We really took a "paid" Tour

An astounding bus tour adventure "just Happened" yesterday; it was suppose to be an uneventful trip into Southeast Missouri searching for wineries. However, when my wife & I take tours, something mystical usually occurs. These tours are not senior citizen groups, where folks use walkers, oxygen tanks, brag about how awful their illnesses have become, or flash stacks of grandkid photos…. No. The people we are touring with are ordinary folks seeking a specific vacation destination: Missouri Wineries.

Fortunately, this 12-hour tour was not as ridiculous, cluttered or dangerous as our Matzelon, Mexico trip, where we tried to catch Armadillos or stand in nests of red fire ants. Neither was it as crowded as our Paris trip, where we got packed into a tour bus that was locked among hundreds of other tour busses; And we had to keep pace with a snippy French tour guide named, Pauline. None-the-less, situations did develop here just as they did on other tours… we live with a hex!
This was supposed to be a quiet, easy and simple trip into Missouri " Wine Country ":

The travel brochure stated that our group would gather at 8 A.M. to tour five different wineries, enjoy a Gourmet Dinner with Missouri paired wined served, and return about 9 P.M. Sure ‘Nuff, when we arrived, the bus was waiting & warm. As we parked the car, I remarked " These folks already look like a fun group. Do you see that guy wearing a coonskin, Davie Crocket hat?" (There really was a portly fellow standing there with a big gray ponytail, which was sort of copper color with black stripes.) … "No, she said, "I see a hefty woman in green tights standing in front of the bus".

We noticed the bus was a plain wrapper white, without any logo or insignia. But we boarded, along with friends and other winos. This Missouri wine tour began. The tour director started with an overview presentation. Fortunately, there were no sing-alongs in his talk. Our friends pungently point out how hefty our female bus drove was, since her butt hardly fit the seat. Then, we pointed out the guy with his standout coon skin cap hairdo. Our observations become a foreshadowing of future events. Trying not being cruel, we decided the woman driver had bellied up to lots of bacon, grits and cheese food stops.

Well intended, the tour director introduced his assistants, who were all his cousins; they numbered 18 0f 32 people. He never discussed their marital and interfamily status. This meant his tour was built around family. We, the lesser half, merely filled in and chipped in bucks. They cousins were nice, accommodating, polite, and numerous, but the 18:32 ratio causes some havoc in later situations.

We exited The City unto I-70 interstate. About an hour into the trip, the bus pulled into a rest stop. The tour director informed us that our bus driver, Rosy, was experiencing chest pains, which meant that she might be having a heart attack. The Highway patrol had been phoned, and there was an effort to transport her to a local hospital. Immediately, we knew this was going to be a ground ambulance, rather than a Life-Flight helicopter. The first responder on the scene was a local police car. The officer ran into the bus to check. Her racoon-like hair didn’t phase him. He then called for a local ambulance.

Then, an amazing sequence unfolded before our eyes:

1. The officer backed his police car onto I-70, shutting down all eastbound traffic;

2. The local ambulance drove like hell on the wrong side of the one-way lanes to the rest stop;

3. Then the officer drove off I-70 to assist the paramedics from the ambulance;

4. Finally, those in assistance realized that Rosy weighed a heft 350 lbs or more; that two paramedics had to help her out of the driver’s seat. BUT:

1. We, on the bus tour, realized had she keeled over on the steering wheel when driving, no one could have pried her loose. We would have zoomed down the interstate as a lethal weapon. Had we collided with a gasoline tanker, we would have become French fried winos.

2. After hoisting her into the ambulance, one of the paramedics had to leave for work at his full time job; evidently these were part timers, saving lives when convenient. This meant that different part-time paramedic had to be called in as a replacement. Finally, the other guy arrived. Lots of time passed with her inside the ambulance. Then, a debate arose about where to transport her to which hospital. So, the crew looked on their fee sheet, and decided on the farthermost point in Warrensburg, MO.

3. Fortunately, Rosy DID NOT have a heart attack. Rather, she had a severe hernia, which caused excessive pressure on her abdominal walls, which were well layered from years of ingesting fried cheese and BTL sandwiches.

4. While her tummy/heart drama played, a 18-wheeler pulled into our rest stop. The big rig parked up wind from the bus. It was an empty three-tiered pig & cattle truck that was ripe with a fresh load of manure. The breeze wafted that barnyard smell over the area. But none of the other passengers seemed to notice. A small group of cousins uncorked a bottle of red wine to toast this audacious occasion.

1. Rosy’s exit left us without a licensed bus driver. This Tour Bus Company was located in St. Joseph, MO or about a half a continent away. Our luck was running true –to-form about bus tours: the Pony Express expired in the 1800’s, and we only had to wait 1 ½ hours for her replacement. Finally, our bunch was cruising down the Interstate, again.