June 4 was a busy day. Like a driving-across-the-state-of-Missouri kind of day with lots of stops along the way and a little hop over to Kansas. (Map of our gallivanting and peregrinations.)
Jeff: Wake up in Columbia from wedding-dancing-coma and shacking at 1613 for the last time. I call my mother because I’m a good son (that, and I’m driving—you always gotta make those check-in phone calls when you’ve got a good commute). She tells me that she and Bill (step-dad) are going to NASCAR like any good Midwestern, blue-collar family does on a Saturday. They have extra tickets. I say, “Hell yes.”
Seth: Wake up in Joplin and ignore Jeff’s phone calls and demands. (Editor’s note: because he is legitimately busy with reporting on tragedy and devastation.)
Jeff: Stop by my favorite place in Independence, Cargo Largo. It’s the island of misfit toys with sweet finds, like Sperrys, Jack Spade dopp kits and Clarks.
Seth: Car troubles. Turns out his car just needed a little T.L.C. Come on, Seth. Don’t go chasing waterfalls.
Jeff: Go back to my homestead and consume various forms of food that I won’t buy for myself.
Seth: Back on the road.
Cam: Still sleeping.
Jeff: Hop in Seth’s car.
Seth: Let Jeff hop in Seth’s car.
Cam: Get up to go pee and then go back to bed.
Jeff & Seth: Arrive at Kansas Speedway and drink beer.
At the end of the race, the winner does a little dance.