At Kansas City Airport, I bid goodbye to Kim (boy I’ll miss her) and waited to pick up my next riders for the trip, Dr. & Mrs. Charles Bugg–Charlie and Bebe to those who know them. The Buggs are the kind of friends you wish you’d had all your life. Charlie founded BioCryst and Bebe makes crack cocaine in the form of pimento cheese and chocolate toffee. We all share a love of the outdoors, our respective pews at Independent Presbyterian Church, and beer. Mrs. Murphy and I are also enormously fond of Charlie and Bebe’s granddaughter Brooke, who remembered to send along my car cover lock with “Big Bebe.”
While waiting for the Buggs, I cleaned off the Cadillac. I’d rocketed through seven states without giving her so much as a wipe down. The cleaning helped the Brougham’s ego, I think. Many of my friends are clamoring for me to name the car. I just haven’t found the right moniker yet. Thoughts? Leave them in a comment on this blog and if we pick your name suggestion, we’ll send you a free Motorpool.com t-shirt.
With the Buggs landed and safely ensconced in the full luxury of Motordom’s Masterpiece, we drove immediately and without delay to Arthur Bryant’s. Bryant’s is quite simply some of the best BBQ on the planet–a place where I’m proud to say I once cooked in the kitchen while serving as the food critic for Southern Living.
We ordered “meat and fries” for everyone along with a pitcher of beer. While we devoured the back end of a cow, Bryant’s security guard kept a watchful eye over the Brougham (you know you’re in an outstanding barbeque shack when the security guy packs heat and the place is still packed).
Stuffed beyond words, we motored over to the Intercontinental Hotel overlooking Country Club Plaza. I wish I’d had a weekend to enjoy K.C. I consider it one of the most exciting and well-rounded cities in America.
A precious moment
A fine cup of coffee at Country Club Plaza relaxed us for the day and we were soon headed South on Highway 71. After a few hours, we eventually wound our way down to Joplin, Missouri. A curious sight arose from the highway. “Visit the Precious Moments Chapel,” the sign said.
How could we resist?
A few miles off the highway we found the chapel in all its precious glory. Gentle souls who love “Precious Moments,” stop reading here.
Precious Moments have a saccharine, dewy-eyed approach to religion. All the figures have big heads, big eyes, and a sad look about them. They give me instant Tourette’s Syndrome.
And here I was going straight into the heart of Precious Moments country. An enormous welcome center and parking lot greeted our entry to the P.M. campus. Statues of Precious Moment children, larger than life, decorated nearly every available surface.
Once we escaped the enormous Precious Moments gift shop, we found ourselves in the garden (which helpfully labeled the less-than-exotic plants with signs such as “Boxwood.”) A bride and groom were taking pre-wedding pictures near the chapel fountain. For some reason, the photographer suggested they climb the ornate fence, which made them look like they were trying to escape from an attack of deranged Precious Moments figurines.
The chapel itself was simply a horror. No other way to put it. Pattered after the Sistine Chapel at the Vatican, tiny dewy-eyed Precious Moment children gazed at us from every angle.
Other rooms led to a a Victorian sub-chapel and a stained glass window hall. When we arrived at the memorial room, where I could have bought my very own Precious Moments tombstone, I had to leave. Fast.
