Used Cars Indianapolis Buy Here Pay Here, Exploring the Heel of Illinois, or I Don’t Even Know Where I Am

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Used Cars Indianapolis Buy Here Pay Here – Exploring Illinois Heel or I Don’t Know Where I Am Now. We have a goal when we start. It was a blue grass festival at Bean Blossom Indiana. This year is special because it celebrates the 100th anniversary of the blue grass father, Bill Monroe. We had attended once before but never camped so we chose a large open field that hoped for peace and quiet.

This property was once Bill Monroe’s home and farm where he lived and enjoyed music with friends and fox hunting. We followed a bright voice from picking banjo and guitar to the stage. Immediately we put our toes together and remembered the songs our father sang even though we were big in Indianapolis, far from the hills of southern Indiana. Ralph Stanley ended the night with the song “Oh Death, Won’t You Spare Me Over for Another Year,” which was famous in the film, Oh Brother Where Art Thou? We walked to our tent around ten o’clock and lay down to sleep peacefully.

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Unfortunately the kids on the golf cart have other ideas. They were still racing around the field, turning on their engines and illuminating their headlights into our tents when I finally saw my watch. It sounded shocking at 2:30 a.m., and we pulled our tent pegs and headed for Nashville, Indiana, and Comfort Inn in case they did an audit and couldn’t access the computer. We finally slept around three in the morning.

The next day we were on our way to New Harmony, where Rappites and Owens tried to build a utopian society in the 19th century, to visit my friend, an artist who painted subjects from the nineteen fifties and architecture along old highways like the US. 40 and Route 66. By chance he found an old drive-in restaurant on state road 66 and turned it into a studio. We enjoyed seeing photos of James Dean, Hank Williams, women with full skirts and high heels who were ironing with their new Steam-o-matic or admiring their machines or their range of snow white electric washing machines. One couple danced in the kitchen in front of their new fridge as if they had just returned from a prom party. The giant ice cream cone above a small restaurant promises relief from the heat of summer without worrying about fat or calories. Don’t worry about Chesterfields or Lucky Strikes. No need to worry. Only the promise of suburban happiness or the 50’s Utopia style.

That’s when we deviated from the beaten path by crossing the toll bridge just a block from my friend’s studio across Wabash to southern Illinois. This is a different world that we accidentally entered into the night before when we went to hear song singers in Grayville. Everything seems fine if it’s a bit unreal. He sings about small league baseball players who spent time in Lynchburg and ended up with courage. Several songs later he launched into the “South of Solitude” about getting into the southern Illinois labyrinth road and getting lost producing the lyrics, “I don’t even know where I am,” and ending with the lyrics, “I don’t even know who I am.” did not know it at the time, but we will soon sing the song. There were a total of nine or ten people in attendance, four of whom were several young Germans who did not pay too much attention to the singer. We were not too surprised to see them when southern Indiana was filled with German settlers and German restaurants. Tourists are never too far from a delicious dinner of sausages and sauerkraut. But here in Grayville, the waiters seemed very surprised and happy to see them because they really spoke German and were still young and not too hard on the eyes. We learned that they were in town to work in a coal mine for eight days and enjoy the Grayville nightlife. The singer ended up with several songs Dylan and his friend accompanied him at the harmonica. “That’s what you got for Loving Me” seems to be a good way to end the set, and the Germans smile and say goodbye in English.

The next day, at the suggestion of my friend, we wandered across the bridge again following the trailers of a vintage Airstream trip, which again lent fifty air, to surreal southern Illinois again to see the Garden of the Gods. We’ve seen one of the same names in Colorado Springs and don’t expect much compared. But we were very surprised by the beautiful and strange rock formations in the Shawnee National Forest. The wilderness area is more than three hundred and twenty million years old and covers more than 3,300 hectares of beautiful old growth forest. Sedimentary rock in this area has a depth of more than four miles and cracked bedrock has created several interesting rock formations that represent various objects such as runways, camels and fungi. Next we went south to the Ohio River and saw the Pirate Cave at the Cave in Batu. Two river boats have been built and burned here, but now there are only ferries taking cars and trucks across the river at no cost. When we arrived on the Kentucky side of the Ohio River, a truck with too much load in the form of earth propulsion was waiting to board the ferry. We are happy to have crossed in a small car company.

We are now on the Trail of Tears that were forced by native Americans when their land was confiscated by pioneer settlers. In 1830, Congress passed a law allowing the transfer of all indigenous Indians living east of the Mississippi River. Over the next twenty years, Indians marched west to reserve in Arkansas and Oklahoma, including the Illini Indians in Illinois. In Fall and Winter 1838-39, the Cherokee Indians marched out of Georgia and Carolinas crossed Southern Illinois to a reservation in the west. It is estimated that two thousand to four thousand Cherokee men, women and children die during this one thousand-mile west journey. It was known as the Tears Trail because of the many difficulties and sadness he brought to Indians. The Buel family tells the story of their ancestors Sarah (Jones) Buel who moved to Golconda on September 2, 1836. Two years later, the Cheroke family passed Golconda. “My great grandmother was enjoying a pumpkin and watching her baby when she heard a strange noise outside. Before she realized it, the front door opened and there stood two brave Cherokee Indians who had just watched her … They smelled pumpkin as they passed, but My grandmother didn’t know that. Finally, she understood what they wanted, and the Indians were very grateful when she gave them some cooked pumpkins. I’m grateful she was as grateful as they were when they left, “he added. *

Our trip to Kentucky was mostly through the country of agriculture so we returned to Illinois which was lured by the Shawnee Lama City on the map. When we arrived, the city was not only old but also a ghost town. A big bank of Greek architectural style dwarfs everything that is visible. We later learned that it was the first bank to be rented in Illinois in 1816. It was also the first building to be used solely to house a bank in Illinois and was used until the 1920s. Someone told us that they had refused a loan from a bank in Chicago when it first developed, because they didn’t think Chicago would be a successful solution. The Hogaddy Bar is across the street deserted from the bank. A sign on the door said it was closed for winter, but it was clearly also closed for the summer. We also learned later that the worst floods in decades had closed the city. Two figures of Lewis and Clark made of wood showed that they had passed the city of Shawnee, but they looked just as sad as when we learned that HogDaddy was closed. We drove south out of town thinking we were on the Lincoln line but ended up on a gravel road. Common sense will dictate to go back to the main road, but we want to see a meeting between Wabash and Ohio. We soon got lost in the maze of cornfields. We saw a deer and a female deer in the middle of the road drinking from a puddle of mud. We kept turning right when we were supposed to turn left to return to the main road, but the river gave a signal.

Then without warning, our engine stuttered and stopped. The way out of the question is in heat and humidity. We are waiting to hope the machine will live but after half an hour, we try to call a tow truck. Fortunately, we were able to reach Triple A, but were not very successful in trying to tell them whether we were. “Well there is a cornfield on the right and a forest on the left, and we are at Round Pond Road, then Long Pond road, then Pond Church Road, then Big Hill Road.” When we called, a farmer arrived, and we dropped him off. He is a gift from Heaven because he has a GPS and gives us our coordinates. Even more amazing is that he knows the person we talked to on the phone personally even though he was in Indiana. They grow together and the tow truck man knows the farm that borders the road where we are. A good farmer lives and talks with us until the tow truck arrives. He had some sad stories about floods in the area which caused late planting and ammonia used in agriculture stolen by people who made meth. We had the feeling that we might not be safe even though it was far from a big city. An even more sad story is about his son, who has served two assignments in Iraq, returned home and sank while swimming in a mine.

The tow truck man arrived, greeted his friend, and invited us to get into the front seat of his truck. He continued the wretched story which said that the economy in southern Illinois had been damaged by politicians in Chicago even though some of them had been sent to Washington. He also cited met problems in the area that were aggravated by a bad economy and worse weather. We felt like we didn’t know where we were, or maybe we were lost to Mexico. But when we crossed back to Indiana, he cheered a little to mention the various industrial sites we passed such as Marathon and Bristol Myers Squib. Ethanol plants prosper by using corn that has been lost. It seems more advanced, but not necessarily better. But according to him there are more business incentives offered in Indiana and better politicians. He likes to tell his life story by saying he wants to become a chiropractor but chooses to breastfeed. Burnout made him go into business as a gas station owner. When his business in Illinois did not go well, he asked God to give him a sign if he had to move to Indiana and start towing services. That night the roof at the gas station collapsed. He now does missionary work every year in Honduras with the Baptist Church where his training as a nurse serves him and them well. He treats people for everything, from parasites to gangrene.

These people from southern Illinois are two of the best people I’ve ever met and representatives of other people who try to survive even though big companies take over family farms and politicians who issue laws that are not profitable for small businesses, and they maintain their values ​​as good Samaritans too. We also appreciate the Shawnee National Forest covering 277,500 hectares with a diverse population of plants, animals and bird life. It provides a habitat for several species that are endangered or threatened and is a beautiful place to visit. It is difficult to believe that this area was once covered by shallow oceans and was inhabited by sea creatures before the Mississippians, Illini and other Indian tribes, France, England and finally settlers of British, German, Scottish and Irish descent, and even freed slaves arrived . If we travel to the Ohio River Valley in southern Illinois again, it will see Metropolis, the home of Super Man and Harrah’s Metropolis casino / hotels.

The big tourism industry here is also because of Kincaid, a complex community house that is part of the Mississippian culture. People first arrived in the Ohio River Valley around 12,000 BC. Culture reached its peak around 1100 AD and a large city was built in Cahokia, near Collinsville, Illinois. The people built large earthworks and related structures, many of which remain. The Mississippian regional cultural center emerged throughout Ohio and the lower Mississippian valley, one at Angel Mounds in Evansville which we will visit later. Rivers are part of extensive trade routes. France settled in the area in 1757 before the victorious British came to claim the territory.

The next day we rented a car and went to the Evansville museum on the river bank and visited Angel Mounds. From 1100 to 1450 A. D., a city on this site is home to people from the Central Mississippi culture, who were engaged in hunting and farming in the rich land beneath the Ohio River. Several thousand people live in this city protected by fortresses made of wattle and daub. Because Angel Mounds is the head of the kingdom (tribal chief’s house), a regional center of a large community that grows out of it for miles. The traveling groups of Shawnee, Miami, and other groups moved to this area around 1650 A. D., long after the Mississippi people left the city at Angel. Later, white settlers farmed the land. Just like Native Americans, they are captivated by fertile soil and a moderate growing season. One family that settled in Southwest Indiana was led by Mathias Angel. He owned agricultural land on the site of Angel Mounds from 1852 until his death in 1899. His older brothers owned adjacent farms, and the land remained in the family of Angels until 1938.

Angel Mounds State Historic Site is named after this family. I have participated in archaeological excavations near there while studying at Indiana University. We stayed at Angel Mounds and used the Glen Black Laboratory there. WPA workers have been digging at Angel Mounds in the nineteen thirties. Now there are villages and museums that have been restored. We have photographed the site using a box camera and developed large prints in a dark room. We have used survey equipment to find our location in the middle of the field. We found a post hole that used to be a house, bones, pottery, and even a written stone that looked like a numbering system. Now they may use modern technologies such as digital photography and GPS to find and learn ancient technology from occupants that include chipping flint point spears, decorating with candle-resistant earthenware techniques, and basket weaving.

We traveled back to Kentucky again to Henderson to see the John James Audubon Museum. He had an interesting life drawing birds, but left the Quaker wife faithful alone for years at a time and finally had to declare bankruptcy. He is a dedicated artist and his son later joined him in his desire to record birds and animals in the wilderness. This museum has a complete American Elephant Bird edition, which reaches millions. Can be exhibited only one page at a time, understandable. This museum is worth a trip of eleven miles from Evansville. We have to laugh because every place we visit on this trip seems to be eleven miles from where it was before or, if not, multiples of eleven. Eleven is our lucky number! We took our car from the Pep Boys and went home. The windshield wipers turn on every time we use a turn signal, but at least the fuel pump works, and we are on the road again. My next story might be about all of our car sites breaking down and the opportunities provided to get to know people in the area prove that old vehicles have advantages. Travel in the Ohio Valley is always fun and provides many opportunities to enjoy nature, travel through history and meet charming people.

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