July 11, 2010 – Day Sixty-five

It is Sunday, a day of rest. While most people were attending their favorite church services, we committed to attend the Shrine of St. Walton, aka WallyWorld, or Wal*Mart for the totally uninitiated.

There must be some sort of marketing ploy by the folks at KOA, since they appear to be the campground closest to a Wal*Mart. Here in Streetsboro, Ohio, the store was less than three miles from our campground according to my GPS.

But GPS’s can lie. Well, maybe it’s not an outright lie; maybe it’s just that this electronic marvel has taken it upon itself to misrepresent the truth. I followed the simple directions explicitly and ended up in a parking lot of an abandoned Wal*Mart.

Throughout our travels on this odyssey, we have seen many stores, shops, offices, and gas stations closed because of the economy. But the only time I’ve seen a closed Wal*Mart store is if there is another brand spanking new Super Wal*Mart just down the street somewhere. So I knew that new one had to be here somewhere close.

This was the first time I’ve ever spent any time in Ohio; all other times I was just passing through, driving from New York to South Dakota, or flying the opposite direction. Armed with limited knowledge, I decided to stop at another American institution, Burger King, for breakfast and directions to the new Wal*Mart.

When you ask for directions for the nearest Wal*Mart, the first words out of people’s mouths is, “You’re not from around here, are you?” I guess it’s too obvious, since EVERYONE knows where the Wal*Mart is. But if my GPS didn’t know, how was I supposed to know?

With breakfast in my belly and directions to Mecca, we headed off to restock our supply wagon. As I’ve mentioned earlier, a Super Wal*Mart is truly a one place shopping emporium; we picked up groceries, special dissolvable RV toilet paper, a new hand towel, and even a cheesecake with four different assorted flavors on each quarter for Nancy’s pre-birthday party, which we would be celebrating later in the day.

We unloaded our stash back at the trailer and then headed to see Nancy and Mark at their home.

Nancy was preparing a lunch of Greek pita burgers, barbecued by Mark, with a Greek salad, corn-on-the-cob, and cantaloupe and cherries. Their daughter Susanna assisted in the preparation of this scrumptious meal, We ate on their patio deck overlooking their beautiful backyard complete with a brook gurgling through it.

Today would be a day that Marianne had been dreaming of for a very long time – getting to go shopping with Nancy and without me. Now she could shop to her heart’s content and have an ally who would enjoy the ritual as much as she did.

Mark and I would do the proper guy thing: retreat to his awesome media room in his basement to watch the movie “2012” in Blu-Ray hi-def with surround sound on a monster projection screen, the sound turned up loud, and a bevy of overstuffed recliner chairs for our viewing pleasure.

I had the dogs with me, since they’re not allowed to go shopping (lucky them) and they were intimidated by the volume at first, but after a while they relaxed and became oblivious to it.

“2012” is a true guy movie, not a chick-flick at all. Things are constantly blowing up, car and airplane chase scenes are in hyperdrive, and the special effects are cutting edge. I don’t want to ruin the plot, but if you’re to believe the premise of this movie then you shouldn’t be buying any long term annuities.

The movie was even long enough to have an intermission. And that’s another great thing about having your own in-house movie theater: you can start and stop the movie whenever you want, and even rewind scenes that warrant a closer inspection.

After we left the subterranean pleasure palace and reappeared on the surface of the earth, where everything was intact, unlike in the movie, the girls came home, glowing from their shopping experience.

Nancy then proceeded to prepare a special dinner of marinated Bourbon steak which Mark cooked to perfection on the barbecue grill. Also on the menu were new potatoes, cooked fresh green beans, and homemade biscuits. This was to be Nancy’s pre-birthday dinner, so for dessert we had the cheesecake which just happened to be her all time favorite.

Their daughter Susanna, along with their son Matthew and his wife, Liza, joined us for this delectable dinner. As I remember, there were no leftovers.

For a birthday gift we presented Nancy with a coral, which she proclaimed was her favorite color.

To top the evening off, we headed back down to the home theater to watch a DVD of a live performance of the comedian Sinbad. His humor kept everyone in stitches as he skewered a multitude of stereotypes.

And on the way back to the KOA, we followed our instincts instead of the GPS, and made it home without a wrong turn.

July 10, 2010 – Day Sixty-four

We left the Niagara Falls area headed south through Buffalo, New York and after a couple of toll bridges and a short section of the New York Thruway, another toll road, we headed east through Pennsylvania and into Ohio, following the shoreline of Lake Erie. By the time this odyssey is finished, we will have traveled next to all of the Great Lakes.

My friend and fellow Miataphile, “Voodoo Bob” Krueger suggested I stop by Mentor, Ohio and visit the home of President James A. Garfield, since it was on our way and fairly near where he grew up. Bob also had become aware of my fixation of presidential residences.

Garfield was the 20th President of the United States, elected in November 1880 and assumed office on March 4, 1881. John Philip Sousa led the Marine Corps band both at the inaugural parade and ball.

But Garfield had little time to savor his triumph. He was shot by Charles J. Guiteau, disgruntled by failed efforts to secure a federal post, on July 2, 1881, at 9:30 a.m. The President had been walking through the Sixth Street Station of the Baltimore and Potomac Railroad in Washington, D.C. Garfield was on his way to his alma mater, Williams College, where he was scheduled to deliver a speech, accompanied by Secretary of State James G. Blaine, Secretary of War Robert Todd Lincoln (son of Abraham Lincoln) and two of his sons, James and Harry. Guiteau was upset because of the rejection of his repeated attempts to be appointed as the United States consul in Paris – a position for which he had absolutely no qualifications. Garfield's assassination was instrumental to the passage of the Pendleton Civil Service Reform Act on January 16, 1883.

Garfield became the only man ever to be elected to the Presidency straight from the House of Representatives and was, for a short period, a sitting representative, senator-elect, and president-elect. If sworn in, he would have been the first U.S. senator to be elected president; Warren G. Harding became the first to do so forty years later. However, Garfield resigned his other positions and took office as President, and never sat in the Senate, where that term began on the same day.

We were given the tour of his home, which is now maintained by the National Park Service, by a comely park ranger. Only Marianne and I and one other local lady were on the tour. Apparently Garfield’s home doesn’t rank with FDR’s Hyde Park, even though the home held the first presidential library.

He lived the property in Mentor for less than five years, dubbed Lawnfield, and from which he would conduct the first successful front porch campaign for the presidency.  Garfield’s wife, Lucretia, stayed a widow for the rest of her life, working hard to preserve the legacy of her husband.

From Mentor we drove south through Kirtland, home of the Mormons before heading west to the Great Salt Lake, until we reached the KOA in Streetsboro. We were going to meet up with a good friend of Marianne’s, Nancy Studebaker and her physician husband, Mark, in Hudson.

The KOA in Streetsboro was charming, complete with a lake for swimming and boating right in the middle of it. And it was only a few miles to Hudson, home to the headquarters of Little Tykes and Joann’s Fabrics.

We cleaned up our road grime and headed to the Studebaker’s home using a hybrid method of Nancy’s directions to Marianne and my blind loyalty to a GPS that really couldn’t find the correct address. After a jaunt through the countryside (that’s why we know about Little Tykes and Joann’s Fabrics) ,we finally found their lovely home on a quiet cul de sac in the country atmosphere that makes Hudson so quaint. After a little catching up on our lives since we saw them last August in San Diego, we headed to their favorite Mexican restaurant.

After dinner we took a quick tour of downtown Hudson, where a concert was being performed in the park in the middle of town. Hudson’s downtown it divided into two parts: the cute refurbished area and immediately behind it the new area made to look just like the old area. The entire place looks like a Norman Rockwell painting.

Back at their home we had a delicious homemade peach cobbler and then played Mexican Train along with their youngest daughter, Susannah. It was a wonderful evening.

And we eventually found our way back to the KOA.

July 9, 2010 – Day Sixty-three

We’ve now been on the road for nine weeks! I wonder if I’ll remember how to get to my house again. . .

It began raining last night and now it was still drizzling, and I was afraid that when we’d get to Niagara Falls we wouldn’t be able to see anything.

We left the dogs in the trailer and headed west to see the sights, and the closer we got to the falls, the heavier the rain got. As we approached the building that proclaimed itself the Niagara Falls Visitor’s Center, we were being waved into their parking lot by guys in those orange reflective vests, the kind of guys that look governmental but are really part of a well-oiled commercial enterprise. Being a dude from California, I wasn’t going to fall for that one, but after driving once around the block we didn’t find any available parking spot, so we had to become the tourists that we were and take advantage of orange vest guys, and their $10 all day parking fee.

Because of the size of our truck and the additional height of the kayaks on top, we didn’t fit into their parking garage, but instead were escorted to a great parking spot mere steps from the entrance to this visitor center.

Once inside, my deepest thoughts were reconfirmed: the lines waiting to talk to the “volunteers” were merely lines to hear the sales spiel to buy expensive combination tickets to the various attractions around the city. The ground floor of this building was just a huge gift shop with every imaginable schlock item available for sale that has anything remotely to do with Niagara Falls, including a Niagara Falls toothbrush – who’d a thunk it?

When we got to the head of the sales spiel line, we were steered toward purchasing a bargain ticket that would get one into and onto all the attractions for only $69.95 per person. When we asked how long this would take, we were informed it would take at least six hours to get through everything. When we told him how that we only had about an hour to spend, and asked how much it would be to ride just the “Maid of the Mist”, he became condescending and said that it was at least a 10 minute walk to just the ticket booth, and then the boat trip was only 10 minutes long. But how much was it I asked? $13.50. Great I said, I’ll take two of those. Unbelievably they didn’t sell those tickets here, so he quickly sent us on our way in order to give his spiel to the next group in line.

The visitor center did offer one free attraction, a view of the falls and the surrounding area from their top floor. Upon exiting the elevator we stepped into yet another gift shop, this one occupying the entire top floor of the building. If you didn’t find the kitsch/schlock on the ground floor, you were given ample opportunity to find it all over again on the top floor. I still didn’t buy the Niagara Falls toothbrush.

Because of the rain, the low hanging clouds and the moisture laden windows our view was obscured what to what would have been some fairly nice views.

We only stayed a short while before we decided to find the “Maid of the Mist” ticket booth closer to the Niagara River. As we left this visitor’s center, the rain really started pouring, we opened the little umbrella we had purchased earlier in Florida, but it definitely wasn’t a two-man umbrella, and my big butt and left shoulder was getting really wet.

Nevertheless we went to the falls overlook to shoot some photos, when we saw almost every one wearing a thin, cheap plastic raincoat with hood. We learned that these were given to all the passengers who boarded the “Maid of the Mist” boats. As the rain was becoming more intense we hustled into the “Maid of the Mist” gift shop – it was us and about 100 other tourists trying to get out of the rain. The place was extremely crowded and about every ten minutes or so there was another wave of tourists entering. It was then that I discovered that folks disembarking from the boat tour were forced to go through the gift shop to regain their freedom.

Well, I needed a souvenir from this place, maybe another T-shirt, when I discovered 60” golf umbrellas for sale for just a few bucks more than a T-shirt. This would be the perfect memento on a day like this, so, I am now the proud owner of a 5’ diameter umbrella with a “Maid of the Mist” stencil on the fabric. Much better than another T-shirt, and I could use it right away to keep my entire body, from shoulders to butt, dry. But because of the rain and puddles, my feet were still getting soaked.

We purchased our tickets for the “Maid of the Mist” and headed out on their nine story high observation deck which gave a great view of the falls, the Freedom Bridge, and Canada, but it was still in the rain with the accompanying low hanging clouds. An elevator took us down to the river and the boat dock. Just as we entered the boat, we too were handed our very own thin blue plastic rain coat – the uniform of the day!

We were only couple of about a half dozen people that elected not to go on the top level of the boat, where we would be at the total mercy of the elements. This also offered just as a clear view of the sights just like the folks on the top deck, without having to jostle the masses in order to get to the side of the boat with the best view. Plus we were able to hide from the worst of the elements when we needed to. Taking a picture soaked your camera, so I was continually wiping my lens with a tissue.

The boat ride took us right up to the American falls, where the winds, spray, and water turbulence was very intense. The boat stayed there a bit so everyone could get our photographs looking up at the falls rather than down at them. We then motored over to Horseshoe Falls on the Canadian side and hung around there a while too. This would be our only excursion into Canada, even though we would see this foreign country several more times on our odyssey. And the best thing is we wouldn’t need to go back through the long customs line when we returned to the U.S. side.

About 20 minutes later we were back at the dock and took the elevator up from the river to the overlook, where we proceeded to get probably the most dramatic photographs of the falls, since the rains had abated and the clouds were dramatic.

As we headed back to our truck, the rains started pouring again, but we each had our own umbrella. Other than wet feet, we stayed relatively dry.

Back at the campground we just relaxed in the trailer, catching up on email, and watching one of the two channels we could receive on our TV. Later that evening I tried watching our Netflix DVD of the movie “Amelia”, but about halfway through it I gave up from sheer boredom and disinterest.

That night we spent our second night among the European tourists; tomorrow we would head for Ohio.

July 8, 2010 – Day Sixty-two

We left Cortland headed for Niagara Falls, but first we had to drive by the northern boundary of New York’s Finger Lakes. We were also trying to stay off of the toll roads, since we’ve probably spent close to $200 on tolls so far. This decision also allowed us to drive through may of the small towns that make up this quaint area.

Like yesterday drive, these are probably more Miata roads than they are truck and trailer roads; I’ve made a mental note that I may have to come back through here one day with my Miata!

One of the towns that we drove through that really impressed me was Skaneateles. But first I had to learn how to pronounce it: "skanny-atlas" the preferred way, or "skinny-atlas" the common way. This village is named from and located on the shores of Skaneateles Lake, one of the Finger Lakes, which means long lake in one of the local Iroquois languages. It’s the cleanest of the Finger Lakes, with water so pure that the city of Syracuse and other municipalities use it unfiltered. Since we didn’t get a chance to stop in this charming city center, this was one we’ll have to come back to.

With all the hills, curves, small towns, and stop lights, our progress was rather slow, so we finally bit the bullet and used the Interstate system to drive the from just outside of Rochester to our KOA campsite, twelve miles east and north of Niagara Falls.

We arrived late in the afternoon, to a fairly full campground, but one thing struck me as unusual – I was only one of a handful of campers that spoke English, as there was a large contingent of Dutch tourists here, mixed with some Danes and Germans. The Dutch were only staying until they could track down a big screen TV to watch the Netherlands play Spain in the Soccer World Cup final, since the TV reception here was limited to just a couple of channels.

Parked next to us was part of an extended family from Connecticut that had rented one of those class C motorhomes with the huge decals on it. There were five people staying in the motorhome, and the other six were staying in a couple of tents a few spaces away. I was amazed how expensive these rentals are: $250 a day, plus 32¢ a mile, plus fuel, plus all expendables like propane, then include food and camping fees and the four day trip was going to cost close to $2500!

For kicks we ordered a large all-meat pizza for dinner delivered to our trailer – heck since we’re not spending the big bucks of a rental RV, we could afford to splurge tonight.

July 7, 2010 – Day Sixty-one

Like most mornings, I’m forced to get up around 5:30am because the dogs, Mollie and Coco, are getting restless and they need to go on their morning constitutional, otherwise I’d have the constitution stuff all over our trailer. I also try to find an area away from the campground where I can let the dogs run free, since they expend all their pent up energy that way.

This morning I headed for the woods right across the street from the KOA campground, and after I was far enough from the road, I let the dogs go. As always, they went bonkers, chasing each other at high speed and sniffing all the new smells.

All of a sudden I came upon a graveyard of about ten 1960’s era Saabs. Here they were in the middle of the forest, with no visible road, all overgrown. They were put here to rust away into oblivion, and I found them. It was an eerie site, but fortunately I had my camera with me to record this strange apparition.

Our campground was near the northern end of Otsego Lake and Cooperstown was on the southern edge of this lake. The source of the Susquehanna River, it is nine miles long, and although it is geologically related to the neighboring Finger Lakes, it is not counted among them. The lake was known to James Fenimore Cooper as Glimmerglass and was a principal feature in several of his novels, including The Deerslayer, Last of the Mohicans and the famous Leatherstocking Tales.

Cooperstown is not only home to the Baseball Hall of Fame, but also Hyde Hall, an unusually large home, which at the time of its construction, was the largest home in the country. It is neoclassical country mansion, combining the architectural traditions of England and America, is ranked as one of the three or four great buildings in America of its time. Built between 1817 and 1834 for George Clark, an heir to the governor of New York of the same name before it became one of the original 13 states, it is one of the few surviving works of the architect Philip Hooker.

But it is the Baseball Hall of Fame that brings the tourists to this area. Lots of tourists. We had to carefully drive through the town to get to a parking lot that would accommodate our truck and trailer. We learned about the large lot that was on the northwest edge of town that is also a trolley stop for a ride back into town, at the campground.

We parked under the shade of a large tree and put the dogs into the trailer while we caught the trolley to the Hall of Fame.

After four short stops, we found ourselves just feet from the big building right on the town’s main street. The courtyard was filled with people, most of them kids in baseball uniforms since there was a youth baseball tournament happening simultaneously in town.

Marianne wasn’t too keen on going through the museum, so she elected to go shopping instead, which was alright by me, since I’m not that keen on shopping.

Admission to the Baseball Hall of Fame is normally $16.50 per adult, but with my veteran and AAA discount it was only $9. I was amazed that they would compound discounts, but I didn’t argue, since I knew that I would spend at least that much when I got to the gift shop.

There was a line to get in, but it moved favorably, since it was usually a couple adult managers followed by their respective baseball team. It was recommended that the first thing one should see upon entering this shrine is the Baseball Experience, a digitally-enhanced, 13-minute multimedia presentation in the 191-seat Grandstand Theater which prepares visitors for the story of the game's history. It seems that everyone I was in line with filed into that mock-up of a baseball stadium, complete with actual seats, almost totally filling the theater. People sat rapt watching the show, and then everyone joined in singing, “Take Me Out to the Ballpark”, with some people more in tune than others.

When the show was over, I was part of the mad scramble to see the rest of this museum. It was getting hard to move as I was part of the unleashed “bubble” trying to view the exhibits. People were stopping, taking photographs, and even videos, of their favorite player’s memorabilia, in some places it was difficult to even just turn around.

I cured that predicament by focusing my attention on the only full-time San Diego Padres player, Tony Gwynn, and players whose careers took them through San Diego: The San Diego Chicken, Trevor Hoffman, Ricky Henderson, and Gaylord Perry, as well as announcer and former Yankee, Jerry Coleman. Considering the location, San Diego is about as far away from the HoF as any team can get, and it’s reflected in the team’s popularity with the predominately East Coast tourists.

People tell me that they can spend days looking at all the stuff, but I had had enough after two hours, and I was also getting hungry. After a quick stop in their gift shop and picking up a deluxe Baseball Hall of Fame T-shirt, Marianne and I rendezvoused in front of the building and together we found a restaurant in a somewhat German motif that featured hotdogs at a fairly reasonable price.

The trolley took us back to the parking lot, our trailer and the dogs. After walking and feeding the dogs we headed out to find Norwich, NY, where I lived before moving to South Dakota in 1960.

Even though Norwich is less than 45 miles from Cooperstown, I had never been to the Baseball Hall of Fame before. I guess it’s because when I lived in Norwich my dad wasn't much of a baseball fanatic, since we’d only come over on the boat from Germany less then five years earlier. Baseball wasn’t a big deal in Germany. But my dad did buy me my first baseball mitt when we lived in Norwich. I was the only kid on any team I ever got chosen on (last) to have a Gil Hodges autograph model first-baseman’s glove. I really wanted a Mickey Mantle outfielder’s glove, but I guess I shouldn’t complain, I could have ended up with a Yogi Berra's catcher’s mitt.

The road to Norwich was not only winding but hilly as well. This was rural New York State, and by the time we got there I surmised that the economy had been tough on this little town.

Finding my old home wasn’t too hard, heck, I had the address, 52 West Main St. But either my memory was bad or the street numbers were altered in the ensuing 50 years. The actual address turned out to be 53 West Main St. I knew the house was on the south side of the east/west running street, but the numbers on this side of the street were now all odd numbers. I betting it was my bad memory. . .

The duplex house was for sale, but even with a relatively new coat of yellow paint it looked tired. When I lived there is was painted a more respectable white,  It looked to me that the neighborhood had gone somewhat downhill, and when I saw the folks from "Deliverance" living across the street, I was sure. They keenly watched me as I shot a series of photographs of the old homestead, and when I approached them to let them know that I had lived in that house a half century earlier, they looked at me as I had just stepped out of a space ship.

After quickly photographing my dad’s former workplace four blocks away, and then my old school another three blocks away, we took one last tour down the main drag before heading further west.

That evening we made it to Cortland, New York, where we stopped at a visitor’s center that wasn’t too much larger than a two-holer outhouse. But what it lacked in size, it made up for in charm. Two very old ladies were sitting on little chairs, absorbed in their reading, when I entered. It was close to 5pm and they were getting ready to call it a day, but they were excited to give me all the scoop of the surrounding area, including where to camp for the night.

I had my choice between the Yellow Lantern Kampground about a mile away, or another campground another mile further away that was home to the New York State Museum of Country Music. Since we were only staying overnight, and wouldn’t even be unhitching, we picked the closer of the two.

The “YLK” as it is known, was relatively large, and we got a large pull-through campsite that was on level grass. We were just one hundred yards from the office, which not only housed a kitsch-filled gift shop, but also a laundry.

Just outside of the campground was a large field where the dogs ran loose, chasing each other, enjoying their freedom, and expending a day’s worth of that pent up energy.

Back at the trailer, they were pooped, but we proceeded to round up our laundry for our weekly purification experience. There were only two washing machines and driers, and neither was as big as we’d been accustomed to. Armed with a roll of quarters we had gotten from the camp office, we crammed our belongings equally into each, deposited our $2 per load, and hoped our stuff would get at least somewhat clean.

Forty-five minutes later, I came back and re-crammed our stuff into the two driers, put in another $2 per load, knowing well that all our stuff wouldn’t get dry in these overstuffed machines. After another 45 minutes we returned to take out the stuff that was dry enough, and put the too damp stuff back into a drier and deposited yet another $2. After $10 our stuff was clean and dry enough for trailer trash.

Back at the trailer, we put away all our clothes and fell asleep exhausted.

July 6, 2010 – Day Sixty

We made it to 60 days on the road!

We checked online and learned that the President Franklin Pierce home opens at 10, so we didn’t have to rush to get there. It would fit perfectly into our day plans.

About a dozen miles from our Keyser Pond Campground is Hillsborough, New Hampshire, Pierce’s home. Well, this home actually belonged to his father, Benjamin Pierce, a frontier farmer who became a Revolutionary War soldier, a state militia general, and a two-time governor of New Hampshire.

I didn’t know much about Franklin Pierce, probably one of the more obscure U.S. Presidents, but I was interested. Paintings and photographs portrayed him to be one of the most handsome presidents ever. He was the first president born in the 19^th century (on a side note, JFK was the first president born in the 20^th century). He served from March 4, 1853, to March 4, 1857, and the last president born in a log cabin, which is now located on the bottom of Franklin Pierce Lake, a nearby man-made lake.

He began his presidency exhausted and in mourning. Two months before his inauguration, on January 6, 1853, the President-elect's family had boarded a train in Boston, and was trapped in their derailed car when it rolled down an embankment near Andover, Massachusetts. Pierce and his wife, Jane Means Appleton Pierce, survived, merely shaken up, but saw their surviving 11-year-old son Benjamin crushed to death.  None of his three children lived to see him serve as President. She viewed the train accident as a divine punishment for her husband's pursuit and acceptance of high office. They went to the White House in the depths of depression. His wife wore black the entire time she served as first lady.

He chose to "affirm" his oath of office rather than swear it, becoming the first president to do so; he placed his hand on a law book rather than on a Bible while doing so. He was also the first president to recite his inaugural address from memory. He was sometimes referred to as "Baby" Pierce. The nickname seemingly referred to his youthful appearance and his being the youngest president to take office to that point.

Like his immediate predecessors, he proved powerless in his attempts to stem the tide of civil war. The Kansas-Nebraska Act, to which he gave his full support, was aimed at easing the conflict in the Midwestern territories by establishing popular sovereignty – the idea was to allow residents to choose for themselves whether their states would be free or slave states.

Unfortunately the results were disastrous, with Kansas erupting into a bitter, bloody conflict. What the nation needed was not a popular sovereignty, but strong decisive leadership. Franklin Pierce proved unequal for the task. In later years he openly opposed the Civil War, calling the bloodshed a tragedy and the goal the Union by force “an impossibility.”

Pierce has been ranked among the least effective Presidents. Because of his political leanings, he was abandoned by his party and not re-nominated to run in the 1856 presidential election and was replaced by James Buchanan as the Democratic candidate. After losing the Democratic nomination, Pierce continued his lifelong struggle with alcoholism as his marriage fell apart. His reputation was all but totally destroyed during the Civil War when he declared support for the Confederacy, and personal correspondence between Pierce and Confederate President Jefferson Davis was leaked to the press. He died in 1869 from cirrhosis.

None of this, except for the part about the his father, the log cabin and the house was offered as part of the tour we received from the cute little lady dressed in a period piece who was to give us our tour. She was the only person on site, selling items in the tiny gift shop, selling admission tickets to the house, as well as providing the actual tour.

She did however relate some interesting stories about the President’s home life and was eager to announce that the percentage of authentic items in the home was the highest of any presidential home. Her presentation was probably one of the better ones I’ve ever been on, since not only was she very knowledgeable about her subject, but her personality was a kick to boot. This was not a part of the National Park system, but rather a private vendor working in conjunction with the New Hampshire state park system. It turned out her father, a retired Army veteran, had taken it upon himself to preserve this little bit of history, and now she was slowly taken over as he was slowing down.

We were the first people to appear and for a while it appeared that we’d be the only ones to take the tour. But while we were waiting for her, two more couples arrived, one with two young daughters. During the tour, we heard the entry bell ring, and since she was the only person there, she had to excuse herself, and came back minutes later with another couple to add to the tour.

We were admonished not to shoot any photographs inside the house, but when she left to admit the last couple, I took it upon myself to break that rule. Oh well.

After leaving the Pierce homestead, we continued westward through the New Hampshire and into Vermont ski country, stopping to have lunch on a mountain pass with a great view of the countryside.

In a short while we were in once again in New York, headed for the Baseball Hall of Fame. A few miles outside of Cooperstown we found a KOA with its own fish-stocked lake, which didn’t do that much for me since fish hate me. We pulled in and got a site overlooking the lake, but the view was almost totally blocked by another 5^th wheel trailer.

Because we were just staying the night, we elected only to get water and electricity hook-ups, no sewer, and we didn’t even unhook the trailer, which would make leaving tomorrow quick and easy.

July 5, 2010 – Day Fifty-nine

This was somewhat of a sad day.

We decided that we wouldn’t go any further north, so Canada was not to be. It was time to start heading toward home again. We’d make some detours, but Bar Harbor would be as far east as we’d get.

We got up early and decided to eat breakfast at a restaurant. We rode our bikes to the same place we had breakfast a couple of days ago, Mainely Meats, which was immediately adjacent to the campground. Then it was quick service and good food, but today the service was ungodly slow. It took us about 20 minutes to place our order, and 40 minutes to get our food. If we hadn’t have been that hungry, we would have probably walked out. But then the delay may have been that their parking lot was the starting point of an annual run through the area which included several runners dressed in very unique outfits, making for a very interesting sight.

With all that time we could decide which way we wanted to get back to Oceanside. We still had several places we wanted to see: Cooperstown and the Baseball Hall of Fame, the house where I lived in Norwich, New York, Marianne’s good friend, Nancy, in Ohio, my sister in Wisconsin and my mother in South Dakota. We poured over our maps and outlined a tentative route.

Our first stop would be Cooperstown, but we knew we couldn’t make it in a day, especially if we decided to stay off of the Interstates and the toll roads. So we relegated ourselves to the back roads of Maine and New Hampshire.

Back at the trailer we got ourselves ready to travel after having stayed in one place the longest we did on this journey, six nights. If you included the time I spent last night getting ready, this took much longer than our usual amount of time. I pumped poop, dismantled our awning lights, retracted the awning, stowed the bikes, lowered our TV antenna, and cranked up the stabilizers. This entire sequence took about 90 minutes, most of consumed by flushing the black water tank again and again, making sure it was a clean as it could be, before we got underway again.

By 10:30am we were ready to retrace our route off of Mt. Desert Island, since there’s only one way in and one way out. This was one of the few times we would actually have to retrace our route.

I was also a little concerned whether or not Wal*Mart had done a good job with my oil change, air filter change, and tire rotation. It turned out that they had, since I had no problems whatsoever.

We only drove on a little piece of Interstate between Bangor and Augusta, before we were on our beloved back roads, taking in the scenic beauty of small town America, with its lakes, streams, and cute downtown shopping areas. Trees and forests abound in this part of the country.

I discovered that our route would take us past the home of the 14^th President of the United States, Franklin Pierce. Since I knew very little of this man, this would be an excellent opportunity to become acquainted with him.

But it was getting too late to make it all the way to his home before the tours ended for the day (a great reason to have wireless Internet in my truck).  So late that afternoon I found a sign that pointed us in the direction of a campground just off the highway we were traveling.

Keyser Pond Campground looked very primitive, but we didn’t mind. Like many of the older parks we’ve stayed in, a large percentage of the trailers were planted there permanently, complete with their attached porches, supplemental roofs, and carports. The color of these vacation homes was becoming as dark green as the woods they were in.

The site was a back-in site, which was as wide as it was long. Unfortunately road leading into our campsite was very narrow and we had to watch out for the trees that were dispersed throughout as I backed our trailer into the site. Interestingly, I had never seen a power plug-in box five feet off of the ground as high as this one was, for what reason, I don’t know. I had to use my 30-amp extension cord in order to access it, which was also on the wrong side of the trailer. Our neighbors were some of those empty permanent trailers that were illuminated at night by the glow of their solar powered garden lights. I would not see the actual Keyser Pond until I took the dogs on their constitutional the next morning. But here, on this deserted part of the campground, I let the dogs run free.

With the advent of nightfall, we retired to the Internet and then to bed.

July 4, 2010 – Day Fifty-eight

Happy Fourth of July!

Time to go kayaking.

Throughout much of the country, driving with two kayaks on top of our truck, we’d get strange stares and many questions, so they were always a good conversation starter. But here in Acadia National Park, about 20% of the vehicles have at least one kayak on top, so you feel kind of out of place without at least one. I like that.

We got ourselves together after our usual restful morning, and by 10am we were at Jordan Pond putting our kayaks into the water. There was a stiff breeze on this beautiful day, and we were the first people out on the water, but as we were heading out, another couple with their two kayaks put in as well.

We paddled toward what we thought were a flock of birds sitting on the water, but they ended up being some sort of science experiment.

I then paddled to the opposite side of the lake where the wind wasn’t blowing as hard, with Marianne following. We cruised from the south end of the lake near the restaurant toward the north end, near “The Bubbles.” The other kayak pair was about a quarter mile behind us and there were just a few people walking the path that goes once around the lake.

Heading back we did come upon a flock of gulls sitting on the water, and as I got too close, they all took flight, a dazzling sight.

As we headed back to the launch ramp, it was occupied by yet another pair of kayaks waiting to hit the water. And as I was walking to retrieve the truck from the parking lot to load up the kayaks again, I ran into another boater. By this time the parking lot was completely full, so I offered him my prime parking spot which he gladly accepted.

On the way back to the campground we stopped at the park’s visitor’s center which was totally packed. It seems that everyone in New England was taking advantage of the three-day weekend. The campground was full and all the hotels and motels had “no vacancy” signs out front.

I had hoped that the Canadians would still be here when we got back, since they said they’d be leaving at noon, when they would be heading home since tomorrow, Monday, July 5, would be a holiday for Americans, but it was only another working day for the Canadians. But they were all gone. Sad, I’ll miss them.

We retrieved the dogs, and took the entire one-way road through this part of the park. The road was actually two lanes, but because of the crush of tourists, one of lanes was almost entirely blocked with parked cars. If one wanted to see any of the marquee sites along the way, it wouldn’t have been unusual to have to hike two miles between the view and your car. It was hard enough just slowing down in order to grab a quick photo, but even that wasn’t worth it because of number of people in the way. A postcard would have to suffice.

Instead we decided to explore the “quiet” side of the island, where the rich and famous live and not that many tourists abound.  We took the loop once around this part of the island, coming across several quaint villages some with harbors filled with lobster boats. There were flags and bunting everywhere but there weren’t that many tourists on the road on this part of the island. Heck we couldn’t even find a decent restaurant to have late lunch or an early dinner. I wonder where Martha Stewart, who lives in Seal Harbor, goes to grab a quick bite to eat? Probably at home, eh?

We totally circumnavigated the island and then headed back to our campground, stopping now and again to shoot photos of everything that piqued our interest.

Back at the campground it was emptier since most of the Canadians had gone.

We ate dinner and decided not to go anywhere to watch fireworks, but we did hear them in the distance.

July 3, 2010 – Day Fifty-seven

Bar Harbor never celebrates the Fourth of July on a Sunday, so today, Saturday, was their Fourth.

We needed to get going a little earlier than usual for a couple of reasons: the Rotary Club would quit serving blueberry pancakes at the park this morning at 11am, and if we had any hope of getting a parking spot in town to see their parade, which starts at 10am, we’d better leave by 8am.

And so, shortly after 8am we left to go into Bar Harbor, eight miles away; we left the dogs in the trailer.

We left at just the right time, because we got a great parking spot right across the street from the park and only 100 yards from the beginning of the big parade.

Marianne’s eyes lit up when we got there since the park was also host to a little craft fair featuring the talents of local artisans. But before we could see the crafts, I just had to eat some pancakes.

The line into the tent where the Rotarians were making the pancakes on ten different hot griddles wasn’t too bad, and after only about five minutes we were paying our $8 per person to eat all the pancakes and sausage we wanted. They were serving both plain and blueberry pancakes, but it seemed that the overwhelming majority of the folks wanted those fresh blueberry pancakes. They also offered real maple syrup for an additional $2, but I hoped to find some sugar-free syrup, and when none was to be had, settled for the imitation maple syrup.

On the first go-around we were given two blueberry pancakes and two sausages each, from there we walked 15 paces over to the large dining tent, and scanned the area for a place to sit down and eat. After stealing a chair from another table, we were able to sit together at a table with two other couples.

Since they were done eating shortly after we sat down, we didn’t get to say anything to them except, pass the syrup. They were replaced by a young couple with three young daughters four, two, and two months, all of whom looked cute and amazingly identical. They were from Wisconsin and every year for the Fourth of July, another one of his siblings picks a place where they all meet to celebrate. In the past they usually end up at each other’s homes in Texas, California, or Wisconsin, but this year they did something different and all rented a house in Bar Harbor. What a great idea!

For the joy of everyone, a lady dressed up in a lobster suit came by our table, and the kids got to have their picture taken with this pseudo-crustacean. Marianne wasn’t quick enough to get in on the act, but caught Ms. Lobster later outside of the tent for a personal portrait session.

Of course I went back for seconds, since I wanted to get my $8 worth of pancakes, and this time around a Rotarian loaded me up with three huge blueberry pancakes, and I got some more sausage for Marianne.

After breakfast we headed over to see the crafts. There were only about 20 different exhibitors, ranging from jewelry and photography, to dog collars and dolls. Marianne looked at just about every item on display. As you can well imagine, this takes a bit of time, and with only 15 minutes to go, I hustled her off to the truck to get our backback/portable seats so we could watch the parade sitting down in comfort.

We sat ourselves down at the corner where this part of the parade started. Vehicles were lined up on the two cross streets, plus the street opposite of the parade route. People were quickly filling up all available spots to view the forthcoming spectacle. As we sat there waiting for the festivities to begin, an elderly lady positioned herself behind us and commented that she’d been coming to the parades here for over 60 years!

I took that as a pretty good endorsement.

Marianne asked her if she had lived here that long, she had, but now spends her winters in Florida. Bar Harbor is no place for wimps in the winter.

The parade finally started about 15 minutes late, par for the course, and just as the natives were getting restless.

After a bit, I noticed that there were no high school marching bands. There was what appeared to be a high school band, but they were riding on the flatbed of a truck, which if you’re any judge of things, you’ll realize that this would indicate it wasn’t a very big band. There was one marching band, a group of Scottish bagpipe players in full dress uniform (and I do stress dress).

As with most small town parades, this one featured its fair share of businesses marching, strange groups tagging along out of step, and automobiles, from an area Corvette club to a few antiques. Our favorite was probably the Shriners, who drove their go-karts up and over a truck with ramps as it was driving down the parade route. We’d never seen anything like it. There were more Shriners in the parade than any other group, not only were there about 8 go-karts, but another half-dozen or so were driving miniature 4x4’s, others on miniature semi-trucks, and still others on miniature boats on wheels. Hey noble!

When we thought the parade was over, we and the thousand or so other people started milling about, heading into the stores, or like us, back to the craft fair, since Marianne still had a few things she needed to touch. Unfortunately the parade wasn’t over, there were still groups trying to go down the now totally blocked parade route. This thing needs a bunch more organization. Maybe that old lady could set them straight or maybe a few of the Shriners.

Back at the craft fair everything was inspected once again, and still not buying anything, we headed back to the campsite through Bar Harbor’s the narrow streets. This turned into a full-fledged traffic jam in this little burg, and it took us about 45 minutes to get back.

We then took the dogs to a part of the campground where they could run free, away from all the other campers. They had a great time chasing each other, and we came upon a huge patch of wild blueberries. We stooped over and picked enough for two meals, with the dogs wondering what we thought was so great about these little things.

Later on we took our bicycles and rode them out of the campground and across the street to a miniature golf site. For $8.50 per person we had our choice of two different courses in this pirate themed attraction, the easy or the hard. We picked the easy one.

This is the kind of golf I like, other than one very tricky hole, I shot par or better on all of the holes. I think I could become a professional putt putt golf player if they had such a tour. Think about it, you only need one club, you don’t need a cart, the courses are in the best tourist traps in the country, you can play 18 holes in about 30 minutes, you don’t have to worry about losing a ball, and even at $8.50 a round it’s much cheaper than the three hour version. Instead of the PGA, it would be the PPPGA, The Professional Putt Putt Golf Association.

That evening I headed back over to the Canadians next door and their campfire, while Marianne stayed inside, reading and emailing.

July 2, 2010 – Day Fifty-six

Wally World!

It’s hard to believe but we’ve put 5,000 miles on the truck since our last oil change in Montgomery, Alabama. We needed to restock supplies, so we headed to Ellsworth, across the bridge back to the mainland, to the Super Wal*Mart. Since these stores sell just about anything you could need, plus they have an auto service center, I decided to try my luck to see if I could get them to do an oil change on my diesel Ford F-250.

Twenty minutes later we were in front of the Wal*Mart service center, and yes, they could do an oil change on my truck. Great I said, and while you’re at it, could you rotate and balance the tires as well? Sure. And how long will this take? Oh, about an hour. Perfect.

We left the truck and headed into the store armed with a shopping cart which we intended to completely fill up.

We bought everything from toilet paper to ice cream (the 100 calorie per serving type – you may remember that I have a fond weakness for ice cream). Marianne bought a $7 waterproof blue watch for kayaking, I bought a plastic bin with lid to store my papers so the dogs wouldn’t get into them again, as well as a brush to clean the truck and trailer in the event we ever get close enough to running water where it’s legal to wash your vehicle.

After an hour of shopping and perusing, I headed back to the auto service department, where they had only finished rotating and balancing the tires. They still needed to change the oil, but don’t worry, they said, that should only take about 20 minutes, and by the way, do you want us to check your air filter, too? Sure, why not.

It took them 20 minutes to figure out how to get the paper element out of the filter, and when they did, it didn’t look all that bad to me, but what the heck, it wouldn’t hurt since it’s probably due according to my recollection. It took another 15 minutes to get it in. And wouldn’t you know it, my truck doesn’t take a simple air filter, oh no, this thing is as big as a Volkswagen and costs $73. Ouch. Oh well, at least now it’s done.

All this time our groceries were starting to get warm, especially the ice cream. In the interest of food safety, I ate two of the ice cream bars.

It was going slower then everyone anticipated, so we decided to put our bag of frozen goodies back into the frozen foods department while we got a bite to eat. Now most Super Wal*Marts I’ve been to have a McDonald’s at least. Not this one.

This one had a Dunkin’ Donuts, which if you’ve ever been on the East Coast is never more than 100 steps from wherever you may be. I wasn’t too excited about having donuts for lunch, being a diabetic and all, and after having eaten those two ice creams bars. But now they serve lunch, including a ham and cheese sandwich. Great, I’ll have one of those. No, we’re out.

So Marianne and I settled for a chicken parmesan sandwich, which we got within a couple of minutes after it had been nuked in the microwave. Marianne wasn’t looking too good, the stress of waiting mixed with the restaurant choice, was wearing on her.

After lunch, we retrieved our bag of frozen food from their freezer and headed back to the auto service department.

Bad news. They had run out of the synthetic Shell Rotella oil they were using to fill my truck. It’s somewhat understandable since the truck uses 15 quarts of oil. But why me, why now?

They had to run to the local NAPA store to pick up another 5 quarts of oil. And they now were feeling embarrassed and sorry for me, so they gave me a $20 discount, plus they gave me the rest of the oil they didn’t have to pour into the truck.

Three hours after we dropped it off, we were finally ready to head back to the trailer.

I was exhausted, so I proceeded to take a two hour nap.

When I woke up, I heard the distinct bell of an ice cream truck echoing throughout the campground. I’d never heard this sound in a campground before. And I never did see an ice cream truck, but rather, a couple in a Ford station wagon. He was holding a bell out of his window and ringing it, yelling, “Pies, get your fresh baked pies…”

I’m a sucker for fresh baked pies harked at campgrounds, so I strolled over, and asked her what kind of pies she had. Apple, blueberry, strawberry/rhubarb. . . .

Strawberry/rhubarb? That was all I needed to hear. And after giving the lady $16 for a homebaked pie, I was all smiles. Along the way she told me that this was their 22^nd year of doing this in the campground.

Let me see, $16 per pie, maybe starting out with 30 pies, that’s almost $500. Do that for the three month season and it’s over $40,000! That’s the business I want to be in. Make a note of that.

For dinner we had corn on the cob we picked up at Wal*Mart and for dessert we had some of the strawberry/rhubarb pie with whipped cream. Heaven. Now that’s camping.

After dinner I spent the evening with the Canadians next door and had a great time by their campfire getting to know them all better.

Before I knew it, it was time to hit the hay. Tomorrow is another day.

July 1, 2010 – Day Fifty-five

Omigosh! It’s July already. It can’t be!

But it is. And we had a rude awakening.

This morning Marianne was the first to get out of bed, and when she opened the door separating the living area from the sleeping area, she gasped. It had looked like the dog had pooped all over the place. There were plentiful small brown mounds dotting the trailer floor.

But Marianne didn’t have her contacts in so she couldn’t see what it really was – shreds of the plush brown bath rug that Coco had apparently snagged by stretching paws underneath the aforementioned door. Once she was able to pull enough of it under the door with her paws, she grabbed it with her teeth, and then dragged the rest of it into the living area, where the dogs are relegated now while we sleep.

Once it was in their total control, they went to town on it. And of course when Marianne caught Molly and Coco at it, they both gave her their classic innocent look. When that didn’t work, they looked at each other as if to blame the other for their misdeeds.

I don’t know why dogs love to demolish bath rugs. Our previous Miniature Schnauzer, Mitzi, had the same mean streak. She’d go after bath rugs in the trailer and both bathrooms at home. Whenever we left home or the trailer, she would punish us with bath rug destruction. As a result, we had to close any doors to bath rooms to avoid further damage whenever we left.

So add bath rugs to receipts and facial tissues as items to totally entertain our dogs.

Once the mess got cleaned up, and we were done lollygagging, it was time to see Acadia National Park, the first national park east of the Mississippi River. The park first attained federal status in 1916 when President Woodrow Wilson, established it as “Sieur de Monts National Monument”, to be administered by the National Park Service. Three years later it did became a national park, with the new name “Lafayette National Park” in honor of the Marquis de Lafayette, an influential French supporter of the American Revolution. Ten years later, park's name was changed yet again to “Acadia National Park”.

The Acadians were the French Catholics who settled in the area but who where hunted, massacred and driven out by the English who didn’t want the French, nor Catholics, in what they considered was their area of the New World, and which would eventually become Canada. Mount Desert Island was as far south as the Acadians settled. Before the mid 18^th century French and Indian War, the English governor declared open season on the Acadians, forcing many to flee in order to avoid being killed. But it was that war that practically eliminated all the remaining Acadians from the area; those that weren’t killed, or who managed to somehow escape, were dispersed among the American Colonies, purposely dividing families. Others were shipped back to France, where they were treated much like cattle in the hold of a ship. There are many heartbreaking stories of these times, but the most notable was the Henry Wadsworth Longfellow poem, “Evangeline, A Tale of Acadie” published in 1847. It became his most famous work, and forever altered the consciousness of Americans about the plight of the Acadians.

Like Evangeline, the luckiest Acadians to be deported ended up in New Orleans, which at the time was a Spanish possession. The Spanish were not only Catholic, but despised the British as well. Yet, even though Louisiana was about as far as the Acadians could get from their homeland, they flourished in this area. The name Acadian became bastardized into Cajun, and today, over 400,000 descendents of those disposed people live in Louisiana, the largest Acadian population anywhere.

From 1915 to 1933, the wealthy philanthropist John D. Rockefeller, Jr. financed, designed, and directed the construction of a network of carriage trails throughout the park. Along with some of America’s wealthiest people, the Rockefeller’s built huge “summer homes” in the area, to get out of the heat of New York City. Their summer vacations were spent at the Eyrie, a vast rambling 100-room mansion in Seal Harbor on the southeast shore of Mount Desert Island, with neighbors and friends such as members of the Henry Ford family, along with a large retinue of servants, French tutors and governesses. Unfortunately the mansion was demolished by the family in the early 1960’s.

People have been drawn to the rugged coast of Maine throughout history. Awed by its beauty and diversity, and armed with the influence of the rich and famous of the early 20th-century, Acadia National Park has flourished. It is now New England's most popular vacation destination. Today visitors come to Acadia to hike granite peaks, bike historic carriage roads, or relax and enjoy the scenery.

Our first jaunt into the park with the dogs was to head up to the top of Cadillac Mountain. At 1,532 feet, it is the highest point along the North Atlantic seaboard and is the first place to view sunrise in the United States from October 7 through March 6. On top, the vistas offered views for miles in all directions, from out into the Atlantic, the various islands both large and small, as well as back to the Maine mainland.

As everywhere, the dogs are a people magnet for both young and old alike. Kids love petting Coco, who is so glad to get the attention she will strain at her leash trying to jump up on her latest victim. Molly on the other had, still doesn’t like kids too much, so she’ll shirk away, but then is forced to acquiesce when she sees Coco getting all of the attention. Old people come up and lament how much they miss their dogs at home.

We were also scoping out possible places to go kayaking. Jordon Pond, which is practically in the middle of the island, is a perfect spot, since it even has a boat ramp for launching. I don’t know why it’s called a pond since it is larger than many lakes I’ve been in.

Two knobs sit at one end of Jordan Pond called the North and South Bubbles. The Jordan Pond House is a famous restaurant known for serving tea and popovers on the lawn for over a century. This, one of the most popular restaurants on Mount Desert Island, is the only restaurant that is within park land. There is also a 2½ mile hiking path that loops around the entire pond offering some stunning views.  This became our #1 choice for kayaking.

We left the dogs in the car and had a scrumptious lunch at the restaurant. I had a mouth-watering cup of lobster bisque, which was loaded with lobster. I also had as one of those popovers, a very light, hollow muffin made with eggs, milk, and flour called puff batter (individual Yorkshire pudding), and baked in a deep muffin cup, where the top falls over the edge, henceforth the name. Served with butter and strawberry jam it is to die for. I liked it so much that I ordered another one with my after lunch coffee for dessert, and dined overlooking the pond as Marianne checked out the gift shop.

We headed back to the trailer the long way home, finding the one way road that winds through the park, and discovering Northeast Harbor, a quaint little fishing village that isn’t as crowded as Bar Harbor.

After a few wrong turns and even a rain squall or two, we finally made it back to the trailer.

I had worried about the rain, wondering if I had tilted our awning enough so that it wouldn’t catch the rain. I didn’t and it did. Using a broom, I was able to push gallons of water off the awning. I now use this trick, since once before I just tried just lowering one side of the awning support, when it collapsed, causing it to break.

Camped next to us was a family from St. Johns, Nova Scotia. They were just setting up their campfire for the night so I introduced myself to them. They were very friendly and had come to this campground several times before. This time, they were accompanied by two other families in their own trailers. They frequently drive in this caravan when camping, and they love camping in the United States.

We talked America, Canada, camping, traveling, and families until 10pm that night when everyone retired to their respective trailers for our much needed sleep.