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The Wintry Trek from Central Missouri to Carlsbad, NM

Wow, what a day!!! A drive that should have taken 15 hours took 20 hours due to snow and ice throughout much of the Midwest. The drive was certainly an adrenaline inducing affair, with a couple of mishaps that were almost of a vacation-canceling quality.

I left Missouri after 5am and the roads were pretty decent considering the amount of snow and ice the area had received. I had packed my car with my things, and my companion for the trip (a 7 week old puppy I was transporting for a friend) and took off with confidence and an adventurous spirit. Driving was easy, and the view of the snow covered farmland was nice to see.I watched as the sun rose above the snow-blanketed landscape, sending a pillar of light straight up into the sky.

Even though the roads seemed to be OK I decided to play it safe and head straight south on 13 hwy to Springfield and cut across from there on 44 hwy. The GPS I had borrowed from my father complained at every intersection until I was in Clinton, announcing it was “Recalculating” my route. It wanted me to drive through Kansas. Why on earth would I want to drive through Kansas? Aside from the blizzard they had rolled through the area a day prior, Kansas was boring. Oklahoma sounded like a better idea. They had toll roads, surely if you paid to drive on the road they took care to maintain it.

My theory proved to be wrong: I think there was an invisible barrier that runs along the MO-OK line, because as soon as I crossed it the roads were horrible. Snow and ice still covered the roadway, vehicles littered the ditches along the road, and cars slid along the highway in a cautious tone. Interesting that the “free” roads had been rightfully cleared by the highway department, and the instant I hit the state that seems to love their toll roads it looked as if the men in the plowing trade had gone on strike. Either they don’t have enough funding for their road maintenance or they just aren’t as efficient as Missouri. While some areas of Oklahoma might have been hit harder than MO, most of it was much the same as what I drove through in the show-me-state.

I was trekking across this frigid tundra, thankful I had chosen to take my car instead of my Jeep because of the warm air that poured out the vents and the defrost that kept the windshield from icing over when I decided to find a place to pull over and let Ellie run around and do her business. Unfortunately the big wall of snow prohibited me from entering the rest stops so, but seeing as how I was nearing a quarter of a tank I decided to get some gas. I pulled off the highway onto roads that were even worse and pulled up to the nearest gas station. After walking Ellie I went to pull the lever on my floorboard that opens my gas door. Nothing happened. Either it was frozen shut or the wire had been damaged. I had to get out my multi-tool and pry open my gas door while some hunters with a boat (yes, they were towing a boat in this weather!) chatted nearby about the weather.

After that affair I got back on the highway and continued my way across Oklahoma via the snowy interstate 44. I decided to stop for lunch at a “Whataburger” since we don’t have those locally, but after exiting where a sign said there would be one and not seeing it I stopped at a McDonalds. I ate my lunch while Ellie ate hers, and I let her wander their strip of grass-covered snow on the leash. After that we headed back to the interstate, and I made an almost crippling mistake: I turned on the wrong road. I tried to turn around and got stuck on the ice. I was trapped there for about 5 minutes, rocking back and forth, when luckily a few guys pulled over and got out to push . Oh wonderful, good Samaritans! They pushed and my car was going forward along the road once again. I gave them a thumbs up and waved a thank you and they smiled, waved and got back in their car heading the opposite direction.

The roads gradually got better as I headed west, but I credit this to the shining sun rather than the road crew laboring away. I think I may have seen a total of 4 ice trucks across the entire state. I had a new found appreciation for MO-DOT’s hard work and prompt clearing of the roads. I was relieved, for once, when I hit Texas just as the sun set. Funny that as I reach the “Lone Star” state, the only star that will sit in the sky alone, the sun, had just set.

The sunset was gorgeous, and much like the sunrise I had seen traveling through Missouri it sent up a pillar of light straight up into the sky from the sun. I casually wondered if there had been a volcanic eruption somewhere in the world that was creating these beautiful effects. I dismissed the thought, thinking I was just letting the book I had just read a month ago, Krakatoa, influence my imagination.
I stopped at one of Texas’ rest stops, which I have always known to be uniquely decorated and more and amenable. This one was no different. The outside was lit up in the night with red, white, and blue lights in the pattern of the Texan flag. Inside they had an interactive display about life in the plains and the development of barbed wire, outside amongst the snow were picnic shelters with Texas-shaped grills, and a beautiful view of a canyon that I could barely make out the silhouette of in the dark.


The roads through Texas were pretty clear, or so I thought. I was heading along a seemingly clear highway that was under construction around 10 pm. The traffic was light and I only had one or two vehicles accompanying me on the road at any given time. As I took the detour and was traveling along at what I thought was a safe speed I came across a narrowing of the one-lane road with concrete barriers on each side, each with snow packed along it and ice covering the whole roadway, rocky and bumpy. I slowed down as much as I could before I hit the ice, but jumped off the brake when I hit it knowing that would be detrimental. My car swung diagonal one way, and I corrected and then it flew diagonal the opposite direction. I was nervous, but kept my focus as I knew I just could NOT crash here. I saw the car in front of me slow down on a clear roadway and I breathed in as I hit the clear road. I discovered that the vehicle just ahead of me was a police car, and he drove at a slow, carefully speed. Knowing he probably knew the road conditions I used him as a pace car until he exited a few miles down.

I was nowhere near tired, the adrenaline fresh and running through me. I made the push for that last few hours and arrive in Carlsbad at 1:28 CST. I checked into the hotel and tried to get as much sleep as I could with a puppy that kept waking up every few hours and needing to go out and use the restroom. In the morning I turned on the news to see the weather and saw a short story on a volcano that was erupting in the Philippines.
LINK:(http://www.google.com/hostednews/afp/article/ALeqM5i7EZq2rDaf4kQY0wO47q7pZBGt4A)
My imagination had proven to be an educated theory that was true!

It’s now time to continue to let my imagination act as a fortune teller as I wander deep into a place that I have wanted to explore for years: Carlsbad Caverns!

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Life is Not An Adventure Without Risk: Ravenswood and the Abandoned Warehouse

The things most worth living in life are things you have to work for. Those where you step past your own boundaries and discover worlds previously untouched, unseen. It doesn’t matter the risk….you have to take a chance. These trials and errors are what will make sure you experience life to the fullest, and allow you to feel complete in knowing that at the very least, you tried.

October 28, 2009

It was a beautiful day for one of my adventures. Sunny, in the mid sixties and a breeze that blew the fall leaves around in little spirals. I packed up my adventure bag and wrote the directions that I had researched on Google Maps on the top of my hand. Today I was going to visit Ravenswood.

The location the map had given me seemed a bit strange. I was sure that Ravenswood was located in Boonville, yet the map indicated it was just outside of Sedalia. Not knowing exactly where Boonville was located, and deciding it was unimportant to find out, I followed the peculiar directions anyways. I always reach my destination one way or the other.

Onward I went, taking 50 hwy to Sedalia. There is a lot of repaving going on along this highway, and this made it a single lane heading east. Following the cars in front of you is tiring, always trying to guess if they are going to slow down or speed up, having to be on edge. I will have to say that this type of driving has one benefit: I know I’m not going to get pulled over for speeding. When you reach the end of a construction zone and it opens back up to two lanes I compare the reaction of the drivers to the likeness of NASCAR after the pace car leaves the track. Suddenly everyone sorts themselves out and speeds up to get in the front. Of course after a few minutes everyone realizes how fast they are actually going and about half of the cars end up slowing down again, but something instinctive tells us we need to be in front. It’s actually quite fun to watch, and even observe yourself react in the same way. The competitive side in everyone comes out after the end of a construction zone. We must win.

After the short-lived race on 50 highway, and driving past Smith-Cotton High School, I finally started heading out of Sedalia. In that transition area between city and country living was the road I was to turn left on, according to Google. I turned left and saw this AMAZING abandoned warehouse. At least 3 blocks long, covered in rolling doors and windows- Beautifully decaying in a field of wire spindles and rusting power equipment. I decided that after visiting Ravenswood I would stop by here and take some pictures.

It wasn’t long after taking the next left that I realized Google was incredibly wrong. I was driving along residential streets heading into Sedalia. Huh. I don’t have a map in my car, and I’m unsure of where else to go so I head back to that fabulous abandoned warehouse and pull into the parking lot of a manufacturing company next door. I grab my adventure bag and lock up the Stealth, and walk up to the door labeled with a small sign, “office”.

The yard of this company is covered in steel beams and other large pieces of rusting metal. A large track runs around the entire yard about 20 feet high. I wonder what exactly this track is for as I don’t see anything around that could run along it. Inside you can hear some loud banging and the smell of welding hits your nose. This might be an interesting conversation…

Inside the office is a man of about 50, a man maybe a little older than me, and an older lady sitting behind a desk. I walk up to her, as she is obviously the secretary, and ask her if she would mind if I took some pictures of the empty warehouse building next to them. She explains that the building is owned by some man that lives in Florida, and then the older man chimes in that there would be no problem with me taking pictures as long as I was careful not to get hurt (liability reasons, of course). I smile and thank them and they ask what I am taking pictures for. I say it’s for a project and they assume it is for school. I don’t correct them. I then ask them if they happen to know where Ravenswood is. The older man gives me directions and asks the younger gentleman about the place, stating that he knew he had been there. He tells me that it’s a pretty neat place to visit, and that supposedly (although he had not been allowed into the basement in his visit) there are still chains that hang from the walls in the basement. Remnants of slavery.

The lady looks at me and the other two men and says “I would never go there. It’s just too creepy!”. I smile and explain that I really enjoy historical architecture. She nods and says she still wouldn’t want to go into such a strange place. I thank them for all their information and head out to explore my new play land.

The warehouse is huge, and as I cross the field, winding my way between the spools of wire that are taller than I am and the old, rusty equipment I see that there are lots of railroad tracks crossing the field, mostly hidden by the overgrown grass and brush that has accumulated. Every roll-up door has a railway leading up into it and each bay door is labeled. As you get closer to the large building you start noticing pieces of plastic building panels all over the place, and I look up to see that they had fallen off the windows. The original windows had been covered with these panels in an effort to keep the building sealed off from the elements but had apparently weathered beyond use by this time. I casually wonder what this man in Florida even wants with this land, and consider looking him up to see if he’d sell it for a cheap price…

As I come between a small out building and the large warehouse I notice a sign that amuses me. “Fire Here Today Could Mean No Job Tomorrow! Be Extra Careful”. I bet this made employees nervous as they approached this door.

I finally figure out what this building was when I round the southern corner of the building. A big Union Pacific emblem is hanging high up on the brick façade. Something that explains all the railways that intertwine through the yard. This place is getting more interesting by the moment.


Although I had gotten the hint from the warehouse’s neighbors that I shouldn’t go into the building I still casually tried a few doors here and there. Several places I could have gotten into, but it would have been painstakingly obvious that I was entering the premises and I was trying to keep the low profile of a college student taking photos. There were a lot of really neat things still on the building, such as one of the bells that if you had turned the metal handle inside it would have hit the bell outside. Although rusty, it still works. Around back, on the west side, there was also a huge wing of the warehouse that was mostly windows. You couldn’t see through them very clearly as they had etched with age, but as I rounded the other side I saw a sign labeling it as the battery shop.

After spending about 2 hours wandering the property I decided it was time to head towards Ravenswood. I didn’t want to miss the last tour, to which I assumed would be around 4 or 5 pm as with most museums are.

Google maps was entirely wrong. I had to drive another 30+ miles to reach Ravenswood, which lies just south of Boonville on Highway 5. I pulled up to the house and couldn’t find a clearly marked parking lot so I parked amongst some other vehicles parked on the south side of the house. When I got out of my car I couldn’t locate an entrance or visitors office either, so I started wandering along the sidewalk that was lined with a black iron railing.

I winded along the sidewalk that echoed the exterior of the plantation, squeezing between some overgrown pampas grass. I had been there about 15 minutes wandering aimlessly with not a person in sight when I reached the side yard and noticed a bird dog laying in the grass. As I walked past him to head towards the front of the house I looked at him and said “So, do you know when the tour starts?”. He looked at me as if he had known me forever and turned back to face towards the driveway. Suddenly he perked up and barked towards an SUV that had just turned into the driveway. He stood there, as if he was ready to go retrieve the bird his owner had just shot, until the SUV began driving up the hill. Then he shot quickly down the hill to meet the car coming towards us in a manner that suggested to me he was guarding the house. Apparently I was no threat?

The SUV pulls up to me driven by an older lady and what I assume to be her husband in the passenger seat. He says that unfortunately they close when the weather gets cold and there are no more tours until spring. He tries to fumble through the center console to find his business card but comes up empty handed. He is out. He says I should feel welcome to wander around myself and take as many pictures as I want. Actually, I believe his wording was “Take some pictures” as if he was ordering me to do so rather than requesting. Then he instructs me to return in April for a guided tour and they drive on past towards the back of the property, where the farm buildings are.

Ravenswood is actually very interesting. The front of the house is awe inspiring. The porch floor is tiled intricately, the door accented with handmade door knockers and delicately-crafted door handles and skeleton key locks. The double doors are topped with a beautiful half-circle window where the chandelier that hangs from the top of the porch reflects. The house has its own water tower around the back in a courtyard, and even a built-in swimming pool. In the back yard I find a peculiar dead woodchuck, but the body isn’t torn or cut in any way. In fact I almost though it was just sleeping belly-up it was in such perfect shape. On the south side of the house is what, at first glance, appears to be a beautiful garden room that once had glass panels all over, much like a greenhouse. When you walk in, however, you discover that it was an indoor pool! What a treat this must have been in the 19th century.

After I take what I consider to be enough photos until I make my return in the spring, I head back to my car and drive down to the edge of the driveway. I want one last picture from the front of the drive. I take the picture and return to my car, but as I pull the door closed something happens that I SHOULD be used to by now. I hear the sound of a board shifting inside my driver’s side door panel and the window slowly slides down into the door.

So right there, in the middle of Ravenswood driveway, I have to get out my multi-tool that I had purchased on clearance from Lowe’s, and undo my door panel. It is almost routine at this point. 9 screws out and the panel comes out, pull back the moisture barrier from the black tar that holds it on, pull the window up, hold it up with your right hand while jamming the 1×4 into place inside the door, holding the bottom of the window up by wedging against the door’s interior bracing. The only thing that made it so out of the norm was that I was doing it in front of a 130 year old home, and I was certain that it must be some sort of sight for the owners of the property.

On the way back I stopped by a small conservation area that sat along the banks of the Lamine river. It was pretty out there, all the fall leaves littering the ground. I rested there for a little while and then decided it was time to head home. I was exhausted.

It’s funny how the littlest things can turn out to be so amazing. Every day we pass by places like the old Union Pacific building and we wonder what is in there? What did it used to be? What does it look like up close? Who owns this place?

Once upon a time I was that person as well. If the information came easily, I soaked it up like a sponge. But if it meant I had to put myself into an awkward conversation with strangers I would have to continue letting the mystery of the place turn in my head. Let random stories play in my head and my imagination run wild, but never satisfying that explorative spirit that lives so prominently inside me.

Today I push myself forward in everything. In every aspect of life. I can’t remember the verbiage exactly, but the saying goes something like “Live like there is no tomorrow and Love like you’ve never been hurt”. If anyone knows how that saying goes, please let me know! The general idea is that you don’t hold out for anything. You are never going to get answers if you sit by and wait for the information to come to you. You have to go out and get it, even if it means putting yourself in a place that is incredibly uncomfortable, and even sometimes hurtful. You only get one chance at this life and there is no sense in avoiding the unknown in fear of getting lost or hurt.

The things most worth living in life are things you have to work for. Those that you have to step past your own boundaries and discover worlds that have been previously untouched, unseen. Whether it be that you pass that 100 mph mark for the first time, you stick it out for a relationship because you actually have feelings for that person, or you ask a random stranger if you can wander around their abandoned property….you have to take a chance. These trials and errors are what will make sure you experience life to the fullest, and allow you to feel complete in knowing you at least tried.

Life is boring without adventure, and without risks there is no adventure.

My life is, and always will be, an adventure.