Outside of Eldon as we cross White Creek. I see a sign for Bad Donkey Tattoo Company. If I ever get a tattoo (like never), honestly, I must get it there.
I would assume Missouri Spartan women have a similar sense of equality as the men in their tiny town, but after venturing into Trojan country (as indicated by their road sign) this sleepy off-the-beaten-track community is anything but battle-ready.
The food was surprisingly good, and honestly the woman serving us is one of the friendliest individuals I have ever met. So we asked if there was anything interesting to do in Belgrade. "There was a murder in the afternoon here once," she said.
Today, I think about road trips I use to take with my family when I was younger; when my Dad was behind the wheel instead of my husband, and vacations were few and far between.
...we soon discovered Cairo is kind of like a Jiffy Lube: You're in, you're out, you're on your way...
But perhaps the most thought-provoking items in the courthouse square are two stones that speak volumes.
Call me crazy, but unlike some people who steer clear of two-lane roads because they don't want to get stuck behind poky farm equipment, I'm more terrified of the 10 ton, 18-wheelers barreling down on me at 70 miles per hour. My survival instincts override my need for speed nine times out of ten.
As we get closer to Lisbon, the road goes from not-so-bad, to so-so, to what-the-hell-are-you-doing-driving-on-this-thing. Before long, we drop down into a what the locals would call a "holler" and we seem to have arrived. But where, I'm not sure.
As an odd coincidence, while trying to break in to the library (so to speak), we ran into a retired priest we knew from days gone by. He gave us a brief but fascinating history of the city and an introduction to Glasgow's role in the civil war.
With arms out-stretched and index fingers rigidly pointing in the direction they traveled, these life-sized "cut-outs" were pretty far-out from all accounts; but neater still because their heads were missing.