ADVERTISMENT
Hennepin and Bootleg’s Great River Road Adventure- Part I
by Hennepin and Bootleg
Friday, December 05, 2008
« Go Back
What can two young Chicagoans do to appease their sense of adventure and lust for great food without breaking the bank? Who needs to travel to the far corners of the globe to find hidden treasures and experience scenic beauty when one can find it in their own backyard? We set out on a chilly November morning to answer these pressing questions and to pave the road for future adventurers and food lovers, namely the Great River Road following the Mississippi River. Five towns in all await our explorations before we beeline back to the noise and clutter of the city, all along the trail of the river, taking us through four states and over multiple bridges cutting through the Heartland.
As one might expect, there were hours of mind numbing driving as we crossed the rural flatland regions of Illinois to reach our first destination. While this might seem contrary to the pursuit of excitement, we were not without our cathartic moments. As conversation painfully waned, we began calling out the names of random towns as we drove through them merely to hear the sounds of our own voices. Upon reaching the town of Hennepin, we delighted in the sound of it as a nickname to match my surname, Hoopingarner. My road trip partner was not to be left out of this alliterative experience. After rolling a few podunk terms off our tongues, we decided to honor her with the alias Bootleg Ballard. And so we continued our journey with new identities, leaving our urban mindset behind and rolling forward into the plains of the unknown.
While we were not entirely familiar with how to navigate through the wilderness that is Western Illinois, we had hours of research under our belts, Google directions between multiple destinations, a seven dollar road atlas from Target, and enough grit and vigor to get us to wherever we had our minds set on taking us. As the navigator, Hennepin was buried under pages of maps and given the sole responsibility of calling out turns and exits to the driver, Bootleg. Having been sidetracked by the daunting task of hemming her boyfriend's pants, Hennepin failed to note that there was a turn in a certain direction that Bootleg was required to make in order to get us to the next stop. Crossing the town of Monmouth for the third and final time in an effort to get us back on track (insert National Lampoon's dialogue here: "Hey Kids! Big Ben! Parliament!"), Bootleg finally called a spade a spade and pulled over at a local Verizon shop to ask for directions. She was just in time, as Hennepin was getting restless and actually scoping for hitchhikers from the state penitentiary on the last lap around. After setting us straight, the cell phone rep ushered us out the door with a final stinging remark about relying on Google maps to get you to where you want to go. Sigh.
After 300 miles, we finally caught a glimpse of our revered landmark: the Great River Road. Not unlike Route 66, the road does cut off and start again at various intervals, but we have found that it is the most scenic route to take when traveling down the Mississippi. The road curved around to reveal the brilliant waters of the majestic river, and in our excitement, Hennepin dropped her sewing needle and Bootleg's chewing gum dropped out of her mouth and disappeared. We made halfhearted attempts to look for said items, not wanting to take our eyes off the scene before us. A bridge leading us over the river into Iowa beckoned to us, but not convinced it was the correct path to take after our first setback with Monmouth, we veered away from the bridge and wound up on the other side of town. After a few miles of nothing but cows, we decided we once again needed to backtrack and finally made it across the water, for the first of many crossings, to the great state of Ioway!
Five miles later, another bridge over the Mighty Mississippi brought us back into Illinois and to our first stop, the quaint historic town of Nauvoo. Welcome to Nauvoo!
It was late in the afternoon, and we couldn't hear ourselves over the grumblings of our bellies. Driving down the one road that took us through town, we kept our eyes peeled for any sign of diner life. Nearly every café we passed looked closed, and they nearly all were except for Dottie's Family Restaurant, the diner we had originally passed on the way in for lack of aesthetic appeal. Now, the town of Nauvoo gives nouveau meaning to the word rustic. Dottie's is the epitomy of the happy hour experience one might expect from a small riverside locale tucked away in the Heartland, combining a greasy spoon, a watering hole, and a social hub, all in one.
The wait staff was super friendly and versatile, having to fill in as cook, server, bartender and cashier all at once. The banter between the line of farmers and truckers at the counter and the girls topping off their beer kept the house entertained between back to back episodes of Little House on the Prairie and Mash. Even the town deputy stuck around to chat about the barmaid's social plans for the evening, nodding his approval at her intentions to hurry up her shift so she could go out and party.
The menu listed such varieties as white bread sandwiches, tater tots, and choices of sides including jello and peaches. Upon inquiry of the difference between regular and Cajun fries, the server made sure we understood that the Cajun fries are not spicy, but taste different than regular fries and appear a "burnt orange" color. Hennepin immediately ordered the Cajun fries with her cheeseburger, while Bootleg opted for tater tots, which she dotted with catsup, each and every one.
While her Reuben lacked in crunch and flavor, Bootleg relished her tots with a side of guilt when the cook called out to the front that they had run out. The burger sported a fresh, juicy slice of homegrown tomato, while the patty was thin enough to read a newspaper through. The Cajun fries were crispy and orange, as predicted. Each meal was swallowed down with a refreshing can of ice cold Coke, which was offered with a glass of ice.
While enjoying our brief respite from road weary travel, Boots and Hen were able to solve the mystery of the missing chewing gum. As Bootleg made a futile attempt to withdraw her arm from her leather coat, she found her elbow woefully stuck.
The dropping temperature had solidified the gum enough to pick most of it out of her sweater, but the remains of the gooey mess on the lining of her jacket were a formidable reminder that sometimes driving and chewing gum at the same time do not mix. She was comforted by the reasonably inexpensive cost of the meal, which was a bargain at $12.00 for two including the sodas. As we paid at the counter, we noticed a sign for farm fresh honey by the jar, and decided to further indulge our experience at Dottie's by grabbing one to go.
As we meandered down the road that led us along the river, we pulled into a turnaround that led us to a story book creek with a picturesque trickling waterfall underneath a small wooden bridge. We stopped to admire the quiet beauty of three pumpkins bobbing in the stream, evidence of post holiday celebrations. It is notable sometimes how the things cast aside and taken for granted by some can attract the admiration of others in a fleeting and humble moment. We were in awe of how it all tied in to our experience outside of the city, left behind only hours ago.
\
Minutes ahead, we stumbled across one of the oldest wineries in the country. Baxter's Vineyard looked closed to our disappointment, but it was well worth it to pull in and admire the antiquated barn complete with a well preserved wagon that looked as though it could pull us back in time.
It seemed as though it would be well worth a future tour, provided we could stop by before dusk. We were pleasantly surprised by a family of whitetail deer crossing the road, their shapes silhouetted against the watercolors of the sunset over the river.
They stayed long enough for us take pictures, then cleared our path to continue our journey on to Quincy, Illinois, a journey that would take us across three state lines and down inky black country roads.
A French bakery awaits our explorations with a taste of farm made honey in the morning, followed by a brief tour of classic architecture. Stayed tuned also for a visit to the birthplace of Mark Twain and the Horseradish Capital of the World, topped off with a viewing of the largest bottle of catsup.
All our love,
Hen & Boots
Average Rating: 4 - Post a Comment on this Blog
Posted Comments:
• Dan LaFaire - Friday, January 09, 2009
by Hennepin and Bootleg
Friday, December 05, 2008
« Go Back
What can two young Chicagoans do to appease their sense of adventure and lust for great food without breaking the bank? Who needs to travel to the far corners of the globe to find hidden treasures and experience scenic beauty when one can find it in their own backyard? We set out on a chilly November morning to answer these pressing questions and to pave the road for future adventurers and food lovers, namely the Great River Road following the Mississippi River. Five towns in all await our explorations before we beeline back to the noise and clutter of the city, all along the trail of the river, taking us through four states and over multiple bridges cutting through the Heartland.
As one might expect, there were hours of mind numbing driving as we crossed the rural flatland regions of Illinois to reach our first destination. While this might seem contrary to the pursuit of excitement, we were not without our cathartic moments. As conversation painfully waned, we began calling out the names of random towns as we drove through them merely to hear the sounds of our own voices. Upon reaching the town of Hennepin, we delighted in the sound of it as a nickname to match my surname, Hoopingarner. My road trip partner was not to be left out of this alliterative experience. After rolling a few podunk terms off our tongues, we decided to honor her with the alias Bootleg Ballard. And so we continued our journey with new identities, leaving our urban mindset behind and rolling forward into the plains of the unknown.
While we were not entirely familiar with how to navigate through the wilderness that is Western Illinois, we had hours of research under our belts, Google directions between multiple destinations, a seven dollar road atlas from Target, and enough grit and vigor to get us to wherever we had our minds set on taking us. As the navigator, Hennepin was buried under pages of maps and given the sole responsibility of calling out turns and exits to the driver, Bootleg. Having been sidetracked by the daunting task of hemming her boyfriend's pants, Hennepin failed to note that there was a turn in a certain direction that Bootleg was required to make in order to get us to the next stop. Crossing the town of Monmouth for the third and final time in an effort to get us back on track (insert National Lampoon's dialogue here: "Hey Kids! Big Ben! Parliament!"), Bootleg finally called a spade a spade and pulled over at a local Verizon shop to ask for directions. She was just in time, as Hennepin was getting restless and actually scoping for hitchhikers from the state penitentiary on the last lap around. After setting us straight, the cell phone rep ushered us out the door with a final stinging remark about relying on Google maps to get you to where you want to go. Sigh.
After 300 miles, we finally caught a glimpse of our revered landmark: the Great River Road. Not unlike Route 66, the road does cut off and start again at various intervals, but we have found that it is the most scenic route to take when traveling down the Mississippi. The road curved around to reveal the brilliant waters of the majestic river, and in our excitement, Hennepin dropped her sewing needle and Bootleg's chewing gum dropped out of her mouth and disappeared. We made halfhearted attempts to look for said items, not wanting to take our eyes off the scene before us. A bridge leading us over the river into Iowa beckoned to us, but not convinced it was the correct path to take after our first setback with Monmouth, we veered away from the bridge and wound up on the other side of town. After a few miles of nothing but cows, we decided we once again needed to backtrack and finally made it across the water, for the first of many crossings, to the great state of Ioway!Five miles later, another bridge over the Mighty Mississippi brought us back into Illinois and to our first stop, the quaint historic town of Nauvoo. Welcome to Nauvoo!
It was late in the afternoon, and we couldn't hear ourselves over the grumblings of our bellies. Driving down the one road that took us through town, we kept our eyes peeled for any sign of diner life. Nearly every café we passed looked closed, and they nearly all were except for Dottie's Family Restaurant, the diner we had originally passed on the way in for lack of aesthetic appeal. Now, the town of Nauvoo gives nouveau meaning to the word rustic. Dottie's is the epitomy of the happy hour experience one might expect from a small riverside locale tucked away in the Heartland, combining a greasy spoon, a watering hole, and a social hub, all in one.The wait staff was super friendly and versatile, having to fill in as cook, server, bartender and cashier all at once. The banter between the line of farmers and truckers at the counter and the girls topping off their beer kept the house entertained between back to back episodes of Little House on the Prairie and Mash. Even the town deputy stuck around to chat about the barmaid's social plans for the evening, nodding his approval at her intentions to hurry up her shift so she could go out and party.
The menu listed such varieties as white bread sandwiches, tater tots, and choices of sides including jello and peaches. Upon inquiry of the difference between regular and Cajun fries, the server made sure we understood that the Cajun fries are not spicy, but taste different than regular fries and appear a "burnt orange" color. Hennepin immediately ordered the Cajun fries with her cheeseburger, while Bootleg opted for tater tots, which she dotted with catsup, each and every one.
While her Reuben lacked in crunch and flavor, Bootleg relished her tots with a side of guilt when the cook called out to the front that they had run out. The burger sported a fresh, juicy slice of homegrown tomato, while the patty was thin enough to read a newspaper through. The Cajun fries were crispy and orange, as predicted. Each meal was swallowed down with a refreshing can of ice cold Coke, which was offered with a glass of ice.
While enjoying our brief respite from road weary travel, Boots and Hen were able to solve the mystery of the missing chewing gum. As Bootleg made a futile attempt to withdraw her arm from her leather coat, she found her elbow woefully stuck.
The dropping temperature had solidified the gum enough to pick most of it out of her sweater, but the remains of the gooey mess on the lining of her jacket were a formidable reminder that sometimes driving and chewing gum at the same time do not mix. She was comforted by the reasonably inexpensive cost of the meal, which was a bargain at $12.00 for two including the sodas. As we paid at the counter, we noticed a sign for farm fresh honey by the jar, and decided to further indulge our experience at Dottie's by grabbing one to go.
As we meandered down the road that led us along the river, we pulled into a turnaround that led us to a story book creek with a picturesque trickling waterfall underneath a small wooden bridge. We stopped to admire the quiet beauty of three pumpkins bobbing in the stream, evidence of post holiday celebrations. It is notable sometimes how the things cast aside and taken for granted by some can attract the admiration of others in a fleeting and humble moment. We were in awe of how it all tied in to our experience outside of the city, left behind only hours ago.
\Minutes ahead, we stumbled across one of the oldest wineries in the country. Baxter's Vineyard looked closed to our disappointment, but it was well worth it to pull in and admire the antiquated barn complete with a well preserved wagon that looked as though it could pull us back in time.
It seemed as though it would be well worth a future tour, provided we could stop by before dusk. We were pleasantly surprised by a family of whitetail deer crossing the road, their shapes silhouetted against the watercolors of the sunset over the river.
They stayed long enough for us take pictures, then cleared our path to continue our journey on to Quincy, Illinois, a journey that would take us across three state lines and down inky black country roads.
A French bakery awaits our explorations with a taste of farm made honey in the morning, followed by a brief tour of classic architecture. Stayed tuned also for a visit to the birthplace of Mark Twain and the Horseradish Capital of the World, topped off with a viewing of the largest bottle of catsup.
All our love,
Hen & Boots
Average Rating: 4 - Post a Comment on this Blog
Posted Comments:
• Dan LaFaire - Friday, January 09, 2009
ADVERTISMENT