My Tennessee friends take me to a little town south of Nashville called Franklin where on November 30th, 1864 one of bloodiest and least known battles of the Civil War was fought.
Due to the incompetence of the Confederate General John Buell Hood the Union Army slipped by him in the night and fortified Franklin. Hood then compounded his stupidity by frontally assaulting the town the next day. Five hours, and 10,000 casualties later, the brave Army of the Tennessee was smashed.
I have always wondered how many of these suicidal, frontal assaults would occur in warfare if generals like Hood had to lead them from the front and not the rear.
Due to a late start and being tired I only make it to Chattanooga and spent the night there. Didn’t get to see the ‘Choo-Choo’ but did dine a wonderful seafood place call Bistro Bar. Service and oysters on the half shell were both superb. Only downside was Brian the bartender who was originally from Wisconsin and thus a Packer fan. Even that wasn’t too bad because, as Packer fans go, he was a pretty good guy.
Meet two delightful Southern ladies at the bar and after a short time we are fast friends and exchanging our life stories. I inform them about my Travel Blog and tell them I am going to include them in next installment, however, I am going to ‘fictionalize it up’ and add some steamy romance to the tale. Neither believes me for a second and they get a kick out of my lying. Anyway, Jenny and Emily it was so nice meeting you and best wishes to you both.
It is raining hard when I wake up in the morning, which puts an end to my plans to visit more Civil War battlefields so I bravely march into Georgia. Even though it is over 762 miles away I decide to try and make it all the way to Longboat Key.
Around noon I stop at a small town restaurant and am reminded how very much I love the southern accent, especially when spoken by sweet talking waitresses. As my waitresses comes by and for the second time drawls: “Can I freshen up that coffee Sugar”, she has me and I am seriously re-thinking my support for the Union in the Civil War. Later, when she talks me into some freshly made peach pie my eyes roll back in my head from the delicious taste. Seriously consider staying here permanently to listen to Gladys’s maple syrup voice and eating her sinfully delicious deserts.
However, road and sunny Florida call and, in my minds eye, I can already see myself taking one of my massive, full turn backswings and launching the ball 270 yards down range. (I can hear the groans from my golf cronies from here, as I literally have almost no back swing and they kindly refer to me as “pound for pound the shortest hitter in SD.”)
I pass the Andersonville Cemetery and Memorial in Georgia It was here that thousands of Union soldier prisoners of war were kept under unspeakable conditions and where thousands would die of starvation, dysentery and cruelty. The camp commander was the only person executed for war crimes after the war ended.
Because I am a student of the Civil War and a former soldier myself I cannot but help think of those long ago warriors on this rainy day in Georgia. Towards the end of the war Confederate soldiers in particular lived under horrendous conditions. Young men not much older than my 14 year-old ‘Little Brother’ Drake would march sometimes up to 20 miles a day, on poor rations, rags for clothes and many without shoes, even in winter. They carried a heavy rucksack and rifle. Then, when they reached the battlefield, they would ‘dress right’ dress’ and march into withering fire from the enemy. Incredible.
Later I pull into a gas station and see four teenagers hanging around a Dairy Queen. I am struck by contrast of these young men to their long ago Confederate cousins. These four don’t look like they could march 6 blocks, carrying nothing heavier than there I-Pods and cellphones. I don’t mean to be unkind to these kids as they live the life that was given to them, however, the long road is making me cranky.
The rain stops and then, out of nowhere, is this beautiful sign: WELCOME TO FLORIDA. Although I still have over 200 miles to go it is still a lovely sight.
When the temp hits 77 I throw back the sunroof and let the warm air blow in. It also helps to air out the car, which after three days on the road both car and myself can use.
I cross the famous Suwanee River of song notoriety and break out singing as much as I know. Since I cannot sing or know the words it is obviously a sign of getting punchy.
In addition to being ‘directionally challenged’ I am also ‘techno challenged’ and before leaving had my salesperson Carol at Vern Eide set-up my navigational system with the address of my condo in Longboat Key. She does this with her usual good charm but I suspect my many tech car calls drive her nuts.
Anyway, I have initiated this system way too early and have totally forgotten what Carol told me to do to dis-engage. So now this female voice nags at me every time I stop at a rest stop, which those of you who have traveled with knows is quite often. Before long that chiding voice becomes very irritating and find myself yelling at it to Shut-Up!!!
You know you have been on the road too long when you start screaming at your car. 
With 150 miles to go I am reminded of John Steinbeck’s wonderful book “Travels With Charlie” where he took off on a long road trip across America with his little dog Charlie. One of the last lines seems very appropriate at this time: “The trip was over, but I wasn’t home yet.”
However, after just a few more incidents of taking wrong turns a helpful employee of the condo complex comes out to the road with a flashlight and guides me to my home for the next month.
All and all I am feeling pretty good after such a long journey. Do have somewhat of an upset stomach but put that down to existing mainly on Ho-Ho’s and chocolate milk for the past 9 hours.
After a little un-packing I walk down to the beach of the Gulf of Mexico with the sun just setting. What a sight for a Dakota boy to see in January.
Down the Road with Dave Volk
Experts in their fields share their views...
What is the definition of crazy? That’s right, doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. So it goes with big city driving and me.
As I approach Kansas City it is getting dark……bad mojo for a guy who gets lost easily. Although I have a MapQuest to the rib place my brother is sending me to I make the mistake of calling to confirm directions. They give different instructions and once again I am wandering soul. Thank God the waitresses at Brian’s Rib place are saints and take turns talking me in. Burnt Ends are every bit as good as my brother said.
As I get ready to leave the waitresses get into a disagreement as to how to best get me to hotel downtown. Not a good sign. I sense, with all the time they invested in my well being they want to safely see me to the hotel, but wish they were in agreement.
I am lost within minutes and finally pull up to a white car with metro on the side, which I take as a cab. Ask the lady driver if she can get me directions to the Phillips Hotel. She replies: “Do better than that, follow me.” I suspect she is guiding me down there and then I will give her a spiff for the guide service, however, half way there she gives a short shot of a siren and quick blink of red lights, apparently to warn someone on the street to behave. She is a cop.
We get to the intersection of my hotel, and in a slow, exact voice, as I suspect she thinks I am a little slow, she explains how I go around the block on one-way streets and get to the front of hotel. I take down her license as I am going to write to the Chief of Police and compliment him for hiring guardian angels. As I go by her car I see the word ‘Supervisor’ on the side…doesn’t surprise me a bit.
Hotel staff is also incredibly friendly and helpful. So, although I am going to return to my ‘no big city’ rules Kansas City has been a nice surprise. Not only the burnt ends and grand historic old hotel, but more importantly the wonderful, helpful people who I met everywhere in this city.
FOUR STARS KC!
As I cross the plains of Missouri the sky is a brilliant blue and I see the contrails of a jet, zooming its way to the southwest, headed to Florida I am sure. Although I know this road is going to get long and lonely sometimes I do not regret my decision to drive for a minute. 
As the contrails disappear I notice a small plane to my left landing at an airport and I am reminded of how much Bill not only loved to fly his own plane but how much he loved airplanes in general.
Once when he was governor we were able to view the SR71 Blackbird, which was an incredible reconnaissance plane that could fly very high and very fast. On the wall of the hangar hung a sign that said: “Yea though I fly through the Valley of Death I shall fear no evil for I am at 77,000 feet, and climbing.” I would like to think my friend is at this very moment at 77,000 feet and climbing. He would like that.
I stop at Fulton, MO and find this wonderful Rock and Roll tourist stop and enjoy the nostalgia of place. When you are born and raised in town that boast that it has the World’s Only Corn Palace you have a certain affinity for tourist places.
However real reason for stopping is that Fulton is where Winston Churchill delivered his famous ‘Iron Curtain’ speech and they have a wonderful visitor center dedicated to that event.
“From Stettin in the Baltic to Trieste in the Adriatic, an iron curtain has descended across the Continent. Behind that line lie all the capitals of the ancient states of Central and Eastern Europe……… “
Sir Winston S. Churchill, in a speech at Westminster College, Fulton, Missouri, on March 5, 1946, titled “The Sinews of Peace.”
Ah, that Winnie had a way with words. He was even nice enough to pose for a picture with me.
As I get close to St. Louis the sky is black I drive through a good deal of St. Louis and do it with the deftness of a seasoned cab driver. Forgotten already is the ineptitude of last night’s IOWA adventures. (IDIOTS OUT WANDERING AROUND).
From St. Louis it is downhill all the way headed south through parts of Illinois, Kentucky and then Nashville my destination for the evening. I am picking up temperature with each passing hour and pretty soon it is 42, which is the same temperature back home without the minus in front of it.
In Kentucky I stop at a town called Metropolis, which seems to be entirely dedicated to Superman. Somewhere there is supposed to be a giant replica of Superman and although my love of tourist kitch is strong I am tired and still have many miles ahead of me before reaching Nashville. Have to catch the ‘Man of Steel’ statue another time.
Finally arrive Nashville and spend a great evening with my dear friends the former State Treasurer of Tennessee Harlan Mathews and his beautiful wife Pat. We spent hours reminiscing and I am so glad I have gotten the chance to see them again.
My travel blog, that was set to begin last Tuesday, has been delayed for a very sad reason. On Thursday, Jan. 12th I lost my longtime, dear friend Bill Janklow.
I thought it important to write just a few words about this man that played such an important part of my life.
Bill, Bill's grand-daughter, Lindsay & I at a Bears/Vikings game.
When one gets to my age you find that death becomes less a stranger and I would think that by now I would be better prepared for these sad events. However, for some reason, Bill Janklow's passing has been particular hard. I just wasn’t ready for him to go.
I will leave it to the academicians and historians to chronicle his time in office, his successes and failures, policies and administrations. However, I do want to say a few personal words about this man that I called friend and ally for the past 38 years.
First, and I mean this most sincerely, in my 40 years of politics and government; I never met a person who was as bold and visionary a leader as Bill Janklow. He was afraid of nothing when it came to moving forward on something he believed was worth fighting for or accomplishing for South Dakota. His mother always said it best: "Bill isn't always right but he is never in doubt."
There is an adage that goes: "There is a big difference between motion and action." Bill Janklow was about action. Getting things done, taking on the tough fights and leaving meaningless 'motion' to others.
He would bring that zeal, devotion and loyalty to everything he touched in his life; whether it was his family, his friends, his Marine Corps or his beloved Chicago Bears. However, an unknown to most people, he would also bring that fighting spirit and commitment to many people, who were simply down on their luck, and needed a fighter in their corner.
Like everyone else, my life will go on without my dear friend Bill Janklow, although, it will never be as interesting or exciting or fun and I will miss him very much.
Bill; you and I used to argue about the merits of your Marine Corps compared to the US Army in which I served. Like most arguments we had over the years you also win this one as your Corps says it best: Semper Fidelis: "Always Faithful."
Since my road trip had been delayed I was thinking of flying down to Florida, however, I had planned on stopping and visiting some old friends as I drove south, Bill’s death has made that part of this trip all the more poignant. You shouldn’t wait to see old friends. Also, some good old-fashioned windshield time is probably just what I need to do some remembering of my friend.
So, in the days ahead I will get on with my ‘Road Trip’ and hope you will come along.
I leave the church after the beautiful funeral ceremony for my friend Bill Janklow and head home to put on jeans and hit the road. As I turn the car on Sinatra is singing ‘Chicago’ on the radio. Know it is nothing but coincidence but the romantic in me puts it down to Bill saying goodbye for the last time as he gently reminds of that wonderful city where we had so many wonderful times. Go Bears!
After the past few weeks I am looking forward to some time alone in the car. I have loved seeing all my old friends and sharing the stories of our time with this incredible man, however, I am drained and need some time by myself.
I had loaded some good old fashioned 'traveling music' in my I-Pod to get me started on this trek…….Simon and Garfunkel's…. ditty about how we've "All gone to look for America"……Willie’s Nelson's "On the Road Again" and so on. This gets old before I reach the Beresford Interchange and I slip in a books on tape my 'Little Brother' Drake was kind enough to get me for Christmas. I like books on tape and this murder mystery will suspense fully take me 7 hours down the road before I find out 'whodunit'.
As I drive down the highway I am reminded that, over the years I have gained an appreciation for the wide open spaces of this land I call home. Especially in the fall when I load up the double-barrell and head out to Gregory County for the opening weekend of Pheasant season with my good friends the Meierhenry's. Beautiful, colorful time of year. However, in the dead of winter it begins to lose a little of its stark charm and I long for Palm trees and No. 1 tee boxes. However, this road headed south out of Sioux Falls is nowhere near as bad as I-90 headed east from Sioux Falls to Rochester, MN. That has to be the bleakest stretch of road on the planet.
I pass a hitchhiker on the road, and even though I could make room for him in the front seat of car I don't stop. Kind of sad that today's society has ended that great tradition. I hitch hiked a lot in my youth and never waited very long to get a ride. Also, unless they looked like Charles Manson, I picked up hikers. Once when hitching out in western South Dakota I was picked up by a rancher and his wife. As I climbed into the cab of their pick-up I noticed that the wife had a mustache. Kid you not; she had a mustache. I am not talking about Burt Reynolds type stache but a mustache nonetheless. I spent the next two hours studiously trying not to look at it. Given the very unglamourous work this rock hard lady of the prairie was expected to do I suppose a little female facial hair, between mates was no big thing. Anyway, they were good people and I enjoyed their company, mustache and all. I do not envy the poor guy back on this road with his thumb in the air.
As I go past St. Jo, Missouri I am getting into Jesse James' country. The James' - Younger gang were successful outlaws in their day. However, that ended when they left the friendly confines of Missouri and headed north into the bland land of Minnesota and traveled into the area where, much later in history, that bleak I-90 ribbon of highway would cut across the state. Their intend was to rob a bank in Northfield, MN, however, they soon discovered that the hard headed Norwegians, Danes and Swedes townspeople, most of them Civil War vets, had other ideas. Those members of the gang that were not killed were captured and only Jesse and his brother Frank escaped to the west and into Dakota. A couple of states south of this area they boast that, " You don't mess with Texas". It would seem to me that you don’t mess with Northfield, Minnesota.
As I close in on Kansas City I have decided to break one of my 'rules of the road' and get off and stay the night in that city. My brother Craig, he was the 'moody, morose' sibling of my childhood road trips, has convinced me that I have to stop at a rib place called Arthur Bryants and eat their specialty, Burnt Ends, which according to him are to die for. Also, he has me staying in a historic hotel called the Phillips. He knows I have a weakness for both and has assured me that they are close together and easy to find, even for someone as directionally challenged as I am. If I come out in the morning and find my car on blocks and stripped to the chassis ‘moody and morose’ won’t begin to describe my state of mind.
The hotel will cost more than my father probably spent on the entire trip to DC, however, I do not have his Great Depression background. More importantly I am not raising five boys and a wife on a car salesman salary. Because I can afford it I have adopted the philosophy of my friend Vikki who says: “My idea of roughing it is a hotel without room service.”
Hope to make Nashville tomorrow and spent some time with great old friends from my days as Treasurer. Weather was beautiful today but I am still firmly in Midwest.
I hate winter! In fact of all my friends think I am the best 'winter hater' of the bunch. Month after month of gloomy cold, ice slipping, misery. (By the way this mild winter doesn’t have me fooled a bit and I know it will punch us in the face with its arctic fist soon.) For that reason I am clearing out and headed to Florida for an entire month. However, rather than the usual 30,000 feet, 4 hour jet trip, I am going to drive.
After making this decision it occurred to me how long it had been since I had just hit the open road for the pure pleasure of it. Although I have traveled thousands and thousands of miles over the years during my political days I had to go back to my youth to find a time when I took a car trip for fun.
The first experience was when I was a teenager and my parents would decide that it was time to pack up the station wagon and go visit relatives on one of the coasts. These were nightmarish affairs where I was thrown in the back of the car with four smelly brothers who each came with a unique brand of irritation: The 'know it all' older brother; the moody, morose middle brother just entering the first throes of puberty; and finally two younger brothers who I am quite sure subconsciously convinced me to remain childless.
The Volks circa 1958
My father, being a product of the Depression, flatly refused to even consider paying for a motel. So, as we sped by motels with inviting swimming pools he would say: "I'm going to pay someone for us to sleep?!?!" So these trips invariably involved some type of Bataan Death March. A tortured journey along an endless road and endless hours until we could reach some third cousin, deep in Wisconsin, that my Dad had ferreted out of the family tree. There we would be spent a sleepless night on a hard wood floor with blankets and pillows surrounded by 3rd cousins, twice removed, who we had never seen before and would never see again.
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In movie terms these trips would closely resemble National Lampoon's "Vacation" with Chevy Chase. Just add three kids to the mix.
My second recollected car fun trips were, coincidentally also a National Lampoon movie, and involved those wonderful college day romps when we echoed the immortal words of the Delta Boys of "Animal House,” ... ROAD TRIP!!!!
Much better than my family trips I assure you. They would involve a spur of the moment decision made on a Friday afternoon to load the car with buddies and beer and head off in search of adventure and romance. The only thing that amazes me, as I look back on those trips, is how any of us ever survived our late teens and early twenties.
Dave's "Animal House" Bunch
This road trip will be different on a number of levels. First, the cooler of beer, beef jerky and Slim Jims of my college days will be replaced by a cooler of bottled water, Gatorade and fruit. In the back of car, instead of four smelly, irritating brothers, will be my golf clubs and summer clothes, which, if I was not taking this trip, would right now be languishing in some back closet awaiting Spring. My trunk is full of books. Mostly my latest children's book "My Grandpa's War". It markets very well to veteran's groups and there are American Legions, VFWs and Disabled American Veteran's chapters everywhere you go. Also, towards the end of my stay I will be attending a large reunion in Tampa of my old division from Vietnam, the 'Screaming Eagles' of the 101st Airborne. Whenever I get with my Vietnam veteran comrades I am always amazed at how old they look while I have hardly changed. Nothing like a good 'Peter Pan' fantasy to help you along the road of life.
My trip will take me south to Kansas City then hang a left across the ‘Show Me State’ of Missouri…..(the only thing I hope they show me is good weather). Once by St. Louis I veer south again and head towards Nashville. From there it is on to Atlanta and then straight south to Florida. I am staying at a wonderfully warm sounding place called Longboat Key.
Although I am going to come close to some big cities I am not going to visit a single one. This trip is about seeing places I have not seen before and I have seen all these cities. Also, and more importantly there is something in my hard wiring that turns me into a complete idiot whenever I cross the city limits of large metro area. Within minutes I am being screamed at and given obscene gestures by the locals as I go down one way streets the wrong way or make any other number of mistakes that vagabond rubes make. Invariably I end up in a neighborhood that resembles war torn Baghdad. No thanks.
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I will take my time on this trip. Even dawdle. This is about visiting old friends while I still have the time, still have the chance. Including that old friend that was once young, carefree, off-the-clock me. I miss that guy once in awhile.
I need to apologize in advance for the grammatical contend of these road blogs. When I write a book a good many people, smarter than me, scrub and edit my text correcting my grammar, tense, usage, etc., and I will have no such help while I travel. I particularly want to apologize to Sister Suzanne, my teacher at Notre Dame High School. She has told me that for years, whenever one of my books would come out, she would brag to her fellow nuns she was my English teacher, and who is now going to sadly find out that not everything that she taught me took.
