Missouri Route 66 - Paris Springs

      Proprietor Gary Turner (top) can't wait for you to stop by, just so he can show off his restored Sinclair gas station in Paris Springs, Missouri, which he refers to as Gay Parita. When I first showed up in 2008, Gary was busy giving a tour of the grounds to a young couple from Spain, proudly pointing out the old pumps, the old cars, and all the antiques he had accumulating back in the station garage. I hooked up with them and tagged along with my camera. These adventurous Europeans were touring Route 66 on one black motorcycle, a Harley-Davidson, and playing along with open road Route 66 tradition, were dressed absolutely appropriately in black outfits and sunglasses. I leapfrogged from site to site with them and their hog for the rest of the day, and we even tried to have a conversation when we met up behind Eisler's store in Kansas. We didn't get very far with my high school Spanish and their English travel phrases, but they were a pleasure to meet nonetheless.

     The station at Paris Springs is where I had the opportunity to experience Route 66 from the other direction - that of a stay in one place proprietor rather than a constantly moving-on traveler. During a return visit in 2010, I sat in the shade on Gary Turner's little porch for about an hour with him and watched as he greeted the passersby. First to pull up were two old high school buddies about my age, who were driving 66 in a Corvette. It was something they had been planning to do since they were kids, and life had paused just long enough for both of them to fulfill their dream. A bit later, a retired couple from Canada wandered in, telling us how much they enjoyed exploring the U.S. in their retirement. This inspired a friendly discussion about the differences between Canadian and American cultures. I could really get to like this, I thought, as I sat back and relaxed with my new friends, all of us enjoying Gary's hospitality. But when two more cars pulled up to the curb a bit later, I realized there would be no time for me to meet the new arrivals, that I had more places to see down the road and had to get moving. I reluctantly packed up my camera and said my goodbyes, a little bit upset that I had to take my leave. The disappointment passed quickly, though, as I began exploring what was around the next bend.  Log Book: 553 miles motored on old 66.