A Little History...

I have been itching to have an adventure. And not one of those spur of the moment types of adventures. None of that, “Let’s go to the Art Museum” eureka moments when you’re bored. I’m talking about one of those days where you finally do something you’ve “been meaning to do” for an indeterminate amount of time, but never have seemed to find the time until right then and there? Yesterday, I – and Tom – got an adventure. And then some.

Lately I’ve been a kick to embrace more local St. Louis history. Google maps, Microsoft Virtual Earth and the World Wide Web have become my playground as I find more and more vanishing – and not-so-vanishing, but very obscure – places I want to visit.

And of late, I have become enamored with the Meramec Highland. I find the idea of the remnants of a resort community just minutes from my house very… charming. Cottages populated the area just south of Big Bend, west of 270 for summer travelers just prior to the 20th century. Most are gone, but the few that remain are now private homes. Driving along the relaxed, twisty roads was like going back to another time. And place. I didn’t feel like I was in Kirkwood any longer, but rather somewhere more coastal. If I had rolled down the windows, I think I would have been disappointed not to smell the ocean.

All the homes look like a beach house should, except they all have their own distinct personalities. And most have charming little names. Again, I find the idea of homes with names absolutely charming.

I am sure that Tom did not appreciate my girly squeals as I read the names aloud with delight.

But the point of taking Tom to the Meramec Highlands was the train tunnel. I honestly can’t believe I introduced him to something train related in the St. Louis community, but I was glad that he got as big a kick out of the sealed up tunnel as I had hoped.

The tunnel is set back down a ways in a rock valley, a valley which was actually man-made in order to have the train tunnel. The tunnel itself is about 500 feet long and once you’ve seen it, there isn’t much else. But it’s quaint and absolutely a delight to see. It really does take you back to days gone by. It’s bricked up three fourths of the way up, with the rest covered up with bars to allow bats a place to roost. Some people had bent the bars back in certain spots to crawl through to the other side, but as curious as I was to see the other side (which I think is on private property), I did not want to crawl through bat guano.

I was disappointed that I couldn’t get on top of the tunnel, as it ascends way higher up than any of the pictures I saw on the internet indicated. Other people who visited have posted on the internet of climbing up, though goodness knows how, to see the hotel and fountain ruins. Very jealous of these people, but I am not willing to break my neck to see what I’m sure what has been mostly reclaimed by nature.

After the Highlands, I had the brilliant idea of hitting the Dee Koestering Park at The Meramec Highlands Quarry. When I say brilliant, I really mean idiotic. Never go to a park with trails without looking at a map of it online first. Learn from my mistakes. This park, while amazingly beautiful, could gain a widerspread popularity if they offered Segways to get up and down the hills.

Because I refuse to believe I’m that out of shape.

After we survived the park, we drove to Greentree Park and did only a cursory look for the old remains of the McConnell’s Beach house. We did find the remote control car track, but after the dirty looks that were shot our way, Tom and I headed over to Valley Park to get some much needed beverages.

On the way to a gas station, Tom had the cool idea of hitting Wet Willie's Water Slide. A fixture in my youth, the slide is now shuttered and abandoned. But certainly not forgotten, if the amount of graffiti covering the slide can act like a barometer.

There were three slides that made up the waterpark and I walked some of the length of one of them in bemused detachment, trying to remember some of my visits from my childhood. But all I could recall was getting sick from eating too soon before sliding… and the area of the slide where the paint was rough and we’d slow down enough to have our friends catch up with us. Otherwise, it was as if I was a stranger.

I shot off a couple of images with my camera, but Tom had left his in the car. As we walked back so he could grab his, we saw that we weren’t alone. The police officer was extremely cool, especially since he saw that we were indeed taking pictures instead of vandalizing or making out, and just patiently waited for us to leave.

After we headed off to greener pastures, we ended up at a wooded pasture. Of sorts. Lone Elk Park. It was nice and relaxing, especially the couple who thought feeding the elk would make the visit more memorable. Tom and I kept waiting for the lady to get a horn shoved in an uncomfortable place, but instead of an action-packed outing, it was rather staid. The elk wasn’t interested in the offered vitals and lazily wandered over to the rest of the herd.

I had never seen so many elk calves, nor had I seen so many congregating together. But it was a wonderful sight and made up for the lack of bison sighting. Which amounted to zero.

After the park, I wanted to try and find Lawler Ford Road, otherwise known as “Zombie Road.” It was getting late, so we stopped at the Long John Silver’s/A&W on Manchester for some grub. Deep fried fish and chicken along with fountain A&W. It doesn’t get much better than that. Except, did you know that you can get 12 hush puppies for a dollar? We soon found out that too much of a good thing can be a not-as-good-a-thing as it sounds.

Bellies full, we found the road exactly according to the directions I found on the internet. It’s an old paved road, about two miles in length, in Wildwood. Nestled in the belly of a valley of woods and other plant life, I can see how people get creeped out being there. The area is almost in complete shadow because of the amount of vegetation and water has created gullies, washing out the road in a few places and damaging the pavement in most others.

We didn’t walk the full length, but at some time I want to go back and see if I can find the abandoned shacks and beach cottages that are supposedly still standing. The road ends at the Meramec River and it was used mainly to haul freight, so I’m not too sure about the use of summer homes at the end of the road, but I do know that rail lines ran parallel along the length of the river.

It’s very obvious that the area is widely used due to the amount of discarded beverages – generally of the alcoholic kind – and other bits of random abandoned personal items. Trees were also tagged with pink tape, as if marked for trimming, as well as felled trees being clean-cut by chainsaws and moved off the road.

The name ‘Zombie Road’ comes from the stories of a man named Zombie who lived in a dilapidated shack by the river and murdered young lovers looking for an out of the way place. In the 70’s, a man was supposedly killed by a train and a boy fell to his death from the bluffs. Again, I’m not sure how much of that is true, but it makes creeping yourself out when walking the road so much easier.

We opted to cruise down to Sherman Beach Park and had a grand old time skipping stones and watching the sun dip lower and lower. I rather enjoyed wandering around the beach and watching Tomskip stones because he is way better than I am. When I am properly protected against the amount of mosquitoes that are in the area, I want to go back with him and learn his technique.

Yes Tom, I am jealous of your wrist action.

There was more girly squealing on my part when we left the beach, as there were little itty-bitty toads everywhere. We tried not to smush them, but it was nigh on impossible. And then there was tall grass to run through, before circumventing a shallow pit of stagnant water.

The town of Sherman is very near-by, so we swung through – although not without adventure. I took a road in the tiny little hamlet that turns from paved to gravel in an instant, so after turning around in someone’s driveway, we headed back the way we came.

Tom guided me over to 44 and we headed back to my neck of the woods. After all that, we needed some frozen custard!

We passed two school buses from Oklahoma that has bright strobe lights going to town on the roofs, and although I’ve seen crazy little siren lights on other buses, these lights were large and bright enough to be calling the mother ship to suck them up off the pavement. On any other day, it would have been merely annoying. But because of the nature of the day’s activities… it was downright weird.

Exiting the highway, we came full circle back to Kirkwood. Home of the best frozen custard ever. Except that the Custard Station was PACKED! It is good custard, but it was beyond crazy. And beyond rude. Very much a bummer, but we consoled ourselves with Ben & Jerry’s. Which wasn’t as packed, but was filled with extremely loud pre-teens. And lots of them.

But they were playing Nine Inch Nails in the store. How can you go wrong with a little Trent? And damn good ice cream is damn good ice cream. So we smirked at the kids, places our order and went outside to eat in peace. It was a gorgeous night, so sitting outside was probably the best course of action anyway. But watching the kids listed at the bathroom door worried me. What were the unseen children behind the door doing? Do I really want to know?

A trip to Borders to get Tom a map of Illinois for future adventures of his own rounded out the night.

Next adventure on the horizon? Castlewood State Park and how to view the Kaes House. If you have any ideas, I’d be happy to hear ‘em!

Oh, and I promise to post some pictures once I figure out how to upload them!