"Welcome to Kentucky, where it always rains" said the roadsign. Actually, it didn't but it should have done.
Another day, another State. July 3rd saw me roll into Kentucky, the horse capital of the world .... even the Queen purchases lots of her horses from Lexington, which doesn't massively encourage me to trust that my taxes are being well spent, but is something of an endorsement for Kentucky.
I was staying with some English friends of ours, Philip and Fiona and their daughters Jasmine and Bethany, former missionaries in Tanzania, now in the US where Philip is studying for a PHD in theology.
July 4th saw rain, not just a gentle, genteel English shower, but rain similar in its intesity to the stuff that sent Noah scuttling to the ark in the days of mankind's infancy. The small town of Wilmore has the ubiquitous parade to celebrate American Independence and British defeat, a highlight of which (I kid you not) is the synchronised lawnmower display, which follows shortly after the parade of vintage tractors, which I was very eager to see, but the rain resulted in the whole parade being cancelled. To say I was gutted would be to deal in understatement. However, all was not lost, and a small bunch of Americans, led by an indomitable Mum waving the flag, and a small gaggle of barefoot kids all bravely smiling and waving, marched by intent on not being beaten by the inclement weather.
The rain continued unrelentingly, making outdoor pursuits impossible, and so we went to the local cinema ($1.50 to see a film!), where Philip and I watched a film called "42", while Fiona and the girls watched some Pixar, animated thing. "42" turned out to be an excellent film about America's first black baseball player to play Major League, a well made and moving account of segregation, courage and the triumph of spirit over bigotry.
In the evening we popped into a 4th of July party at some friends of Philip and Fiona's, before watching a firework display from the shelter of the car.
On the morning of my departure we drove out to High Bridge, where we were treated to a spectacular view of two rivers meeting, one full of chocolate brown water carrying mud that had been washed in from the banks, the other clear, with a very distinct demarcation between the two, and the iron bridge which gives the area its name, which was built in 1929 for the railway.
After a brief tour of Asbury Theological Seminary, where Philip is studying, and posing next to a staute of John Wesley, it was coffee, cake, goodbyes and back to the Bug and the open road. It had been lovely to stop off and renew my friendship with the Richardsons, but the Christian anglers of Missouri were calling, and so, via a stop over in Illinois, I heeded their call ....
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