A river road trip to remember and one of those Sundays where the universe practically insisted you do something interesting, or at least something that felt interesting. So, naturally, I decided to embark on the legendary Route 3 South in Southern Illinois. A road trip that I’m sure will be sung about in ballads and whispered in myths for centuries to come. Or, you know, at least until dinner.
Gotta Get Away
I jumped in the trusty Trans Am, a machine that was as eager for an adventure as I was. If cars could be eager. I left for Columbia, Illinois, and hit the road, the Great River Road, to be exact. The kind of road that’s supposed to make you feel like you’re starring in your own personal movie. It was complete with sweeping vistas and existential reflections. Except, in my version, there’s a lot less dialogue and a lot more lonesome highway.
As I cruised along, the world around me began to transform. The hustle and bustle of modern life slowly faded away, replaced by the vast emptiness of Southern Illinois. And by “emptiness,” I mean expansive farms dotted with cattle and hogs who seemed to be having the time of their lives. I had to admire their ability to do absolutely nothing all day and still look content. It’s an art form, really.
Big Sky Country
The sky was big—like, really big. It was one of those skies that makes you realize just how small you are, but in a way that’s more amusing than humbling. I mean, there I was, a lone traveler in the middle of nowhere, yet only fifteen minutes away from St. Louis. The irony wasn’t lost on me. It’s like finding a hidden gem of solitude in your own backyard, except your backyard is apparently the size of a small country.
But the real star of this trip was the road itself. The Bluff Road, to be specific. A name that practically dares you to question its significance. It was the kind of road that seems like it should be leading you to some grand destination, but instead, it just takes you further into the middle of nowhere. And you know what? I was completely okay with that.
As I wound my way down the Bluff Road, I couldn’t help but notice the landscape changing once again. The scenery was a mix of green fields and rustic barns. The occasional farm animal giving me a look that said, “What are you doing here?” Good question, cow. Good question.
The Levee Road Calls….
Eventually, the Bluff Road led me to the Levee Road, a name that conjures up images of Mark Twain-esque riverboat adventures. But instead of a paddleboat, I was piloting a slightly dusty car that hadn’t seen a car wash in weeks. It’s all about the journey, right? The Levee Road was even more desolate than the Bluff Road, which, at this point, was really saying something. It’s the kind of place where you half expect to see a tumbleweed roll by, except you’re in Illinois, so that would be weird.
As I drove along the Levee Road, I made a few stops at river access points. Why? Because when you see a sign that says “River Access,” you have to check it out. It’s practically a law of the road trip. Each stop offered a new vantage point of the Mississippi River. The river was doing its usual thing of being wide, muddy, and entirely unfazed by my presence. There’s something comforting about a river that’s been around for eons. It was calmly going about its business while you snap a few pictures and ponder the meaning of life. Or at least the meaning of why you brought so many snacks.
After thoroughly enjoying the river and its complete lack of interest in me, I continued my journey to Old Valmeyer. Now, Old Valmeyer is one of those places that sounds like it should be haunted or at least have a ghost story or two. Instead, it was just another quiet, peaceful town that made you wonder if you’d accidentally stepped back in time. The kind of place where the biggest excitement of the day might be a stray cat wandering onto Main Street. Not that I saw any cats, but I could sense their presence. It’s called old Valmeyer because the levee gave way many years back and the town was relocated.
From Old Valmeyer, I made my way to New Valmeyer, a name that’s about as creative as naming your new dog “New Dog.” But hey, who am I to judge? New Valmeyer had a slightly more modern vibe to it. It still maintained that small-town charm that made you feel like you should wave at everyone you pass, and they actually do!
A View of the Arch on the Way Home
The highlight of New Valmeyer? Definitely the view. As I drove through the town, I caught a glimpse of the Gateway Arch in the distance, rising up like a shiny beacon of civilization. There’s something surreal about being surrounded by farmland, cows, and utter quiet. Then seeing the symbol of a bustling city just hanging out on the horizon. It’s like nature’s way of reminding you that you’re never too far from the chaos, no matter how hard you try.
As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting a golden hue over the fields and the road ahead, I felt a sense of contentment wash over me. Sure, I hadn’t exactly battled dragons or discovered hidden treasure, but there was something undeniably satisfying about the simplicity of the day. Sometimes, the best adventures are the ones where nothing much happens, but you end up with a great story to tell anyway.
So there I was, cruising back toward civilization and a grin on my face. The Great River Road might not be the stuff of legends, but for one Sunday afternoon, it was the perfect place to lose myself—and find a little bit of peace and humor along the way. And really, what more can you ask for from an adventure?