Odyssey 2010

July 11, 2010 – Day Sixty-five

2010-07-31T21:04:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-27T18:00:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-23T08:41:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-22T14:37:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-22T09:17:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-19T14:35:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-17T07:42:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-15T08:10:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-10T03:50:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-09T15:53:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-08T06:09:00.000-07:00

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.

June 30, 2010 - Day Fifty-four

2010-07-06T04:20:00.000-07:00

Shopping!

Around noon we drove the eight miles into downtown Bar Harbor to walk the main street and check out the stores.

Finding parking for a Ford F-250 4x4 is not as easy as for a “normal” car. This thing is huge, and it has a turning radius to match. Bar Harbor is a quaint “little” town. Little town and huge truck normally don’t go together, but today the parking gods were with us and we found a great spot and it was simple to get into – it offered plenty of room in front of it so I could easily maneuver the truck into place.

And best of all the first shop closest to the truck was one dedicated just to men: The Man Store. All the paraphernalia inside was dedicated to the male of the species. I’ve seen most of it before, but it did offer some unique gifts, but all of them were over-priced. That’s the reality of life in a tourist town, where the nearest Wal*Mart is across the bridge on the mainland.

As I’ve said before, Marianne loves to shop. She can spend hours looking and touching everything that piques her interest in a store. She loves doing this. But it drives me crazy.

It was explained to me that women are gatherers, and men are hunters. Women need to examine all the available goods to determine if any are worthy for their dowry. Men on the other hand know what they want, go to the specific store that sells the item, and then buy it. Down and dirty. Quick and easy.

Marianne’s way of shopping is painful for me since it’s mostly looking and not buying, so as soon as she veered into the first store that attracted her attention, I counterveered into an ice cream store and purchased a no sugar added cone, found myself a bench on the main street, and watched the world walk and drive by for the next 45 minutes.

I also took this opportunity to take some photographs of this picturesque downtown area.

When Marianne came up for air, I decided to join her shopping. I found a shop that had some “Acadia National Park” T-shirts in my size, and bit later I found a sweatshirt with the word MAINE across the front for $9. The hunter in me bagged these targets.

After a couple of hours of my hunting and Marianne’s gathering we headed back to the trailer and the dogs to recuperate.

All refreshed we headed across the street from the campground to a “lobster pound” place. This is where one can purchase lobster by the pound, either to have it cooked on the spot and eaten off of paper plates, or packaged to travel. We elected to eat ours on site.

The restaurant isn’t too much more than a drive-in shack, with plastic chairs and tables, both inside and out. Because the air was cool again, we elected to eat our dinner indoors. When we arrived, there was only one other couple eating, and they were outside, so we had the half-dozen white plastic tabled indoor dining area all to ourselves.

They advertised a $13.95 special: lobster with corn on the cob and coleslaw; a great deal, but the large lady behind the counter claimed that they were out of lobsters that were small enough to make this profitable for them, the typical bait and switch scheme. Instead we paid $18.95 each for two lobsters that weighed about 1-3/4 pounds each, which also came with the corn and slaw.

We got to pick out the lobster we wanted to eat. This is somewhat painful for me, since it’s a lot like going to the pet store and picking out a puppy, and then eating that puppy. Well, maybe not quite, since I didn’t try to make eye contact with my meal, nor did I play with it.

The winner, for you, or loser, for the lobster, is then immediately placed into a boiling tub of water, and in 15 minutes we were served our dinner. Before I dug into mine, I asked the lady what the proper way to eat this lobster was. She explained to me where I could find the most meat and how to get at it, while Marianne insisted I put on the plastic bib, since she’s seen me eat before.

The lobster was tasty, and as we left the table with lobster shells piled high, the restaurant became busier, good for the restaurant, bad for the lobsters.

With full stomachs we headed back to the trailer to digest and slumber.

June 29, 2010 – Day Fifty-three

2010-07-05T19:32:00.000-07:00

It was a gorgeous day as we were departing Twin Mountain; I was ready to stay longer but we needed to get to Bar Harbor, Maine. Our destination, the Bar Harbor Campground, doesn’t accept reservations and it’s the closest campground to Bar Harbor and the surrounding Acadia National Park. I called and was informed that if I would get there by mid-week, I wouldn’t have any problem getting a site. Because I didn’t want to risk it, so today we headed toward the Atlantic Coast and Mt. Desert Island.

Just ten minutes after leaving the KOA campground, I observe this weird looking dog doing a strange lope across the road about 100 yards in front of the truck. When I get closer, I see that it’s not a dog at all but a black bear cub!

Like Vermont, New Hampshire is also very narrow on its east/west border, so within no time at all we were in Maine, the last state I needed to visit in the lower 48. Now I have only one more state to visit and I will have been to them all, Alaska.

Marianne still has four states left, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, North Dakota, as well as Alaska.

We arrived at the Bar Harbor Campground about mid afternoon, and upon checking in, were informed that there were still a few sites left with full hook-ups, and more without sewer, and even more without anything. Their policy is to let you find a site you like, set up your campsite, and then come back to the office and pay for that site. And they don’t accept credit cards, only cash, $40/night. Pay for six nights and you get the seventh one free.

We were glad to get in when we did, because we think we got the last great site in the entire park, a super huge spot with a big shade tree and centrally located. With the Fourth of July just days away, we decided not to risk going anywhere else because we believed that every campsite in the Northeast, or anywhere else in the country, will have been taken. So we decided to stay here until Monday, the day after the 4^th.

In early September 1604, French explorer Samuel de Champlain ran aground on a rock ledge believed to be just off Otter Cliffs, a short distance from present day Bar Harbor. When he came ashore to repair his boat he was met by the local natives, the Wabanaki Indians, who seasonally fished, hunted and gathered berries, clams, and other shellfish in the area. Champlain named the island Isles des Monts Deserts, meaning "island of barren mountains" — now called Mount Desert Island, the largest in Maine.

First settled in 1763 the community was incorporated in 1796 as Eden, after Sir Richard Eden, an English statesman. In the 1840's, the rugged maritime scenery attracted the Hudson River School and Luminism artists like Thomas Cole, Frederic Edwin Church, William Hart and Fitz Henry Lane. Inspired by their paintings, journalists, sportsmen and "rusticators" followed. By 1880, there were 30 hotels, with tourists arriving by train and ferry to the Gilded Age resort that would rival Newport, Rhode Island. The rich and famous tried to outdo each other with their entertaining and their estates. In 1918, Eden was changed to Bar Harbor, after the sand and gravel bar, visible at low tide, which leads across to Bar Island and forms the rear of the harbor. The name would become synonymous with elite wealth. It was the birthplace of vice-president Nelson Rockefeller in 1908.

In mid-October 1947, Maine experienced a severe drought. Sparks at a cranberry bog near the town ignited a wildfire that would intensify over 10 days, and not be declared out until mid-November. Nearly half the eastern side of Mount Desert Island burned, including 67 palatial summer houses on Millionaires' Row, 170 permanent homes, and five historic grand hotels were also destroyed. Over 10,000 acres of Acadia National Park were ravaged. Fortunately, the town's business district was spared, including Mount Desert Street, where several former summer homes within a historic district listed on the National Register of Historic Places are now operated as inns.

The campground had excellent WiFi coverage as well, so I didn’t have to use my Verizon wireless broadband to connect, since last month I was almost to my maximum limit of 5Gb. But I will admit that this was the first time I had used it as extensively I had, and Marianne uploading her scores of photos pushed us very close to that limit.

Using their WiFi, I logged on to one of my bank accounts and transferred money from savings to checking. Since it was at the same bank, I was credited with the funds immediately. I then walked to the office and used their ATM (how convenient, since they don’t accept credit cards) and tried to withdraw $500 because I hate paying those ATM fees especially when the banks pay a paltry 1% on certificate of deposit accounts.

But no, I could only withdraw a maximum of $300, plus the $3 service charge – 1%. Armed with my fresh cash I paid $120 for three nights, knowing that I would have to hit another ATM with another service charge to pay for the additional three nights I wanted to stay.

Six nights is the longest we have elected to stay anywhere; this place is not only beautiful, but there are many things to do here, for us it would sightseeing, bicycling, kayaking, shopping, and relaxing – plus eating lobster.

This was the first place we had been to where I needed to put a sweater on as the sun was setting. In fact it was getting downright cool! And when the night came the temperatures dropped low enough that I fired up the electric ceramic heater inside the trailer, for the dogs, since we like sleeping when it’s cooler. Heck, Marianne always sleeps with a small fan just above her pillow, blowing on her all night.

For all there is to do here, we sure didn’t do too much this first day here.

June 28, 2010 – Day Fifty-two

2010-07-03T04:38:00.000-07:00

We woke up to a slight drizzle at the Twin Mountain, New Hampshire KOA, which was sad, since we were going to go to the top of Mt. Washington, but if summit was in the clouds, it wouldn’t be worth it.

We decided to go to downtown Twin Mountain and get breakfast. There’s a problem with this since there isn’t a downtown in Twin Mountain, but rather a sparsely populated business corridor, where we ended up finding probably one of the only restaurants in town. It was almost full, since we got the last table that was open.

Their menu pricing was great; I could get my favorite, Eggs Benedict, again for only $6.50. While eating breakfast we noticed that the couple parked next to us in the KOA were also here for breakfast. They had been here a day or two earlier, and had come from where we’d be heading, Bar Harbor; we pumped them for information, which they freely gave.

The famous cog train up the mountain takes three hours, one hour up, one hour at the top and one hour down. It costs $62/person and only goes about 2-3 mph. For a while it sounded interesting, but after talking to the couple, we deemed it wasn’t worth the price, plus it was boring. For $6 one can drive the road up the mountain, but because of the rain we decided that wasn’t to be.

But they did highly recommend Franconia Notch State Park with its famed flume. They also filled us in on what we should see and do in Bar Harbor.

After a leisurely breakfast we headed back to the KOA, but Marianne spotted an old fashioned general store. This store also had groceries, and a gas station out front which even sold diesel. As I was filling the truck with diesel, Marianne disappeared inside. For the next ½ hour we perused all the aisles, rooms and even the second level of this remarkable store. They had a little of everything, but best of all we found a wall-mounted mechanical can opener just like the one we have in our trailer to give to my sister and brother-in-law, who have the exact same model trailer as we do.

After that serious shopping we prepared to head to “The Flume”, with the dogs.

It’s a ½ mile hike from the visitor’s center to the beginning of the trail for “The Flume” then another ½ mile or so up the trail to actually see it, which is a narrow slot canyon through which cascading water plummets more than 50 feet. We left the dogs in the truck with windows partially down. The temperature was cool due the overcast sky and rain drizzle. Since we didn’t want to spend the extra time (and energy) walking from the visitor’s center to the trailhead, we rode their shuttle bus instead, shortening our hike by 50%.

This place was as truly beautiful as our campground neighbors had claimed. And because of the weather, we only saw about a dozen other people hiking the trail. The subdued lighting gave both of us a great opportunity to play dueling cameras. It was intense, as we jockeyed for camera angles in a vain attempt to try to outdo each other to capture the perfect photo of this great place. We photographed the water, the trees, their roots, the rocks and flowers, from close-ups to panoramas.

And when we rush back to the trailer, we load our photos into our respective computers, edit them in Google’s Picasa (a great program), and then call to the other to have them see our latest slide show masterpiece. Too funny.

After Franconia we headed for the Mt. Washington Hotel. This place makes me feel like I’ve met the Hotel Del Coronado’s east coast sister. But instead of overlooking the Pacific Ocean, this hotel sits in the shadows of Mt. Washington.

The Mount Washington Hotel area is better known as Bretton Woods, and includes the nearby Bretton Woods ski resort. The hotel was constructed for $1.7 million by Joseph Stickney, a native of Waltham, Massachusetts, who had made a fortune before the age of 30 as a Pennsylvania-based coal broker. When construction started in 1900 on the Y-shaped building, he brought in 250 Italian artisans to build it, particularly the granite and stucco masonry. The hotel opened July 28, 1902. At the opening ceremony, Stickney told the audience: "Look at me, gentlemen ... for I am the poor fool who built all this!" Within a year he was dead at the age of 64.

The hotel was a success, but with the advent of income tax, Prohibition and the Great Depression, the hospitality business was rapidly declining. In 1936, upon the death of his widow, Foster Reynolds, Mrs. Stickney's nephew, inherited the hotel, which then closed in 1942 because of World War II. In 1944, a Boston syndicate bought the extensive property for about $450,000. At the hotel that year, the Bretton Woods monetary conference took place, a conference that created the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and World Bank, a system of rules, institutions, and procedures to regulate the international monetary system, all of which today is part of the World Bank Group.

After a day of sightseeing we spent the next couple of hours washing and drying our clothes. A necessary evil.

We wrapped up a full day by relaxing the rest of the evening in the trailer, once again blogging and uploading photos.

June 27, 2010 – Day Fifty-one

2010-07-01T07:17:00.000-07:00

The dogs normally awaken us around daybreak, which depending upon the tree canopy we’re camped under, can start as early as 4:34am – way too early to be getting out of bed for normal humans.

We could hear the dogs wrestling with each other, and when I finally dragged myself out of my cocoon at 5:15am I was shocked to see that the floor of the trailer was littered with shreds of paper.

These were receipts I’m anal about recording into my accounting program. But I couldn’t blame the dogs for their misdeeds, since I failed to properly block off the area were I stowed those receipts.

I awakened Marianne to allow her to savor the destruction. As I walked the dogs for their morning constitutional, she gathered up all the confetti and laid it in a pile for me to see what I could do with it.

I spent the next hour working on one of the most complex jigsaw puzzles I had ever done, Scotch-taping these shreds back into recognizable receipts. I have to admit I did a pretty good job, but there were some with holes, which were probably the parts that the dogs ate.

From this lesson I learned that if we ever run out of dog food, we can feed them Kleenex and receipts, since they love them and try to eat them every chance they get.

We loaded up the trailer and headed to Vermont. Marianne had never been to Vermont so it’s another state for her to check off. I was pretty sure I was there, but this would confirm it.

Our first stop in the state was the birthplace of Calvin Coolidge, the 30^th President of the United States. As the vice-president under Warren Harding, he began his term upon Harding’s strange death in San Francisco in 1923. He was sworn in by his father, the local notary public, shortly before 3am in the family living room here in Plymouth Notch, a home without a telephone or electricity. A messenger had to deliver the news of Harding’s demise. After he was sworn in, he went back to bed. Later that morning he returned to Washington where he was sworn in again, since there was some doubt that a state notary public could administer the oath of office to a president. Calvin was elected on his own right in 1924, but uttered the memorable words, “If nominated I will not run, if elected I will not serve,” when he could have run again in 1928.

Finding Plymouth Notch is not easy. First off, the State of Vermont administers the site, unlike the federal government for both of the Roosevelt homes, and secondly, Vermont doesn’t allow billboard signs, so all you see are little highway signs for businesses, and some of these signs are very well hidden by shrubbery.

But we found it.

There was a large meadow next to the nearly empty gravel parking lot where we let the dogs run. And run they did – chasing each other at full speed, like they do now whenever we let them loose on a place where they can safely run.

The admission to the hamlet of Plymouth Notch, which has only about eight buildings, at least two of which are barns, was only $7. As a state historical site my Golden Eagle pass didn’t work, but my AAA card was worth a 50¢ discount. The admission price for the both of us it was only $13.

There were probably only a dozen tourists at the site.

Docents provided the staffing; one docent sold the entrance tickets, another provided the information on Calvin’s dad-owned store to which a tiny home was attached where Calvin was born, another one ran the still functioning store, and one more was at the home across the dirt road from the store where Calvin moved when he was four. This is the house where he was sworn in as President.

The docents were proud to state the furniture in the two homes was the actual furniture that was in those homes during Calvin’s time. This was unlike other presidential homes, which often use reproductions or similar period pieces.

In the summer of 1924 while he was in office, Coolidge's younger son, Calvin, Jr., developed a blister from playing tennis on the White House courts. The blister became infected, and within days Calvin, Jr., only 16 years old, developed blood poisoning and died. After that Coolidge became withdrawn and later stated in his autobiography that, "when he died, the power and glory of the Presidency went with him." This, probably more than anything, prompted the quote I mentioned earlier.

Calvin’s wife, Grace, who was his exact opposite in personality: she was talkative and fun-loving, while he was quiet and serious, declared that she never wanted to spend another summer in Washington, DC. All of the states vied for the opportunity to host the Coolidge’s as their summer White House, but for a reason I never understood, they picked the Black Hills of South Dakota. Once I visited this area, I discovered why: these areas are strikingly similar, yet the Black Hills didn’t carry with it the emotions of a lost son.

There was also a small working cheese factory in the hamlet that doubles as gift store, as well as the tiny church where the Coolidge family worshipped. We spent a little more than an hour checking everything out before heading further east.

Vermont is not a very big state, and its east-west borders are only about 110 miles apart where we crossed, so in no time we were in New Hampshire, a state that neither of us had ever been to before.

While Vermont has the Green Mountains, New Hampshire has the White Mountains. We were headed to the KOA at Twin Mountain, in the shadow of Mt. Washington, the highest peak in the Northeastern United States at 6,288 ft. It is famous for its dangerously erratic weather, and long held the record for the highest wind gust directly measured at the Earth's surface, 231 mph on the afternoon of April 12, 1934.

For New Englanders, these are impressive mountains, for us in North San Diego County, it’s no big deal since Palomar Mountain is only 150’ lower than Mt. Washington, and the San Bernardino Mountains are about a mile higher. But we have nowhere near that kind of wind speed, thank heavens!

Driving through Vermont and New Hampshire we were impressed. The little towns are “darling” (Marianne’s term). We saw several covered bridges, and there were signs to be on the lookout for moose crossing the road – we never saw any.

We were only going to spend one night here, but it turned out there was so much to do, so we elected to spend a second night.

There’s a crispness in the evening air that makes sleeping without an air conditioner possible and enjoyable.

Sweet dreams!

June 26, 2010 – Day Fifty

2010-06-30T07:02:00.000-07:00

Another milestone – we’ve been on the road for fifty days AND we’re still having a great time!

In the morning I took the dogs on a short hike to a small lake near our campsite. Once I was about 100 feet away from the campground I let the dogs loose and they had a ball running at full blast up and down the trail, after each other and past each other, and also exploring. I love them running free as much as they love being free.

A bit later all of us (dogs included) headed down to Lake George, nicknamed the Queen of American Lakes. In 1791, Thomas Jefferson wrote in a letter to his daughter, "Lake George is without comparison, the most beautiful water I ever saw; formed by a contour of mountains into a basin... finely interspersed with islands, its water limpid as crystal, and the mountain sides covered with rich groves... down to the water-edge: here and there precipices of rock to checker the scene and save it from monotony."

At one time, Lake George was one of the nation's first elite tourist destinations. Conveniently situated on the rail line halfway between New York City and Montreal, the lake became a magnet for the era's rich and famous by the late 19th and early 20th century. Tourists from all over North America and Europe flocked to Lake George and the surrounding majestic Adirondack Mountains. By the turn of the 19th century, Lake George was equaled only by Newport, Bar Harbor, Maine, Saratoga and the Hamptons as a summer enclave for America's aristocracy. Members of the Roosevelt, van Rensselaer, Vanderbilt, Rockefeller and Whitney families visited its shores.

Now, after 52 years, I was here again.

The town has become more of tourist trap than I remember it. This transition from enclave of the exclusive to schlock shops started about the time I was here last. In my opinion the transformation is now complete.

On a park in the middle of town was a craft fair. These are magnets for Marianne, and it is my duty to stop and stand by while she shops. And I did, but this time with the dogs along.

Molly walks on the leash like a dream, but isn’t the friendliest dog in the world, so she’ll bark when she’s approached by kids, but this time she did pretty well. Coco, on the other hand, is the total opposite; she tugs on her leash until she sounds like she’s choking. She also thinks that everybody is her friend, gladly stopping and jumping up on anyone who shows her any attention. It’s a funny scene, Coco licking the faces of kneeling strangers while Molly hides behind my legs. Molly really wants attention, too, especially if Coco is getting some, so she’ll come out of her shell, but she’ll bark if anyone moves too fast near her, startling everyone around her except Coco, who just keeps licking.

Driving further north I tried to find the place on the Lake where we stayed, but I didn’t remember where it was and as all other places I lived in over fifty years ago, the trees have altered the landscape, but I do think I saw a couple of likely candidates along on our drive.

We were headed to Fort Ticonderoga on Lake Champlain about 32 miles north of Lake George city. My family also visited this site half a century ago.

Just south of the fort is the charming little town of Ticonderoga where we stopped downtown to have lunch at the old-fashioned Burleigh House.

We continued past the fort entrance about a mile to where a little ferry crosses Lake Champlain to take travelers to Vermont. We had considered taking this route at one point.

We turned around and entered the fort grounds and all of a sudden came upon at least 100 tents surrounded by people dressed what appeared to be the period of the mid 18^th century. We had fallen through a time warp and ended up in the middle of the French and Indian War.

This sort of thing happened to Marianne and I once before in our lives. In 1969 as we were driving in my Camaro from Yellowstone National Park, where we both worked and met, to meet my parents in South Dakota, I had the site of Custer’s Last Stand on my bucket list as an 18 year old.

Entering the national park, we saw about 50 cavalry troopers on horseback heading down a hill about ½ mile off of the road. At first we thought it was a mirage, and decided we wouldn’t tell anyone what we saw, believing folks would think us crazy.

We drove on, but about two minutes later we saw scores of Indians on horseback charging down another hill behind the troopers. We stopped the car again, and shot some pictures to prove we weren’t really crazy. Marianne suggested that this might be a reenactment, but I thought that this would be sacrilegious, having a massacre every two hours for the benefit of tourists, especially on hallowed ground in a national park.

We kept driving, and minutes later found ourselves on the movie set of “Little Big Man” the 1969 film starring Dustin Hoffman and Faye Dunaway. Although we didn’t see the stars, it was great coming upon the set late in afternoon as filming was wrapping up, and the troopers and Indians in their period outfits were getting on buses to return to their hotels.

But today we weren’t on any movie set; instead this was a group of people from throughout New England and Canada who came here for the weekend to participate in the reenactment of the French and Indian War for three days, in what was in those days called Fort Carillon, existing just as the people of this era did, living in tents, eating food cooked on fires, and of course wearing period clothing. It was totally absorbing!

The name of the war refers to the two main enemies of the British: the royal French forces and the various Native American forces allied with them. The war was fought primarily along the frontiers between the British colonies from Virginia to Nova Scotia.

The war in North America officially ended with the signing of the Treaty of Paris on February 10, 1763, and war in the European theatre of the Seven Years' War was settled by the Treaty of Hubertusburg on February 15, 1763. The British offered France a choice of either its North American possessions east of the Mississippi or the Caribbean islands of Guadeloupe and Martinique, which had been occupied by the British. France chose to cede Canada, and was able to negotiate the retention of Saint Pierre and Miquelon, two small islands in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and fishing rights in the area. The economic value of the Caribbean islands to France was greater than that of Canada because of their rich sugar crops, and they were easier to defend. The British, however, were happy to take New France, as defense was not an issue, and they already had many sources of sugar. Spain, which traded Florida to Britain to regain Cuba, also gained Louisiana, including New Orleans, from France in compensation for its losses.

We were only two tourists of what may have been a maximum of 100 tourists among at least 1000 re-enactors. While we were there, they were getting ready for their big battle scene, so folks were scurrying about get ready and into formations with their groups. Many of them were from the French speaking part of Canada, which was adorable when kids came up to the dogs to pet them, and were asking us stuff we just couldn’t understand. But I’d point to one and say Molly, point to the other and say Coco, and the kids understood. I think our dogs were the only “tourist” dogs on the site.

We didn’t purchase tickets to watch the big battle, but we caught glimpses of it from right next to the actual fort. We did, however, get to hear the constant firing of explosions from cannons and muskets, and smoke was rising in the air. What a treat!

On the way back to our campsite we decided to take the route that more or less was on the eastern shore of Lake George, when we came upon another charming town, Whitehall, located five miles west of the Vermont border at the south end of Lake Champlain and lying between Champlain and Lake George. The New York canal system ran through here, which made this an important town 200 years ago. During the Revolutionary War, General Philip Schuyler built a small fleet of ships here; they were used by Benedict Arnold in the Battle of Valcour Island, an event which led to Whitehall's modern-day claim to be the birthplace of the United States Navy. As a Navy veteran I didn’t even know this (imagine that!).

Whitehall is also home to Skene Manor, listed on the National Register of Historic Places as Judge Joseph Potter House, a handsome Victorian style mansion built of grey sandstone in 1874, sitting on a hillside overlooking the town.

Back at our campsite we caught up on our daily Internet chores, watched a little TV, before calling it a night.

June 25, 2010 – Day Forty-nine

2010-06-30T04:47:00.000-07:00

We were on the west side of the Hudson River, and today I wanted to get on the east side, head up the gorgeous Hudson River Valley and end up in Lake George, where my family went for a week’s vacation in 1958. But there would also be a ton of history along the way.

We crossed the Hudson River at Poughkeepsie, and headed north. The next town was Hyde Park, home of Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

I had been to Warm Springs, Georgia, called the Little White House, twice to see the polio spa he saved and loved. Shortly before Germany surrendered, in the closing months of World War II, he was spending time there with his mistress Lucy Mercer, a woman he had known and loved for decades. She was the woman he promised his wife Eleanor that he would never see again when she found out about his affair with her earlier. Eleanor had never been to Warm Springs in the two decades of FDR’s visits, so he felt comfortable about having his trysts there. On the afternoon of April 12, Roosevelt said, "I have a terrific pain in the back of my head." He then slumped forward in his chair, unconscious, and was carried into his bedroom. The president's attending cardiologist, Dr. Howard Bruenn, diagnosed a massive cerebral hemorrhage (stroke). At 3:35 p.m. that day, Roosevelt died. At the time he collapsed, Roosevelt had been sitting for a portrait painting by the artist Elizabeth Shoumatoff, known as the famous Unfinished Portrait of FDR.

In the weeks earlier his blood pressure had been recorded at an astounding 330/180. He looked terrible, gaunt, and wasn’t his usual vigorous self. Boxer Jack Dempsey had once noted that his chest resembled that of a prize fighter.

But now we were in Hyde Park where FDR was born and where he was buried. And again we were able to use our Golden Eagle pass to be able to take a tour of the home for free.

The home overlooks the Hudson River, but the trees have grown as to practically obliterate the view. These trees were planted by FDR and on IRS documents he listed his occupation as tree farmer rather than lawyer.

As with TR, his fifth cousin, we learned much about his life including interesting tidbits of information that probably aren’t in any history books. This sort of information makes these presidents more like real people to me.

We continued north toward Lake George driving past one cute town after another. Someday I’ll have to come back this way with my Miata and in the fall when there is a color explosion.

One of the little towns we came through was Kinderhook, a name that seemed familiar to me for some reason. And it quickly became apparent to me when we drove by the birthplace, home, and burial site of this country’s eighth president, Martin Van Buren. Unfortunately there were no signs forewarning us of the site, so we regrettably sped on by. I made a mental note that this was now on my bucket list.

We passed through Albany, New York’s capital, and forty minutes later we were at the Lake George KOA.

Reading the literature regarding this KOA made me think it may have been on or even close to Lake George. But no, it was 8½ miles up the hill away from it, much closer to the much smaller Lake Lucerne. Oh well, live and learn.

We set up camp, and since we were in a somewhat remote area of the campground, and against regulations, we let the dogs loose. Immediately they began chasing each other at 90 miles per hour for about 10 minutes non-stop. It was fun watching them have such a blast. And when they were done, they were, you guessed it, dog tired.

Tonight we grilled some Bubba burgers on our outside grill. This was the first time on the trip we had used the grill, but it was now also finally becoming cool at night, cool enough to need a sweatshirt. Yea! No more killer heat for a while, because we were going to be heading even further north and toward the Atlantic.

Something to dream about.

June 24, 2010 – Day Forty-eight

2010-06-30T03:50:00.000-07:00

We didn’t even try to make coffee today; we headed straight for a diner we drove by last night on the way to pizza. We wanted to compare diners. The Hauppauge Palace has the classic chrome and neon look, and it was good, but not as good as the previous day’s Ft. Dix Diner. This time the Eggs Benedict were only two eggs and it was a dollar more expensive. Maybe that’s the difference between Ft. Dix and Hauppauge.

After breakfast we headed back to the trailer to break camp and attack the Long Island highway system by skirting past the outskirts of New York City. By eating at the diner and taking our time, we were mostly able to avoid the crush of rush hour traffic heading into the City.

We were headed to White Plains to see if we could find the apartment building I lived in when my dad did his American internship in 1958. White Plains, part of Westchester County, has some fancy estate homes and is a world apart from the vertical jungle to its south. Early in the 20th century, White Plains' downtown area developed into a dominant suburban shopping district and featured branch stores of many famous New York-based department and specialty stores. Some of these retail locations were the first large scale suburban stores built in the United States. Today it is still a huge retail destination in the area with Bloomingdale's, Neiman Marcus, Nordstrom, Macy's, Sears, Wal-Mart, Kmart, Crate & Barrel, H&M, Burlington Coat Factory, and over 1000 other small and mid-size stores in four malls.

During the late 1960s, the city of White Plains developed an extensive urban renewal plan for residential, commercial and mixed-use redevelopment that effectively called for the demolition of its entire central business district. My apartment building was demolished to make room for the expansion of White Plains Hospital.

Driving through these city streets wasn’t that easy with my truck and trailer, but I decided to try to find Post Avenue School, my old grade school. It too was gone, replaced by a modern new school. My history was erased from the physical White Plains but not from my memories.

Marianne had never been to Connecticut so we made a small detour toward Danbury, stopping at the state’s visitor center along the Interstate, just as a large, dark ominous cloud was menacingly approaching from the northwest. We stopped to walk the dogs and have lunch inside the trailer, and within minutes we were in a rain deluge.

After 20 minutes it was all over.

That night on the TV news we heard that the storm had uprooted trees in Connecticut, and dropped 1” diameter hail on the Trogs Neck Bridge we had just crossed an hour earlier! And the wind was also extremely powerful on Long Island with tornado-like force near where we were camping. We were worried about the three girls that had set up a tent just across from our campsite in Blydenburgh County Park. They needed some help setting up their tent properly and were going to spend the night in the park after their prom. They were probably gone getting ready for their prom when the storm hit, but I wonder if there was anything left at their campsite when they got back.

We continued north to Plattekill, home to the KOA which claims as being the “New York City North KOA”. They even offer guided tours to all of New York’s tourist attractions, but I was guessing it would take at least couple of hours to get there and another couple hours to get back. It’s like my home town of Oceanside claiming to be the “South Los Angeles KOA” since it also takes two hours of travel time to get there.

This KOA could claim itself as the “Newburgh North KOA” since it’s only a few miles away from the home of Orange County Choppers, the Discovery Channel’s popular show about the dysfunctional family which built custom motorcycles. Their “World Headquarters” didn’t make in onto my current bucket list. Maybe in another life.

The Plattekill KOA is pretty much in the middle of nowhere down some two lane country roads on the west side of the Hudson River Valley. The area was settled in 1678 by the Huguenots, just 20 years after the failed English Lost Colony on Roanoke Island. Their homes in the small town of New Paltz, just a few miles north of the KOA, are some of the best examples of early stone houses built by Europeans in North America. It is also home to the State University of New York at New Paltz.

We also found a cute and very modern supermarket where we once again loaded up on supplies.

We did our Internet thing for a while and then got ready to climb into bed. The latest thing is that the dogs like to sleep on our bed just before we do, hoping against hope that their cuteness will allow them to stay. But I have developed a better method for getting the dogs off our bed, I just go to the jar where their treats are, open it, and they come bounding, sitting properly, begging for their treat. While they’re munching away, I sneak back into the bedroom, close the door and pass out.

June 23, 2010 - Day Forty-seven

2010-06-29T18:39:00.001-07:00

Sometimes a day just doesn’t start out right, and you can wish that things only get better rather than worse.

Today was such a day.

Because Blydenburgh County Park has no hook-ups other than water, we couldn’t use our electric coffee maker. Yes, things are rough – it is camping after all. Instead, we use a coffee maker which looks like an electric coffee maker but sits on top of a stove burner for its heat source. It normally works, but it takes over 20 minutes to brew ten cups.

It also has a flaw – when the spout of the carafe doesn’t depress a lever, the hot water doesn’t flow. Well maybe it isn’t a flaw; it’s supposedly a feature – allowing one to remove it, by cutting off the brew flow so one can sneak a cup of coffee before the entire process is complete. Putting the carafe back makes the flow continue again. So much for today’s science lesson.

Now back at the point. As the coffee was brewing, the carafe’s spout was not depressing the lever, so the brew chamber overflowed. Coffee and grounds were erupting all over. Yuk, not only a mess, but it would take another 20 minutes to make another batch.

Marianne wisely suggested we go out for breakfast. And I knew the perfect place to get such a meal on Long Island – an authentic diner!

Off we went in search for that perfect diner. If you’ve ever spent any time in this neck of the woods you know when you’ve found such a place. It has to be made of neon and chrome and resemble a railroad car.

We ended up driving about 10 miles until we found such a place – the Ft. Dix Diner. It looked perfect, and the parking lot was fairly full, a good sign. I had Eggs Benedict, with three eggs for only $8.25. A deal – and it was delicious.

After breakfast I decided to find the first house I ever lived in when I immigrated to this country in the fall of 1955. Heck Ft. Dix was at least halfway there!

I put 32 Gates Avenue into the GPS and it came up with the most direct route. But that route wasn’t going to work for me because of the 7’ 10” height limitation of the roads the GPS wanted me to take. I now needed to use the compass in my head to get us in the right direction before the GPS could take over again.

Unfortunately after five decades, the compass in my head was a little rusty, so it took a little longer than it should have, but we finally found it, avoiding all of those vertically challenging roads.

About 9am we parked in front of the house. The neighborhood looked great, most of the houses had been modernized, but the biggest change was the trees. When I moved there over 50 years ago the trees were seedlings or plants that were held erect with stakes and twine. Now they were big, really mature, and throwing real shadows, as were some of hedges and shrubs. Also the modernization of the house included eliminated the green shingles on top half of the split level as well as the pink equivalent on the house next door.

As I approached the home to ring the door bell, a woman got into her car to back outof the driveway. When I knocked on her car window, I slightly startled her but I convinced her to roll down her window. I identified myself as having lived in the home 55 years ago. That warmed her up. We chatted a bit, including her telling me that they were only the third owners of the house having lived there over 30 years, but she was in a hurry to get somewhere so she invited me to come back after 5pm to meet with her husband, who supposedly would love to meet us.

She left, and we continued walking around the neighborhood, then the couple next door came out of their house to see why this big pick-up truck with kayaks on the top had stopped in front of their home. He was on his way to work, but she stayed on the front lawn and filled us in with a quick history of the neighborhood, since they have lived in the house for 28 years, and absolutely loved the area.

My old house was immediately next to a school yard, Bethpage Elementary School, the first school I ever attended. I still remember the first day my mother literally had to drag me the couple of hundred yards to the principal’s office to enroll me in kindergarten. I begged her and begged her not to make me go because I didn’t speak English, only German.

Using the total immersion method before it even had a name, I was rapidly assimilated into the American way of life. My classmates even brought me to their homes to show off the German kid. One mother offered me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for an after school snack, and she was totally amazed that I’d never heard of such a thing. I loved it, and when I got home I told me mom to buy peanut butter, Skippy brand, the next time she went to the supermarket.

Shortly after we moved it, a new school, Pine Avenue School, was built immediately adjacent to Bethpage Elementary, and when it opened, I attended it. I had stopped by the old neighborhood on my 1971 trip around the U.S. and both schools were still there, but now only Pine Avenue remained. According to the neighbor, Bethpage stood empty for about 15 of years, a deteriorating hulk before it was ultimately torn down.

After enough photos, we returned to the campground to pick-up the dogs and head to one of my favorite places on Long Island, Sagamore Hill, the home of Theodore Roosevelt. He hated being called “Teddy”, preferred “Colonel” instead. I had visited the home in Oyster Bay, only a few miles north of our Long Island house, in 1958 with my family, drove by in 1971 when it was too early to be open, then again in 1998 while I was teaching in northern New Jersey. But this was the first time Marianne had ever been here.

I have to admit that I have a yearning to see presidential homes, I’ve been to quite a few, and I would add a least a couple more on this trip that I’d never been to before.

We left the dogs in the truck while we took a tour of the house. This home has two distinguishing features to me, one it is dark inside, dominated by dark wood paneling, and in order to preserve its historical value, the windows shades are all halfway drawn blocking the rays of most of the illuminating light; and two, there are animal heads, hides, and tusks just about everywhere.

From here we headed about 20 miles east to Flushing, NY, near Kissena Park to find my old home on Oak Avenue. I didn’t remember the actual house number and when I called my mom she didn’t either, so we just cruised up and down the street a few times snapping photographs of the most likely candidates. This neighborhood, too, had changed, almost everyone appeared to be Asian. And of course the houses have changed in appearance with different paint schemes, add-ons, bay windows, and of course, bigger trees and shrubs.

Returning to the campground we made another stop at 32 Gates Ave. since it was a quarter past five. I knocked on the door, but sadly there was no answer. I missed an opportunity to see the inside of the house. As we were leaving, after taking yet more photos, the next door neighbor came out and greeted us again. We chatted for a couple of minutes before she left to visit another one of her neighbors. When we left, we saw her sitting with her neighbor on that home’s front steps.

Back at the campground we took the dogs to one of only two off-leash dog parks in all of Long Island and it's right here in Blydenburgh. It's extremely popular and has two large sites, one for dogs smaller than 25 lbs. and one for larger dogs. Our dogs finally got the opportunity to mingle with East coast dogs. Molly and Coco weren't all that impressed, they spent most of their time checking out pMail and playing with each other. I particularly like this photo of Coco being chased (and apparently nipped in the butt!).

We craved for the best pizza in the area, and our camp hosts recommended a place called Umberto’s, about 8 miles east of us. They didn’t have the actual address, but it was easy enough to find.

Umberto’s was packed on a Thursday evening indicating that this was a great place. It was. Pizza-by-the-slice was the order of the day; we each had a slice of mergherita and a slice of Sicilian pizza plus a huge dinner salad, all for about $20. We received our order within a couple of minutes, and boy, was it delicious. Our camp hosts picked it right! And once again our diets were put on temporary hold.

We got back to the trailer with the generator still keeping the a/c cool for the dogs, and still enough time to keep it cool before we turned in for the night.

June 22, 2010 – Day Forty-six

2010-06-26T20:17:00.000-07:00

This was a day I was dreading ever since I planned this trip – driving from New Jersey to Long Island, because I would have to navigate through New York City traffic.

There just aren’t that many places to camp with an RV in the middle of Long Island that I could find. I had to do a thorough Internet search to come up with a site, but none of them gave a specific address. For example, Blydenburgh is just listed as on the Veteran’s Memorial Highway in Smithtown. I guess if you live in the area that’s all you need to know. But a guy with 25’ long truck pulling a 30’ trailer needs to know a wee bit more.

The first number I called to try to make a reservation turned out to be the county parks and recreation department, which gave me a second number, which turned out to be the phone number of the park, but not the manager of the campsite. The third number was the charm.

When I checked into the availability of a campsite at Blydenburgh County Park in Smithfield, I was informed that the campground does not take reservations: first come first served. This alarmed be, especially since I was driving all the way through NYC to get there, and the availability of any other campgrounds in the area was apparently non-existent.

But have no fear, I was told, since I would be coming during a weekday, and the park currently had only five sites occupied. Just come on in. I was so excited that I forgot to ask for the park’s specific address.

I was informed that I should take the George Washington Bridge route, around the northern boundary of the City to get to Long Island, since driving a travel trailer close to the city was practically unheard of.

We’ll, I trusted that my GPS programs would guide me safely.

It turns out the GPS gods may have a sense of humor. A twisted sense of humor.

Leaving New Jersey, the GPS instructed me across Staten Island and then the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, ending up in Brooklyn, where the freeway was under repair and I was forced to drive the truck and trailer on city streets, underneath the ailing interstate.

Marianne thought this was great, shooting photos out of the window in rapid succession, capturing details that were only blurs on my retina. I was tense, and getting a bad headache because people in New York drive like crazy – abruptly changing lanes and cutting me off, running red lights, blocking lanes by random parking, and worst of all, speed limits are only to be used as a minimal guide. Fortunately Marianne had some Ibuprofen for my pain.

I do however remember across the East River and seeing Wall St., and Manhattan as we went under the Brooklyn Bridge. When we finally got back on the Interstate, traffic was moving at a snail’s pace. I kept looking for just one other RV, but I never saw one. Not one – except when we finally reached the campground. Not for the entire time I was driving on Long Island, almost 200 miles over three days did I see any other RV on any of the roads I was on.

Oh, it doesn’t help that I couldn’t go on many of the roads that would have made the route a bit shorter. That’s because many of the roads have a height limit of 7’10”, my trailer is 10’6”, and the truck alone without the kayaks on top is 6’4”. I’m guessing that the kayak rack and the kayaks add at least another 18” to truck height, so I was right at that 7’10” mark, which I certainly didn’t want to risk. I went well out of my way to avoid those height limitations.

Since I didn’t have the actual street address of the Blydenburgh County Park, I had to guessimate where it was, but armed with that knowledge my GPS kept insisting I take those vertically challenged roads. I knew better, but there’s no sense in arguing with the voice on the GPS that insists I take the next right, then complains I’m off route, and wants me to take the next right, and when I don’t, I’m off route again.

And so it goes, until I finally turned it off, and used a different GPS program, one that is meant expressly for locating campgrounds. It could found the campground, but it doesn’t plot the road to get there. I could see where I needed to go, where I was, and what road I was travelling on, but not exactly how to get there. I had to trust my instincts.

These are now instincts dulled by Ibuprofen – better living through chemistry.

After fighting traffic for two hours on something called the Long Island Expressway – it’s long, it’s an island, but it isn’t an expressway, it’s slow, we made it to our exit, now we had to find the actual park.

My first guess turned out to be wrong, because I drove into the area’s huge police compound. At least I didn’t have to try to turn the truck and trailer around, there was a way out of this mess without doing that. I’m sure the people in the buildings were looking out of their windows wondering what the heck I was doing in their area. I didn’t want to guess what they were really thinking.

It turned out I turned one street too soon.

After getting back on track, we found the park entrance. In case you don’t know, I have to let you know that Long Island is a very populated place and to find a forested oasis in the middle of such an urban jungle is a treat. Blydenburgh Country Park is a treat.

This park has 648 acres of woodlands with a 100 acre lake smack in the middle of it. The entrance is guarded by a special park police building and the gates are closed from sundown to sunup. I counted three park police cars at the entrance.

After driving ½ mile into the park through a canopy of trees, I was finally at the campground entrance. When I checked in the man behind the counter commented that I was out of luck, because now there were seven campsites out of fifty in use, instead of the five he mentioned previously during our phone call.

We got to drive around the park and find the campsite we wanted, and we picked one in the extreme southeast corner, away from everyone, since we’d be using our generator during those hours it was allowed, because this park only offered a water connection. And did I mention it was still warm?

We got the campsite for two nights, unhooked the truck and trailer, and fired up the generator so we could have air-conditioning.

We just relaxed in our air-conditioned comfort until 9pm when it was quiet time and time to turn off the generator. Afterwards we turned on all our battery operated fans, put a Wanda Sykes comedy DVD into the laptop with the 17” screen and proceeded to laugh our butts off. When it was over, we were really tired and just went to bed to the soothing sound of whirling fans.

June 21, 2010 – Day Forty-five

2010-06-25T06:05:00.000-07:00

I was awakened by the dogs just before sunrise on the longest day of the year, and the first day of summer, so I grabbed my camera and headed to the water’s edge with the dogs pulling me on their leash.

Tom’s River Camp is on the southeastern tip of Chincoteague Island on an estuary overlooking Assateague Island and its lighthouse. It was a beautiful morning to shoot photos, calm, great lighting, and hardly a soul awake at this hour. Fishing docks jut out into the water and at this hour I let the dog run free on them. They were tentative at first, but within a minute, they were old salts running up and down the pier.

We were on a timetable this morning, because we had a ferry to catch at Lewes, Delaware that would take us to Cape May, New Jersey. When I booked our passage, the notice said we needed to be there 30 minutes before departure to check in.

Driving out of Chincoteague, I once again came upon the NASA facility that I saw when I drove in. I knew nothing about the NASA Wallops Facility, so I had to check it out on the Internet.

In 1945, NASA's predecessor agency, the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics (NACA), established a rocket launch site on Wallops Island well before Florida’s Cape Canaveral. This site was designated the Pilotless Aircraft Research Station and conducted high-speed aerodynamic research to supplement wind tunnel and laboratory investigations into the problems of flight. Between 1959 and 1961, Project Mercury capsules were tested at Wallops in support of NASA's manned space flight program before astronauts were launched from the Cape. Two rhesus monkeys, Sam and Miss Sam, were sent aloft as pioneers for astronauts; both were recovered safely. In 1974, the name was changed to Wallops Flight Facility and in 1981, it became part of Goddard Space Flight Center in Greenbelt, Maryland.

If I didn’t have that ferry to catch, I would have liked to stop at its visitor center to check it out. Another thing I’ll have to leave for another time.

We left Virginia and drove through a portion of Maryland. I’d say it was a small portion, but Maryland is a small state. And then we drove through a portion of Delaware, an even smaller state to get the ferry terminal at Lewes.

We got here with 12 minutes to spare on our 30 minute arrival window. Just enough time to duck into the modern visitor center and buy a T-shirt to prove I was here. As I was paying for the T-shirt, the announcement came that all drivers and passengers needed to be in their vehicles because the ferry was preparing to load.

Within a few minutes we were in an orderly procession driving into the bowels of the ferry, guided by deckhands to make sure we were as close to the wall and the trailer in front of us as possible. We were one of four or five trailers that would be making this sea journey.

The trip across the Delaware Bay to Cape May, New Jersey takes 70 minutes and cost $80 for the trailer, one driver, and one passenger. The dogs ride free, and were allowed to go on deck, or anywhere on the ship, except for the food areas.

Once we were parked we walked up the flight of stairs to get to the deck. The dogs had never been on a ferry, much less any boat before, but they were troopers. Once the ferry got up to speed, they loved having the wind blow through their fur. Several other people took their dogs on deck. And in very short order, Molly and Coco quickly became old sea dogs!

The hour and ten minutes went by very quickly and before we knew it, we disembarked in New Jersey.

When I checked campsites in and around Cape May a day or so ago, they were all a bit pricey so I kept looking until I found one called Cold Spring. When I checked it out on the Internet, it claimed to be a quaint old campground, dedicated mostly to seasonal campers, but with a few sites available for overnighters.

I called the number listed and was told, sure come on in, sites were available for only $31. Best of all it was on the opposite side of the canal near the site of the ferry terminal.

We drove the short distance to cross a bridge to get there, and once we got to the entrance of the park, we almost missed it because the sign was largely overgrown with bushes. And the entrance was extremely narrow, we had to avoid that sign and smash those bushes while turning down the one lane path in an attempt to find the office.

After a couple of hundred yards we came upon a house, but there was no indication that this was an office and there was no one home. Across from the house was the trailer from Desi and Lucy’s movie, “The Long, Long Trailer”. This was starting to look eerier and eerier.

I found an elderly resident of the park inside the screen porch of his permanently planted travel trailer, and he informed me that the office was another couple of hundred yards down the overgrown path. I was leery of driving down this path with the truck and trailer for fear that I wouldn’t find a place to turn around, so I moved the trailer over as far to the side of the lane as I could and headed down the path to see what I could find.

I found the office but there wasno one was around. Taped to the door was a note that said Mr. Mueller should take the campsite called “walnut”. A walked a bit more, found the site, and determined that after some finagling I could fit my trailer into the little site. I returned to the truck and pulled the trailer further into the woods and with Marianne’s able assistance was able to back into the site.

The campground was extremely secluded to say the very least, most of the trailers stood empty waiting with rotted tires for their weekend residents. There may have been one other trailer that wasn’t permanent in the entire park. But we did have water, electricity, and sewer, and our antenna pulled in more than enough TV channels.

I had been to Cape May in 1998 when I was working for AESA, based out of San Diego. This outfit hired computer nerds like me to teach employees of Bell Atlantic an entry level computer technician course, since they were going to be laid off soon and this was part of the transition process. I flew into Newark four times, two of those times to teach in the little town of Mamora which is just a few miles north of Cape May.

On a day that I had off, I drove my rental car to Cape May to see the cute downtown shopping area, the Victorian mansions overlooking the Atlantic, and its marquee lighthouse. I didn’t spend much time in the shopping district but vowed that one day I’d bring Marianne here to see it.

That one day became today.

We drove the short distance into Cape May, saw the folks on the beach with their umbrellas, saw the large Victorian style homes and hotels, and then went to the city center shopping district where cars are banned. Marianne had a grand time checking out many of the stores, and we even bought some gifts! We also found an Italian gelato store, so we just had to have a lemon ice!

Hermit crabs are also a popular item in the novelty stores. If you buy the cage, accoutrements, and food, you’ll get your crab for free. I noticed that about 100 of these crabs together in their “for sale cages” stink. And then I wonder how long these little guys last once they’re brought home and forgotten.

With the sun waning on this summer solstice day, we headed back to the trailer (hoping we could find the place again), had dinner, watched some TV and called it a night.

June 20, 2010 – Day Forty-four

2010-06-25T04:13:00.000-07:00

According to my GPS’s to get to Chincoteague Island, Virginia I have to go south from Williamsburg, go under a tunnel and across a very long bridge near Virginia Beach. I knew that.

But my inner instincts kicked in when we left the Williamsburg KOA and I just naturally headed north. We were immediately stuck in a traffic jam and progress was slow.

After a bit I checked the GPS and it said we had about 300 miles to go!

What???

That’s twice as far as it should be. And then I remembered…south, and then north. We turned around and by the time we got back to our original exit we had lost about an hour’s worth of time.

This was the second time we went through the tunnel near Hampton Roads, where Navy ships dot the horizon and ships of all sizes plow through the water. The first time was a three days ago when we came up here from Kitty Hawk. This tunnel passes under the James River where it empties into the Chesapeake Bay.

And after going through the tunnel we finally headed north crossing a bridge across the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay that’s over 18 miles long. Shades of Key West again.

Our dogs now go to sleep almost instantly when we put them into the truck for the day’s drive. They snooze contently on their oversized pillow that takes up two-thirds of the back seat, not even batting an eyelash when we cross rough, bumpy roads. This has become their way of life. I wonder how they’ll adjust when we get home again.

I headed to Chincoteague Island because of a book I read when I was about 12 or 13 called “Misty of Chincoteague Island”, Marguerite Henry's famous children's novel that tells of a young brother and sister that grew up on Chincoteague Island. They attended the pony swim event and purchased an Assateague wild pony they referred to as "Misty". The children raised money to buy Misty by harvesting clams, which is still a source of income for some Chincoteague residents today. Misty was unique in that she had the markings of a map of the United States on her side. Later in life, Misty lived with Marguerite Henry while Marguerite wrote the book. A Hollywood movie called "Misty" was made which featured the Chincoteague Pony Swim and many residents of Chincoteague Island appeared in that movie.

We had made reservations to stay on Assateague Island where the ponies actually roam free, it’s a national seashore, but the camping is dry camping – no electricity, water or sewage. And since it was still hot we’d have to rely on our generator for air-conditioning, and generator hours are always limited. So we checked on an alternative site on Chincoteague proper.

We drove through Chincoteague to get to Assateague which is a barrier island. But when we got to the park entrance there was a sign that said not pets allowed, not even in cars. The information on the website said that pets were allowed on the campsites.

When I told them that I had a reservation for the campsite, I was kindly told that camping was 90 minutes north of here, and that part of Assateague Island was only accessible via Maryland, near the resort city of Ocean City.

We didn’t feel like driving that much further so we turned around and checked into Tom’s River Campground, which was a huge campground predominately occupied by folks who leave their RV’s there permanently for the season. It was overrun by families.

I was given A-12 as a site, but when I got there, a pick-up truck was in the site, and that’s about all that would fit into it. A couple of the local yokels were out front jawing and when they saw me, they said that no one had camped in this small spot all season. So, I decided to just grab an adjacent site that I could fit into.

After I backed in, I noticed that all the utilities were centrally located so that four RV sites would be able to access them. Fortunately for me, I had extensions for my power and water hose, but they were almost stretched to the limit. My 25’ TV cable connection was the only thing close to the utilities since it is mounted on the back edge of the trailer.

We got everything set-up and I unloaded the bicycles and we drove to the camp office to let them know that we had changed sites. The office is the front of a large camp store, one of the larger ones we’ve encountered. Not only can you find a limited selection of groceries, T-shirts, swimming gear, and knick knacks, but also an extensive selection of fishing gear. I see where these peoples’ priorities are.

We left the dogs in the trailer and drove back to Assateague Island to view the wildlife, hoping to catch a glimpse of a pony or two. There’s a figure eight road that runs about five miles through this part of the island’s marshes. It appeared that most of the people there were birdwatchers, since there are many different kinds enjoying the wilderness here.

There are bicycle and hiking trails throughout as well, but we were warned that if we didn’t have a liberal amount of bug repellent on us, we’d be eaten alive. So we mostly stayed in the car, shooting our photos from the protection of the truck cab.

We found no ponies roaming free, but Chincoteague’s volunteer fire department has a few ponies penned up not too far from the road, so I was at least able to get a pony photo.

I did, however, get out of the car to photograph what I believe was a snowy egret catch fish. Nearby was a very dedicated birdwatcher with her camera mounted on a tripod. I just walked up there snapped a half dozen shots and got back into my truck.

The sun was starting to set across our shoulder as we got the eastern edge of the island which serves as the area’s main beach to the Atlantic Ocean. The Atlantic shoreline is definitely different than the coastline back in North San Diego County, and so far, I like my California coast better.

We drove up and down the ½ mile stretch of beach as folks were heading back to their cars, calling it a day. As we left the beach area we came upon that same lady with her camera firmly on the tripod, still stalking that same bird. That’s a dedicated birdwatcher.

Heading back into town there was a McDonald’s which was beckoning me with its siren call. We hadn’t eaten lunch so I couldn’t resist. Yet here next to their parking lot was another pony pen with a half dozen horses which one could reach out and pet.

Back at the campsite, we watched a little TV, caught up on our Internet duties, and turned in for the night, another full day.

June 19, 2010 – Day Forty-three

2010-06-24T18:05:00.000-07:00

The Williamsburg KOA hosted a free pancake breakfast today. I love pancakes and I love free food! But out of the goodness of my heart I donated $5 toward the cause, whatever it may have been.

Today, Yorktown, Virginia was in our sites.

The Siege of Yorktown or Battle of Yorktown in the fall of 1781 was a decisive victory by the combined assault of American forces led by Major General George Washington and French forces led by General Comte de Rochambeau over a British Army commanded by Lieutenant General Lord Cornwallis. It proved to be the last major land battle of the American Revolutionary War, as the surrender of Cornwallis's army prompted the British government eventually to negotiate an end to the conflict.

Williamsburg, Yorktown, and Jamestown are all very close to each other. This entire area is richly steeped in American history and we could have spent much more time here, even driving to Charlottesville, Virginia to see Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello, but we have to save some things for another odyssey, this one during the fall foliage explosion.

Negotiating the maze of roads we finally made it to the Yorktown waterfront. This completely rebuilt area was host to a farmer’s market today. I would have enjoyed it more but it was still so damn hot.

From here we headed to the site of the Yorktown battlefield, a national park. Once again my Golden Eagle pass got us in without paying. The visitor center offers a museum with battlefield artifacts, a mock-up of an 18^th century sailing vessel, an assortment of dioramas depicting the siege, and a movie explaining each side’s strategy.

The trenches marking the offensive and defensive siege lines were uncovered by black conservation corps members during the Depression. Also, a host of cannons are within walking distance, some original, some replicas, all interesting.

But best of all was the firing of one of the replica cannons by troops dressed in period pieces. It almost made me feel as if I was in the area 225 years ago.

Returning to the trailer took a lot longer that it should have, because the GPS said one way, Marianne said another, and the road marked “west” really went east. Aggravating, to say the least.

After a rest from the morning’s Yorktown visit, we headed to the local Wal*Mart for resupplies. We also bought a several non-essential items, like a new book on CD (Laura Bush’s book), so we ended up sending spent close to $200.

That evening I decided to go to the pool to cool off. I should have known better. This campground is a haven for families, and the pool was crowded, including babies in diapers. The deep end of the pool was only 5’, but one couldn’t see the bottom. So I just hung my legs over the edge and watched the show.

Back at the trailer we had a late dinner, turned on the TV, but spent most of our time working on our photos and on the Internet catching up on email and this blog. It’s almost like being at home: Marianne on her computer and me on mine. We couldn’t imagine this trip without our computers and the Internet.

June 18, 2010 - Day Forty-two

2010-06-20T07:43:00.000-07:00

Today marks six weeks on the road, and we haven’t killed each other or the dogs yet, or vice versa.

On our agenda today was a visit to Colonial Williamsburg, the historic district of the independent city of Williamsburg, Virginia. It has buildings dating from 1699 to 1780 which made colonial Virginia's capital. For most of the 18th century, Williamsburg was the center of government, education and culture in the Colony of Virginia. George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Patrick Henry, James Monroe, James Madison, and others molded democracy in the Commonwealth of Virginia and the United States here.

We found a parking spot at the huge visitor’s center, and the evening before had learned from the West Virginia fishing couple that one needn’t pay for admission as long as one walked and didn’t go into any the museums or exhibits. This would be perfect for us.

So off we went, leaving the visitor’s center on foot headed back into a time warp. We thought it would start just beyond the bridge that the left the center, but no….we had to walk about a mile to get into the actual area. And it was still hot.

We entered the town and yes, it was 18^th century America, but it had sort of Disneyland effect on me, without the rides or Mickey. The buildings were immaculate and people dressed in period clothing where driving and riding horses, which pooped all over the streets, affording a true period aroma.

We only had two hours to visit this huge area, so we only saw a small part of it. People were telling us we had to spend two days here to see everything, that was more time than I wanted to spend here, nor did I want to spend $150 for a two-day pass.

Since it was lunch time and we were getting hungry, we headed to their equivalent of restaurant row, choosing a tavern to quench our desires. As we headed to the street where the tavern was located, we were blocked by a rope across the road and young woman dressed in a period outfit asking to see our tickets. We had none, and with that we were banned from entering since there was some sort of show going on further up the street that only paying guests could witness. She did tell us a back way to get to the tavern via an alley. The sign on the back door directed us to the front door, which now put us where we were banned just minutes ago. Oh well, live and eat.

At the door we were greeted by three people, again in period dress, and promptly escorted to our table which was in the basement of the tavern lit by candles. Marianne had a hard time reading her menu in the dim lights, so my trusty LED pocket light came to the rescue. Marianne ordered the equivalent of a cheeseburger and fries, and I had a Virginia ham sandwich, with a crawfish soup appetizer. All the food was scrumptious.

After lunch we retraced our steps back to the truck, stopping but once in an open air period market selling an assortment of trinkets, including the popular three edged hat, which was donned by more than one tourist.

It turns out that the highlight of our visit to the town was the 1957, 45-minute movie shown at the visitor’s center, about Colonial Williamsburg at the time immediately before the signing of the Declaration of Independence, starring a young Jack Lord, of Hawaii Five-O fame.

We came back to the trailer, dead tired from all the walking and the heat. We rested up a bit until we conquered our next challenge that evening, washing clothes.

The laundermat at this KOA was again within walking distance of our trailer, but since we had too much laundry to easily carry we drove the truck over there. And for some godforsaken reason, the laundry was not air-conditioned. So not only was it hot outside, it was doubly hot compliments of the commercial-sized driers.

We just put our clothes into two washers, stuck in our $2 each and walked back to our trailer, leaving the truck. Thirty minutes later I walked back, put the clothes into two driers, paid $1.50 for the drying and returned to the trailer. Another thirty minutes later we returned to retrieve our clothes, but by now the lights had gone off in the laundry room and rather than put more money into the driers and wait in the heat and dark until the clothes were dry, we removed our still damp laundry, loaded it into the truck and drove back to the trailer.

We had to hang and spread our laundry all over the trailer in order for it to dry. It would end up taking 24 hours before the clothes was dry enough to accomplish this feat, compliments of the high humidity in the area.

After all of this, we just fell into bed.

June 17, 2010 – Day Forty-one

2010-06-20T07:36:00.000-07:00

We packed up yet once again and this time we were headed to Kitty Hawk, home to the Wright Brothers memorial. I was amazed to learn that the site of the birthplace of aviation is just a couple of miles as the crow flies from the site of the Lost Colony. That’s never explained in any history books. We however had to drive about ten miles since we had to cross another bridge from Manteo on Roanoke Island to Nags Head on the Outer Banks and then drive a few miles north.

We drove right by the Wright Memorial because we were in the wrong lane and I didn’t see any signs announcing it. We were in the right lane and the memorial was off on the left. You’d think the Wright Memorial would be on the right side, right? A couple of hundred feet past the entrance I was able to make a right turn, driving once around a block until we were back on the main road, took a left, and finally make that right turn into the Wright Memorial. This was a federal monument and as such we were able to use our Golden Eagle Park Pass to get in for free, sort of, since I had to buy the pass a few months ago, but it did save me at least $20 today.

This park is basically a ½ mile long by ¼ mile wide meadow with a 75’ hill on the south end, topped by an obelisk dedicated to the historic event. When the Wright brothers flew on that fateful December 13, 1903 they were taking off to the north, into the direction of the winter winds. They made four flights that day, each one a little longer than the previous one. The last one ended up in a crash landing that damaged their flyer beyond repair. The next day they packed up and went home to Dayton, Ohio.

There is a visitor’s center with a couple of exact size replicas of the flyer as well as dioramas of the event. Also on the grounds is a museum, which seems to be sponsored by the aviation industry, complete with another replica, and a movie theater which continually shows the story of what happened here just over 100 years ago.

I walked the entire grounds, Marianne bowed out of this, since it was still hot. Fortunately there was a stiff breeze blowing which helped. When I returned from visiting the obelisk memorial, there were 25 kids flying kites near where the brothers launched their contraption.

From here we drove to Williamsburg, Virginia site of the recreated first capital of the state. We booked ourselves into the local KOA for two nights so that we would have time to thoroughly enjoy the area, as well as time to wash clothes.

That evening the campground had a candy bar bingo event. After much searching we found the pavilion where it was located. This well-shaded campground it huge, so huge it is divided into two different parks. The instructions told us to go to one of the two parks, but when we got there we found it was in the pavilion in our part of the park.

It was so hot in that un-air-conditioned building, and we were only playing for Halloween candy, so after about a half dozen games Marianne and I decided to go exploring and buy our own candy bars.

We aimlessly drove around the wooded countryside until we came upon a sign directing us to a fishing pier. After driving a few miles under the canopy of trees in the dusk, following the trail of lightening buds, be came upon a clearing that was part of a state park just in time to see the sunset. As a couple of the last fishermen were loading up their boats, we walked out onto the 100’ long fishing pier. At the end of the pier was a couple about our age, visiting from West Virginia, casting their fishing lines a few more times before they had to quit because the park closed at 9pm. They offered to share their bait with us, but we declined, since we were more interested on what they could tell us about the area. They were loquacious.

As we pulled out of the park the “need fuel” light came on, and since we didn’t know exactly where we were, we had to go hunting for diesel. The first two stations we found didn’t have diesel. At the second we were directed to a third “up the road a piece” only to discover it was closed for the night. But next door was a mini-market so we were finally able to get our candy bars.

We turned around with the aid of a GPS we headed back to the campground, coming upon a Shell station with diesel a short time later. With fuel in the truck we made it back, walked the dogs and went to bed.

June 16, 2010 - Day Forty

2010-06-20T07:25:00.000-07:00

Forty days! And coming up on 40 nights!

Just as I was waking up, I heard the pitter patter of rain sprinkles on the roof of our trailer. Now, I’m not worried about rain on the trailer; I’m just worried about having to take the dogs out on their morning constitutional walk in the rain. They get wet, dirty, and then stinky, not only that, they aren’t too excited about doing their business when it’s raining.

Lucky for all of us the rain stopped after only about a half hour. But the ground was still wet so they got wet and stinky anyway.

The young couple in the tent was packing up and leaving early. We’re not as motivated, so it took us a few hours to drink our coffee, have breakfast, do our Internet bit, and finally pack up the trailer, hook it up and get ready to go. The luxury of retirement and no time commitments!

We plotted our course for the Outer Banks of North Carolina, 150 miles away. We didn’t have any place to stay, but we weren’t too worried because it wasn’t a weekend.

When we were about 70 miles out, we stopped at a visitor’s center in Plymouth, North Carolina and received a recommendation of where to stay. The Refuge on Roanoke Island had one opening left for only one night. We were in luck! We pressed on.

We had been driving through rain squalls on and off all day, and the final push to the Outer Banks was no different. These islands are connected to the mainland via bridges that reminded me of Key West.

Roanoke Island was the site of the first English colony in the New World. It was financed by Sir Walter Raleigh in 1585 settled in 1587, but by 1590 the inhabitants of the colony disappeared off the face of the earth, the only clue to their whereabouts was the word “Croatoan” carved into a tree, discovered by the crew a re-supply ship. No one knows for sure what happened to the colonists including Virginia Dare, the first English baby born in the New World. St. Augustine claims to be the birthplace of the first European in the New World.

Our campsite was closer to the southern end of the eight mile long island near the community of Manteo. The Refuge on Roanoke Island’s main office wasn’t too much larger than an outhouse, where Peggy, the manager, entered from her motorhome to welcome us in. The place was treeless since it was only about two years old. Its saving grace was that it was on a small pond that was part of the surrounding marshland. There were wooden boardwalks that allowed visitors to wander further into the marshes.

Nevertheless, we felt lucky to have found a place that offered full hook-ups and our site backed up right to the pond with only a sidewalk and a three-foot drop separating the trailer from the water. The drawback was that there are geese in this pond, and geese poop a lot, and it’s the size of dog poop. So our campground was a minefield of poop. Not only that, but our dogs found this stuff tasty. Yuck!

Later that afternoon we decided to visit the site of the famous settlement, called Fort Raleigh, on the northern end of Roanoke Island. We briefly stopped at the visitor center, learned everything we could in about 10 minutes. The most important thing we learned is that we needed to see the play “The Lost Colony”, which is presented almost nightly during the summer season, and has been since 1937. This makes it the longest running play in the United States. Andy Griffith performed in the play in the late ‘40’s and early ‘50’s. In fact he liked the community of Manteo, named after the Indian chief at the time of the Lost Colony, so much that he moved here.

We walked the 500 steps to the play’s ticket office and purchased two tickets for the 8pm show tonight; getting seats just 6 rows back from the stage.

Then we walked another 500 steps to the site of the colony, but in actuality there isn’t too much there, just a recreated seven-foot high ring of dirt about 70’ in diameter. Although it isn’t that impressive visually, it gave me an eerie feeling just being on such hallowed ground, very metaphysical.

We also stopped by the Elizabethan Gardens, checking out only the gift shop and not paying the admission to see another garden, especially after we’ve seen Bellingrath Gardens in Mobile.

We returned to the trailer just long enough to walk the dogs and eat dinner. Then we got back into the truck to head north and see the play. Within a mile of the campground it started raining very hard, sheets of rain, large puddles were forming at the side of road. Not good for seeing an outdoor play.

But as we approached the northern end of the island the rain had miraculously abated. We arrived a quarter to eight, fifteen minutes before the start of the play. From the parking lot we walked to the entrance, but were informed that the start of the play would be delayed because of lightening in the area.

When we purchased our tickets we were informed that if the play was interrupted due to rain with the first thirty minutes, we would be eligible for a full refund, by mail. While the crew was waiting for the lightening to subside, we milled under the covered entrance area. We waited and waited and waited.

Finally an hour after its supposed start, we were allowed into our seats. I was worried that I would be able to stay awake for the next two and a half hours and then still drive back to the trailer.

But my fears were allayed once the play started. The actors were great, the scenery was great, the effects were great and the costumes were great. And the retort of guns would awaken any one who was foolish enough to try to sleep. Actors also appear on two stages to the right and left of the audience, as well as enter from the aisles. The scenery changed from 16^th century London, to the ports, to the wilderness, to the colony itself. I thoroughly enjoyed the play, including the singing.

And we made it home shortly before midnight, tired but satisfied.

June 15, 2010 – Day Thirty-nine

2010-06-18T04:42:00.000-07:00

Before leaving Charlotte we met Nikki at 8am for breakfast at one of our favorite restaurants, The Cracker Barrel. This restaurant cooks hearty Southern-style breakfasts complete with grits. What is a grit, anyway?

Shortly after 9am we said our goodbyes to Nikki who was off to work just a couple of miles away. This would be the last relative we’d see until we get to Wisconsin in a month or so. Almost the entire trip so far, we’ve visited friends and relatives along the way, which made this part of our odyssey very enjoyable.

From now on we’d be truly on our own for a while, not knowing exactly where we’re headed next, but I still have that sketchy itinerary in my head of places on my bucket list to see.

So it was that we weren’t 100% sure where we were going to end up tonight, but after searching on a couple of our GPS programs we found a campground that looked interesting, a state park about 150 miles east of Charlotte on Jordan Lake.

Once again we drove through back roads to get there, seeing some interesting small towns. Since we didn’t have the actual address of the park, we ended up going down the wrong road, ending up in the park headquarters. I whipped out yet another GPS program, got my bearings, turned around, and drove to the campground, which was on a peninsula on the lake.

At the campground check-in station we paid our $25 and were told to pick out any campsite we liked. I was a little concerned that finding a spot may be tough, but it turned out that there was hardly a soul there, so we had our pick of the park. And we picked out a winner, secluded with no neighbors we could see, ½ acre of meadow outside of our door, everything surrounded by trees yet with a great view of the lake just across the road. I could have stayed here at least a week just vegetating but Marianne finds that kind of solitude torture.

Just outside the park is the hamlet of Pittsboro which had a sign proclaiming “Historic Downtown” on the highway leading into town. After I set up the trailer, walked the dog, and smoked a cigar relaxing on a log at the edge of the lake, we headed off the half dozen miles to town, sans dogs.

I must remind everyone that it is still Africa-hot here.

We pulled into town shortly after 5pm. Unfortunately the town wasn’t as impressive as we had hoped, the downtown area was a little over a block long, and a steady stream of highway traffic divided their main street. At the end of this street stood the hollowed out shell of what may have been the town’s pride, their court house. Now there were construction scaffolds climbing up the walls of this burnt remnant.

Against Marianne’s better wishes, I pulled into a parking lot and got her to reluctantly come into the first store I saw. She was pleasingly overwhelmed, for it was just the kind of store she likes – unique items, post cards, and knick knacks, with a clothing department thrown in. Marianne spent the next 45 minutes touching, feeling, and investigating each and every item that intrigued her.

Their stuff wasn’t cheap, so after all of that touchy, feely stuff, Marianne just bought a set of ball-point pens that appear to be from a diverse collection of very weird businesses. These funny pens will end up being gifts to a host of friends and relatives. You are forewarned.

We walked the rest of Main Street in the heat, but no other shops piqued Marianne’s interest except an old fashioned malt shop complete with a long soda fountain. In this heat, ice cream and root beer were the perfect staple, diet be damned.

We also stopped at the local Dollar store and Piggly Wiggly to pick up much needed provisions. Marianne hadn’t seen a Piggly Wiggly in a while so the storefront became another photo opportunity.

Heading east back to the campground the skyline was dominated by one of the largest thunderheads I have ever seen. I soared miles into the sky and was shooting bolts of lightening. I was guessing it would be time to batten down the hatches when we got back to the trailer, including retracting the awning to protect it.

Back at the trailer we turned on the TV to get a weather update, and it turned out that the storm that we were looking at in the east wasn’t the threat at all, but rather a storm that was coming from the west behind us was wreaking havoc with gusts up 58 mph and quarter-sized hail.

According to the TV news this storm, only about 20 miles to the west of us, was uprooting trees and downing power lines, heading southeast.

A few campsites away from us were a young couple from Brooklyn, New York with their large dog staying in a little two-man tent. I warned them about what I perceived to be the impending doom, and to batten down their hatches.

The gods must have been looking favorably upon us because the storm completely missed us and it wasn’t until 6am the next morning that we got a small sprinkle.

June 14, 2010 – Day Thirty-eight

2010-06-17T19:28:00.001-07:00

This morning as I was walking Coco for her morning constitutional, the older couple with a 5^th-wheel trailer, was warming up their truck in preparation to leave. They’d been sitting there a while, I guess trying to figure out where they’d be headed next. As I walked immediately behind them he proceeded to drive off. It was then that I heard a loud screech followed by an equally loud crash.

Apparently the pin slipped out of its mount inside the bed of the pick-up and dropped unto the back of the truck, where it not only buckled the sides of the pick-up bed but also totally ruined the tailgate.

Within seconds the man was outside of his pick-up explaining to me that he had doubled checked the pin and even put on the padlock. In my mind the evidence proved the contrary. Guilty!

About a minute later his wife for some odd reason climbs out the driver’s door and exclaims to me, “Just like last time.” She had ratted him out.

It was a sorry sight, and there was not much I could do, so I continued walking Coco. When I returned to the trailer, they were still standing there scratching their collective heads trying to figure out what to do.

I then took Molly on for her morning constitutional walk, passing the accident again, but now the gentleman was headed to the campground office, presumably to get some assistance.

When I returned with Molly, the woman was there alone, in some distress since in all the excitement, they had locked their keys in their pick-up. That in itself is too bad, but their two dogs we now trapped and she was concerned that they be cooked in the mounting heat.

The gentleman returned with someone from the main office who tried to jimmy the car door open to no avail. I asked the woman if they had AAA, no, she said, but they did have Good Sam Roadside Assistance. When I left them, he had borrowed a cell phone and was on hold with the Good Sam folks.

I returned to the trailer and related this tale to Marianne. As we looked out of our window to see someone successfully opening the door to let the dogs out, and to use the 5^th-wheeler’s automatic jacks to raise the trailer off of the smashed truck bed.

After about an hour, he got everything somewhat squared away, hooked up again. When I looked at the campsite, I saw that he left his shoes on the picnic table. What an awful way to start the day!

Shortly after 11am we headed to Nikki’s work to pick her and Cory up to take them to lunch. Her work was much closer to our campground than I thought so we got there way too early. Fortunately there was a Costco very near Nikki’s work so we spent the next half hour there picking up things that Marianne can only get at Costco. We were also looking to find another book on CD, but there was only one copy of one lame “girlie girl” book in the entire store so I wisely vetoed the purchase.

We got to Nikki’s work right on time, and she met us at the door to give us a tour of where she spends her days. Melissa was right there in the cube next to hers. We met some of her other co-workers, and then with Cory, the four of us headed for lunch at a Japanese hibachi restaurant just down the street.

This is a Benihana-style restaurant where the cook prepares the food on a sizzling hot large grill right at the table in front of you. They do some tricks with their knives and forks and some of the food, entertaining you all the time, complete with banter. Since these are also one of my favorite kinds of restaurants, I’ve been to them more than a few times, and it’s uncanny how many of the same jokes keep coming back. If you’ve been to one you’ll know what I mean when I say, “Japanese egg roll.”

After lunch we said our goodbyes to Cory, since he is currently working two jobs, and won’t be able to join us for dinner tonight.

After Nikki went back to work, we went back to the campground and just relaxed a bit.

At 7pm we headed for a park where Nikki would be playing the second of two soccer games tonight. She was leaving the first game at halftime at a different park in order to be able to play the entire second game with her “original” Monday night soccer team. Mike Caponi plays goalie for this team, and there’s even guy who was a teacher with Nikki when she taught at West Mecklenberg here in Charlotte. Her loyalty is with this team.

Everyone played their hearts out in this heat, but Nikki’s team still lost 4-3, to what supposedly a pretty tough team. I brought out the “big camera” for this event and was able to capture a number of great photos with the long lens. So when Marianne and I are playing dueling cameras, this time I brought a rifle and she only has a pistol!

After a quick stop at Nikki’s condo, where she changed and we were able to see all of her new furniture and meet her new roommate Amy, we headed over to Ed’s Tavern for dinner.

Ed’s is in an old house and I guess they have an old air-conditioner because it wasn’t working. It was 9pm and we were too pooped to drive to another restaurant, so we endured the heat. Another reason is that this place also has deep fried pickles, an appetizer that I first met and liked, in Jacksonville. Instead of using sliced pickles, Ed’s uses pickle spears. This does two things: one, there’s less breading and two, deep fried pickle spears stay really really hot for a long time. Nikki burned the roof of her mouth when she brazenly bit into the first spear.

I dislike mouth/tongue/teeth injuries, so I waited about 15 minutes before I attempted a spear of my own – and it was still hot. I think I’m a fan of deep-fried sliced pickles rather than the spears.

After our late dinner we headed back to the trailer and the dogs – we were all dog tired.

June 13, 2010 - Day Thirty-seven

2010-06-17T15:13:00.000-07:00

Marianne's sister Janet Blair came out to have breakfast with us this morning at the restaurant that’s part of this campground. They had a great buffet, a style that I’ve never seen: you go up to the buffet table and pick up your bacon, sausage, French toast, potatoes, grits, bread, fruit, and whatever else I may have missed, then take it back to your table where the waitress gets your egg order and a couple of minutes later brings it. I like my eggs sunny-side up and Marianne likes her scrambled. In most buffets you’ll never find sunny-side up eggs because they just don’t do well on a buffet table. And the scrambled eggs at most buffets are either the consistency of dried cement or a color that’s only good on Easter eggs. Maybe more restaurants should pick up on this trick.

After breakfast Janet walked with us back to our trailer, where she bonded with the dogs. She thinks she needs a dog, and we’re trying to convince her she does. Her daughter, Maggie, is off at college so she has that empty nest syndrome. Now all she’ll have to do is convince John that he wants a dog, too.

We took the Interstate roads from Aiken all the way to Charlotte so the trip was uneventful and we didn’t get to see as much of the countryside as when we take the back roads. But then we’ve been this way before.

We checked into the local KOA, got our site, and called Nikki. Within thirty minutes she was at our campsite, bearing gifts. For a belated Mother’s Day gift, Marianne received a pretty necklace which she wore the rest of the day. And I got a “Germany” World Cup soccer T-shirt for Father’s Day. Since it was Nikki’s birthday three days ago, we gave her our gift.

Then Nikki took us to a German restaurant, The Waldhorn, to watch Germany play in the soccer World Cup. What a treat! It was like actually being in Germany, since many of the patrons and staff were German. I proudly wore my new T-shirt. Cheers of “zicky zacky, zicky zacky, oy, oy, oy” were echoing off the walls every time Germany scored. Happily Germany beat Australia 4–0.

The only thing we did wrong is we ate sandwiches for lunch before we got her, the restaurant put out an all-you-can-eat buffet that was to die for: all of my favorite German foods, plus some of the best desserts on the planet including Schwarzwalder Kirsch Torte, if you have to ask what that is, you’ve never had it, because once you’ve had it, you’ll never forget what it was.

After a liter of beer, we headed back to the campground to pick up the dogs to go to our niece’s home for a barbecue. Janet and Mike Caponi live in a great house which Janet has been adding touches to since we were here for their wedding this past Labor Day. Janet is an interior designer for a large architectural firm in Charlotte, and the daughter of Marianne’s older sister Chris. Mike also reminded me that he, too, was integral in doing some of the interior design.

Just as we got there, the heavens opened up and it rained pretty hard. And like most rainstorms I’ve experience while traveling the South on this odyssey, they are over within a half hour or so.

Also there was Nikki's boyfriend, Cory Clinton. They've been dating a couple of years now, so it looks like they've passed each other's muster. I like Cory even though I have to look up to him. He's tall. I guess I now know what it was like for Jack Till, Marianne's dad, when he kept meeting me.

Our dogs really enjoyed being at their home, especially since Janet has a rather large cat, Lil. And Lil has toys, and if you’ve been following this blog, you know that Molly and Coco just love cat toys, especially those little fake mice stuffed with catnip. It drives them just as crazy as it’s supposed to do with cats.

When Mike went out to barbecue the hamburgers and hot dogs, our dogs dashed out with him. But they didn’t stay on the porch for long; they went down the flight of stairs and started running around in their large fenced yard, which had become very messy with the rain.

When Marianne tried calling them to come back up, Coco bounded up all the stairs but Molly was overwhelmed by the sheer number of them, and just stood at the bottom, giving Marianne that “come help me” look.

They were both soaking wet, but we came prepared with our own towel, and dried them off the best we could. Back in the house they went hunting for the cat toys again.

Just before we started to eat, we were joined by Nikki’s workmate, Melissa, who occupies the cube next to her, and her boyfriend Daniel. We all sat down to eat our fill of cheeseburgers, hot dogs, and corn-on-the-cob. And for dessert Janet spoiled us with her own fresh-baked blueberry pie with ice cream. How can anyone stay on any diet when you’re continuously tempted with such good food?

The evening was topped off with Janet and Mike telling us their bag story. Don’t ask, you don’t want to know.

June 12, 2010 - Day Thirty-six

2010-06-14T15:45:00.000-07:00

This KOA was just 20 miles south of Savannah, Georgia, probably one of the prettiest cities in the entire country. We decided we needed to see this beauty, so this morning we left the trailer with the dogs in air-conditioned comfort at the campsite and headed to town arriving a few minutes before 9:00am, which is relatively early for us even though we get up every morning between five and six a.m., when the dogs start stirring.

We found the big visitor’s center/museum and immediately signed up of a 1½ hour trolley tour of the city that was leaving right away. We figured we had 2½ hours to spend in the city before we needed to head back to the dogs, pack up, and head for Aiken, South Carolina, our next stop.

This is a historical tour, where the drivers narrate a scripted tour, complete with lame jokes. We could get off at any one of the fifteen stops and board a later trolley to take us where we wanted to go next.

Savannah was founded in 1733 as a buffer for the English to keep the Spanish in St. Augustine and Florida. It was laid out as a grid with 24 squares as parks, of these, 22 survive, giving the city its charm. Building codes now force new construction to look like the buildings that surround the particular square so even brand new buildings look just like buildings that are almost two centuries old.

Rich, our tour guide rattled off facts and figures as he drove around the 1½ hour course. Because of our limited time consideration, we stayed aboard until the 14^th stop, Franklin Market Place, just across from Franklin Square, named after Benjamin Franklin. We finally got breakfast around 11am at Belfords, were I ordered my favorite breakfast, Eggs Benedict. But this breakfast not only had Canadian bacon and an egg, but a slice of tomato as well. In my opinion it’s the Hollandaise sauce that makes the Eggs Benedict, and this met my expectations.

We only had time to duck into one store (thankfully) before the next trolley came by for us to catch back to our starting point. With that, our whirlwind tour of Savannah was over.

We drove the 20 miles back to the campground, got the trailer ready for travel, hooked it us and left around 1pm headed for Aiken.

We elected to take the back roads of South Carolina from Savannah to Aiken. We love driving through the countryside, because you can savor the flavor of the area. We got to see the quaint city centers of the small towns, people sitting on their porches, at the local filling station, and church lawns. Total Americana.

We hadn’t arranged for a camping spot in Aiken, and this turned out to be a little difficult because Aiken isn’t really a camping destination. We searched through our GPS maps and finally found a one that would probably meet our minimum standards, but we had to call them to get their physical address since the guides just said “Aiken”.

Armed with that information we plugged the address into the GPS which led us to where we wanted to be, Palmetto Lake Campground. This small campground doesn’t even have a main office; one just registers at the restaurant near the entrance on the highway. For $25 we got a nice shady spot.

The lake turned out to be about the size of a football field. It resembled more of a sink hole than a lake, so in my estimation is was probably a pond.

After I got everything set up, we put Marianne’s sister’s house into the GPS and off we went again. Janet and John have a darling house in Aiken that backs right up to a 2000 acre wildlife preserve, which will never have any buildings on it. They have redecorated the home since the last time I was there about a dozen years ago.

We sat on their new back porch sipping some drinks and catching up. As it was starting to get a little late, we all climbed into Janet’s Toyota SUV and headed for downtown Aiken and dinner.

In the late 1800’s, Aiken gained fame as a wintering spot for wealthy people from the Northeast. The nation's attention was riveted on Aiken when Nicholas Longworth, Republican Speaker of the House, came down unexpectedly with pneumonia and died there on April 9, 1931. He had been visiting family friends – all long-time Republicans and fellow poker players – who had a winter home in town. Longworth was married to US President Theodore Roosevelt's daughter, Alice Roosevelt Longworth, who rushed to his side from Cincinnati, Ohio, arriving prior to his death.

The main street running through downtown Aiken is wide with a median running down the middle of it. Cars can angle park on both sides of the street as well as both sides of the median. This creates a very wide boulevard with quaint stores and interesting restaurants.

We chose to go down a side street/alley where a former stable was turned into a great restaurant, The West Side Bowery. For their evening fare they offered about a half dozen different menu items for less than $10 called Jockey Meals. For that price I was expecting either miniscule portions or microwaved fare. I was wrong. I got more food that I could eat and it was scrumptious, once more adding to the plight of my diet.

After dinner we were invited to the home of Linda and Sam, who live just a couple of doors away from Janet and John. Their home was more secluded since it was closer to the wilderness and down a longer driveway. It was a fantastic home that featured an enclosed porch that had the feeling of a treehouse, since it was on stilts about 25 feet in the air. The reason we were there was to see the lightening bug show.

One of the things I miss about living in Oceanside is that there are no lightening bugs. As a kid growing up in New York, it was great catching as many as we could in glass jars. We stuffed some grass into those jars and punched holes into the lids with a hammer and nail, creating what we thought would be a perfect habitat for these luminescent flying bugs. But by the next morning they would all be dead. I also remember the strange smell of those dead bugs, a unique aroma that I believe I can identify at any time.

Linda is an artist who is preparing for a major one woman show. She creates huge pencil (graphite) drawings of logs, shells, rocks, and other natural items. She’s really good and hopes that this show will get her noticed. I hope it does.

With daiquiris made with fresh fruit we headed to the edge of the wilderness to view the light show. I was impressed, I’d never seen that many lightening bugs, but Sam said a couple of nights before there were many more.

Since the dogs were back in the trailer all this time, we had to say our goodnights and head back to the trailer. Tomorrow we’d be going to Charlotte to see our daughter, Nikki.

June 11, 2010 – Day Thirty-five

2010-06-14T12:03:00.000-07:00

They claim is that Jacksonville is the largest city in the U.S. - no, not in population, but rather in area. I’ll have to agree. For a while I thought it might be Naples, Florida, since it took forever to get from one place to another.

This morning we left our campsite which was on the southern edge of Jacksonville, then a little over an hour later we finally left the northern environs of the city, and we were driving about 60 mph. It’s big city but it was also pretty city. I like Jacksonville.

But this day would not continue to be a likeable day.

About 14 miles after we crossed the border of Georgia on our way to Savannah, a trucker honked at me as he passed me on I-95, pointing downward. I immediately pulled over, on a large bridge no less, fortunately with a safety lane. I got out of the truck cab, checked to see that both kayaks were still on top, checked the truck and trailer tires on the driver’s side as traffic was zooming by, and everything was okay. I then walked behind the trailer and the generator was still attached, but when I got to the trailer tires on the passenger side, I saw that the front tire was gone – shredded off of the rim.

Fortunately there was no damage to the wheel itself, as it must have happened just seconds before the trucker warned us.

Did I mention it was Africa hot outside?

Well, I had experience changing a tire from my adventure last year, so I got out the tools, got the tire off the ground, and proceeded. Everything worked fine until I tried to get the spare tire off of its mounting rack. One of the bolts was turning blindly. I tried all the tricks I know (about one) to get it loose, but the vise grips didn’t grip, and after fifteen minutes of frustration I gave up and called AAA.

Thank god for cell phones!

AAA promised a rescue truck within 30 minutes. While I was waiting I tried some more and failed some more to get the spare off. I finally gave up and retreated to the truck to await my rescue. I had barely sat down when a local sheriff’s deputy showed up behind me. I explained my predicament to him and together we tried some more. After another 15 minutes with no success, I told him he could leave me here as AAA was on its way.

I put my menagerie of tools away and got back into the truck to await AAA. And once again I had barely sat down when the AAA rescue truck showed up.

I had explained to AAA dispatch that I would need some sort of tool to cut off a bolt, so this driver showed up with an air chisel. After ten minutes of chiseling the spare was off the rack, we finally got it off and replaced the destroyed tire. I thanked the AAA driver after I gave him $30, the chiseling was $25 more than an AAA visit and an extra $5 tip.

I was getting ready to drive the trailer off, I noticed that there was a screw embedded into the tire behind the one I just replaced and I swear I heard air hissing. Oh oh…..

Have no fear, I have a GPS program that can find stores by type, so I just entered ‘tires” into the program and waited for the results. When “antique stores” showed up, I should have known this may not work out just how I had envisioned.

I altered the search and viola! It found a commercial tire store just seven miles up the interstate and three miles east. I knew I could make ten miles on my ailing tire.

When I got to the location, the GPS program announced that I “reached my destination.” But there was nothing anywhere. I drove a little further and the GPS program kept begging me to turn around since I had apparently missed the shop. But there wasn’t a place to turn around, and I was rapidly running out of road.

By the grace of god, the end of the road had a place to turn around in front of a church. I didn’t miss the irony of this.

Then I entered “Wal*Mart” in the GPS, but the nearest one was apparently 30 miles away, further than I trusted my leaking tire. I then chose the second closest tire store which was another eight miles from my current location.

When I got there, there was nothing there, either.

I then put “Firestone” in the GPS search and it was supposedly only another four miles up the road, so off we went again.

On the way I found a “Kingdom Tires” store, pulled in and explained that I was sick and tired of trailer tires and wanted to purchase light truck tires instead. I was informed that they don’t make light truck tires in a 14” size that would be strong enough to support my trailer, and 15” inch tires wouldn’t work either, but that 16” would, but 16” tires wouldn’t fit in the wheel well of my trailer. I was stuck with more 14” trailer tires.

But Kingdom Tires didn’t have the radial tires I wanted, so she called another tire store just down the street, and they had them.

Barnes Tire & Service of New Brunswick, Georgia said they could put on two new tires, replacing the destroyed tire as well as the spare I had used to replace it, plus fix the tire with the screw in it, in about an hour or two at the most.

Since it was well past our lunch hour, we backed the trailer up to an open bay, I then detached the trailer, fired up the generator, turned on the air-conditioning in the trailer, and put the dogs inside while Marianne and I went to have a leisurely lunch.

We returned an hour later and all the work was done. Two-hundred and ten dollars later I had my two new tires and the patched tire was now my spare.

The entire ordeal took about three hours (about as long as it’s taken you to read this). This put a crimp into our plans to have been in Savannah early enough to take a tour of the town before we had to leave for Aiken, South Carolina to visit the last of Marianne’s siblings, her younger sister Janet.

Shortly after getting back on I-95 northbound the clouds were getting ominous and lightening was flashing and thunder was booming. Then the wind picked up. As we crossed a couple of bridges the wind was whipping up so much that the rain, that had begun to fall, was coming up over the bridge from below. The winds were really rocking the trailer so we slowed down to 35 mph and the rain was getting stronger and stronger. I felt we must have just missed a tornado since the temperature dropped from almost 100° to 75° in just minutes. And it was getting darker and darker.

Oh, could this day be any worse?

No.

After about 40 minutes we were back in semi-sunlight, but now Marianne announced that she was getting tired and that she wanted to stop at the KOA just a few miles ahead. It was a Friday night and we hadn’t made any reservations, but our luck had finally changed.

We got a pull-through site and I didn’t even unhook, I just plugged in the electricity and hooked up the water. I then crawled in bed and took a well-deserved nap.

June 10, 2010 - Day Thirty-four

2010-06-14T11:50:00.000-07:00

We’re going kayaking today! And it’s our daughter, Nikki’s 28^th birthday!

Since Pacetti’s is a real fish camp, it’s geared for boats and fishing, and has a nice launch ramp.

We unloaded the kayaks off of the top of the truck and into the water. Marianne was concerned that we’d run into alligators, which of course gave me the willies too. I can tell you up front that we didn’t see any. And I looked.

We headed up the tributary for about a mile, passing fishing shacks and docks, trees hanging into the water, and an abundance of water lilies. We turned around and now headed downstream toward the St. John’s River, going underneath the bridge that crossed the highway, looking up we saw hundreds of bird’s nests. A little further we saw what appeared to me as two abandoned sailboats and one motorboat anchored on the side of the river; I paddled close to these craft and made it a point to find out about them.

We turned around, stopped in the river and had our snack of apple pieces and string cheese washed down with Coke Zero.

Back at Pacetti’s we loaded the kayaks onto the truck and headed to our campsite. As Marianne took a shower, I headed over to the main office to pay for an additional night’s stay, and ask about those boats.

It turns out the two sailboats owners come by every week to check on them. You can’t get to the boats by land, only by water. The motorboat which looked even shabbier turned out to be a boat that had sunk and then was salvaged. A man who already had a good boat bought it but didn’t want to tell his wife. He wanted to restore it to its former glory, but has since lost his job. So, in effect he’s literally up the creek without a paddle.

I got back to the trailer to take my shower, when Suzanne called to let us know that she was now officially done with school, and they’d let the staff off early. We all decided that we’d like to see St. Augustine again, as I’d been there twice, once in 1971 with Pete when he was only 12 on our way to watch a moon launch. We had driven my 1971 Ford Pinto from Montgomery to Cape Canaveral, and then once again with Marianne and Nikki twenty-five years later.

Our campground is about halfway between Jacksonville and St. Augustine, so Suzanne came to our site again to take us there. Peter was still at work, and Stephanie had to finish up a video project for her school.

St. Augustine is the oldest continuously inhabited white settlement in the United States, founded in 1565, less than 75 years after Columbus's sailing adventure. It’s a pretty city that grew up around a large Spanish fort, Castillo de San Marcos. Across the street from this fort is a large old town area that is filled full of great little shops.

It wasn’t quite as hot as we’d experienced because we were near the Atlantic Ocean, but it was still above 90°. We stopped in to a few shops, a gorgeous Catholic church, and had a tasty, albeit expensive, gelato.

We then took a quick trip to St. Augustine beach where we saw the lighthouse and finally got to see the Atlantic Ocean. Although we had been next to it for 350 miles, we never took the time to get a good view of the ocean. It's claimed that one side of the Keys are on the Gulf and the other on the Atlantic, but this made it more official.

A couple of hours later we were ready to head back. Suzanne took us to our trailer, where we freshened up a bit and then followed her to the house where Stephanie was waiting. About 90 minutes later Pete came home and we all went to Carrabba’s, a great Italian restaurant.

We’ve probably been going out to dinner too much, but it’s been so tempting to having the cooking and clean-up done for you. This being once-in-a-lifetime trip, we’re going to do it up right.

Unfortunately this attitude has played havoc with our diet plans, and since it’s been so hot we haven’t been able to exercise. Heck I’ve only take my bicycle out once and driven it about 500’. We’re hoping that as we leave the South, the weather will cool and then we won’t be able to use heat as an excuse.

June 9, 2010 - Day Thirty-three

2010-06-14T06:47:00.000-07:00

We left Orlando to head north to Jacksonville to visit Marianne’s brother Peter, and his wife, Suzanne, and daughter, Stephanie. Their daughter Laura was vacationing in the Bahamas this week, so she was going to miss out on all the fun!

We found their house using our GPS and parked out front, and as soon as we did, their neighbor came over and had to check us out. We knew that Peter and Suzanne were still at work, but Stephanie had headed to the local Wal*Mart to fulfill her shopping fix. We called her on her cell phone and she was home in ten minutes.

The Tills have a great home, and a nice large yard that the dogs immediately took to. They also have two cats, a brother and sister called Mister and Missus. Although Mister is the braver of the two, Missus is the original real scaredy cat. She hid underneath the master bed the entire time we were there, we never caught a glimpse of her. Mister came out of his hiding spot when the dogs were safely outside and he could be the king of his domain again.

The dogs also found a few of the cat’s toys and loved them to pieces, literally. Who knew that our dogs loved catnip so much. The next time I go shopping for pet toys, I’m going to avoid the dog aisle altogether and head straight for the kitty stuff!

Within a short while Suzanne came home, she’s a special education instructor, and this was the last day of kids in the classroom before summer break. She loves her job, so she had mixed emotions: elated that the school year was over, but sad that she’d miss the kids she’d grown so found of for a while.

Later, Peter finally came home and we had to decide what where we wanted to go for dinner. Suzanne had been raving about a Vietnamese restaurant for quite some time, but Stephanie wasn’t too keen on that idea. In the end we elected to go to a “fish camp” about a mile from their home.

Clarks Fish Camp was once a real fish camp on a tributary of the St. John’s River, the large river that flows through Jacksonville and empties into the Atlantic. It’s now an extremely popular restaurant that has a jungle motif and partially overhangs the water. It was so popular that we had to get on waiting list to get a place to sit.

After snapping photos in this very photogenic site, we were seated with stuffed (as in very large stuffed) toys staring down at us from above. Pete and Suzanne said we just had to try the deep fried pickle slices. Now, I’ve never heard of anything like that, but I’m always up for a new taste sensation, so we ordered a large plate to share among the five of us as an appetizer. I have to admit they were very good. I believe they are prepared just like fried zucchini or fried okra, breaded and then deep fat fried and served with a ranch dressing.

This restaurant had an exotic menu, including barbecued alligator ribs. That was a little too much for me, so I just stuck with the deep fried shrimp and Marianne with barbecue pork ribs. The food was very tasty and the ambience was super.

After dinner we returned to their home to pick up the trailer and then take it to another fish camp, Pacetti’s, which really was a fish camp. It’s located about a mile up a tributary of the St. John’s River. Pete rode with me in the truck and girls followed in another car.

I set up the trailer with just a few minutes of available light before night set it. Afterward all we relaxed inside the trailer for a bit. To celebrate the occasion, I decided to bestow the highly coveted honor of “honorary trailer trash” on them. It was an extremely moving ceremony.

June 8, 2010 - Day Thirty-two

2010-06-14T05:19:00.000-07:00

For those of you following this blog, you know when things start slow and easy, it’s time for us to do at least one thing: wash clothes.

We hauled everything that need washing; clothes, sheets and towels to the campground laundermat. This time we had three loads, and at $1.75 per load plus $1.00 per load for drying, these events are costing close to $10. It was still Africa-hot here in Florida, but fortunately the laundermat was air-conditioned.

I stayed with the laundry as it was going through its machinations, finishing reading the book, “Heathsouth: The Wagon to Disaster”, written by the accountant for the company that started cooking the books to meet Wall Street’s expectations. Healthsouth was based in Birmingham, Alabama. I borrowed the book from my mother-in-law Helen and wanted to give it to my brother-in-law Frank before I left Orlando.

When the laundry was finished, it was time to find a local Wal*Mart to load up on groceries and supplies. I used to think all Wal*Marts are arranged pretty similarly so I would know my way around. Not this time. So what should have been a 20 minute excursion turned into a 60 minute diversion.

Later that afternoon we head back over to Chris and Frank’s home to barbecue steaks that Marianne still had frozen from California. We also brought our criminals, Molly and Coco, aka Frick and Frack. With the big yard, the dogs would once again be able to romp and chase each other.

Frank grilled the steaks to perfection, Chris cooked up the tasty accoutrements, and we dined in fine style.

After dinner Chris brought out a blueberry Jello dessert that was delicious.

And into the evening we reminisced about old times as well as the future.

But a new trend was developing: no rain. For the first time we were in Florida we weren’t rained on all day. We’ll see how long that lasts!

June 7, 2010 - Day Thirty-one

2010-06-12T05:00:00.000-07:00

This morning we woke up to the roar of lions. For about half an hour that low, threatening guttural sound permeated throughout the campground. I now had the sights, sounds and smells of Africa all without leaving the confines of my campsite!

We were headed to Orlando, and once again we were lead along toll roads by our GPS. I have to remind myself to take toll roads out of the GPS road choices.

We arrived at the Lake Whippoorwill KOA in southeast Orlando about mid-afternoon. This KOA happens to be one of the money making enterprises of a religious missionary group called The Pioneers. Their website is filled with great photographs of impoverished people throughout the world being assisted via their mission work. But nowhere was there any mention, much less photograph of their phenomenal mansion/headquarters building that abutted the campground.

Late that afternoon we headed to Marianne’s older sister’s home about 10 miles away. Chris and Frank Garland, like us, have been living in their same home forever. And like me, Frank recently retired. He was an accountant of SunTrust Bank,

We got to take the dogs along, and they had a great time playing in the backyard. But in the heat they would begin panting after a short while.

Frank and I picked up some food at a “New York style” Chinese restaurant. I know the difference between New York style of pizza, thin crust, and Chicago style pizza, thick crust, but I never heard this being used on Chinese food. I always thought it was Hunan, Szechuan, or Mandarin, but New York style? Maybe the Chinese had invaded New York while I was on this odyssey and there was a news block-out so I never heard about it. If you know anything about this theory, please let me know via private email, since we’re planning to head through New York in a couple of weeks.

While Marianne and her sister were catching up, Frank and I had a nice conversation as well. Frank is one of the original low key guys, nothing seems to faze him. He even admitted to me that he’d take the wrong road in order to avoid a hassle.

We scarfed up the dinner which was topped off by a scrumptious cherry pie with ice cream. After chit chatting a bit more and watching the dogs romp, we headed back to the campground and our trailer, once again having to pay to use the toll roads. But this time it was only $1 each way since the trailer wasn’t along for the ride.

June 6, 2010 - Day Thirty

2010-06-12T04:05:00.000-07:00

Wow, we’ve been on the road thirty days and not only that, I’ve documented all of them on this blog. I impress myself.

This morning we decided that it would a perfect time to tour Lion Country Safari with our discount two-day tickets. Shortly after 10am we drove the quarter mile to the park entrance. We warned by KOA staff that we’d have to remove the bikes from the bed of the truck but the kayaks would be okay.

But when we got to the entrance the lady at the ticket both looked at us askew when we told her we had been informed that it was alright to have our kayaks on top of the truck. She wanted to know who had given us that information, and when we started to tell her it was a staff member at the KOA, the other lady in the ticket both said that it was okay. It turns out it was her husband that was the staff who had gotten her to check our rig out the night before.

We were allowed in and were also given a CD which we played to tell us what we would be seeing as this is a drive through a park. You are continually warned not to roll down your windows much less exit your vehicle.

The park is divided into different areas of Africa separated by fences and cattle guards in the road, which keeps the animals in their proper region. Plus I imagine without these protected areas Lion Country Safari would only have lions and rhinoceroses left after a short while.

It was great seeing the animals so close and personal. Supposedly the animals are more active in the mornings since it’s not only feeding time, but the heat of day hasn’t driven them to seek refuge in shady areas. One also has to drive slowly as to not run over any animals on the road but also looking out for poop on the road. Some of these animals have not only large poops but large quantities as well. Maybe this is why there aren’t any elephants in the park.

All of the animals are free to roam in their own area with other species that they are compatible with.

The only exception is the lions. They’re behind a high electrified fence, as well as a specialize gate that can be electronically closed (hopefully). As we were driving through the area, the lions were chowing down on large parts of animal carcasses. I’m glad they had enough to eat, since I didn’t really want to be part of their diet.

Since I don’t envision myself going to Africa any time soon to go on a safari, I tried to shoot as many different photos of as many different animals as I could. And as always, Marianne and I were playing dueling cameras, but it was kind of unfair since I broke out my “big” camera with its “big” lens, so I could get individual portraits of the different animals. We had to stop the CD a number of times because we were taking our sweet time shooting photos, and then we’d restart it when we caught up.

When we finished the driving tour, we got out of the car to view the walking area complete with a couple of gift shops. When we opened the truck doors we were once again hit with the heat of Africa.

Marianne doesn’t tolerate heat very well. She becomes cranky when she gets a case of the vapors. We only spent about a half an hour in this part of the park, about 10 minutes of it in two gift shops (one of them twice) to get out of the heat. But we were still able to get some great shots of the various plant life here and stuffed animals.

We spent the rest of the afternoon cooling off relaxing in the trailer, I spent time catching up on this blog.

About 4pm we headed over to Stewart and Linda’s home for a barbecue. To find the house, I used my GPS. Because I had used the GPS yesterday to find the restaurant and it tried to take me in a non-direct way, I ignored it’s pleas to turn here, instead driving about 10 miles east of Lion Country Safari to get to I-95. I was determined to avoid the toll roads.

Unfortunately I discovered too late that Steward lives west of I-95, so I ended up driving about 10 miles out of my way. Live, and never learn!

Their very impressive home was in a very secluded area. When we got there it was just like a scene from the Beverly Hillbillies with the Clampetts in front of their mansion. Stewart has his home for sale for two and half million dollars, a deal since he’s reduced the price by $300,000. If you’re interested, contact me, I can use the finder’s fee.

At the home with Stewart and Linda were Linda’s brother, Steven, whom I haven’t seen in about 30 years, her mother, her brother-in-law, Clive, and his son, John.

I’ve always wondered about those homes that have their backyard pools totally screened in. I’ve seen a few from afar here in Florida, but this evening I got to be inside a great one, since Stewart’s pool is really large.

Stewart fired up the barbecue and put on a bunch of hamburgers and hot dogs, and Linda cooked up a bunch of deviled eggs, shrimp cocktail, potato salad, baked beans, corn on the cob, creamed beans, and mixed fruit – a feast to say the least. After all of us ate as much as we could (and we hardly put a dent in the food!), Linda broke out a delicious chocolate cake for dessert. What a super meal!

Driving back to the trailer we drove through yet another rainstorm (you’re still keeping track, right?). As we got out of the truck to the head to the trailer, I noticed that my air-conditioner seemed quieter than all the others in the park. Once I got into the trailer, which was now surrounded by a number of puddles, I realized that the circuit breaker for the air-conditioner had tripped, probably due to the amount of rain that fell. The dogs had been without air-conditioned air for about an hour, but since it was dark it didn’t get warm inside the trailer. But it was yet one more lesson to learn.

June 5, 2010 - Day Twenty-nine

2010-06-11T18:32:00.000-07:00

It was bittersweet leaving Key West, I know I could spend a lot more time here, but I’d need a ton more money. The next time I come here I’ll have to come in the winter, when it isn’t so blazing hot. Maybe if I win the lottery I’ll be back.

The 150 miles of bridges on the way down here are also the only way to get back to the mainland. It’s a long drive but it was made easier by listening to our second book on CD, “Water for Elephants”.

It was an uneventful drive and we found ourselves just west of Miami in a few hours. We elected not to drive through the city but rather just bypass it via the Florida turnpike system. Now I’ve got a bone to pick with this Florida turnpike system since it’s a huge toll road system. While cars only have to pay $1 about every ten miles, I had to pay $3 because I was pulling a trailer. This effectively doubled my cost per mile of driving. Sure it speeds up travel through Florida, but it also speeds up the depletion of my money; I’m not so sure it’s worth it.

We were going to visit Linda Wahlgren, a friend we’ve known for over 30 years from Oceanside. She’s lived in southern Florida since shortly after graduating from college. She now lives in Boca Raton with her boyfriend, Stewart Gorenberg, after having divorced her husband of 20 years a few years ago.

We booked ourselves into a KOA for two nights that was immediately adjacent to Lion Country Safari. When we showed up to register they had a deal that would allow us to view the park for two days for an additional $20. That was a deal that I couldn’t pass up.

And since it was still Africa hot, I thought that this would be so appropriate.

That evening we hooked up with Linda and Steward at a restaurant overlooking the canal just west of the Atlantic Ocean called Two Georges. We had to use valet parking, but since our truck was so big, they parked it literally at the restaurant’s front door. Sweet!

We got there about 20 minutes late since this was another area where it takes at least 30 minutes to go from one place to another. Along the way we had to fill up with diesel, so you can imagine just how far it was.

They were already sipping their drinks when we showed up and we said our hellos. This was the first time we had met Stewart, who kind of reminded me of me. He’s a retired chiropractor four years younger than I.

We ordered our drinks and for appetizers they recommended conch fritters and bang shrimp. Although we’ve had never had either of these before, they are now some of our favorite appetizers.

We then ordered our dinners and shortly after the food arrived it started sprinkling. We were sitting outside under sun umbrellas, and it was much cooler here than it was at Lion Country, since we were so close to the ocean. Folks were beginning to retreat as the rain started getting worse and after a few minutes only the four of us were left on the patio under an umbrella. A few minutes later it was really pouring and the girls high-tailed it to a drier area of the restaurant, but Stewart and I kept on chatting as the rain kept coming. Although our backs and butts were getting a little wet, it was great sitting out there enjoying the coolness. The staff now closed all the umbrellas except the lone one we were under.

We stayed out there until we finished all our food and drinks, and even made the waitress dash to our table to present us with our bill. All this while the girls were sitting near the bar catching up on what I can only imagine was girly gossip.

By the time we were ready to leave the rain had subsided. On the way out Linda and Stewart wanted to see our truck with the kayaks on top, bicycles in the back, dog bed in the back seat, and computer and GPS in the cockpit. Linda promptly christened us as the Clampetts (If you’re too young to remember the Beverly Hillbillies, this won’t make any sense to you.)

We drove the 30 miles back to Lion Country Safari, walked the dogs and promptly went to bed.

And if you’re keeping track, our daily rain record is still intact.

June 4, 2010 - Day Twenty-eight

2010-06-11T05:27:00.000-07:00

This morning I’m fulfilling another dream of mine, kayaking in the Keys. Boyd’s campground has a boat ramp about 150 yards from our trailer, which was a little further than we wanted to carry the kayaks, even though we have wheels for my 68 lb., 14’ long kayak. Driving to the ramp was so much easier.

We unloaded the boats and put them in the water. Then we put together our paddles, put on our life vests and paddling gloves, and off we went. The ocean was bathtub water warm, and only about 18” deep most of the places we rowed. The first thing we did was cruise past our trailer, photographing it from the water.

The many islands in this bay are populated with mangroves up to 50’ wide with most much smaller. Some served as private moorings with boats tied to them, and in a couple cases we saw a single mangrove sticking out of the water, apparently hoping to become its own island one day.

Along the way we came upon two partially sunken pleasure boats, teaming with fish savoring the protection they offered. I spotted a 12” wide dark stingray flying beneath the surface, scurrying to get out of my way. And later I saw a 24” wide white stingray that was oblivious to me and just kept on cruising under the water minding his (or her) own business.

We also found a pair of sponge fisherman standing in the waist-deep water pounding the sponges with what appeared to be ping pong paddles to remove the sand trapped in them. The slap, slap, slap sound was echoing across the water.

We paddled out of the protection of our bay into more wide open water, were we came upon a harbor where several large yachts were parked. Their gleaming white hulls and flying bridges were contrasted by the turquoise blue hues of the water. But I’m guessing that they were envious of us, maneuvering our engine-free kayaks without the hassles of paying for thousands of dollars in fuel, the upkeep of these behemoths, not to mention the depreciation. We were both in the same place, doing the same thing, just at different ends of the scale.

Although it was warm enough to break into a sweat on land, we were relatively cooler, so low to the water with a breeze, either the natural one or the one we create when we move through the water. Marianne now always brings some treats with her and we drifted among the mangrove islands eating a tangerine, some string cheese, and sharing a cold Coke Zero. I’m living my dream!

After an hour we returned to the ramp, loaded the kayaks back onto the truck, and headed back to the trailer for a shower, since I was now drenched with sweat from the physical exercise of hoisting the kayaks up onto the racks on top of the truck and securing them. The heat and humidity were definitely becoming oppressive.

After showering and a little rest, we headed into Key West to grab lunch with some local flavor and then visit the home of Ernest Hemingway and the six-toed cats that descended from his six-toed cats 75 years earlier.

It the middle of the day we found the municipal parking lot wide open, and for only $1 per hour – at last, something cheap in Key West.

Next to the parking lot was BO’s restaurant which had been hyped in a local TV documentary we caught the night before. It was one of the older restaurants in town and was proud of the fact that it was a shack, complete with tin roof and no windows. It was filled with a strange menagerie of knick knacks from beer signs to an entire rusted pick-up with mannequins inside.

The place had no air-conditioning but did have a number of large, high-speed fans to keep the air moving. We found a table directly under one of these fans, so we were relatively comfortable in the heat. The fan played havoc with the paper towels that doubled as napkins, but I soon discovered that our table was sticky enough that it would hold them flat as if they were glued down.

BO’s were famous for the ½ pound hamburgers called BOMF’s, which stands for “mother’s favorite”. I had a hankering for a large cheeseburger and this thing filled my every desire.

After lunch we decided to walk to the Hemingway house. We weren’t really sure of where it was in relationship to where we were, so we broke out our chintzy tourist maps, determined where we were and set out. Remember, it is hotter than Hades here.

The sun was baking down on us as we merrily set off, but within minutes we were plodding block after block after block, like survivors in a desert trying to make it to the next oasis. Water, water, water…..

We stopped into a couple of stores to cool off, and asked how much further the Hemingway house was. In one of the stores, the salesman with the very foreign accent had no idea. Heck, he probably didn’t even know who Hemingway was.

By the time we finally arrived at the house we were hot and tired. We paid our $22 (with a AAA discount) to tour the place. It turns out that Hemingway didn’t have an air-conditioner either, so I’m guess that made him a hot author instead of a cool one. Fans were blowing in every room to cool the fans that had made the pilgrimage.

It was hard finding the famous six-toed cats. Apparently it was too hot for them, too. Of the 43 that are said to inhabit the house, we found six lying underneath various chairs on the verandah trying to keep cool. They weren’t moving much, and visitors aren’t allowed to pick them up, so I could never see if they really did have six toes.

After touring the home we came to the mutual conclusion that it was just too hot to attempt to walk all the way back to the truck. We called a cab and within five minutes were sitting in the coldest car I can remember. We were also surprised how long it took for the cab ride back to the truck; we had hiked the entire Sahara!

On the way back to the campground we stopped at a Winn Dixie supermarket to pick up more provisions.

After dinner we met the campers who had pulled in next to us. They were from Birmingham, Alabama and gave us a number of suggestions of where to go on our trek up the east coast of Florida since that’s the way they had just come down.

Tomorrow morning we will leave the Keys and head back to the mainland. Oh yeah, it rained that night, our record remains intact.

June 3, 2010 - Day Twenty-seven

2010-06-10T10:05:00.000-07:00

We elected not to drive I-75 on our way to Key West this morning. Although the road is commonly referred to as “Alligator Alley”, we elected to take the older Highway 41 directly through the Everglades. The Interstate runs directly west to east from Naples to Miami and then one goes south to Key West, but 41 follows the hypotenuse of that triangle from Naples to Homestead.

We didn’t see any alligators lumbering across the road or anywhere else, but we did see a deer and many different kinds of birds. And we elected not to ride in an airboat to see more wildlife; we’ll have to do that on some other odyssey.

We stopped on one Key at a practically deserted park to have lunch and let the dogs out. Since it was toasty warm I fired up the generator so that we would have air conditioning while we ate. For the first time we were just yards from the Atlantic Ocean!

Heading out through the Keys, we had to make a stop on Marathon Key to visit a customer of our good friend, Dennis Andrews, who supplies the (legal) drugs to the nation’s only authorized turtle rescue center.

Dennis’ customer, Ryan, was a great guy who gave us an impromptu behind-the-scenes, tour of the facility, which was used to be a motel. When it was open, the motel provided the income to run the hospital. Today, the hospital takes up the front half of the motel, and some of the rooms are used by the staff as housing. But best of all, the former large seawater swimming pool is now a pool for a number of recovering sea turtles.

We were lucky to catch Ryan when we did, since he had about fifteen minutes to give us the tour before he had to get ready an give another tour to a group of school kids arriving by bus, and after that, he’d be off for two days. We also bought a few souvenirs in their gift shop.

Onward over some of the longest bridges in the world we finally made it to Key West, and checked in to Boyd’s Key West Campground, the southerly most campground in the continental U.S. Our campsite was once again just inches the beach, but this ended up being the most we have ever paid, by far, for a campground, an astronomical $125 per night, and we were staying two nights. All of the other campgrounds were too far from Key West on more easterly Keys and almost expensive. Heck the KOA was about 20 miles away and was $90 per night. We justified the expense because we were in Key West and this was an once-in-a-lifetime experience.

That evening we took the truck in the heart of Key West, Duval Street, to catch the sunset at Mallory Square. First off parking is almost impossible to find just before sunset and secondly my truck is way too big to fit into the available parking spots. After driving around a bit we were lured into a private parking lot and ended up paying $10 for two hours.

We walked about six blocks and got to Mallory Square where hundreds of tourists were lined up shooting photos of the last vestiges of the sun’s glow in the West. The buskers were entertaining the multitudes with their acrobats, singing and guitar playing, silver-painted statutes, and pantomimes. There were also more street vendors selling more trinkets.

The area around Duval Street reminds me of Bourbon Street in New Orleans, but on a much smaller scale. It has almost the same flavor, but not quite as tawdry.

We walked around a bit, at one point a shop owner stopped us and wanted us to look over our shoulder at the sky. I’m always leery of complete strangers asking you to do a form of Pilates, but since we were still on a busy street I reluctantly agreed. And there it was, a towering thundercloud still lit by the setting sun, almost continually glowing with non-stop flashes of lightening. “Only in Key West,” proclaimed the shopkeeper; I guess he doesn’t get away from here too much.

Along the way we kept ducking into the oodles of curio shops just to cool off, because like in Naples, it’s hot here even at night. I went into an “Everything is $5” shop and found a T-shirt I thought was apropos for this trip; it heralded, “Mess with me and you mess with the entire trailer park” complete with a drawing of a travel trailer. But it wasn’t $5, it was $7.50, I guess my T-shirt was just too special. In another shop Marianne picked up a cute painted metal frog for our “critter” fence at home, ten post cards to let her friends keep up on our progress.

As we were heading back to the trailer, we got drenched by another thunderstorm, our Florida record remains intact.

June 2, 2010 - Day Twenty-six

2010-06-08T07:21:00.000-07:00

As I was walking the dogs this morning I came upon a plastic trash can with its lid lying next to it. Being a former Boy Scout, I wanted to pick it up and put it back on the can, but as I approached it I heard strange noises coming from it. And when I got really close this large raccoon jumped out of it and ran up a tree. The dogs were startled and tried to chase it up the tree, but since they were on a leash they weren’t going anywhere. But they did bark up a storm and were thoroughly sniffing the raccoon’s tracks. Good morning!

As promised, at 8am Mike and Robin showed up with their kayaks and together we drove the short distance to the ramp so we could launch our four kayaks into the river. Although it’s been very warm lately, it wasn’t too bad on the river. Marianne had dreaded kayaking in this heat, but she too was pleasantly surprised by how nice it was on the river with the slight breeze and occasional cloud shading us.

We headed west, in the direction of the Gulf, watching all sorts of birds including sea eagles diving into the water trying to catch fish. Although we didn’t see any, there was a sign in the river that this was a manatee area. The mangroves we encroaching on both riverbanks and onto the islands, which they probably created in the first place. We entered one tributary and the overhanging trees made the trek narrower and narrower until we reached the end. We’d never done any kayaking like this before, it was definitely a treat.

Then we turned around and headed back up the river. Marianne was worried that we couldn’t find where we put it, but remember, I was a Boy Scout. No problem. We had a snack on the river, and then continued. A short time later we came upon a house on the river with the fuselage of an airplane sitting next to it, a really strange sight.

I had always envisioned taking our dogs on the kayaks with us. But that dream was shattered when we tried to get Coco to swim in Marianne’s mom’s swimming pool in Montgomery. Coco just sank like a rock. It was a sorry sight to see the dog doing the dog paddle with his tail heading to the bottom of the pool and his head slipping under the water. Marianne was right there for the rescue. Since then, fortunately, Coco (and Molly) has been leery of water, although they seem to find every water puddle there is when we’re on our walks.

That afternoon, for the first time ever on this odyssey, I finally got into a swimming pool. The KOA’s pool was probably close to 90°, maybe not refreshing but it still sure feels nice. There’s no hesitating in getting into a pool like this.

That evening we drove to the opposite side of Naples to have dinner with Robin and Mike at a Cuban restaurant. But on the way we had to stop and photograph an entire neighborhood of flaming red trees. We were fortunate that the trees were in bloom, since it only happens in this part of Florida, and they’re only in full bloom for a few days this time of year. It was time for dueling cameras again.

And like I’ve chronicled before, trips in Naples are long trips. So this trip to the restaurant was like driving from Oceanside to San Diego for me, but here we never left the environs of the city of Naples.

Fernando the Bull was located in a strip mall, yet the food was excellent. Marianne and I have had Cuban food only once before in Oceanside, but Robin and Mike knew the ropes here, so we each had our own delicious plate of Cuban Caribbean cuisine with red beans and rice, complete with dessert: flan, plantains, and cheesecake with mango sauce. It doesn’t get any better than this.

After dinner, we had to say our good-byes to Robin and Mike because the next morning we would be heading still further south in Florida, this time to Key West.

Oh yeah, it rained again – our record is still perfect.

June 1, 2010 - Day Twenty-five

2010-06-07T05:48:00.000-07:00

This morning we were greeted by Mike inviting us to come up to the house and have a cup of coffee, but unbeknownst to him, we had already been sipping our coffee for an hour or so. But since we were such close neighbors now (and he had air-conditioning), we took him up on his offer.

We also decided that it would be best for us to move our trailer to a local campground, and we found a KOA that fit our bill perfectly. It took me a little while to extradite the trailer from their huge front yard, but with Marianne and Mike looking out for me, I got it done without any problem, well almost – Marianne had left our stairs down and it was only after I was heading down the street that I noticed this. Whew, another catastrophe averted!

One thing I must say about Naples: it’s an enormous city, no, not in population, but in physical area. Driving from anywhere to anywhere takes at least 30 minutes. And so it was that about a half hour later we pulled into a practically empty campground. When I checked in, the management noticed that we had our kayaks on the truck, and they let us know that they had their own private launch ramp at the end of their campground that went right into Henderson Creek. And if we crazy enough, we could kayak seven miles to reach the Gulf.

After setting up, and then resting because it’s so hot here, we did some sightseeing. We headed south and went through the community of Isle of Capri where they have canals behind almost everyone’s home where their boats are parked. My favorite sight though, was a sign on an establishment that heralded, “Closed for the Summer” – only in southern Florida!

Next we headed to Marco Island, where high rise condominiums, time-shares, and hotels guard the shoreline. We didn’t even get out of the truck in either of these two communities.

But we did notice a Wal*Mart very close to our campground, so it was time to pick up some more groceries and other paraphernalia that was deemed necessary for this odyssey to continue.

We headed back to the trailer for Marianne to stash our groceries, and me to walk the dogs.

Even though it was still hotter than Hades, I decided to walk the dogs to the river and launch ramp. On the way there, the dogs did their “poopies” and I picked up after them to place it in the nearest dumpster, which in this case was not too far from the launch ramp.

When I opened the dumpster, I was greeted by a pair of beady eyes and a strange smile. I immediately slammed the dumpster shut, trying to focus on what I had seen as the blood was reentering my body. It was a raccoon foraging among the trash looking for a tasty morsel here and there.

I still had the poop in my hands, so I bravely opened up the dumpster again, yet the raccoon hadn’t changed his (or her) expression. I tossed my baggies of crap into the dumpster, closed it up again and headed to the river.

After I thoroughly (15 seconds!) inspecting the launch pad, I decided that I should go back to the dumpster and shoot a photo of the raccoon so folks would believe my tale. When I opened the dumpster the third time, Rocky (that was the name I had now given him (or her)) wasn’t quite as happy to see me. I guess he’d figured out by now that I had thrown two baggies of shit into the dumpster, and not remnants of some delectable meal.

With camera in hand I was getting ready to document my meeting, but Rocky turned and headed to the back of the dumpster. I squeezed a shot, but the flash didn’t fire, so the photo wasn’t the best. I closed the dumpster, and with two impatient dogs tugging on their leash, I fumbled with my free hand to set the camera to manually fire its flash. Now I opened the dumpster for the fourth time, but Rocky was now totally perturbed and hid as far back in the dumpster behind bags of trash as he could – out of sight. I resigned myself to the fact that I would now have to edit the image of the photo that I shot to try to make it work.

That evening we ate one of our infrequent dinners in the trailer, and decided that we were going to tour Old Naples on foot. It needs to be noted that for some odd reason it’s warmer after the sun goes down here in town.

Our first stop was in their old harbor, where we found a gift shop that had a total nautical theme. I bought another pair of sunglasses and a sunglass leash that would keep my sunglasses floating in the event they plunged into the drink – perfect for my kayaking glasses.

As hot as it was, Marianne and I continued playing dueling cameras, each of us trying to get a better shot than the other of the night images of town.

But we remained amazed at how many people, probably locals, who had their dinners outside in the heat and humidity. Marianne would walk about 25 feet in this weather before she ducked into some very well air-conditioned store to cool off. This is how I got to see almost every open store in this ritzy area.

When we got back to the trailer, it started to rain again, keeping our Florida rain record perfect. We were so glad we have an air-conditioned trailer!

May 31, 2010 - Day Twenty-four

2010-06-07T04:47:00.000-07:00

Memorial Day.

We broke the record of how many days we’ve spent in our trailer in one stretch. Our trip last year was from Oceanside to the shores of Lake Superior in northern Wisconsin where we visited my sister, Susi, and her husband, Billy. My mother was also there. We’re going to be there in a month or so, but we’ve going to keep traveling in the opposite direction for a little while longer.

Today we’re headed to Naples, Florida to visit Robin and Mike Faircloth who moved here in 2008 from Ramona, California. We got to know them through the San Diego Miata Club. Although Mike is a car guy, he has a Rolls Royce and a Triumph, its Robin who owns the Miata.

Robin also followed us home when we took our trailer to Moab, Utah for a Miata meet. She and Marianne got to know each other much better on that trip, and we’ve continued to stay in touch. When they were visiting in San Diego this past March, we had dinner with them.

It was an uneventful drive down to Naples, but we did go through many of the communities where Marianne’s grandparents from Wisconsin stayed during the winter. And it was also where Marianne’s mom got to meet Babe Ruth when she was nine, had her picture taken with him, and received a baseball signed by the 1931 New York Yankees, including, Ruth, Lou Gehring, Left Gomez and more.

We arrived at Naples, and then drove to Mike and Robin’s lovely new home with a huge yard. Mike had to leave for work a few minutes earlier, but he called Robin to let her know that he saw us on the way.

We parked the trailer in their front yard, just as the heavens opened up. We were in their home for a minute or so, when it became a torrential monsoon. By the time it was over they had received 4” of rain, and our trailer was on its own island! Four inches! For the past couple of years we’ve only received 6” of rain all year in Oceanside.

Robin then took us to a great Italian restaurant, D’Amico & Sons, for dinner, playing tour guide the entire way. This was Memorial Day and many of the restaurants were closed for the holiday, in fact our first choice, a Cuban restaurant, was. Before dining at D’Amico’s were stopped by Mike’s work and got to see him before he’d get home at 3am from his work shift.

We got right in at D’Amico’s; one of their specials is an all-you-drink house wine (red or white) for $7.50. The girls took advantage of that! We all ordered different pizzas so we could mix and match. They were very tasty. I am proud to say that I finished mine, but the girls needed to-go boxes. They would be another meal for another day.

After dinner we headed to the beach to watch a glorious sunset, but not before driving through some very exclusive neighborhoods, where each house is more impressive than the one next to it, and in all different styles.

I must say, the Florida gulf coast does have some great sunsets, because during the summer months, when no one is here, the large thunderstorm clouds provide a dramatic background to the sunsets that we never see out West.

Heading back to their home and our trailer, we drove through the “Old Naples” downtown, which is like a miniature Rodeo Drive, with expensive stores and restaurants devoted to the well-heeled partisan.

By the time we got back to the trailer, we were bushed and immediately went to bed, using only our 12v fans since we didn’t want to turn on our generator, but it cooled down into the 70’s so we got a great night’s sleep.

May 30, 2010 – Day Twenty-three

2010-06-05T06:22:00.000-07:00

We’re going to hobnob with manatees today.

The Homosassa Springs Wildlife State Park is one of the highest rated state parks in the nation, and after having visited it, I’m going to have to agree.

First off, the price was very reasonable, less than $25 for both Marianne and I. Next they have a large variety of animals native to this part of Florida and one can get close up and personal to most of them.

This park was originally a private animal preserve complete with lions, tigers, bears, and hippopotamuses; at one time it was part of the Ivan Tors Animal Actors, where their animals were housed when they weren’t appearing on TV or film. One of their most famous stars was the stand-in bear on the TV series Gentle Ben. But the State of Florida bought the park about 25 years ago, and now one of its main purposes is the rehabilitation of sick and injured manatees.

Because the State bought the park, they decided all the non-native animals had to go. So out went the lions, tigers, and bears. But when they got to the last very huge, hippopotamus named Lucifer, or Lu for short, the area residents begged to allow him to stay. No, was the official response, since a hippo is not native to Florida. The residents appealed all the way up to the governor, who used his powers to make Lu an honorary citizen of Florida. Lu celebrated his 50^th birthday earlier this year, probably one of the oldest hippos on record.

And in the pre-state days, the alligators used to come leaping out of the water to grab a chicken carcass on a stick, one of the inspirations for chicken-nuggets-on-a-stick. That wasn’t a proper behavior for a proper resident of the State of Florida, so these freak shows are now relegated solely to the manatees, but they really don’t jump very high, heck they don’t even jump at all. So instead, the State throws hundreds of pounds of lettuce into the manatee area, and they just swim underneath it and grab a bunch. Visitors can view this proper behavior from above and under the water.

Unlike the alligators we saw at Wakulla Springs, which were puny, these guys (and probably gals, too), were very large. They must still be sneaking their chicken-nuggets-on-a-stick from sympathetic trainers held over from the previous eras.

They had a large variety of snakes, all different kinds of birds, including a pair of bald eagles, and all sorts of really big birds like herons and flamingoes. But the star attractions here are the manatees. In the wild large manatees weigh 1800 pounds, but here their big girl is 3100 pounds – that’s a lot of lettuce!

Later that afternoon it was time to was our clothes again, as our clothes spent 30 minutes in the washers, we took a quick trip to the grocery store to pick up more supplies. I find that we’re getting more supplies about every other day or so. And since it’s so darn Africa hot down here, always above 90°, we’re going through our favorite beverage, Coke Zero, like it’s water – which it is, just flavored sparkling water with a host of chemicals to make it so appealing to our palates.

When we got back to the RV park laundry facility, the clouds were beginning to look ominous again. Within minutes it was raining again. Our record is now perfect: every day we’ve been in Florida, it’s rained. That should make California jealous.

Marianne and I now have a new pastime: dueling cameras, where we try to out-photograph each other. I’ll try to shoot something at an angle she doesn’t see, and she does the same. It’s more fun if we aren’t following in each other’s footsteps. When we get to some place where we can take an intermission, we show each other the images we’ve captured on the small screens of our digital cameras, teasing each other before we get back to the trailer and edit our trophies. I don’t know who’s currently winning, but we’re having a great time.

Marianne is uploading her photos to Google for all to see, but I’ll probably hold off until I have a complete travelogue or maybe not, if Marianne gets too many ooh’s and ahh’s for her shots.

May 29, 2010 – Day Twenty-two

2010-06-03T04:52:00.000-07:00

I did all my trailer chores and then hitched it up. This morning we’re headed for Homosassa Springs, and the central Gulf Coast of Florida. This place was also recommended to us by Mike and Jan when we visited them in Georgia.

The trip down that way was mostly uneventful, but we finally finished the book on tape we had been listening to since we left California; it’s called The Help, and is about black maids in the South in the early 1960’s. Because it was 15 CD’s long, it took us until now to finish listening to it.

As most of you know, Marianne grew up in Montgomery, Alabama during that exact time, and her family also had a black maid. Although the book didn’t have any sex, car chase scenes, or the like, it was still a great book on the sociology of the South during that era. And of course, Marianne was a Sociology major in college. I’m glad I got to listen to it since it validated many of the preconceived notions I had regarding maids working for southern families like Marianne’s.

Homosassa Springs was home to a large sugar cane plantation which was burned to the ground by Union soldiers during the Civil War and never rebuilt. It is now a resort community which has a number of rivers and streams that form waterways for boaters of all sorts, and this Memorial Day weekend brought many of them to the area.

Our campground, called Turtle Creek RV Park, was an older park, but well maintained and updated. When we checked in we were informed that there would be a spaghetti fest that evening, with all the spaghetti one could eat for five dollars. Now that’s my kind of deal!

After we unhitched the trailer, set it up, and walked the dog, Marianne and I went exploring. We found the little harbor village that was a conglomeration of little hotels, bars, gift shops, and charter boats. But as soon as we pulled in it started to rain again, another Florida gulley washer. When it let up a bit we found an interesting gift shop that was going out of business, so we were able to pick up a couple of deals.

We also found the semi-world famous Monkey Island, located in the middle of the river that runs through the area, where five spider monkeys live. They entertain the patrons of the aptly named Monkey Bar, located on the bank of the river overlooking the island. It appears that these simians are one of the bigger tourist attractions in the area.

Tomorrow we’ll visit the manatees and the biggest tourist attraction here, the Homosassa Springs Wildlife State Park.

Tonight we’re went to the spaghetti fest, and there were only three other customers there besides us. There were three cooks and a helper, along with a DJ and his wife, so the staff out-numbered the guests. They really heaped on the spaghetti and meatballs for me, along with some cut corn, since we arrived toward the end of the shindig. The DJ was playing music from the ‘50’s and ‘60’s and one lone single 76 year-old lady was the only one cutting up the dance floor. She was pretty good, too.

Turns out she and her husband came down here to retire, but after a few months he just up and died on her. She decided to stay, living in their trailer which has now grown permanent roots in this RV Park, and it appears that many other trailers have come down here to grow roots and dissolve as well. Some have permanent roofs over their existing ones, and most have rooms added on to them. They’ll never move again. And if you can stand the cramped quarters, this is a very inexpensive way to spend the twilight of one’s years.

In the summer months this place is pretty dead. Many businesses are closed for the summer, but I guess during the winter months the snowbirds flock here, tripling the size of the community and filling all of the RV parks to the brim.

May 28, 2010 – Day Twenty-one

2010-06-01T16:38:00.000-07:00

Wow, this is the end of our third week on the road. We can’t believe how fast the time has flown by! We’ve really enjoyed ourselves so far and I think the dogs have as well. They now jump into the car by themselves when we’re ready to leave. I’m sure they believe their home is the trailer, and they are just letting us share it with them. We can leave them for four hours in the air-conditioned trailer, and all we have to do is make sure we don’t leave anything out that they can get into.

I’m convinced Coco is the instigator of all mischievous activity, since she’s the one brave enough to jump up on anything to explore it. Molly is more inclined to stay on the ground and hope Coco will share the fortune of her spoils. Molly is more like the kid in school we all remember that was never caught for their misdeeds. Coco tries really hard to give you an innocent look, but it doesn’t work. Molly has got it down pat!

Around 10am we head out for Wakulla Springs, which is the longest and deepest known submerged freshwater cave system and one of the largest and deepest freshwater springs in the world. It was also the setting for two of Johnny Weissmuller’s Tarzan movies and it was the home for The Creature from the Black Lagoon. On a side note -- this is the second “Black Lagoon” movie site I’ve stumbled upon, the other one is near Solvang, CA.

As we were driving into the Wakulla Springs State Park parking lot, we had to detour around a large turtle crossing the road. It turns out the females turtles are all out looking for a place to lay their eggs.

We then headed straight for the boat tour dock. According to Mike and Jan, both the glass bottom and the bigger tour boat rides are worth the $6. The glass bottom boats weren’t running but we were able to sign-up for the 11am tour boat, this gave us about 40 minutes to check out the Wakulla Springs Lodge, a 1930’s era hotel with large fireplace and dining room. And a gift shop for Marianne, which even sold ice cream – for me!

Shortly before 11am we got in line to begin the boat tour. These boats can probably seat 40 people, and ours was full, but not overly so. Our guide, Jason, was an amicable chap, who grew up along the banks of the Wakulla River, so he was very knowledgeable about all the area flora and fauna. He reminded me of a tour guide at Disneyland’s Adventure River, non-stop chatter with lame jokes.

But the scenery was great, and we finally got to see our first alligators, along with an assortment of colorful birds and flowers – a photographer’s delight.

On the way back to the campsite was a Wal*Mart where we picked up everything from groceries, dog treats, and RV TP. All morning the weather was gorgeous; when we entered the store it was starting to cloud up a bit, but 20 minutes later as we left the store the heavens opened up. It was pouring cats and dogs - the reason I know this is because I stepped in a poodle! I had to get the truck and drive it to the entrance to pick-up Marianne with the groceries, and as you all know, she’s so sweet, if she gets caught in the rain, she’ll dissolve!

This was our first Florida rainstorm; we hadn’t seen rain like this in a very long time. It was raining so hard it was tough to see the road. But within driving 10 miles, the roads were totally dry and our campsite never had a drop of rain.

When we checked into this campground we were only able to stay Friday and Saturday nights of a three day Memorial Day weekend. I asked if we could get on a waiting list in case anyone cancelled. When I got back to the campground, the management let me know that there was a cancellation, but I would have to move from my spot on the bay to one not as prime.

It takes as much work to move a trailer 100’ as it does 100 miles, the only difference is the driving time, so while we mulled the move, I checked on a campground 150 miles further south in Florida at Homosassa Springs, which was also highly recommended by Mike and Jan, I booked us for two nights there. Then I let the management here know that I would be leaving.

I once again walked the dogs along the shoreline and watched the sun set behind the horizon.

May 27, 2010 – Day Twenty

2010-06-01T15:55:00.000-07:00

We had turned off the generator the previous evening as it was cooling off nicely, and that meant we were on battery power using our ceiling fan. We had promised Mike and Jan that we normally get up around 5am since that’s about when the dogs start getting restless and need to be taken on their morning constitutional.

The problem was that I had forgotten that we had crossed into the Eastern time zone shortly before we had arrived here from Montgomery. That meant my 5am was their 6am. When I went out to walk the dogs, I saw Jan on her balcony straining to see if we were still alive. I walked up to the house and confessed that I messed up on the time zone.

We had wanted to see Mike before he left for work, and while he was taking a shower Jan and I had some coffee and talked a bit, and the dogs rejoined their new friends. In a few minutes Mike came out, looking spiffy all dressed up like a doctor. On his way to work, Mike drove down to the trailer so he could say good-bye to Marianne, who was now also finally getting up. She, too, totally forgot about the time zone change.

We rendezvoused at the house drinking more coffee, and when the light was right, I decided to take a few more photos of where we were. Marianne got dressed, and then went with Jan to her art shack where she was gracious enough to let us each pick out a batik to take home. Marianne chose a butterfly motif, and I a fish. Both are beautiful and colorful and will look great once they’re stretched and mounted in our California home.

Jan had a previous card game engagement in town and had to leave shortly after 11am, and we got ourselves going about noon to head to Wakulla Springs and the Gulf Coast on the Florida panhandle just south of Tallahassee. Mike and Jan gave us a bunch of “must sees” on our way toward the Keys.

Almost as soon as we crossed the Florida border, trees were beginning to be draped in Spanish moss, evoking a Southern charm look. Our GPS’s took us on a highway that took us right smack through the middle of Tallahassee, the capital of Florida. And as can occasionally happen, the GPS made us turn on a street that we had no business being on with our trailer. Fortunately I was able to make an illegal left turn from a one way right turn lane that would have made us drive into a state government parking lot complete with a guard shack.

When we got out of that mess we made it to Panacea, Florida and the Holiday Campground right at the foot of the bridge that crosses Ochlockonee Bay at the Gulf of Mexico. We were fortunate to find an open campsite since this was Memorial Day weekend, but the news was filled with stories of people cancelling their reservations to the Gulf because of the tragic BP oil spill that was still gushing after six weeks.

The site we scored backed us up right to the bay where we would be able to see great sunsets and moonrises. We walked the dogs along the Bay and they got to sniff the sea air and the tracks of little crabs that were scurrying ahead of them out of their way.

For dinner we went to Angelo & Sons Restaurant, a seafood restaurant that Mike and Jan had suggested was one of the best ever. And we just had to walk under the bridge to get there. The seafood lovers we are, we split a shrimp cocktail, and for dinner Marianne had a house salad and I had a steak sandwich! We followed up by sharing a piece of key lime pie.

After dinner, I enjoyed a cigar in my recliner watching life go by in the glow of the sunset.

May 26, 2010 - Day Nineteen

2010-05-30T07:37:00.000-07:00

After spending five days in Montgomery, it was time to leave.

But first we needed to stop at the Waffle House next to our RV park. To me a Waffle House is almost like going home to eat. All the staff greets you with a simultaneous chorus when you enter the restaurant and you’re invited to have a seat anywhere. I had a giant breakfast that would also double as my lunch. Heck, it’s better than home!

The waitress started up a conversation with us because she saw our kayaks on top of our truck. She had tried it several times and just loved it. This has happened to us more than once, people see our kayaks, tell us they’ve tried it and love it, and now they want to buy one, since renting them is expensive.

So here’s a business tip for you, find companies that make kayaks and invest in them. According to my totally unscientific survey, this should be the next American craze. Once you buy a kayak and all the accoutrements, it becomes a fairly inexpensive sport. Just find a body of water, put your kayak in and have fun. And depending on what type of body of water you find will determine your kayak ride: a smooth lake, a wavy ocean, a river either swift or slow, and then there’s the scenery that goes with the different waterways. I really like to kayak. Can you tell?

As we’re getting to leave the Waffle House, Marianne’s mom calls and lets us know that we’ve left at least one dog bed there, plus she needs further instruction on how to run her new CD player, her TV set has lost her favorite channel again, and her computer froze up. So rather than haul the trailer over there through the narrow streets with low hanging branches, we decided to drive directly from the Waffle House there.

It took me about one-half hour to explain and fix the electronic problems. Marianne just loves traveling with an in-house IT tech (aka nerd).

We said our good-byes again, hooked up the trailer and headed toward Andersonville, Georgia where Marianne’s college roommate, Janice Baldwin, has lived with her radiologist husband, Mike, for almost 20 years.

Andersonville was the home of the infamous Confederate prisoner of war camp, known as Camp Sumter where almost 13,000 of the 45,000 Union prisoners died during their internment in the Civil War, also known as the War of Northern Aggression here in the South.

Mike and Jan have 250 acres of woodland with a large pond surrounding their impressive home. They also have seven dogs: Itchy, Scratchy, Beetle, Franklin, Rerun, Tuna, and one more whose name escapes me. They quickly adopted our two dogs into their pack and off they went romping around. It was only later that Jan tells me that her dogs have been bitten by rattlesnakes, killed by cottonmouths, and last fall Mike shot a 10’ alligator in their pond. I just hoped my city dogs could keep up with their country cousins.

Jan drove her Kawaski Mule to their long driveway, One Toad Road, to lead us unto their property where we would park our trailer for the night. For the first time on this trip, I fired up our generator so we would have the electricity to power our air-conditioner, since it was still very hot here as well. The generator worked great and in no time at all our trailer was a cool oasis, on a field of green, about 100 yards from their home, overlooking their pond.

Mike was still at the hospital reading X-rays, or whatever a radiologist does, so Jan showed us her artist’s shack where she creates her beautiful batiks. She gave Marianne and I each one. Thanks, Jan!

After a short time Mike came home, and we had couple of beers before we had a delicious stir-fry dinner with corn on the cob prepared by Jan.

After dinner we put our dogs into the trailer and all got on Jan’s Mule (Mike has another one), and headed out on the numerous trails on the property. Several of the dogs rode with us on the Mule, while others just ran ahead and behind us. One of the trails led us to the bin where Mike had dragged the alligator to dry it out so that he could collect the skull and other bones. Mike also has a number of large (and I mean LARGE) dried rattlesnake skins he killed mounted in the house.

Back at the house we had some pie for dessert, learned of their journey to Africa, compete with lion and elephant encounters, and caught up on each other’s lives since we last saw each other in Oceanside a few years ago.

When we got ready to turn in for the night, we were greeted by a new chorus of frogs emanating from their pond. But these frogs seemed to have a Georgian rather than an Alabamian accent, but they were equally as loud.

May 25, 2010 – Day Eighteen

2010-05-29T07:01:00.000-07:00

Today would be the day we were going to go kayaking no matter what. We had decided yesterday that we’d put in near downtown Montgomery into the Alabama River. When we got up, we decided that that would be a pretty big production, so we elected just to go into the pond that was part of this RV park.

I took the kayaks off the top of the truck and prepared them for launching. We then carried them 100 yards to the pond and put them in. The bank was a little tricky, and I ended up doing the Watusi as I maneuvered Marianne’s kayak into the water. She climbed in and I pushed her off into the wild blue seas – kind of…

My kayak is considerably longer than Marianne’s and more unwieldy, and I had to go through a short stretch of red dirt Alabama mud to get into my kayak. With my feet stuck in the mud, I was finally able to create another dance to get aboard. I was now inside of my kayak along with several pounds of that red mud, and I had feet to match.

The pond was about ¼ mile long and 100 yards wide complete with an island in the middle. We had to be careful kayaking in here, not because we may run into some members of the frog chorus, but rather there were a number of sunken trees just beneath the surface. A half an hour later after cruising up and down this pond a few times, we decided we had fulfilled our kayaking obligation.

For lunch we went to one of Montgomery’s favorite eateries, Shashay’s. We got there shortly before 11:30 and were immediately able to find a table, but minutes later it was beginning to fill up, and by the time we left, people were waiting for an empty table. This restaurant only serves breakfast and lunch, and has become one of the favorite of the lunch crowd. All of us had the chicken breast with vegetables, it was tasty and inexpensive. As we discovered in Austin, good food at good prices makes for great restaurant.

We dropped Helen off at the country club where she had her weekly bridge club outing. The ladies all ante a dollar and end up playing a mean game of bridge. This would be the last time they played until the weather cools in the fall.

While Helen was playing bridge, Marianne and I took a tour of downtown Montgomery. They’re constructing another huge building not too far from the state capitol. And the downtown area appears ripe for some new commerce. I guessed they’d need to build some apartments and condos to attract people, and then shops, bars and restaurants would follow. It’s a great area, with the architecture, history, the Alabama River, and the Biscuits AA baseball stadium.

We were driving Helen’s car and it was a pit, inside and out. I’m a car guy, and a dirty car is an affront to me. Apparently Helen has never washed the car in the three years she’s had it, she just lets the rain do it. So we decided to find a car wash. We looked and looked, but finding a drive-thru car wash where attendants do all the work was hard to find. I was about to give up when I spotted a Dairy Queen. Well, if I couldn’t have a clean car I would settle for a large vanilla cone dipped in chocolate, heck, who wouldn’t?

At the DQ I asked the cashier if there was the type of car wash I was looking for in the area. In fact, right next door she informed me. It turns out I was so blinded by the Dairy Queen sign that I hadn’t even seen the car wash!

We got our ice cream and drove next door to the car wash and paid $35 for their ultimate service, which would clean the inside and outside of the car. Thirty minutes later we had an acceptable car again. Helen’s car has a magnetic decal on the driver’s side rear panel, and when I offered to remove it a few days earlier, she protested claiming that was the way she identified her white Honda Acura in a parking lot. There seem to be more than the usual amount of white cars in Montgomery, I guess its because white reflects the heat and these cars are cooler than their darker cousins. Even with the decal on it, Helen got into a white Toyota a week or so earlier in a parking lot. And a couple of days ago, Marianne almost got into a white Hyundai after we had gone grocery shopping, but that’s Marianne who’s not only directionally challenged, but she can’t tell one model of a car from another, whether it’s clean or dirty.

When I got home, I thoroughly inspected the car and discovered that the baked on bird poop had not washed off. So, I pulled out my special car cleaner from my truck and started removing an assortment of baked on spots. It’s then that I noticed that the car was actually even whiter than it was when it got out of the car wash. I ended up spending the next 45 minutes detailing the car, removing bird poop, bugs, and bumper stickers. When I got done the car looked pretty good. But what it really needs is a wax job. Hopefully the next son-in-law or son who comes to Montgomery will take this hint and have it waxed.

We had a Stouffer’s lasagna dinner, then watched the finals of Dancing with the Stars while continually switching between the semi-finals of American Idol. Then it was off for nighty night at frog hollow.

May 24, 2010 – Day Seventeen

2010-05-29T05:00:00.000-07:00

Today was Monday. When you’re retired AND traveling, it’s hard to keep track of what day of the week it really is. My only solace is that there are lots of things that are worse in life.

I was getting increasing concerned how the left rear tire on the trailer had been wearing. The outer 85% of the tire tread looked fine, but it was that inner 15% that gave me the willies. I had experienced a trailer tire failure on our trip last summer, so I didn’t want to go through this again. I went to the RV park office and asked for a tire service company recommendation and they gave me the business card of a company that would come on site to do the work.

I called them, and they informed me that they normally handle truck tires and that they didn’t have my trailer tire size in stock, but they would check to see if they could find one and then call me back.

Ten minutes later I received the call I had been waiting for, they found the tire and could be out here to the RV park within 45 minutes.

True to his word he was at our trailer on time. He immediately set to work changing the tire. He had a large compressor in the back of his van and with Marianne still in the trailer he jacked the left side of the trailer into the air to remove the tire.

Now I’m sure most of you have had a tire changed on your car and you’ve watched the mechanic use an automatic device to dislodge the tire from your rim, heck this ritual has been going on for as long as I remember. This time it was to be done entirely by hand using a maul.

It worked fine getting the old tire off the rim and then putting the new tire on the rim. The problem occurred when he attempted to use his air compressor to seat the new tire on the rim. For that. he needed a device that wasn’t in his van, so he had to call his partner to come over with that special air blaster that instantly floods the new tire with air so that it pops and seats on the rim. The tire was successfully inflated and mounted and I was ready to pay him. Oh, oh, he doesn’t accept credit cards, so I had to hit up the Bank of Marianne for a cash loan.

In the afternoon Marianne, her mom, and I head over to a Wal*Mart Supercenter. One stop shopping for groceries, greeting cards, and electronics. Marianne’s mom wanted a new CD boom box and electric can opener. And Marianne decided the house needed a new bathroom scale. We spent an inordinate amount of time picking through hundred’s of funny cards, cracking up on many, and then finally settling on a few for friend’s and family’s upcoming birthdays.

That evening Marianne, her mom and the dogs headed over to David and Leesey’s home in Montgomery to celebrate David’s 63^rd birthday. They live in a gorgeous home with a really huge fenced backyard. The dogs were in heaven! Also attending the party were Leesey’s brother, Ed, and his wife Neenee, and Leesey’s mom, Fran. All of us then enjoyed a Chinese dinner topped off by a truly decadent chocolate and peanut butter cake – yum, yum! David seemed to enjoy his Wal*Mart birthday card.

We also got a chance to re-meet their dog, Cyclone, who was now over 17 years old, almost completely blind and very hard of hearing. But when a bacon treat was wafted before his nose, he starts biting in the air hoping he’ll sink his teeth into the treat. Amazingly, Cyclone looks good, spending most of what remains of his life sleeping on his dog pillow. He still goes outside to do his business, but must be strictly monitored. Even though he’s on a leash, a few days ago he walked into a light pole while David was walking him and talking on his cell phone.

That evening we headed back to frog hollow to turn in for the night.

May 23, 2010 - Day Sixteen

2010-05-28T18:51:00.000-07:00

This morning was a lazy morning. And when it starts out like this it can only mean one thing – it’s time to wash clothes. Marianne’s mom wasn’t getting back from church until shortly before noon, so we took advantage of her washing machine to wash our clothes.

We also decided that this might be a great day to go kayaking, since we’ve lugged our two kayaks once across the country but had never once put them in any water, except when it rained on them. Marianne’s family has a home on Lake Jordan, about 45 minutes north of Montgomery.

All three of us and the dogs loaded up in my truck with the kayaks on top and headed to the lake. We were going to stop at a BBQ joint to get some sandwiches to eat up there. But unbelievable as it may seem, we couldn’t find one!

When we were in Austin, Francois and Thalia told us their favorite place to camp in Montgomery was Ft. Toulouse, and since it was on the way, we decided to check the place out. Although it was pretty, it was just too far to drive back and forth to Montgomery, maybe some other time.

We were still looking for BBQ, so we decided to pull into the little town of Wetumpka to find a place. No luck, but the town was so picturesque we stopped to shoot some photos along the river and its downtown.

Marianne’s mom knew of a BBQ place just past where we turn off to go to the lake house. We were in luck, it was open and their food was good. We purchased three sandwiches, some macaroni and cheese and headed to lake.

When we pulled up to the lake house, we noticed there was a pick-up with a boat on a trailer parked in front of the house. Before we were even out of the car a man walked up and checked up on us, when we identified ourselves he apologized for parking his rig on the lot, and if we wanted, he’d move it. Nah, we said, no problem. Apparently he was storing it there until he had time to rebuild the boat’s motor.

We entered the house, and after we had our lunch, I let the dogs run free as I “inspected” the property. I really like this place and now, so do my dogs. They had a great time running around and checking everything out.

But, it was way too hot to do any kayaking. So we scraped that idea and spent the next hour or so just ruminating, before we headed back to Montgomery.

That evening we had lunch at the country club. It ain’t Montgomery unless we have at least one meal at the “Club.” We all had the buffet and it was delicious, including the exquisite key lime pie we had for dessert. After we finished it, our table was visited by a large black man who asked how we liked the meal. Great we said, and then he introduced himself to us as the new Club restaurant manager, who had only been on the job two weeks. He was starting things out on the right foot, we all agreed.

After dinner we spent a little time at the house, and then we headed back to our treeless frog city to spend the night.

May 22, 2010 – Day Fifteen

2010-05-28T16:47:00.000-07:00

Montgomery, Alabama is in the Heart of Dixie, home to the first White House of the Confederacy as well as the Rosa Parks Museum. I’ve been coming here since Thanksgiving 1969, right after I met Marianne while we both worked in Yellowstone National Park.

Montgomery is also home to the Alabama Shakespeare Festival, a world-class Shakespearian theater. Marianne’s mom, Helen, had a couple tickets to the current production of Hamlet, but we needed three tickets, so she got us box seats overlooking the stage.

But first I needed to get an oil change for my F-250 diesel truck. I called one of the local Ford dealers wondering if they were open on a Saturday, and if I had any chance of getting an oil change. “Come on in,” was the service manager’s reply, “we should be able to get you in and out in less than an hour.” That’s exactly what I wanted to hear!

I dropped Marianne and the dogs off at her mom’s house, promising to be back in time to go to the 2:00 showing of the play. “To be or not to be,” has always been my mantra.

I arrived at Stiver’s Ford shortly after 10am and they were having their grand opening sale. The dealership was formerly known a Montgomery Ford, but was recently taken over by this new group. And since it was their grand opening, they were giving away BBQ sandwiches, soft drinks, balloons and cotton candy. But best of all they were giving a 25% discount on all parts and service!

It turned out that they charged $150 for an oil change, about 40% more than I was used to paying in SoCal. I was heartbroken, but then I cheered up when I discovered that they were also offering a phenomenal deal on tires, even before the 25% off. My truck’s BF Goodrich All-Terrain T/A’s were looking pretty sad, so I elected to get in on their sale, and get the exact same tires again.

For the next three and three-quarter hours I sat in their waiting room updating this blog, and getting phone calls from Marianne asking me when I’d be ready. I tried to explain to the service manager that I had a date with Hamlet; he looked at me kind of funny, he was more interested in learning about the kayaks on top of my truck. It turned out that this was only the second Saturday this dealership was open to do service work, and they were really not geared for the onslaught of people taking advantage of their new working hours and the 25% discount.

Shortly after 1pm I spoke to Marianne and told her that instead of going to her mom’s house and all of us driving together to the theater, I would meet them there. They would leave my tickets at will call.

Finally at about 1:45 they had my truck and invoice ready, but I had seen a poster proclaiming that if I bought four Goodrich tires I was eligible for a $50 rebate. It took them another 10 minutes to look for the rebate form, and when they couldn’t find it, they searched on the Internet, found it and printed up a copy for me.

I now had to rush to the Alabama Shakespeare Theater arriving 25 minutes after the play had started, I was dressed in shorts with a T-shirt – California casual. An usher now lead me through a maze in total darkness to our box. I felt like Helen Keller (another Alabamian) in a room where the furniture had been rearranged. I groped my way behind him and his dim flashlight and arrived during the graveyard scene so the theater was darkened. I couldn’t even see if it really was Marianne in the seat next to me.

I knew a little about Hamlet, since back in Mr. Schrag’s English class we read the play aloud, and I read the part of Hamlet for the entire play. But truth be told, I really didn’t know what I was reading. And now I was watching and hearing the play being delivered in Elizabethan English.

It was a tough act to follow, so at halftime (I guess it’s really called intermission), the three of us got up and left. Fortunately Marianne was also having a hard time keeping up with the play.

The one BBQ sandwich wasn’t enough to tide me over (another weak attempt at an Alabama reference), so I just had to stop at Wendy’s to get a burger fix. Marianne and her mom beat me home by a mile, so I when I got there I had to fess up as to my transgression.

After watching the dogs romp for a long while, we had dinner, watched a little TV, and headed back to the trailer to be serenaded by the frogs.

May 21, 2010 - Day Fourteen

2010-05-28T05:18:00.000-07:00

This morning we had a schedule: Coco had to be at the groomers at 9am. We put the groomer’s location into the GPS, and one GPS couldn’t find the address and the other wanted to take us to the wrong part of town. As we’re driving there we called the groomer and got pretty good directions on how to get there. We found it a couple of minutes later.

We said our good-byes to Coco, then took Molly back to the trailer and headed off to Bellingrath Gardens, a gorgeous estate created at the turn of the last century by a gentleman who made his fortune bottling Coca-Cola on the Gulf Coast. By the looks of this place he did very, very well.

Marianne and I had visited Bellingrath in August 1975 right after I got out the Navy and we took our Ford Courier pick-up, with a fairly large cab-over slide-in camper on top, once around the U.S. I can’t believe we took that thing on pretty much the same route we’d been on this route without air-conditioning – in August! Ah…to be young and foolish again.

Although it had been recommended to us to tour the elegant home, we elected only to tour the gardens. Marianne and I then played dueling cameras as we each sought to shoot the most dramatic photos we could. Oh yeah, it was still hot…and it was all outdoors.

The grounds were still as beautiful as they were 35 years ago, with many nooks and crannies of different views and foliage. After we had been there about 90 minutes we received a call from the groomer that Coco was ready to be picked up.

As we headed back to our truck to drive the 20 miles back to Mobile, we once again put the location into the GPS’s, and once again those electronic marvels lied to us. As a result we ended up taking a very round about way to get there.

Arriving, we entered the shop, and there behind the cashier’s counter in a wire cage was a skinned Coco. She didn’t look at all like we had left her. She looked totally different. We knew that there was a gray coat underneath Coco’s brown fur, and now, trimmed, she was totally gray. In fact she looked very much like our miniature Schnauzer, Mitzi, who passed away three months ago. Nevertheless, Coco was still extremely happy to see us. She probably thought we left her there; she had never been separated from Molly since the day we brought her home.

We headed back to the trailer to unite the dogs, which proved to be very interesting. Coco was glad to see Molly, and although Molly was glad to see Coco, it was apparent Molly didn’t totally recognize her partner in crime, neither by sight nor by smell. Molly had to examine and re-examine Coco time and time again.

As they were getting reacquainted, I prepared the trailer to the journey to Montgomery, about 150 miles north of Mobile. We passed through a couple of little rain squalls and also came upon a pretty nasty car accident which had apparently happened about 10 minutes earlier. Other than that is was uneventful.

We arrived in Montgomery and pulled into The Woods RV Park, a relatively new park surrounded by trees, henceforth the name, but there were no trees inside the park. It did have a lake on the border of the property which I could fish for free if I were so inclined. And we could hear the cattle lowing from just across the lake.

After we got the trailer set-up, we drove a few miles to Marianne’s mom’s home with the dogs. Then it dawned on us: our dogs had never been in anyone else’s home but our own. But they loved exploring this large home, and loved playing in the backyard around the pool. They chased after one another like they never had before, playing their version of the rabbit and the fox.

Marianne’s mom prepared dinner; we watched a little TV and then headed back to the campground, where the choruses of the frogs croaking were almost deafening. Fortunately our air-conditioning was blasting away, so we were not only cool, but its white noise lulled us to sleep. Frogs? What frogs?

May 20, 2010 - Day Thirteen

2010-05-24T15:19:00.000-07:00

Today we put Mobile, Alabama into our sights.

Our trailer had never been in Louisiana, so now we’d be adding two more states that the trailer had never been in, Mississippi and Alabama. And we’ve driven almost 3000 miles since we left home. So far, so good.

I got on the Internet looking for places to camp in Mobile. I found one called “Shady Acres”, but I’m usually put off by parks that have names heralding back to the 1930’s, since I fear they haven’t been updated since then. But the reviews I found about this RV park were very high, so I booked it.

The drive was uneventful but I was starting to worry about the tread depth on the truck tires as well as how one of trailer tires was wearing. We made it to Mobile in about three hours, an easy drive for us.

Shady Acres was located in a residential area of town, not too far from I-10 and very easy to get to. But as we pulled off the freeway and attempted to exit, our path was blocked by a police car with flashing lights. And here I thought the statute of limitations of my time in Alabama in the 1970’s had expired. It turned out that the cop was only blocking the road to allow a funeral procession to pass by.

Shady Acres was indeed shady, and we were assigned a pull-through spot. Within a few minutes I had the trailer unhitched, leveled, and the awning down.

By now we were convinced that Coco needed to go to the groomer to get a haircut like her “sister” Molly. Coco’s abundant brown coat was acting like a luxurious fur coat, it was cute, but way too warm in this hot weather. I found a groomer on the Internet and we made an appointment for the next morning.

We left the dogs in the air-conditioned trailer, and even though the South was still experiencing a July-like heat wave, we were ready to do some sightseeing of downtown Mobile, so off we went.

After some map confusion, we found a parking spot next to their large convention center. We walked to the park on the opposite side of the center where we were the only tourists, it appeared as the rest of the parks patrons were homeless people catching up on their sleep and a couple of people fishing in what appeared to me to be the dirty water of the Mobile Bay. Across the bay were shipyards where all sizes of ships were being built. Behind us was the Mobile skyline, fairly unimpressive except for two skyscrapers, both of which were Radisson hotels.

From the park we could see Fort Conde, one of the first settlements in Mobile. Hiking over there, we passed an Imax theater. It was wonderfully cool inside there, but the last Imax movie started 90 minutes earlier. So, in order to stay cool for a while longer, we visited their gift shop.

Once we were conveniently chilled we hiked a bit further, only to find ourselves in front on the former civic center which had now been converted into the Museum of Mobile. It was time to get cool again, so we entered. We didn’t want to pay to entrance fee, so we visited their gift shop to cool off again.

A little further down the street was Fort Conde, this was free and their welcome center was also air-conditioned. We cooled off again, and then did a quick tour of the small fort. Lucky for us the exhibit rooms were all air-conditioned.

Upon exiting the fort, we crossed the street to stand underneath a green umbrella. This is where we could pick up a free shuttle which would take us on a loop of downtown Mobile – also air-conditioned. The quick tour allowed us to view a town that appeared to me to be an extremely scaled down version of New Orleans.

We got back to the trailer, appreciated our air-conditioning, and had dinner. We also spent a considerable amount of time imagining what Coco would look like with her haircut.