Technical Difficulties...

I downloaded an update for my browser and everything stopped working!! So posting to the blog has been problematic... especially while on this leg of our journey. I have found a way to connect tonight, but no pictures. Which is sad because we have been seeing some incredible stuff.

Since the last post... We stopped in Salinas CA for a couple days to visit the John Steinbeck museum and eat some great Mexican food. Then up through San Francisco and onto Rte 1, through the Muir Woods and National Seashore. We stopped in to see Cousin Leslie and Jerry and stayed for 5 days! Great time. Lived in their 1951 Spartan Airstream trailer surrounded by awesome beauty and cows. Met their friends, went to a pot luck supper in Tomales, wine country tour and just an all around great time. Thank you Les and Jer!!

All four of us went camping up the coast for a night at Ocean Cove, ate good food and sat around the campfire. Then we said our goodbyes and we headed up the PCH. What a ride. After we crossed the mountains... WHAT a ride... 22 miles of switchbacks with cliffs on either side... we drifted into Garberville for a couple days. More to follow when I get this computer back up and running. The Redwood National Park was one of the highlights of our trip. Hugging a 1000 year old tree makes you feel very small and very connected. Magnificent.

We crossed into Oregon in the fog. Every now and then it would lift and take our breath away. One night in Golden Beach, a little fishing village, a stop in Depoe Bay and on to Portland Oregon. We changed our trip plan at this point (had enough fog for awhile...) and struck east up the Columbia River Gorge. Beautiful river. waterfalls, rugged mountains until we hit Farewell Bend on the Snake River where we camped out. Our new tent did well until it rained...

On to Idaho. Spectacular... big sky. You can see forever. We stayed in a cabin right on the Snake River in Massacre Rocks. I got to do some fly fishing. Lots of wildlife. coyotes, white pelicans by the 100s, ducks, grebes, magpies.

Today we headed for Yellowstone and called ahead for a weather advisory. Snow, rain, cold weather in the 30s for the next 3 days so we changed directions and headed south into Utah, thru Salt Lake and into Provo. Ryan told us about a canyon pass up to Sundance and tonight we are holed up in a funky little town with an incredible view. In a day or to we will head down to Bryce Canyon National Park...Zion... Arches... Canyonland... and the north rim of the Grand Canyon.

Lotta miles but the beauty of this country makes it all worth it. Can't describe it.

We will show up in Santa Fe for a wedding by the end of the month, then Connie will fly back to New England and I will drive dack across with the dogs. She will get us situated and visit with her mom in Albany some before I get back.

Craig has hired me to work in his lobster/bait business for the summer. Something I've always wanted to do. Looking forward to it.

And that is it in a nut shell. If I get my computer straightened out I'll relay some of the stories of the road. Hope so. We are having a ball. Until then...

PCH

The drive along the Pacific Coastal Highway began in the fog and ended in the fog. Here and there, were glimpses of brilliant sunshine. So much to see and do. We could spend six months and not scratch the surface.


North of Cambria we swung into the notorious Hearst Castle, an incredible piece of architecture build by a very wealthy and famous west coast businessman. The sign said "Experience the Dream". We are already living our dream so we turned around and headed up the road. Poor rich people... so much to take care of.

The Hearst Foundation donated 21 miles of coast to the state of California, undeveloped in perpetuity. Awesome country.



Big Sur and the roads that run through it are everything that has been written about it and more.



Traffic was not heavy, but there were caravans of travelers, many not from this country. We met and spoke with people from Holland, Belgium, Great Britain and this motorcycle formation from Japan. There was another motorcycle group of about 50 people from Germany, all driving Harley's and dressed in leathers. Guess the economy is still ok in some parts of the world, huh?

And then there were other travelers. Pelicans flying in formation and diving for schools of fish.


Elephant Seals by the hundreds, mostly females and juveniles, a few pups. The 5,000 pound males have left, swimming back to Alaska, dodging white sharks and Orca. 70% of the young don't survive that first year swim. But today they relaxed on the beach, making belching noises and mock fighting each other. And smell!! Almost as bad as Vulture poop...



The ground squirrels drove Sam and Lu absolutely crazy. They were aggressive little rodents and probably not the best thing to allow in your lap. I'll let you know if I develop any strange rashes...


We drove through the mountain passes and into Salinas Valley, home of John Steinbeck, Pulitzer and Nobel Prize winner in Literature. That's on the bucket list for tomorrow, but tonight we are holed up in a nice little Motel 6 with an awesome Mexican Restaurant next door. After last night Connie deserves a lot more than that. Hope she doesn't strangle me in my sleep... What a good girl. My partner.

Steinbeck wrote "Travels with Charley". My book could be "Travels with Connie".

Lobsters and Lessons

We headed out from a wonderful month in Palm Springs on Sunday after spending a couple nights with our good friends Larry, Helene, Brett and Mary (and Kelli and Makayla of course). Such a good time. Lobster cookouts (Thanks Craig. Had to teach these West Coasters how to eat one... can you imagine?), pool time, motor home repair projects, haircuts, leg and hand massages by Connie... (look out, Lee Higgins!). We sat beside the pool on Viminal Way and ate the best biscuits and gravy on the planet on Saturday (Mary, you're the bomb...) and struck out for the coast on Sunday morning. All good things must come to an end and our time together was special. Thanks ever so much friends.

The windmill farms in the Cochella Valley are quite a spectacle. They sprout up like dandelions and span 20 miles through the desert. Clean energy. There is hope.

The drive through LA was a hair raising experience even on a Sunday. The sports cars doing slalom runs through 6 lanes of traffic gave me cramps in my hands from gripping the wheel and a sore throat from screaming at them. And we thought Boston traffic was bad... Doesn't even come close. Connie decided to stop looking into the cars next to us filled with Hispanic young men wearing gang rags and covered with tattoos. A lesson in diversity and discretion.

Up the Venture Highway and on to Santa Barbara where the mountains were still smoldering and gray from the recent fires. Signs along the roadside said "Thank you Fire Fighters. You Rock!". We detoured off the 101 onto 154 and climbed up into the wine country. Great road and we smiled to remember our trip there with Katie and Ryan in January of 2006. "Smell this!"

We picked up The PCH, Pacific Coast Highway in San Luis Obispo and into Morro Bay where we checked in the Morro Bay State Park for a night of camping on the ocean. I was committed to make this camping thing an enjoyable experience for Connie as we hope to camp in the National Parks over the next month. We had picked up some fresh fish from a roadside stand and also some tomatoes, avocados (9 for a dollar Lynne!), some fresh cherries, garlic, lemon and strawberries. I worked furiously to get the campsite set up because Connie was hungry and when she is hungry, it becomes the top priority. Strike One.

Connie mentioned that there seemed to be a lot of bird droppings at our spot under the massive Eucalyptus trees, but I didn't pay any attention. Too busy being super camperboy. The temperature was 50 degrees and foggy. We had just left 108 degrees in Palm Springs. Connie does NOT like the cold. Strike two.

Dinner was good. Home made guacamole topping on garlic crusted grilled tuna, tomato soup and hot tea with honey. Dish duty, set up bedding, a walk on the cold coast and a glass (bottle?) of wine around a campfire... the mood was like the weather. Chilly and foggy. Connie slept in the van. I took the dogs and slept on the air mattress in the tent. Foul tip... staying alive, staying alive.

I awoke at 6:00AM to a gray and chilly dawn and the sound of birds calling. How pleasant I thought. I opened my eyes and stared through the nylon tent at the towering trees. What were those dark stains all over the tent? I quickly dressed and and stepped outside into the misty morn. The tent and the van were entirely covered with thick brown bird poop, so thick that I couldn't see through the windshield. The Tule was dripping. The tent was a toxic waste site. Above us was a roost of 8 or 10 Turkey Vultures. If I had my gun there would be fewer. We had been shit at and hit. Strike Three!

I opened the hatch and Connie said, "Who paint balled us!" We started to laugh through clenched teeth. "Pack the van. we're out of here." she announced. I threw away the old tent (Sorry John... collateral damage. At this point, it was all about survival.). Even before we got our morning coffee, we drove directly to a self service car wash before the poop ate the paint off the van (Brett, the polish job saved me buddy!). Considering what Turkey Vultures eat, it was perhaps the dirtiest job of my life and that is saying alot considering my sewerage treatment and diaper changing background. Game over.

Later that day. after passing on a tour of the Hearst Castle (poor rich people... so much stuff), after talking Connie out of buying a bus ticket back to Palm Springs, and after a fine breakfast in San Simeon, preparing for a drive through Big Sur, Connie smiled and said, "So, what have we learned here today?" We laughed all the way up the PCH.

Courage

Proud of our friends. Gentle healing Anna...

Beep beep

"Chaparral Cocks", as they are called by the locals, are lightning quick, fast enough to snatch dragon flies and hummingbirds out of midair.

Roadrunners can run up to 17 miles per hour, rarely fly because of their size and are meat eaters. They can catch and kill rattlesnakes and swallow them whole. Sometimes they can't swallow them all at once so they run around with half a snake dragging out of their beak.

The folks down the way have watched roadrunners flush morning doves out of the bushes hoping to have them bounce off windows so they can then rip them to shreds with their powerful legs/beak. They say birds are distant descendants from dinosaurs. Roadrunners are first cousins.

A mature male stand a foot tall and up to two feet long and make a call like shaking a can of ball bearings. Last night one jumped the heck out of me, calling from up on top of the RV and watching me cook spaghetti over the campstove... 10 feet away. Sam and Lu chased one for 50 feet before it disappeared in a flash of blinding speed. Just like the Willey Coyote being left behind in a cloud of dust... Beep Beep!

The Good Old Days

As I sit here in space number 72 of the Happy Travelers RV Park looking out the front window onto an amazing landscape of palm trees and jagged mountain peaks, I can see two multicolored flags flying over two separate sites down the road. And if I bend my neck around the corner, there are two more. I wonder why they feel the need to demonstrate their gayness. I don't understand gayness. Then again, I don't understand women and I have lived under the same roof with one or more for most of my life.

At an Italian restaurant the other night, two men and a woman sat across from us and we engaged in a friendly, free flow conversation for a few minutes. Connie speaks to everyone. And it is the rare person who does not return her smile or her happy chatter. I have coached her gently on this specifically following an occasion where she invited a mentally unstable, homeless man to join us for coffee and breakfast sandwiches. She said she didn't notice his ragged suitcase or his strong unwashed aroma. "He was all alone..." It's part of her charm. Anyhow... One of the men wanted to make sure we understood that he and the other guy were a couple. He told us proudly that they had been together for 32 years.

John and Dave were the spark plugs of the RV park last year, two professional business people who had been together for 22 years and now lived in a $500,000, deluxe, 40 foot land yacht with marble counters and wide screen plasma TV's. They were always bicycling around the park, playing cards at the pool or throwing dinner parties in the evening. They watched out for Connie last year when I had to dash back to Maine with Ryan's surgeries. The unofficial social directors of this community. The residents of Happy Travelers whispered sadly about their breakup this winter just before our arrival.

So why do intelligent men in long standing, loving relationships feel the need to fly a rainbow flag? Clearly it is not to flaunt their lifestyle or to advertise for sexual partners. Perhaps they are demonstrating fearlessness.

I remember well the days when some of the kitchen crew at Howard Johnson's, where I was a dishwasher, would tell stories about "bashing fags" at Old Orchard Beach. They thought it was good sport to isolate and intimidate homosexuals, perfectly justifiable. They were "disgusting"... "queers".

Gays suffered widespread discrimination in housing, in employment. And with the AIDS virus, many God fearing Christians claimed divine retribution. It's not just the Christians. I read a report recently of homosexual executions in the Muslim world, sanctioned by the mullahs, a holy Jihad against homosexuals.

When a class of people are brutalized by society for who they are, who they can not help but be, they can cower and be wiped of the face of the earth. Or they can stand up and defy the tyranny. Nations and races of people celebrate their courage throughout history in standing up to brutality. They fly their flags proudly with slogans like "Never again" and "Free at last, free at last. Thank God Almighty, we are free at last."

Is the brightly colored windsock blowing in the 100 degree breeze across the way any different? Is it not a badge of courage, telling anyone who cares to listen that they are proud to have survived the centuries where societies tried to eliminate them and that, at least in this society, they will never allow things to return to "the good old days".

I will never understand what it is to be gay. But I recognize fearlessness... a decision to demonstrate courage in spite of feeling afraid... that I understand. And admire.

Tahquitz Canyon

We hiked up the east trail to keep in the shade... while it lasted. 105 degree heat (but "it's a dry heat" they say... whatever that means. Still feels like sitting in a oven...) yet the stream that ran down through the canyon from the snow melt on the mountain tops was cold and refreshing. Vegetation sprung from it's banks, a strip of oasis in the desert.


Brett is Larry and Helene's youngest, Dalonna's cousin, Kacee's uncle among many other things. He loves the desert and stopped often along the trail to marvel at the rocks, the lizards, the hardy plants thriving in this harsh environment.

The waterfall at the head of the canyon was a welcomed sight and we waded right in. I swam around the pool and felt the force of the water crashing on my head from 60 feet up. The water was cold, but nothing compared to swimming in the Atlantic in Maine. Along the back wall, behind the waterfall, were beautiful white quartz striations polished smooth within the basalt, a piece of Nature's graffiti, more beautiful than any piece of art we viewed the other night at the Palm Springs Art Museum. Awesome.


Always thinking ahead, Brett had packed a cooler with ice and beer back at the truck. Never tasted so good. Gotta love it.


As the 1970's group 'America' sang;

"I've been through the desert on a horse with no name
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert you can remember your name
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain."

Never did understand those lyrics, but I guess they're true.
There's no rain.

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.