Bernell DorroughSikeston, Missouri lies 146 miles south of St. Louis on I-55, a fart-sized community known primarily as the home of Lambert’s Cafe, “the only home of throwed rolls.” However, during the Halloween season the town houses one of the true pleasures of the Midwest, a 12-acre corn maze known as “MAIZE QUEST.” Having heard stories of teenagers being trapped in the maze for days, dying from thirst and hunger and ultimately turning to cannibalism, we of course had to see it for ourselves. Eight of us piled into two cars and set out on a pleasant Saturday afternoon for what could be either an evening of excitement or certain doom. How did our Sikeston Corn Maze experience turn out? Continue on, fearless reader.
7:00 P.M.
We rolled into the crowded parking lot to enter a fat man’s paradise: Lambert’s Cafe. A row of rocking chairs lined the front of the restaurant, filled with retired old men patting their bellies or taking pre-dinner naps. Inside, enough 1950s crafts, memorabilia, and wooden Jesus figurines lined the walls to declare it a museum. One whole corner was a shrine devoted to good ol’ number three, Dale Earnhardt.
A woman played 19th century ragtime music on a honky-tonk piano as the hostess led us to our table in the middle of a sea of finger-lickin’ Midwesterners. Before we even had the chance to order drinks, the allure of Lambert’s was upon us: a boy dressed in a blue shirt and red suspenders hovered in the corner of the restaurant, armed with two full pans of hot dinner rolls. Like the Roger Clemens of food, he whizzed the rolls across the room to every pair of open hands, except for the occasional behind-the-back show-off pass (one of which ended up in a woman’s face).
During the meal other greaseboys came by offering up their famous “pass-arounds,” which consisted of metal bowls of fried okra, macaroni and tomatoes, and sorghum. “Sor-who?” someone asked. “Sorghum,” said the boy, with confidence, failing to explain what exactly the sticky brown goop was. Like snot off of a juicy booger, he whirled the molasses-like substance around a stick before plumping it down onto a hot roll. Mmmmm, sorghum!
So fat and happy on rolls and coke, we barely had a chance to pick the meat out of our fried chicken and roasted hams by the time our food came. We sat laughing at plates full of food, knowing that we were in for full doggie bags and a late night dumpfest.
8:30 P.M.
A few miles down the road lay Beggs Family Farm, home to gigantic pumpkins, miniature horses, and a 12-acre corn maze. A mandatory precautionary video on the maze made us swear not to smoke, run, or swear (to which an attendant added “even if you’re lost”), or else we would be kicked out by the all powerful “mazemaster.” The design took on a Lewis and Clark theme, but it seemed that the real theme was “get lost and freak out because all of the paths look the same.” Wooden stands spotted the maze with clues and decoder maps to help patrons find their way out, but they were for wussies. The corn stalks stood over ten feet high, looming over us like abusive fathers while their tassels smacked us in the face.
After a long period walking in circles at the far corner of the maze while having whiny arguments over which way we should go, a mazemaster showed up to tell that the maze was closing. He bragged of being able to find his way out of the maze from anywhere, but we all knew he was full of shit. Once an hour and a half had passed, we saw the exit with orgasmic joy, not feeling the least bit bad for the suckers who were still left in the maze after it closed.
10:00 P.M.
Enticed by the nearby sound of revving engines, we made our way down the road to the Semo Raceway, where for $10 you can enter to race your own souped up go-cart. Except for two other patrons, we were the only spectators in the stands. We caught the tail end of what can only be described as a Micro Machines-sized Nascar race, where the fast and the furious come to expend their pent up road rage. The vehicles were comically small, but packed an 80 mph punch due to special alcohol-fueled engines. Luckily, we didn’t see any crashes or explosions, but every hairpin turn had us cringing with suspense. “H2O” brought home the glory that night, and he took his victory lap with pride. Before we could congratulate him, the lone driver took off into the night in a cloud of dust and exhaust, leaving us asking, “Who was that masked man, anyway?”
After the races ended, we poked around in the drivers’ area, only to discover a hitherto unknown culture. In this surreal civilization, racers tinkered with their pint-sized war chariots, operating out of trailers that housed makeshift garages, while kids in faded Dale Earnhardt Jr. t-shirts frolicked among the oil cans and spare tires. Cody, barely able to contain his joy, couldn’t stop talking about coming back to enter his own go-cart, the “Dirt Dinghy.” We’ll keep you updated.
11:00 P.M.
Despite having no idea where we were, our navigator safely guided us to both the interstate and, more importantly, the Boomland/McDonald’s/Amoco station. Rightly considered the cultural Mecca of Benton, MO, Boomland offers a variety of cheap fireworks for every occasion. Although the fireworks store was closed when we arrived, check out www.boomland.com for helpful info and even an online shopping area. The gift shop, however, was definitely open and rocking southeast Missouri. In addition to an impressive selection of specialty jams and jellies, the store also offers hand-dipped ice cream, giant fly swatters, and discount cigarettes. One customer also claimed he made the road trip from Memphis, TN, just to get his hands on one of Boomland’s fine slurpees.
As a supplier of Missouri lottery tickets, the store also houses several coin-op gambling machines, including “Arabian Treasure,” in which the player tries to knock quarters and Zippos stuffed with twenty dollar bills off of a moving shelf by supplying his or her own silver George Washingtons. As a local lad explained, “What you don’t know is that they push the quarters back every night after closing, so there’s no way to win. Used to be you could shake the machines, but nowadays they’re so high tech, if you try to shake ’em the alarm goes off and the doors shut at the bottom.” If not for this good Samaritan’s advice, we might have lost a pretty penny or, even worse, been picked up by the local police.
Having sated our curiosity for Boomland, we piled back into the car for the trip home. Classic rock radio station KGMO supplied us with all the Kansas, Jethro Tull, and Tom Petty we needed to make the time fly. As the closing frenzy of Peter Frampton’s “Do You Feel Like We Do” faded, we found ourselves pulling back into Shepley Drive at 1:00 A.M., a night of throwed rolls and corn mazes behind us. Students with a tank full of gas and time to spare, take heed: Sikeston, MO has the solution to all your weekend doldrums. Just steer clear of the sorghum, which effectively clogged our digestive tracts for days. Sweet sassy molassy!
More Information:
Beggs Family Farm and Corn Maze
Directions from STL: Take I-55 south to exit 80, east on Highway 77, south on Highway H, west at Junction U.
Corn maze admission: $8
Box office closes: 8:00 P.M.
Maze closes: 9:00 P.M.
Helpful Web sites: www.beggsfamilyfarm.com, www.throwedrolls.com, www.boomland.com