During our 30 years of living on wheels, we crisscrossed the country countless times, hitting almost every state in the continental U.S., many of them over and over. And there were very few major cities we didn’t spend some time in. One exception was Cincinnati, which we only passed through a couple of times without stopping. But now that our RVing days are coming to a close, and we were on a sort of RV nostalgia tour, we finally remedied that deficiency, getting an up-close look at this grand old Ohio municipality.

We had a particular enticement for doing so: Ellie. She’s an old friend (a young old friend) from California; in fact, we’ve always considered her one of our “honorary daughters” (of which we have several). During the final few years of our theatre business, she was on our board of directors. And now she lives in Cincinnati with her husband Alex and son Emmi.

Together we all went to experience one of Cincinnati’s legendary attractions. No, not a museum or historic site. A supermarket. But not just any supermarket. It was Jungle Jim’s International Market, which has been wowing visitors for half a century. It’s worth checking out even if you don’t plan to buy anything — though you’ll almost certainly change your mind.

Jungle Jim’s International Market

You get a good notion of this establishment’s uniqueness as soon as you get a glimpse of its exterior. with its tropical motif, including a pool surrounded by lush vegetation — and, for some reason, an ornamental monorail overhead.

On the inside, even greater wonders await you, hovering somewhere between spectacle and kitsch, with grocery displays highlighted by such items as motorboats and other vehicles. Then there’s the “infamous privy”, a photo op old-fashioned outhouse. (If you happen to need the real thing, modern restrooms are nearby with their entrances disguised to resemble portable toilets).

Oh yes, and there’s also plenty of what you actually go to a supermarket for — food, an almost infinitely dazzling variety. When they decided to call it an “international” market, they weren’t joking. You’ll find sections of comestibles from all over the globe. There was even an extensive selection of Indian junk food, which we’ve become quite passionate about. We’ve always been fond of Indian food, and we’ve never been keen on junk food; but during our time in India, we discovered that the country has the best damn junk food in the whole world, so we consumed it fairly regularly. And on seeing some of it in Jungle Jim’s we couldn’t resist acquiring a fresh supply.

Back at Ellie’s home — a grand old house in a grand old neighborhood — we had dinner and did some catching up. Dennis and Ellie compared notes on their respective literary ambitions. And we presented Emmi, who has an interest in history, with an authentic Native American arrowhead, perhaps several centuries old, from Dennis’s collection.

As we drove out of town, we crossed the Ohio River near Great American Ball Park, which was lit up for a baseball game. This stadium is actually named after an insurance company, but if you’re going to call any baseball facility Great American, it’s quite appropriate that it would be the home of the Cincinnati Reds, the oldest team in professional baseball.

The next couple of days, we drove through Kentucky and Tennessee, where we saw a few examples of American small towns whose Main Streets had seen better days. One place we visited was Florence, Kentucky, where we happened to park near Turfway Park horse race track. Unlike many other racetracks, it seems to be thriving.

Now we don’t want to come across as stiff-necked old fogeys; we’re all for progress and change (in that order), but we confess that we also indulge in a little nostalgia from time to time. We enjoy taking a detour down old Route 66 to see the diners and shops that existed before the freeway bypassed the road, or that some people think existed, or that some people want some people to think existed. We miss the Main Street businesses that gave small communities their unique flavors before the Walton juggernaut schlepped in with a load of gewgaws from China and elbowed them away from the table.

And independent, small town racetracks were one component of that yesteryear charm. During our first couple of years on the road, we occasionally dropped into one of them to get out of the RV and mingle with locals in a warm place. The internet wasn’t a thing yet, libraries weren’t always open when we needed them, and this was before we discovered Borders bookstores (now also defunct, alas).And Dennis loved horse racing, so a racetrack seemed like a logical choice.

We’ll never forget the winter night in 1992 when we pulled right up to the entrance of a tiny track in Harrington, Delaware (normally you’d have to park hundreds of yards away), popped some popcorn, and went inside to watch a few races where our son became acquainted with the son of one of the jockeys. And in Ohio, there was a track that included an excellent child care center, so the kids could have fun playing while their parents had fun playing.

But these days, many of the smaller tracks are long shuttered. Those that have survived have done so by hooking up with corporate Goliaths and expanding into casinos, creating a whole different vibe. The others are gone like Borders and small mom and pop shops on Main Street.

In 1993, returning to San Francisco after our first tour of performing at schools on the East Coast and in the Midwest, we were stranded for several days in Holbrook, Arizona while our RV’s rear axle was being replaced. It was a great place to be stranded, as Holbrook might be considered the epicenter of Route 66 nostalgia. It’s the gateway to the Petrified Forest, and the home of the celebrated Wigwam Motel.

During our unplanned layover there, we strolled around town and stumbled upon, appropriately enough, the remnants of an old racetrack — already heavily overgrown at that time. Modernization was well underway even in a holdout like Holbrook.

Time marches on, and we wouldn’t want to stop it. But we’re grateful that we had the opportunity to witness such touches of vanished Americana before they began going the way of the dodo.

6/19-21/2023