Billy Connolly's Route 66_ The Big Yin on the Ultimate American Road Trip - Billy Connolly [37]
The people at Cozy Dogs were terrific and the souvenirs were great, but something was not sitting well with me. Then I realised what was bothering me. In 1996 they’d moved from their original location. I knew the building didn’t look like the kind of restaurant that would have been built in the 1940s or 1950s, the kind of roadside eatery that a young Bob Waldmire would have sat outside, watching the world drive past. It fed into my irritation about parts of America rejecting Americana. They used to build roadside diners and restaurants that were very funky, but now they’ve stopped doing that. Instead, they build plain little brick sheds that all look like public toilets. The Cozy Dogs had a plainness about it that I found kind of sad. What a shame.
As for the Cozy Dog itself? Well, I guess it’s an acquired taste. But the chips are to die for, and the decor inside the restaurant is brilliant, so it’s still well worth a wee look. I just wish they sold vegetarian ‘not dogs’. Considering the restaurant’s association with Bob Waldmire, they really ought to have them on the menu. They’ve got his artwork up on the walls, so they should sell his favourite snack.
Leaving Springfield, the weather immediately improved. The sun came out for a wee while for the first time since I started my journey. The rain had been belting down non-stop and I was getting a bit bored with it. I don’t mind weather if it changes all the time, but constant rain and greyness really get to me. And I’m speaking as someone who comes from Scotland. So I know of what I speak.
I was making my first detour off Route 66 since leaving Chicago, and rode for what seemed like thousands of miles across vast empty plains of wheat, corn, soya bean and potato fields. Known as the Prairie State, Illinois has some of the most fertile soil in the world. The cold winters allow it to replenish itself, while the long, warm summers and reliable rainfall produce ideal growing conditions. The state produces enough soya beans each year to fill the Empire State Building more than fifteen times.
My destination was the largest Amish community in Illinois. As I approached Arthur, about ninety miles due east of Springfield, it soon became obvious that I was entering a religious community where the way of life had changed little since the current residents’ ancestors had settled there some 150 years ago. About ten miles from town, there was a road sign I’d never seen before: a black silhouette of a horse and buggy on a yellow background. The sign warned that the local people lived and farmed in a unique way, one firmly based on centuries-old traditions and practices. Then I rode past a field in which the soil was being ploughed by horse.
About four thousand Amish people live in Arthur, where they humbly follow their community’s strict but simple rules. Each family traditionally owns around eighty acres of farmland, which is used to feed the family and the wider community. They use only horse-drawn machines with metal wheels, and their main crops are wheat, oats, clover and corn. However, this pastoral way of life is changing for the Amish, who are struggling with ever-increasing land prices and decreased demand for home-grown, non-mass-produced food. In response, some members of this resourceful community are turning their hands to other skills, such as furniture-and machine-making, in order to supplement their agricultural income. Tourism is also becoming an important part of the Amish existence, as the cottage industries and country shops continue to thrive.
That’s why I found myself pulling up outside a large, plain wooden shed and offices that served as the workshop of Mervin, the Amish furniture-maker I mentioned at the start of the book. I liked Mervin from the first moment I met him.