MissouriLife Articles

The Lords of Efficiency

Fri, 03 Oct 2008 20:11:13 GMT

Meet the hypermilers--getting 40 to 72 MPG

By Sara Shahriari and Callina Wood

Seventy-two miles per gallon?! It sounds like a beautiful fantasy. Or a hybrid car. But there are people across the country getting this mileage and even more from average cars, by modifying their cars or adjusting their driving style. Meet a few of Missouri’s hypermilers and see how they drive and modify cars to boost fuel efficiency.

1994 Honda Civic, 72 MPG

When asked to pull his car up a few feet for the photo above, instead of starting the car, Andrew Johnmeyer opens his door, and with one hand on the steering wheel and a foot on the pavement, he “walks” the car into position. The Fred Flintstone method is one of many driving techniques that helped Andrew get as much as seventy-two miles per gallon in his manual 1994 Honda Civic while living in California, before he moved back to Fayette this year.

Andrew, an avid cyclist who had been living car-free, began hypermiling when his job required him to have his own vehicle. Instead of getting on a waiting list for a new fuel-efficient hybrid in the thirty-thousand-dollar range, Andrew found a used car on Craigslist for one thousand dollars and spent another fifteen hundred dollars on materials for modifications. He also spent time on the internet learning about hypermiling. He is now a moderator at www.ecomodder.com, a web site devoted to both driving technique and vehicle modification. The online community has fueled passion and friendly competition among mileage enthusiasts. Andrew placed fourth in a mileage competition in Lacey, Washington, organized by another online hypermiler.

“The first step to saving gas is to drive less,” Andrew says. Carpool, combine trips, and bike or walk as much as possible. “Next, drive smarter. Anticipate changes in traffic. Be aware of traffic lights ahead, and if you see a red light ahead, lift your foot off the gas. The idea is to maintain a constant speed and to minimize abrupt stops and starts.”

After he learned to control his lead foot, he began making modifications. One of the most useful was an air dam that covers the front of his car, which diverts air away from the front wheels. Modifications don’t have to be complicated or expensive, Andrew says. He used materials like old election signs to make a grille block and pizza pans to make smooth hubcaps.

With Missouri’s requirement for gasoline to have 10 percent ethanol, high mileage is more difficult to achieve, Andrew says, so he continues to try new modifications. Currently, he’s building a boat tail that will extend from the rear of his car, improving its aerodynamic shape even more. The ideal shape for a car is a teardrop, he says. “The teardrop shape, which is bulbous in front and tapered at the end, makes it easier for the car to push through the air,” he says. (See MissouriLife.com for an updated photograph.)

Andrew says that many ecomodders, including himself, are former hot-rodders and car enthusiasts, only now their hobby has taken a more environmental turn.

“We’re still as dedicated as ever,” Andrew says. “We’d still be doing this even if they were handing out gas for free.”

2002 Saturn, 62 MPG

An apartment manager in Kansas City, Clint Mullins has got up to sixty-two miles per gallon in his manual 2002 Saturn, and he saves 30 to 40 percent over what he spent on gas in pre-hypermiler days.

“When you have a car that gets thirty to fifty-five miles per gallon, everyone wants to take it on their long trips,” he says.

Clint learned about hypermiling from online forums where hypermilers share information and debate tactics. At www.saturnfans.com, Clint found an advanced hypermiler with the screen name CheapyBob. Clint and CheapyBob own the same car, and Clint was soon applying CheapyBob’s alterations to his Saturn.

“The first thing I bought for the car was a ScanGauge,” he says. A ScanGauge tells the driver the gas mileage at any moment. It is real-time feedback Clint uses to tailor his driving style.

Clint uses low-rolling-resistance Michelin tires inflated to the maximum pressure recommended by the manufacturer. Many hybrid cars use low-rolling-resistance tires because of their low-friction tread pattern and rubber compound. Some hypermilers inflate their tires within the tires’ recommended range but above the maximum levels recommended by their cars’ manuals. People who want to avoid this controversial practice can simply make sure their tires are inflated to the maximum recommended by the car and tire maker. “If you have low pressure in your tires, you are wasting energy,” Clint says.

Clint installed panels over his wheels and a full belly pan (a frame and a smooth aluminum skin) to improve airflow under the car. The less wind resistant the car, the better its fuel economy. “The more I do, the more I realize how ignorant I am when it comes to aerodynamics,” he says.

1998 Acura Integra, 40 MPG

Kansas City resident Rick Harrell changed from a sports-car driving gas guzzler to an accomplished hypermiler who drives a 1998 automatic Acura Integra LS Hatchback. “My driving style was considered ‘very aggressive,’ ” Rick says. “I knew I needed to slow down for both environmental purposes and not to scare the living daylights out of my passengers. The problem was, all I could find was the usual advice (remove extra weight, avoid jackrabbit starts, get a tuneup, etc.) I knew there had to be more to it. After digging awhile, I found an entire online community devoted to fuel economy.”

Rick recommends that in-town drivers avoid racing up to the light only to stop and wait. Instead, slow a bit and keep momentum so a stop isn’t required. On the highway, he drives close to the speed limit or under. “The energy required to maintain a high rate of speed dramatically increases above fifty-five to sixty miles per hour,” Rick says.

Rick recommends that if a vehicle is going to sit idle for more than thirty seconds (in a drive-thru, for example) the driver turn it off because shutting down and restarting is more fuel-efficient.

Some hypermilers draft, which is closely following trucks to improve fuel efficiency, or they shut off their engines and coast for stretches. Drafting is dangerous because a driver loses sight of the road ahead and may not be able to stop quickly enough to avoid an accident. Coasting is illegal in many states and affects power steering and a driver’s ability to control a car.

“I do not condone drafting behind vehicles—the risk is too great for the fuel savings,” Rick says. “Coasting with the engine off is a technique that takes plenty of off-road practice before putting it into place on the streets.”

Rick has advanced his spark timing, installed a hotter thermostat, blocked his radiator in the winter to warm up the engine sooner, and sourced warmer intake air. All of these measures increase the efficiency of the engine.

Low-viscosity oil is another hypermiler secret. Thinner oil makes the engine easier to turn, but using oil that is too thin can damage an engine. Use the lowest viscosity oil your car can use.

For Rick, it’s once a hypermiler, always a hypermiler. “I was in a transitional period of going from being a horsepower addict to a hypermiler,” he says. “It took a few months to drop that ‘go’ attitude and become more relaxed. But the challenge became somewhat of a game. Even now, with prices as high as they are, fueling up isn’t a pain, but rather an exciting prospect.” He can’t wait to see how far he can go.

October 2008

Eight Seconds

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 17:53:03 GMT

By Jeremy Goldmeier

DUSTIN HALL EARNS his paycheck eight seconds at a time. Think
that sounds easy? Ask his coworker: two thousand pounds of bucking,
snorting rage. Making a living as a professional bull rider has its
perks—plenty of downtime, exotic travel, and hearty prizes for placing
at an event. But for those eight pivotal seconds, it’s the least desirable
position in the world of sports: hanging on tight as a wild beast does
everything in its power to dislodge you.

It’s a punishing line of work, and Dustin has the injury history to
prove it. But when he’s in the saddle, Dustin’s where he wants to be.

Growing up in the country community of Harrah, Oklahoma,
Dustin was immersed in bull-riding culture from a young age. It was
the kind of town where people like his father and uncle rode bulls “as
a hobby”—just the sort of thing to do for some kicks on the weekend.
Despite, or perhaps because of its inherent danger, Dustin was eager to
try his hand at the sport. His father was ready to oblige, but his mother
refused to see her son exposed to the dangers of bull riding. It
was one of several disagreements that drove the two of
them to a divorce. As part of the settlement, Dustin
could not ride bulls until he turned eighteen.
Even then, it took his stepfather to convince
his mother to let Dustin give it a shot.

His first ride was a common story for
novice cowboys. The bull turned hard right
out of the gate and sent Dustin for a tumble.
But Dustin got right back up to give it
another go.

“It wasn’t hard at all,” Dustin says of dusting
himself off after his first attempt. “I was
excited to do it again. Once you get past the butterflies,
you’re good.”

For professional bull riders, success is often not merely
a question of talent. To take the kind of consistent punishment that
riders endure—and bulls sure know how to dish it out—riders have to
possess an intense drive to compete. They are not necessarily fearless
men. Dustin still admits to getting nervous in the holding pen before
each ride as he waits atop his mammoth bull for the gate to fly open.
But perhaps more so than any other athletes, bull riders understand
how to control their fears and use them to their advantage.

“I think I do better when I get scared,” Dustin says.

The popular perception of how to ride a bull is to simply hang on for
dear life. But it’s trickier than that. What looks like chaos to the untrained
eye is actually a series of give-and-take between bull and rider.

“It’s kind of like a dance,” Dustin says.

The bull kicks; the rider sits up and then bows forward in rhythm
with his mount’s movements. It’s not so much brute strength and white
knuckles as it is sound balance and sharp timing. Riders can train on
horses and wobble boards in their spare time—or mechanical bulls, if
they’re feeling kitschy—but nothing substitutes the intensity of the
real thing. In his rise to Professional Bull Riders, Inc., (PBR) Dustin
relied primarily on his natural abilities.

“I didn’t exercise a lot,” he says. “It just all clicked for me.”

His first couple of seasons in PBR marked a stunning arrival. After
breaking into the pro bull-riding fraternity with six appearances in 2000,
Dustin stepped up his game the next season. He finished in the top ten
at six events in 2001 and won his first PBR contest in Reno, Nevada.
That triumph netted him a check for fifty-five thousand dollars, still
the largest sum he’s ever received for a single event. Dustin
doesn’t remember what he spent that money on, but
he probably blew a lot of it in a hurry. He was
still only twenty years old but already making
more money than most people see in a year.
In order to face the challenges that were
going to start cropping up in his young
career, Dustin would have to grow up fast.
Meeting his future wife Jessica helped that
maturation process immensely.
Jessica had heard that Dustin was “full
of himself” from other riders. Thankfully,
it turned out that they were just jealous, she
says. The two hit it off, despite their different
backgrounds. A Springfield native, Jessica convinced
Dustin to move to southwest Missouri, where the
couple and their two daughters currently reside. It was the first of many
changes Dustin would undergo as his career progressed.

“Bull riding was his life,” Jessica says. “The idea of taking a weekend
off to go fishing was out of the question. It was an obsession for him.”

But getting married and becoming a father changed Dustin’s perspective
on life considerably. He came to realize there was something
much more important to live for than just the action down at the rodeo.
At the same time, Dustin was getting a new lease on his spiritual life.
He had talked extensively about his faith with some of his fellow PBR
members, including longtime friend and roommate Mike Lee. With his colleagues’ encouragement, Dustin recommitted himself to Christianity
and began attending Bible study programs regularly. As he continued to
improve as a bull rider, Dustin matured more rapidly as a person.

These systems of support that Dustin had cultivated became more
important when his career hit the skids in 2003. Early in the season,
a bull stomped on his left knee after Dustin had fallen to the dirt,
causing severe ligament damage to the joint. As a result of the injury,
he had to wear a brace for several months. After a short hiatus, Dustin
tried to soldier on but suffered an even more devastating injury when
he broke his right arm in a second accident. That was the arm that he
used to hang onto the bull, and with it out of commission, he simply
couldn’t take to the saddle until it healed and strengthened properly.

There were more setbacks than progress with his injuries, and
Dustin wound up off of the PBR tour for two full seasons. He got
the chance to spend more time with his family and, as he underwent
various rehab activities, talked on the phone extensively with Mike.
But there was never any question that he wanted to return to competition.
Once he was healthy enough to start riding again, Dustin had to
rediscover his sense of timing. That was no easy task after spending so
many months on the sidelines.

“There was a while there where it seemed like I couldn’t ride anything,”
Dustin recalls.

But once he got back in the swing of riding, Dustin’s fortunes took
off once again. The 2006 season became Dustin’s dream comeback
campaign. He placed in the top ten at eight events, won the PBR’s
St. Louis event, appeared in his fourth PBR World Finals, and earned
over $125,000. That success has carried over into 2007, as Dustin
once again sits among the PBR’s top twenty riders in total points. He
attributes the success to his family, who travel with him all over North
America, and his renewed trust in God.

His favorite Bible passage, Isaiah 58:8, has a great deal of relevance
to his long journey back from injury to the PBR spotlight: “Then shall
thy light break forth as the morning, and thine health shall spring
forth speedily; and thy righteousness shall go before thee; the glory of
the Lord shall be thy rear guard.”

Dustin’s certainly not your typical Hollywood cowboy—he’s boyish,
soft-spoken, and a consummate family man.

“His witness is to be the best example he can be,” Mike says, “and
he’s trying harder than ever before.”

After Dustin’s brush with early retirement, he and Jessica think a lot
more about their future—including life after the PBR.

“It’s not going to be there forever,” Jessica says. “It can be taken
away quickly. That gold buckle might shine today, but it won’t mean
anything when you’re seventy.”

Dustin hopes to raise cattle after he retires from professional bull
riding and maybe have some more time to participate in his favorite
hobbies of hunting and fishing. Until then, he’s going to keep at the
sport he loves. Now he knows that while those eight seconds of excitement
might make his paycheck, life has a bounty of more rewarding
moments to offer.

Oct 2007

Missouri's First Poet Laureate

Thu, 08 May 2008 17:56:43 GMT

By Scott Spilky

As the state’s first poet laureate, Ashland native Walter Bargen has crisscrossed the state speaking, reading his work, and championing the power of words to move the imagination.

“Poems are more relevant than they have ever been,” he says.

Walter, the award-winning author of eleven books, has been writing for nearly thirty years. His work has appeared in more than one hundred publications, including The Missouri Review. He grew up in Belton near Kansas City and attended the University of Missouri at Columbia where he has worked for decades, first as a technical writer and currently as a consultant on testing with primary and secondary schools.

Last fall, he was one of more than one hundred Missourians nominated to become poet laureate; he was selected as a finalist in December and interviewed with the governor. When Walter got the news he had been appointed to fill the two-year term as Missouri’s first poet laureate, he was “surprised, delighted, taken aback, wondering what’s in store for me.”

What’s in store is a minimum of six appearances a year at public libraries and schools across the state to promote the arts in Missouri. Walter was inundated with media requests after the announcement.

“People are curious,” he says. “It’s the first of something.”

While not a requirement of the position, Walter penned a poem about the state, “Moon Walk Missouri,” which he read at the ceremony marking his appointment in the state capitol rotunda. “It’s about the need to tell stories and how that is an essential part of our identity,” Walter says of the poem.

That need will be a central theme of Walter’s message as he talks to people about poetry’s continuing ability to move us in our fast-paced, digital age—something he witnessed with the outpouring of poetry after 9/11.

“People find solace in something that is well crafted and thoughtful,” he says.

Walter penned the following:

Flying on Instruments

In the flashlight’s beam, he follows the frantic
flutter of a dusty brown bird up and down
the shed’s cobwebbed window, leaving dusk
streaked with dust and stars. This bird, perhaps
a flycatcher, tries desperately to fly deeper into
night’s glittering glass as he approaches and fails
at rescue before grabbing it with one hand
rather than scooping with two. He is surprised
by its weight, or lack of weight, and feels
uncertain how tight to hold a handful of air.
He steps from the door into the dark
and he almost doesn’t notice his empty hands.

To Keep Going

From far up the valley,
from deep in the willow thickets
along the creek, a birdcall
comes I don’t recognize.

Juan Ramon Jimenez wrote
that he would go away.
And the birds will still be
there singing. He was right,

he went away, and some of us
still hear him singing, in
the branches beside our houses
and far up cold creeks.

But there are those birds
that have left too. The last
dusky seaside sparrow died
in a cage behind beach dunes

in Florida, unable to call in a mate.
The shrike, the butcher-bird, Jackie
hangman, the strangler, all our names
for feathers on the same bird,

a songbird that goes against the grain
and with hooked beak breaks necks
of mice and other birds and sometimes
hangs their limp bodies on strands

of barbed wire where they dangle
like half-eaten laundry–their song
is disappearing too–along with
the meadowlark that has perched on

a fencepost in my garden and tilted its
head back, stretching its neck and exposing
a black feathered necklace as it points
its bill skyward, clearly announcing

spring, a yellow-breasted soloist
fronting an orchestra of greening
grass, it too is going away, and for
no good reason that we can understand,

and so there are fewer notes
to remind us of his going,
to keep us listening, to keep
us going.

Deuces Wild

They argue from one god to another─
slippery steppingstones across a creek
deep in forest. Ice cubes in a drink.
Miracles outdistance conclusions.
Birth necessary but not sufficient.
Death the absolute.
The more certain, the louder they become.
The more uncertain, the louder they become.
Bouts of paradise race around the table.
Heaven hovers over half-filled glasses.
Hell simmers in the other half.
Cat curled under the chair,
someone steps on its tail
and everyone is awake again.
It’s the last hand of poker
this Saturday night. Everyone’s losing.
Nothing left to bet, the center of the table
piled high with wings.

Breakfast with Asteroids

Two million years into the Late Pliocene,
consciousness leaps and crawls before any of us,
beyond clear beginnings of our struggle, when an asteroid
doused its fiery body in the Bellinghausen Sea,
names only we need to locate ourselves, our suffering,
amid ice sheets more blank than Hobbes ever imagined.
The splash went three miles in the air, sent a tidal
wave twelve stories high into the Pacific Rim,
and perhaps rained unnamed creatures on the Transantarctic
Mountains, explaining the “Sirius enigma.” Another
sixty-five million years back, an asteroid crashed
into Yucatan leaving a crater wider then the sprawl
of Los Angeles, dust blotting out the sun, extincting
three-quarters of all species--too early for us to worry.

This morning I’ve a headache. I’ve collided with at least
the meteor responsible for the mile-wide crater in Arizona¾
six hundred feet deep when it stopped, but I’m plunging deeper.
For weeks now, I’ve been dreaming that the trees are still
burning with light. I remember looking out the window,
astonished that after so many killing frosts, that so many oaks
are still green and rustling with wind. Is it the lifting of a dish,
then a glass, then a fork, out of soapy water, wiping them
with washrag and rinsing, then setting them on the rack to drain,
these stark daily details, what the living do, that sends me
plummeting through another barren season. The trees are leafless,
the blooded sun rising, the sky an iron skillet, the sink soon empty.

Visit www.walterbargen.com for more information.

June 2008

Twain's Ammunition

Wed, 02 Apr 2008 16:13:57 GMT

By Roberta Moores

Missouri boasts movers and shakers in American political, literary, and cultural history. However, only one figure represents all three: Samuel Clemens, whose pen name, Mark Twain, has taken on mythical proportions. Columbia will be fortunate on April 29 to receive a return visit, of sorts, from Twain, in actor Hal Holbrook’s one-man show at a performance in the University Concert Series at Jesse Hall.

In a 2005 interview, Holbrook talked enthusiastically of the show’s more than fifty-year run and pulled no punches in relating how Twain’s work gives him ammunition to take on the world.

RM: Did you ever imagine that your show would go so far?

HH: No! I had no idea! In 1953, my wife and I were putting on a morning show, playing historical characters in New Jersey high schools in an effort to make thirty-five to fifty dollars a week. She had to quit when she was expecting our child. I knew I could get booked doing the Twain “lecture” (that’s what we called them back then), by the same people who’d booked the two-person show. In January of ’54, I auditioned for a soap opera, and after five auditions, I got offered a job for two hundred dollars a week. I started crying. This was at a time when we didn’t have two hundred dollars in the bank! But an interesting instinct, probably born of my native New England instinct to be careful, caused me to ask if I could keep one of my dates doing the Mark Twain show,

The first time, I was so surprised by the laughter. I didn’t know it was funny – I was scared to death! Then I got to thinking, a person could actually do this. Nine or ten months later, when my story in the soap dimmed down, I got a call asking me to play him in a nightclub act. Ed Sullivan saw me, and Steve Allen, and put me on their shows. In 1957, we’d saved up nine thousand dollars to produce the show off-Broadway. The critical fraternity of the U.S. went nuts. They wrote astounding reviews. It was absolutely frightening. It was awesome; it could have grabbed ahold of my whole life, but the cautious side said, “Don’t let this take over your whole life. Keep it on the side.” Since then, I’ve done at least twelve shows every year.

RM: Performing that number of shows can take its toll. How do you stay fresh and excited about the show?

HH: Two things help. As I get older, I get more — what is the word — angry, angry or frustrated, about the world I live in, in many, many ways. I see a change in ideals, behavior, standards—an apparent weakening of the moral plane according to what I was raised to believe in. In politics, which everyone is concerned about now, the press has taken over the job of thinking for us. So second, this material becomes my “machine gun,” my opportunity to shoot down all the deceitful, crummy things I want to knock out, fired out of this material written by someone who was also fired up. He questioned our thinking.

RM: Do you add to the show?

HH: I do add to the show all the time, anywhere from ten minutes to a half-hour. This year I’ve added quite a bit. But what is very important — and this is very important to me — I do not update, modernize, or rewrite. I select the material; if I edit, I edit by selection. The point is: I don’t want to change what he wrote, because the original is much more powerful. That way, the audience gets a “double whammy”; they hear the words, and they laugh because it’s funny, and it’s true, but then they’re also thinking, “My God, this guy wrote that over a hundred years ago!” I do occasionally simplify some words to take the “literariness” out. Clemens did the same thing in preparing his lectures to make it seem more extemporaneous…but what I don’t do is edit a political position.

RM: For example?

HH: [Twain] hated war, but we don’t know what he’d think about the war in Iraq. He’s not here, so we don’t know. But I found a piece last spring to make people think — to question — and that, I think, I can honestly do with Twain. I create a piece on a topic to pry our mind open and put a little fresh air in there.

RM: On the topic of political positions, you perform excerpts of Huckleberry Finn in your show. The book is often banned in schools for being racist. What do you think about that?

HH: It’s obvious that Twain uses Huck Finn to attack violence and racism by its continuous and widespread popularity in countries such as India, Japan, and China…On a panel at an American Literature conference, I talked about re-reading [Huckleberry Finn] recently, and I kept hitting up against the word “nigger.” I put the book down and asked myself, “Hold on, Hal, let’s use our common sense. Was Mark Twain a good writer? Did he know what he was up to? Why did he use the word when he knew it was unpleasant. Because if he didn’t know, he was stupid. Well, he’s not stupid, so if he used the word to the point it felt like you had bugs crawling all over you, he was doing it on purpose—he wanted you to feel disgusted.” Like other things—a ringing bell, or a sledgehammer—that word acquired such a distasteful sound for blacks and ninety-nine percent of whites, that it helped Twain’s purpose. We know he hated slavery; I don’t know if he knew the effect Huck Finn would have. I like to think so.

RM: Have you ever performed in Hannibal?

HH: I played in Hannibal in 1956 or ’57, before the show was well known. It was in the Star Theatre; they had to cancel the Saturday movie. Fifty-eight people showed up. I’ve been a few times since then.

Sometimes I think Missouri lets “Show Me” get out of hand. I wonder if they know what they produced in Mark Twain. Hannibal has to keep working Tom Sawyer, and it pays off, but they need to get beyond Tom Sawyer, and get all of [Twain] in; shake themselves loose.

RM: What influences do you think Missouri had on Mark Twain?

HH: When Mark Twain said, “I am not an American; I am The American,” he picked his words carefully. He reflected both the good and bad in our national character. He came from this little place, and like anyone who comes from a small place, you get spots on you, and those spots are mostly wrong. But he left there and absorbed this panorama with his extraordinary memory and literary view, and it altered him.

RM: While there are many imitators, no one gives us Twain quite the way you do. Do you worry that your legacy will live on?

HH: Mark Twain is an endless fountain of reason and truth … no one is indispensable. All we can do is begin to stand in his light. We reflect and absorb great power from certain human beings. Mark Twain belongs to that platoon of great Americans.

April 2008 MissouriLifeLines

The Family That Plays Together

Tue, 29 May 2007 18:02:19 GMT

WHILE SOME TWELVE-YEAR-OLD GIRLS worried over boys and trips to the mall, Larita Martin of Versailles concentrated on playing the Dobro and traveling yearround with her family’s bluegrass band, The Martin Family. Now fifteen, Larita plays with professionalism that belies her age, as do her three sibling band mates. Jeana plays the fiddle, Dale the guitar, and Janice handles the banjo. Their father, Elvin, plays the bass, and their mother and their two younger siblings travel with them on a nationwide touring schedule, with the younger Martins home-schooled along the way. The most remarkable thing about this Missouri family is that until a few years ago, none of the children played an instrument. Inspired by a family band at Silver Dollar City in Branson in 1999, they decided to teach themselves to play bluegrass music. “When we came home from Branson, Jeana and Dale pulled my old instruments off the shelf, tuned them and said, ‘We can do this, too,’” Elvin says. Using videotapes as musical instructors, the Martins are selftaught musical impresarios. Since the band’s unlikely beginning, the Society for the Preservation of Bluegrass Music Awards (SPBGMA), a national organization headquartered in Kirksville, has nominated each member for excellence on his or her respective instruments, and Janice Martin is the 2006 SPBGMA Midwest Banjo Player of the Year. As a group, The Martin Family has been SPBGMA’s Instrumental Group of the Year every year since 2004, and in 2006, the Martins are also SPBGMA’s Contemporary Bluegrass Band of the Year. With a growing fan base, the Martins are a bluegrass powerhouse and a closeknit family. “Some families go camping or fishing together,” Elvin says. “This is what we do together, and we love it.” For information and a touring schedule, visit www.bluegrassmartins.com. —Kendra Thomas

Slow and Easy Saint Louis Rickshaw

Wed, 06 Dec 2006 22:11:04 GMT

The ideal way to explore a city, some say, is on foot or bicycle. But for many visitors, walking or cycling is impractical or tiring. Eric Brende of St. Louis believes his rickshaw is the perfect alternative for people who want to meander through Missouri’s largest city. He designed his rickshaw to accommodate four adult passengers plus the driver. Built in Indiana, it works primarily with pedal power from the driver, although a silent electric motor (about one horse power) can be engaged for uphill terrain. “I like being able to combine exercise with transportation,” says Eric, whose seated, aerobic workout takes passengers through downtown St. Louis and the adjoining neighborhoods of Lafayette Square, Soulard, and Benton Park. Licensed by the city, Eric drives the seven-to-ten mile per hour rickshaw year round, weather permitting. Many first-time passengers tell him they can’t believe how much fun the rickshaw is. Thanks to the support of several restaurants and bars, Eric provides free rickshaw rides in the Soulard area Wednesday through Saturday nights when Cardinals are not playing at home. He also offers historic tours of St. Louis, including Lafayette Square, a large restored Victorian residential neighborhood. A native of Kansas, Eric earned a master’s degree from MIT in 1992 in the Program for Science, Technology, and Society. He and his family moved to St. Louis in 2003 after operating a bed-and-breakfast (and rickshaw) in Hermann for six years. “We love St. Louis,” he adds. “Through the rickshaw, we’ve met all kinds of interesting people.” _Fees are $2 to $35 depending on length of the ride and the number of passengers. For information, call 314-520-7632 or visit www.stlouisrickshaw.com._ *—By Aneeta Brown* June 2006

Emily Hendricks A Miracle in Progress

Wed, 04 Oct 2006 14:35:20 GMT

Emily Hendricks’s resume is impressive: founder and director of the charity Crocheters Anonymous, March of Dimes family ambassador, ranked top ten percent in Prudential’s 2005 Missouri Volunteer of the Year award, and feature writer for the Southeast Missourian newspaper. She’s only nineteen and a freshman in college. But Emily’s successes have not been without struggle. Born six weeks premature with VACTERL Association, birth defects that affect multiple organ systems, including an under-developed heart, she has spent most of her life in and out of the hospital. A family album of her first year is a reminder that her life is a miracle. The four-foot-six-inch-tall blonde has made a big ripple for such a little person. She is proud of her charity, Crocheters Anonymous, and its 120 members worldwide. They donate crocheted items to smaller, lesser-known organizations for breast cancer survivors and young chemo patients, as well as to larger institutions such as the St. Louis Children’s Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, where she spent a lot of time. Within days of the Hurricane Katrina disaster, they had donated. “The point of the charity is for people who are addicted to crocheting, but don’t necessarily have people to crochet for,” Emily says. “If I was a perfectly healthy kid, I wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing. I’m more grateful for all the goodwill and charity I received, and I want to give others the same gifts I was given.” *—Michelle Salater* June 2006

Big Bluegrass

Mon, 02 Oct 2006 21:24:22 GMT

At a Big Smith concert, you see college girls wearing cowboy hats and dancing next to people clad in John Deere gear. You see nicely dressed middle-aged folks hootin' and hollerin' along with young neo-hippies. The music is eclectic too, despite the down-home attitude that holds it together. Big Smith, the self-proclaimed 'hillbilly band' from Springfield, moves easily from traditional bluegrass songs to acoustic blues and electric rockers. Sometimes band members sing in a spirit of conservationist protest; songs such as 'Barrel Springs' and 'Quarry Anthem' bemoan the loss of good land to development. Other times, as on '12 Inch 3 Speed Oscillating Fan,' they cut loose with comical, hoedown-style abandon. In between songs, band members banter back and forth, calling each other brother and cousin. They mean that literally. The band consists of five cousins: brothers Mark (acoustic and electric guitars, harmonica) and Jody Bilyeu (mandolin, keyboards, guitar), brothers Jay (drums, percussion) and Mike (electric and acoustic bass, sousaphone, mouth bow) Williamson, and cousin Rik Thomas (mandolin and guitar,). "We've been making music together at family get-togethers since we were little," Mark says. Big Smith officially came together in late 1996. Since then, the band has released two studio albums, one live gospel album, and, most recently, a double-disc album that captures its impressive live performance. Big Smith tours regionally, with regular gigs in Missouri and nearby states, and the band has opened for bluegrass heavy hitters such as Doc Watson and Emmylou Harris. Now, with their own record label, MayApple, based in Springfield, and with plans to tour Colorado and the West Coast, band members are primed to take their native Missouri sound to the rest of the country. "If we do our job," Mark says, "by the end of the night, we've got 'em." For information, visit www.bigsmithband.com. -Chris Blose