Missouri Summer 2022

Cycling in the Missouri hills is a special kind of torture. Instead of slow, thigh burning climbs and long descents like we get in Colorado, we get short steep hills that result in disorganized pedal strokes and spiking heart rates without any real reprieve. That and armadillo carcasses splatter the asphalt everywhere make for some interesting gore to navigate around. However, since biking and more family visits were a must, onward we went to Grandmother's house.

Dismantling four bikes meant for creative packing in the car, but our efforts were rewarded by riding bikes with Grandpa along the James River, through the Battle of Wilson's Creek, and down nameless country roads. In between spandex shorts washings, we took advantage of getting into the water as much as possible because Missouri in July means sweltering heat, the kind that leaves you saying "that's gonna leave a mark" immediately after you leave the air conditioning. We canoed, fished, boated, floated, water-parked, and swam. We went camping where the temperature never dropped below 90F but still had to sleep in tents because Missouri mosquitos take prisoners. 

These trips in the great outdoors were especially fun because their Uncle Danny joined. Usually, he worked long hours at the bar he owned, or had projects that demanded attention: remodeling his house, planting his garden, or planning his next big idea. Danny always had something going on, so the fact that he took off some time to spend with his niece and nephew meant a lot. He taught them how to throw a proper frisbee. At least tried to. He glowed when Deets caught a huge fish and cheered on Margo when they avoided dumping their canoe over a river drop. The kids died of laughter when Uncle Danny showed up to a bonfire night wearing choo-choo train overalls without shirt, and we made ourselves sick eating s'mores.

Childhood friends of Mark's heard we had returned to the great Midwest, so they threw their kids in the truck and drove up from Dallas on a whim to introduce their kids to our kids, and remember the glory days of Oregon. These guys are the raucous kind who skateboard in random and dumb places, just because it is something to do. Natural thrill seekers, they grew up jumping from roofs, skipping over fences into private pools, and getting mullet haircuts purely based on a dare, and they probably parkour too. The children of Mark's buddies are the exact same. On this heart filled reunion, we all piled into the J.O.B. public house, Danny's bar, and an evening of chucking frisbees at each other began.  Even when a frisbee hit the one of the boys' faces, the debauchery continued with laughter, beer drinking, and making suicides from the soda gun. 

Missouri meant reconnecting with grandparents, friends, and neighbors who owned heavy machinery. The kids went to their first baseball game, drove their first backhoe, and burned their feet on the waterpark sidewalks after frost-burning their tongues on Dippin' Dots - giving them a pretty good sense of what it means to spend summer in Midwest America. 

Neighbor Steve's Backhoe

Battle of Wilson's Creek. The North lost. 

J.O.B. under David's plaque:
"This Spot Reserved for David Thomas Schlink,
July 7, 2031"

Morning mist on the North Fork

Camping when it was so hot. Too hot, probably. 
But we were too proud to admit it.

Gramps

Unca' Danny with the kids

Brothers gon' fishing

Rooftoppin' at the J.O.B.