Fellow Traveler

"We moved into this RV park 6 years ago. Sold our home in Oregon and got rid of all our stuff. That was the hard part. Letting go of my tools... my fish poles. I had some nice tools. The garage sale lasted a week...."

"I don't know what I'm going to be doing when I get up everyday... unscheduled."

"How's that working for you?" I asked.

"Great... wish we'd done it 10 years sooner." He sits in his comfortable lawn chair under the umbrella and reads. Six foot, five inches, tanned, wears a large brimmed straw hat and shorts. Smokes unfiltered Tucson's. Indian cigarettes, cheap... no tax. I spoke to him one morning after noticing a masonic sticker on the front of his RV. He was master of his lodge... several times... in Newport, Oregon. Found it interesting that my father was master of the lodge in Newport VT. Another coincidence, he had worked as a captain on Foss Tugboats around the Pacific.

In the 50's, he was on a Coast Guard supply ship steaming around the far east; China, old Hong Kong, Subic Bay. He said he most enjoyed the small islands, talked about showing movies on the wharf for the native islanders, of walking through the jungles, avoiding the wild dogs, to climb through the caves and tunnels the Japanese had built during WWII, coming across, derelict tanks, planes, bones...

He was at sea, off Seldovia, south of Homer Alaska when the big earthquake hit in 1964. He said it felt like they had hit a reef. "Just picked us up out of the water and shook us." They received orders to return to port. He talked about the utter devastation along the waterfront in Anchorage

I told him we were roughly following the highways that William Least Heat Moon had written about in his 1978 book, Blue Highways and that Moon had stopped in Depoe Bay, Oregon. He told me that is where he had lived, working at the Coast Guard base. Lots of coincidences...

We talked about routes, stops, weather, roads. Fellow traveler, Master seaman, Master Mason; quite a man.

People

Ryan told me at the onset of our adventure that "It's all about the people." I rediscover the truth of his words every day.

The RV park is filled with unique individuals some in expensive motor home yachts, million dollar rigs with all the trimmings. Others more humble. I met Ray the other day. He is 91 years old and lives behind us in a compact little RV. This morning I sat down with him and listened to his story.

He started flying a Curtis Challenger biplanes while he was still in high school in Montana, ferrying the plane to county fairs, taking people up for rides and manning the concession. The US Army provided him the opportunity to earn his flight instructors license in order to train pilots for the war and in 1945 he started flying a Cessna Airmaster as a contract civilian conducting aerial mapping, laying out the groundwork for new military installations and later a modified P-38 Lightning fighter plane on Dwight D. Eisenhower's Interstate highway system.

Ray called the P-38 a "beautiful flying airplane... but it had it's meanness." He said the counter rotating twin props provided countervailing torque that allowed a very stable flight line when mapping, but that the small tail was problematic when one engine went down especially on take off. He spoke of witnessing planes rolling and crashing from this defect... but not to him.

We sat outside his RV in white plastic lawn chairs, his white disheveled hair blowing in the morning breeze, wearing a Hawaiian shirt with orange flowers, shorts, brown socks and sandals, hearing aids in his ears. His bushy white eyebrows bobbed as he spoke excitedly about the advancements in technology he had seen and the jobs he had flown. He brought out a photo of a huge film to analog to digital (IBM punch card) piece of technology that he worked on in the early 50's and spoke of meeting the MIT inventors of the transistor which changed the world.

His electrical engineering background served him well in the growing field of photogrametry and he advanced in flying technology as well, eventually flying Lear Jets over Alaska, Maine and Greenland, his last job in 1986. he showed interest in my Uncle Bob's career with James W Sewell Co. and with Ryan's career with DeLorme. He shook his head in wonder when I showed him the PN40.

Ray and his wife went on the road in 1992 and RVed around the country. Four years ago she passed away. "I got to have her for 52 years..." His two sons want him to retire the RV life and, I'm told, one of them had him visit at his home in AZ where he presented Ray with living arrangements... a daylight basement suite. The story goes that Ray got up early the next morning and made his escape, before they took his car keys, back to the desert, back to his independent life of choice.

His mind and his points of view on politics and the economy were equally sharp and doubly pessimistic. he said, "Carl Marx was right when he wrote that capitalism will destroy itself." He said "I didn't think I would see it (the meltdown of the US economic system), but I am. I won't see it through... you will." Ray says "In the end it will be simple." speaking of the incredible Federal deficit and over extended financing through US bonds. "Japan would love to have California. Russia wants Alaska. Real estate is the only asset of value. That's why they call it "real".

The sun and the temperature were rising as he switched topics to world religions and I took a rain check (is there any such thing in this desert) to continue the conversation in the days to come.

Fascinating, remarkable, old timer. It's all about the people.

Walk About

7:00 AM and it's already 85 degrees as I headed up the Linkin Trail into the canyon. The city of Palm Springs lies below. All the green in the picture are palm trees (hence the name...) looking across the valley toward Palm Desert.


On the trail there are lots of small lizards and a few monsters. Chuckwallas, they call them.

Harmless to humans, these lizards are known to run from potential threats. When disturbed, the chuckwalla will wedge itself into a tight rock crevice, gulp air, and inflate its body in order to entrench itself.

Males are seasonally and conditionally territorial; an abundance of resources tends to create a hierarchy based on size, with one large male dominating the area's smaller males. Chuckwallas use a combination of color and physical displays, namely "push ups", head-hobbing, and gaping of the mouth to communicate and defend their territory

The reward at the top was a spectacular sunrise view of the Talquitz Canyon. Well worth the sweat...
At the base of the canyon is a spectacular oasis in the desert, run off from the snow covered peaks above. A land of extremes.

PS (Palm Springs)... we're back

Great to see our good friends, Larry and Helene after their long and difficult year. Salt of the earth. Always things to do around the Coor Hacienda. Roofing projects, irrigation, dump runs and pool maintenance. And plenty of Helene's home cooking. I'd drive across the country for that... wait....we did!

We spent a few days visiting with Larry and Helene before driving the RV over to Happy Travelers. Finally got to meet Brett, Mary, Kelli and Makayla, the rest of the clan.

Today is Brett's 45th birthday. Yesterday we gathered around the pool at their house and Mary put on a nice cook out for the birthday boy. We could tell he apprecited it because he kept climbing into everybody's lap. A wild and crazy, good guy.

The Hardware Department

A little blurry, but this is the stainless steel contraption of plates, pins and screws that was removed from Ryan's leg last week (at the bottom of the picture you can see his thumb as he holds it up). He feels the operation was a success. Less pain (THAT makes sense) and more mobility as they also removed some scar tissue from the knee. Praise Jesus. One step at a time (pun intended).

Scottsdale

John and Lynne are the best of friends. We go waaaay back.... BC...before children. And the nice thing is that they are not only our friends, but also Ryan and Katie's. (You're one deep dude, John.)

You never know what is going to happen when we get together, but typically we get into a project, plumbing or tree work or moving or computers or HSA's or time shares. Lynne is a non card carrying Philadelphia lawyer. The girl is a walking database of details. Want to fly to Bora Bora for $29 round trip? She can search it out. Want to know the tax code rules on medical deductions? Call Lynne. Plus she's "torchin" hot. (No, no, no... too far)

John's office looks like a wall street brokerage sweat shop. Three screens, 2 laptops, fax machines, 3 phones, television on with financial news streaming in real time (and 3 stuffed animals named Bid, Ask and Call... go figure). He is the macro economic market trend research guru and Lynne is the micro economic options trader. On any given day they are swimming with the sharks and, God bless em, coming out with all their apendages ... usually. Things have been quirky lately... for everyone.

John is one of those guys who can do anything. Give him a technical manual and a computer and he will figure it out. He has flown everything from float planes to C130's to Lear Jets to Glass Cockpit 767's all over this planet. And nobody gets more involved with the technology than he does. He knows every hydraulic, electrical, mechanical system of every plane he's ever flown. And with his Loadmaster experience in the Air Force he can fit 10 pounds of big ucks (private joke) in a 5 pound bag in his sleep. My kinda guy.

We walked in the door to hugs and smiles and the first thing I notied was how great they looked. John was sporting a pony tail. Lynne was running around at 100 miles and hour. Good to be back. One night we walked way up on a bluff to watch an incredible sunset. Another night we sat around a camp fire out back and laughed until our sides hurt. Priceless. Nuggets of happiness.

We hated to leave, but, like crawfish, company begins to stink after a day or so (right Ron and Nancy?), even the best of company. So friends, thanks ever so much for your generous hospitality, the comfy bed, the delicious food and, most of all, for your friendship.

See you in Maine.

My Funny Valentine

Monster burritos for breakfast at the counter of the old Hitching Post Cafe before we headed down TX 166 toward Valentine. I decided to wait to gas up until then. Big mistake. The 2 lane road through the desert was posted 70 miles per hour and the only vehicle we saw was a tractor. Flat straight roads with majestic mountains looming in the distance. 36 miles later we stopped on the railroad tracks and looked up and down the line into infinity.


Valentine, population 187, is Big Bend's tiniest town. No doctor, no groceries, no gas, but they do have a post office where we stopped to mail a card to Jack and Polly. We're thinking of you guys... I asked the Post Mistress where I could buy gas. She said "Not here... 40 miles north in Van Horn. Hope you make it..." Me too. The drive was desolate and beautiful, the high mountains of the state of Chihuahua in Mexico just across the Rio Grande. Build a fence along this border to control illegal immigration? Ridiculous. We passed through the town of Lobo without knowing it.

We gassed up with a gallon to spare. When you know better, you do better. I'll do better next time. Onto I 10. The terrain became scrubby as we approached El Paso. We went through a border patrol check point. It approached without warning and the red pickup in front of us driven by a young male about went off the road throwing things out the window. They just waved us through and on the other side I could see him cussing his lost pharmaceuticals/herbs. There were more border patrol vehicles, helicopters flying over the river, trucks staked out on hills with binoculars. Serious business. The Mexican city of Ciudad Juarez, just across the bridge, is the epicenter of the Mexican drug war. Terrible atrocities. But the only real danger on this side of the river was the traffic. We were glad to have the big, ugly city behind us and we passed into New Mexico, the Land of Enchantment.

The 10 miles of dairy herds/slaughter houses along the highway reeked to high heaven. We stopped holding our breath at La Cruces. The road sign said."Zero Visibility Possible". Wind and sand. Take the paint right off your car. We talked about swinging down NM 146 to drive through Hachita, one of Moon's stops, but Winn Dixie (the Garmin) was telling us that we would reach Lynne and John by sundown if we trucked on. So on we pressed on through Apache Pass, Fort Boise, past Cochise and groves of pecans. The landscape suddenly dropped into a huge boulder field in Dragoon, similar to the Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs. Wish we had time to stop. Next time. Past Davis Mountain (popular name out here...), through beautiful Tucson ( sorry Sheryl and Ralph... deadlines), the Gila River Indian Reservation, Toltec, Picacho Peak and finally into Phoenix.

The sun was setting and the full moon was rising as we pulled into John and Lynne's beautiful adobe home in Scottsdale. The dogs went crazy, barking and jumping up on them. Don't tell me dogs forget... The beer was cold and the smoked salmon delicious as we sat on the floor and enjoyed company. Good friends. Good times. Good night...

Fort Davis

We sat on the sagging, sun bleached couch by the fireplace in the old rundown hotel and smelled the sweet aroma of burning mesquite wood. The nights were cool and the heat from the fire felt conforting. Fort Davis is the highest elevation county seat in Texas at 5050 feet and we noticed it. Six months at sea level in SSI didn't prepare us for this, but no complaints.

The Fort Davis County Library used to be a mercantile shop. They took the feed sacks, tractor parts and water pumps off the shelf and replaced them with books. Would have loved to spend more time there.

The next morning we took full advantage of the lobby coffee pot, hot, thick and dark roasted. We drove up through the canyons on TX 17 and up the skyway drive in the state park. The surrounding cliffs were known as the Apache Mountains, home to the Lipan and Mescalero Apache as well as the Kiawa Comanche prior to the arrival of the US Military in 1854.

Minimal traffic, no people, like we had the place all to ourselves. The Yucca plants were blooming and the view was spacious, big sky country. It seeps into you.

15 miles up the road, and I mean UP, we turned into the McDonald Observatory, the 432 inch Hobby-Eberly telescope is the 5th largest observatory in the world. They selected this location due to the absence of ambient light... One of the darkest places in the USA. Now that's something to be proud of. Amazing machines. Look close for the white dots on the mountain top.


The Chihuahuan Desert is a treeless desert of cacti, tumbleweeds, jackrabbits and rattlesnakes and perhaps the most diverse region in Texas. Elevations range from 8749 feet (Guadalupe Peak) to under 1000 feet in Del Rio. 106 peaks are over 7,000 feet, 20 are over 8,000 feet. Rainfall is around 6 inches annually. There are over 500 species of birds in the region.The hummingbirds were especially active around town. We came upon a herd (flock?) of Audad Big Horn Sheep and they politely posed for a quick picture.



There are 1,200 people in town, give or take, and Dean Bergman is one of them. 35 years old, 150 pounds overweight, a walking encyclopedia and proud owner of an eclectic junk shop named Possibilities. Dean sat in a worn, overstuffed chair literally surrounded by piles and bags of yard sale purchases, from floor to ceiling, which he meticulously opened and fondled. He considered naming his shop Possibilities Unlimited , but shied away from the moniker "PU". Dean talked nonstop, had no interest in me, was disturbingly egocentric, but appreciated my questions which allowed him to demonstrate his incredible mind. He talked about life in Ft Davis, the history, the people from away who move there and then try to change things to be like where they came from... and then move out in frustration. He laughed oddly as he described their faces when he informed them that the nearest WalMart was an hour and a half away. He said that when word gets out that someone is making a WalMart run everyone in town stops by with a list and the vehicle on the return trip is always packed to the hilt. Such is life in Ft. Davis.

Dinner was fresh baked biscuits, chicken fried chicken and grilled tomatoes/veggies with buttermilk pie for desert. Home cooking good. Tomorow we push for Arizona.

Into the wild...

Down TX 290 through Doss, a town consisting of a cafe and a taxidermy shop. Texas flags, fence posts, straight roads and 70 MPH speed limits past herds of deer, hawks and vultures overhead. The speed limit increased to 80mph, the highest posted speed limit in the USA, as we merged onto I 10... "The 10" they call it and they love their 10. Every 100 miles or so they change it's name.

It runs coast to coast from Jacksonville Florida to Santa Monica California, 2460.3 miles. In Florida they call it the Pearl Harbor Memorial Highway, as they do in part of Arizona, or State Road 8. In Alabama, a short stretch in Mobile is named the George Wallace Memorial Tunnel; Louisiana, the Afchafalaya Swamp Freeway, the Pontchartrain Expressway and the Stephen Ambrose Memorial Highway (a beloved historian from Univ of New Orleans). New Mexico calls it the 10. Arizona changes names 6 times; Pearl Harbor Memorial, Papago Freeway, Maricopa Freeway, Pima Freeway, Casa Grande Highway and the Tucson-Benson Highway. And into California where the road names include the Christopher Columbus Transcontinental Highway, the Santa Monica Freeway, the Rosa Parks Freeway, the San Bernadino Freeway and, our favorite, the Sonny Bono Memorial Freeway.

In Texas the name is Eastex Express in Beaumont and the Katy Freeway near Houston, but in west Texas they just call it "Is this road EVER going to end?" Actually the sign says it the Texas Pecos Trail. Low junipers, incredible sedimentary rock faces, big sky and long vistas. Magnificent. The signs along the road; "Drive Friendly", Best Western- 90 miles, anti-litering signs; "Drive Clean Across Texas" and "Don't Mess with Texas".


We pulled off for gas and food in Sonora. Lunch at the La Mexicana Taco Grill and unlike in Maine, more than just the name and the food were Mexican... everything was. Goooood tacos and smokin hot salsa.

The windmills appeared on the ridge of the northern mesa at mile marker 305 and continued uninterrupted to mile marker 283... 23 miles of huge, gleaming white, turning technology. Back East we can't comprehend such a thing at least not on this scale. The environmentalists would scream about sight pollution, the Audubon Society about bird injuries, the NIMBY neighbors would throw a fit. Construction would be halted by law suits for decades. But out here it seemed so right, so smart, to be harvesting power from the wind. Driving "The 10" is a humbling lesson in space and time. Everyone should get out of the woods and take the ride at least once. Awe inspiring.


We headed south in Fort Stockton, down through Pecos County, through Brewster County and into the town of Marathon. We saw 3 trucks along the 40 mile stretch through the high destert. Friends from Saint Simons Island in Georgia had recommended a bar at the Gauge Hotel. Good call Mimi and Jay. Loved the massive, albino buffalo head on the wall. And the beer was cold too.

We struck out for Alpine in Presidio County down TX 90 to find a place to hunker down for the night. Pickings were slim and at the Alpine Motor Inn, Connie vetoed the room due to incredible filth and disrepair. The headboard was ripped off the wall and the windows had such a thick layer of dust over them that the sunlight that was able to enter the room cast a gray hue. She said the marque which read " Fi' em S ed i e Y HY" was a dead give away.

So we headed 35 miles up TX 118 to Fort Davis, one of two towns in Jeff Davis County. Connie insisted that the name Davis was a good sign (my mom's family name) and, as usual, her intuition was smack on. The sun was setting and the colors morphed to golds and ambers 10 miles across the planes.


The Limpia Hotel is a delightful little old Texas establishment with lots of history. Don, the desk manager, offered us a Monday night special and we immediately decided to spend a few days exploring this enchanted land.

Too busy to blog...

We left Katy Texas and headed west towards San Antonio on a warm and windy Palm Sunday. The blue bonnets were in bloom along the highway and we chose to get off the beaten path and follow the "Blue Highways" that William Least Heat Moon described in his 1978 best seller traveling across the country. Much has changed and nothing has changed since then.

We picked up Texas Route 80 in Luling. We chose that town in honor of Lulu and it did not do justice to her. Windmills, cattle and fireworks stands. The oil wells pumped like prehistoric metal creatures and the smell of crude oil took me back to Sutton Vermont when dad was station master for the Portland Pipeline and we lived next to the pump station... 2 miles to our nearest neighbor and 10 miles to town. Good times.


The sign identified State 80 as the Texas Independence Trail and we wound our way into the Texas hill country. Distinctive iron gates along the highway announced this or that ranch; Eagles Peak Ranch, Rancho Mirado, Longhorn Ranch. Some were decorated with cattle skulls or eye catching wrought iron art. One billboard announced "Cowboys for Jesus". Another proclaimed the "Ron Paul Revolution". Through the sleepy town of Fentress and on to the college town of San Marcos. We picked up sandwiches and were looking for spot to picnic when we stumbled upon a football game being played in a used car parking lot. The Uni-Psychos and Team Krug were engaged in a serious contest complete with 3 scantily clad cheerleaders, 2 long haired referees wearing tie dye and a bearded announcer in sandals with a bull horn.

Nothing terrible unusual... except that all the players were riding unicycles.



We crossed TX 32 on the Texas Hill Country Trail past Purgatory Road, cactus and barbed wire, cattle guards and dirt roads... we were off the beaten path for awhile. North on TX 281 to Johnson City, quickly past LBJ and Ladybirds ranch, now an historic site, parking lots and guided tours, and down TX 290 (the Pearl Harbor Memorial Highway...??) into Fredericksburg for the night at a Super 8.

Most motels will allow small pets for a $10 fee which we feel is an absolute insult to our well behaved canines.They are better behaved than most humans... or at least we think so (are we biased?) Where the situation allows, we bend the rules and smuggle them into the room (they are finally getting comfortable with being stuffed into a bag), but when we do pay the fee we typically only pay for one and do the Sampson Shuffle (only one dog outside the room at a time... no one can tell them apart anyhow).

Moon writes about Fredericksberg and the memorial to native son Admiral Chester W. Nimitz, Commander and Chief of the US Naval Pacific Fleet in WWII. Central Texas seems like an odd place to hail from for such a man. And he was quite a man. The story goes that his grandfather, a former German seaman inspired his career path. He wrote, "The sea - like life itself - is a stern taskmaster. The best way to get along with either is to learn all you can, then do your best and don't worry - especially about things over which you have no control". Smart guy.

The State Historic Site on Main Street is five stories high and built to resemble the superstructure of a battleship, another oddity in the hill country of Central Texas. That night we walked Main Street and watched a blazing sunset over the courthouse. Connie's comment was
"Red sky at night,sailors delight... a good day tomorrow." I'm sure Admiral Nimitz was smiling .

On our way out of town the next morning, Connie hunted down a local shop known for their amber jewelry looking for a special birthday present for Kate. The shop is named Grace's Antiques (Connie is all about grace. She doesn't miss the small things...) and the owner, Price Larson, spent an hour telling us about the town, his life and the shop which amazingly enough is the actual birthplace of the Admiral. He let us wander around and showed us the loft where the 11 Nimitz children lived with their widowed mother. Price was interested and supportive of our journey and told us he was about to retire from retail to pursue his art... painting. Good luck Price and thanks for the beautiful green amber pendant. Kate loves it.

It's all about the people.

Becky... in our thoughts and prayers

New Orleans

We approached The Big Easy from the east through the bayou's and over the bridges, all under repair. Katrina's destruction was clearly evident along the way. Forests of trees with no tops, broken by the winds. Outside the city the huge Six Flags Amusement Park had been abandoned, roller coasters still standing, but never to run again. As we entered the city there were huge piles of scrap. Some neighborhoods seemed whole, but every here and there an abandoned building. And then there were neighborhoods where the levies hadn't held. They looked like Nagasaki...

We exited I10 onto Cross Street and down to the French Quarter where we parked the van and walked the length of Bourbon Street and back on Royal. 2 hours was more than enough for us. When Connie approached a mini skirted black woman sashaying in the middle of an intersection for directions, she responded politely in a deep male voice. Connie was stunned. I laughed all the way back to the van.

Off to Baton Rouge, one time home of my old friend, Rudy Wright, now gone. As he used to say, " Time to piss on the fire and call off the dogs." Long day...

On the road..

We drove off Saint Simons Island in the rain on April Fool's Day morning. It had rained so hard all that night, with heavy thunder and lightning, that the water came under the wall and flooded the living room of the Cummings Lane cottage. An auspicious beginning...

Down GA 17 and south on I95 to FL A1A. Everything was flooded, the swamps overflowing, roads closed, rivers brown with mud and over their banks. But the roads were good and when we connected with US10 in Glen St. Mary we made good time across to Pensacola where we hunkered down for the night.

We love the travel, even the long days, but more than that we enjoy the passing contacts/conversations with people on the road. The Amish woman in full dress in the Dollar Saver Store in Crawford; Maurice the black maintenance man at the Red Roof Inn; Luis, the young Mexican who served us dinner. Their stories add the spice to the adventure. And this part of the world is all about spice.

The weather report the next morning was ominous. Strong storms and reports that the drought in the Southeast was officially over... one less thing. We crossed the "Bay-Way" into Mobile and took State Highway 90 down along the coast through Saint Elmo and into Mississippi. By the time we got to Pascagoula the sky was beginning to look very strange. High clouds with funny swirls and motions. The radio was broadcasting emergency weather alerts every hour or so.

As we crossed the bridge toward Biloxi, we could see the storm approaching from the west, dark and dangerous looking. The emergency broadcasts were coming every 15 minutes now warning that a tornado had touched down in Bay St Louis and was headed up the coast... toward Biloxi. The report warned of nickle sized hail and continuous cloud to ground lightening. It was time to take deliberate steps to protect ourselves.

We drove directly to a McDonalds and bought ice cream sundaes and coffee. Can't enjoy the show without refreshments... Next we drove toward the storm until we found a self car wash to protect the van from hail. At this piont the radio warnings were every 5 minutes. We ate our treats and watched the storm intensify. Sampson was panting, shaking all over, eyes wild. Lulu wouldn't leave Connie's lap. The rain and the wind built to where it was raining sideways and the windshield wipers were useless. All the lights went off but with the constant lightening flashes we didn't notice. And then suddenly it stopped... We never saw the twister. Reports said it went north of us.

It was frightening, but at the same time an awesome and powerful thing to see.