with good intents that end up with an impossible job. i also think cops are assholes.

so soon we're swapping martial arts moves and talking like buddies.

eventually they let me go.

how many immasculated billygoats have i seen on this trip, o lord?
let me not see another frightened goat that has a gun and a badge.

my remote.now.that.they're.gone.message to the police force of Troy, missouri;

it was so goddam absurd and i was so intensely pissed off when i left (it was 1:45 and i immediately called a friend and left a message that, im sure, sounds slightly hysteric) i drove to town and, just to show the world that its sons are fools and thugs i slept in the parking lot of the nearest motel. this felt like a kind of retribution i deserved. if i was to be handcuffed, ballyscruffed, and bullied when keeping to myself in the countryside back of my pickup (or, well, the dead guy's pickup) then i was going to damn well do what i wasnt supposed to in the place where i was supposed to be doing it. so i camped in the parking lot of the Troy Motel.

i woke up this morning, undisturbed, and took these pictures.

and then i took a shower and brushed my teeth. right there in the damn parking lot of the hotel. it was the irony of the act that i was getting off on. and you can see where i brushed my teeth and poured water over my head in lieu of a shower..

the day was mostly spent enduring a maddeningly boring tour of the palace of the king of beers; Anheuser-Busch, St. Louis, Missouri. i did not go for beer nor for the tour. i went for photos.

however, after the tour i spent a delightful afternoon in the st louis library, i met a nice and beautiful librarian named Joni, and then late that night bedded down where my truck had been parked all day. this, as it turned out, was the second-best place i've found to sleep so far.

on the top floor of a parking garage downtown. the trick is this.. well, before i go into the trick, let me point out that i've slept on many rooftops in washington DC, paris, london, new york, and billings. but i've never thought to park my truck there and sleep in it. the trick is to park it where it cant be easily seen from the door that's near the elevator. because parking attendants are lazy, they will come out near the elevator and walk down from there. this is what this guy did.

anyway... i hung out up on top of the parking garage building for several hours that evening.

i watched the traffic in the tiny streets below, got drunk (not on budweiser) played the concertina (refining the polka, you understand), watched the clouds roll in from the east, the rains started so pulled the tarp over my truck and went to sleep.