Our Cajun Interlude–September, 2012

Okay, let’s try this again.  Early this morning I wrote a detailed report on our visit to Louisiana, singing the praises of Cajun hospitality, the tastiness of their cuisine and the over-all courtesy of nearly every Louisianan we met.  Then, poof, the computer ate the whole thing.  Can’t find it anywhere. 

When last heard from, we were sweltering on the banks of the Mississippi in Vidalia just dawdling until it was time to begin our jaunt deep into Louisiana to attend the Cruisin’ Cajuns’ rally in Patterson.  Some parts of Louisiana are a little short on super-highways but we made it to U.S. 90 near Gray without incident.  However, once we turned and headed due west the skies opened up and we were treated to a torrential downpour which lasted about half an hour and delivered even more moisture to an already soggy situation.  Hurricane Isaac had, just a few weeks before, deluged the area and there had been insufficient time for things to dry out.  So when we reached the rally site, we were ushered into a spot that appeared to be a little on the soggy side.  The rear tires started to dig in when we attempted to adjust the placement on our site, so we decided to let well enough alone.  Nobody else seemed the least bit concerned about the situation so we followed their lead and postponed worrying about whether or not we could get out of our spot once we got in.

This being Cajun country, the first thing on the agenda was a meal.  Four couples banded together and headed back to Morgan City to an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet.  This struck us as a little odd but the reasoning behind the choice soon became apparent.  A steady supply of fresh seafood.  Rose showed us how to open crabs using the little pull-tabs they’re born with and how to behead a peel-and-eat shrimp. We played in our food for awhile and then switched to some Chinese dishes that required less effort (and fewer napkins) to eat.  But it was fun while it lasted.

The rally wasn’t scheduled to begin until mid-afternoon on Thursday so we took the opportunity to go back into Morgan City and tour Mr. Charlie, an off-shore oil rig on which rig workers are trained.  I took one look at the open metal stairs over the Atchafalaya River (and/or Bay) and vertigo kicked in with a vengeance.  Rose was kind enough to stay ashore with me while the others toured the rig.  Rose has a fair amount of experience with off-shore rigs and filled me in on how they are constructed and what life is like while working aboard.  Touring can make a person work up an appetite so we stopped at Rita Mae’s, a tiny restaurant in a tiny house on a residential street in Morgan City.  Howie and I split a shrimp po’ boy which was delicious and plenty filling.  Rita Mae stopped by the table to accept our kudos and to hand out souvenir pens.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent getting registered, then meeting and greeting an endless stream of ebullient chapter members.  There are no shrinking violets in that crowd and they put a lot of effort into having a good time.  Registering for a rally is hard work and we soon required sustenance – big bowls of chicken and sausage gumbo.  We worked off a few of the calories with the dancing which followed.  We’ve seldom attended a function where the dance floor has been kept so busy.  It seems everyone here can and will dance. 

Football was the theme of this rally and folks in Louisiana take football seriously.  LSU seems to take precedence over the NFL Saints but not by much.  The room was a sea of purple jerseys as we nipped into a supply of Cajun ice cream, a tasty concoction of vanilla ice cream and amaretto.  Goes down easy.  Chapter members did all the cooking and they are superb at it.  Dinner Friday evening was a tasty pork roast with all the trimmings.  Dancing to a live band followed.  “When the Saints Go Marching In” called for a pseudo conga line, waving of hankies and napkins and shouts of “Who dat?”.  We almost have a grip on what “who dat?” means and when you’re supposed to say it.  But not quite.

Did I mention that each day started off with a hearty breakfast?  No?  Well, you might have guess it.  Following Saturday’s breakfast, there was a chapter meeting.  As soon as that was gaveled closed, the Bloody Marys and screwdrivers were circulated, followed by a knock-out lunch that left us in dire need of exercise.  So we walked the short distance to the Wedell-Williams Air Museum.  After poking around a bit among the racing planes from the early days of barnstorming and checking out the collection of cypress logging equipment in the adjacent museum, we strolled home and had a much deserved nap.  And we needed our rest because there was more dancing that evening.  No big meal but plenty of snacks. 

Sunday was departure day and rain was predicted; we didn’t want to tempt fate and linger too long so we had a continental breakfast of coffee and enormous apple fritters (enormous, as in the size of a plate). Rose and John got their coach out without a problem but we had a little more trouble.  The rear tires churned up a fair amount of mud but the application of some gravel by the campground crew soon saw us on solid ground.  We heard later that quite a few coaches had to be hauled out with a large tractor.  Everyone seemed to take this in stride.  Hey, we’re stuck in the mud….no biggie. 

We proceeded to John and Rose’s home near Lafayette where we camped on their lawn for five more days of fun.  One day we made the trek to Avery Island for a quick tour of the Tabasco factory.  This was our second trip there and we really only needed to buy a supply of Sweet & Spicy for our Tabasco stash.  Few stores outside Louisiana carry it and we like it for scrambled eggs especially.  Naturally a bottle of the new Raspberry Chipotle made its way into our shopping cart as well.  We’d already had as much fun as a person should be allowed to have on any given day but on the way home we stopped at a Goodwill Outlet and discovered a treasure trove of bargains.  Everything at the Outlet is $2.00 and everything seemed to be new, including the computer bag Rose discovered.  I’m more than pleased with my $2 nylon jacket and Howie found another white shirt to add to his lawn bowling wardrobe.

Rose and I quickly fell into the habit of meeting for coffee on the patio, solving the world’s problems by 8:00 a.m. and planning our day.  One morning John and Rose set up their assembly line and made beignets.  What a treat it was to scarf down those little tidbits with a cup of coffee while enjoying good conversation and a pleasant breeze on the patio.  An entire batch of those tasty morsels disappeared; I even liked them cold at supper-time. 

One evening we drove to St. Martinville to meet two other Cruisin’ Cajun couples for dinner at their favorite local restaurant.  Howie jumped at the chance to order alligator for his entrée, bypassing his favorite frogs legs.  I tried a morsel; it was quite good and didn’t taste like chicken.  The restaurant is small and everybody seemed to know everybody else, the conversation was rapid-fire with that cadence unique to Cajun patois.  After only nine days in Cajun country, we were beginning to catch most of what was said.  A lot of laughing is involved in Cajun conversation.

We’d had such a good time that saying good-bye left us a little teary-eyed.  But the highway beckons and we had stops to make in Houston (where did all those people come from and where are they going in such a hurry?) and Bandera, cowboy capital of the entire universe.  Y’all stay tuned now, hear?

The Natchez Trace Parkway–September, 2012

The Natchez Trace Parkway is a national park without a wow factor – no big geological wonder, no significant historic moment – just a long skinny road that leads you from the hustle and bustle of the present to the slower and quieter past without you even being aware of what’s happening.  The Parkway is 444 miles long, starting in Natchez, Mississippi and ending just outside Nashville, Tennessee.  While the length is very precise, the width varies but averages a little over 400’ on either side of the road.  The present Parkway does not follow the exact path of the Old Trace(s) – for there were more than one.  First there was a trail followed by animals as they trekked about searching for food and water then local tribes of Choctaw and Chickasaw literally followed in their footsteps.  For a time, the Trace served as a one-way route for boatmen who’d taken their wares downstream to Natchez, sold everything including the boats and then walked or ridden back home in the north, utilizing the segments of the trail worn by earlier travelers.  In time, there was a need to move mail along the route and post riders made the trail even more distinct.

As a National Park, the Trace is closed to commercial traffic and there is a maximum speed limit of 50 mph, even less in some segments.  The road is well-maintained but it is only two lanes wide, there are no shoulders and plenty of gentle curves and small hills.  We found that radio reception is skimpy, CB chatter from truckers on unseen highways which run beside the Trace was scant and there is very little traffic except near the larger cities.  Trees make up the majority of what might be called scenery.  They hug the road in some areas, making for long tree tunnels and stand back a reasonable distance in others.  Farm fields, pastures and meadows are sometimes visible.  Rarely can you glimpse a house or barn.  There are plenty of roads with access to the Trace and those lead to cities and towns, again unseen from the Trace.  You are never far from civilization but you just can’t be sure.

A trip down the Trace is not to be rushed.  You’ve fallen down the rabbit hole and you might as well enjoy the trip.  It’s best to stop frequently, take the time to read the signage at various spots, breathe deeply and enjoy the quiet solitude.  There are things to watch out for, of course; poison ivy, ticks and chiggers, a variety of poisonous snakes.  We spotted several groups of white-tailed deer, a goodly number of flocks of wild turkeys, squirrels and one snake who’d picked a bad time to cross the road.  The Trace has it’s mysterious side and one of the most significant sagas of the early Trace involved Meriwether Lewis.  In 1809, he was shot at Grinder’s Stand (Milepost 385.9) and died of his wounds.  It has never been determined if he was murdered or if he committed suicide; it’s ironic that he survived the enormous hardships of the Lewis and Clark Expedition and then died in a relatively civilized place like the Trace. 

Speaking of mysteries, Nevada Barr has used The Trace as settings for two of her Anna Pigeon novels, “Deep South” and “Hunting Season”.  I read “Deep South” just before we traveled The Trace the first time and some of the shadowy areas seemed very sinister.  For this trip, sunshine predominated.

This being our second visit to the Trace we didn’t take the time to do a lot of sightseeing.  And we didn’t take many photos.  We thought about including archived photos from the earlier trip but decided that wasn’t quite kosher.  But we did make several stops along the route, the first being in Hohenwald, Tennessee.  Our campground was an interesting (odd, actually) combination of KOA and membership park.  The instructions on how to locate the campground included a warning about a low bridge just at the exit from the Parkway but we couldn’t quite figure out what we were supposed to do about it.  However, as soon as we reached the bridge, it became obvious; there’s a dirt path several feet lower than the road which allows taller rigs to slip (but just barely) under the bridge.  It is not a graceful transition and resulted in a lot of funny noises coming from the coach as she crept over the rough edges.  Once inside the campground, we found a huge flat area but with nary a sign of any RVs.  The campsites were at the top of a hill reached by a road that needed some serious repairs.  It was fine for an over-night but we were left wondering why they weren’t utilizing all that nice flat area at the bottom of the hill for their campsites.

Our next stop was Trace State Park just outside Tupelo.  It’s a gem in the Mississippi State Park system and we had a premium lakeside spot.  We had the place practically to ourselves and spent the evening watching guys in boats drowning worms.  The next morning I took my morning coffee down to the water’s edge to watch a great blue heron practice his tai chi.  And then we spent the day in Tupelo addressing the issue of a '”seek service soon” light that had appeared on the Saturn’s dashboard.  Sometimes you just get lucky.  The diagnostics showed nothing wrong, there was no charge for the non-diagnosis, the light went away and we bought a new gas cap as the service attendant suggested.  

As we were preparing to leave on Saturday morning, we spotted a deer walking along the shoreline.  She popped into the lake and began to swim across.  Although there was a fair amount of boat traffic, she didn’t seem the least upset about it and continued on her way.  I didn’t know deer would enter the water voluntarily much less swim.

On the advice of some folks we met back in Monticello, we made reservations at Timberline on the Ross Barnett Reservoir just outside Jackson, Mississippi.  We’d thoroughly explored Jackson on a previous trip to Mississippi so we took this two-day opportunity to just kick back and relax.  After exiting The Trace at Natchez, we crossed the Mississippi and spent two days at a riverside campground in Vidalia, Louisiana.  It was our second stop at this park and we won’t be doing that again.  Not only were the daily rates excessive but there was an additional $5.00 a day for 50 amp service although we can live just fine on 30 amps.  Because of the size of the rig we were not allowed to opt out on the 50 amps.  So for that price they should at least keep the lawns mowed.

So that ends our tracing of The Trace.  Now it’s on to a round robin of eating and dancing here in Cajun Country.

Three Rallies In A Row–August & September, 2012

It was not a strenuous drive to Monticello, Indiana and we had the benefit of mostly clear skies and fairly cool temperatures. The GPS was having one of her dumber moments and she refused to accept the address I was trying to give her – no matches found, she claimed.  We tried some trickery but in downtown Monticello we missed the turn that would take us to White Oaks RV Resort and found ourselves on a dead-end street.  Luckily there was room to make a wide U-turn and head back to the highway from which we’d strayed.  To further complicate matters, the coordinates used in the Resorts of Distinction catalog were seriously incorrect and we soon found ourselves heading due north with nowhere to make a U-turn.  Buffalo, Indiana was not on our itinerary!

Eventually we found our way to the campground and got settled in.  Having the benefit of full hook-ups and 50 amp service, we got to work immediately on long-neglected household chores.  There’s not much down-time during rallies and so everything needs to be tended to prior to kick-off.   We were parked amid several coaches sporting FMCA “goose-eggs”; they weren’t attending the Full Timers Rally but were just killing time before moving to Indianapolis for the “big” rally.  One high-spirited couple, John and Rose, decided to attend the Full Timers Rally and by the time the rally started they’d also decided to become members of our merry little chapter.  What fun folks!  As you’ll soon see, they impacted our post-rally travel schedule a fair amount.

Monticello is a small city near Lakes Freeman and Shafer, a pair of man-made lakes created by damming the Tippecanoe River.  White Oaks Resort turned out to be a fine spot for a small chapter rally such as ours.  There was a nice lawn by the water’s edge where we could play our outdoor games – corn hole and snakes ‘n ladders – and a clubhouse for indoor games like dominos.  Some of us take these games very seriously; we may be white-haired and wrinkled but the competitive fires still burn.  Or was that last night’s chili?  One of the evenings was set aside for dinner at the upscale (for Monticello) Sportsman’s Inn followed by a cruise on Lake Freeman aboard the Madam Carroll, a party boat if ever there was one.  We greybeards grabbed chairs on the open top deck and prepared for our cruise.  The enclosed lower deck housed the on-board rock band and representatives of The Younger Set.  Those who ventured below found the music loud and the room very smoky; some of the smoke might even have come from Marlboros.  A number of smaller watercraft hugged Madam Carroll’s sides like so many pilot fish, probably to enjoy the music blaring out the open windows without paying to be on board.  Lakeside homes dot the shoreline, everything from mini-mansions to cottages, and many of the homes are rigged to blink their lights when the Madam makes her stately way down to the dam and back.

The most looked-forward-to event of the Full Timer’s rally is the final dinner when the Sheriff hands out his fines for all high crimes and misdemeanors committed during the rally.  Citations run from being without a name tag or ratting on someone who isn’t wearing a name tag to more “serious” crimes.  The 25 cent fines pile up and, in this case, went to a local charity selected by the two Wagonmasters.  I got dinged for having a bad hair day.  It’s a good thing the Sheriff is only in office four days a year or I’d be well-nigh broke!

No sooner had the rally been gaveled to a close, Cousin Gloria and her husband Jerry and their traveling companions, Trudy and Bob, checked in and set up camp nearby.  They’d been in Wisconsin to attend Cousin Judy and Dave’s 50th wedding anniversary and were wandering around a bit before returning to Iowa.  Trudy was feeling poorly one day so Bob stayed home with her and the rest of us went off to Delphi to visit the Wabash and Erie Canal Museum.  Staffed by volunteers, an experiment was underway to see how many visitors would show up on a weekday, they are usually only open on weekends. They had a dozen or so visitors by the time we checked in mid-morning.The mayor, Randy Strasser,  even stopped to chat and filled us in on some of the town’s plans to keep moving forward during these hard times.  

Jerry is a retired fireman and really wanted to buy this wonderful wooden fire truck but in the long run decided he didn’t have any place to put it, either in their 5th wheel or in their condo in Des Moines.  After checking out what the museum had to offer, we stopped for prime rib sandwiches at the Oakdale, a restaurant boasting a dam-side location.  After filling up the two lakes, the Tippecanoe is but a trickle at this point.

The next day, Howie’s brother Rick and his wife Linda traveled down from Cedar Lake to spend the day visiting.  The RV lifestyle fosters these mini reunions and it is always great fun to catch up with folks here, there and everywhere. We all went back to the Oakdale for lunch so nobody would need to do kitchen chores.  Imagine that!  Eating out two days in a row.

We decided to move to the Indiana State Fairgrounds two days before the FMCA Reunion kicked off.  As soon as it was announced that the rally would be in Indianapolis in August, we made the decision to reserve an electric hook-up so we could at least run the air conditioner and perhaps ward off heat stroke. Things got off to a poor start when the seminar I most wanted to attend occurred during an enormous early-morning downpour which flooded some of the tunnels to the infield where we were parked.  At least we didn’t lose our power as some folks did, nor did we end up with waterfront sites.  One of the big draws at these rallies is a display of new coaches.  Everyone is always excited to see what’s new and nothing ever is – same old same old, not even different colors.  You have to wonder who the coach builders are designing for:  why would you need a residential-size four-door refrigerator when you have only a two-burner stove and one square foot of counter space?  You might be able to  freeze the fatted calf but you can’t defrost and cook him.

With completion of the FMCA rally, we made a quick hop up the road to the 3T’s Rally at a full-service campground in Anderson.  Howie had worked one summer in Anderson back in the dark ages and claims that absolutely nothing looked the least bit familiar.  The main purpose of the 3T’s group is to recover from four or five days of boondocking at the FMCA rally, to take long hot showers without worrying about the grey tank exploding, get the laundry and ironing done, restock the larder and, of course, visit with those folks you haven’t seen since this time last year.  Eating is also a major item on the agenda. 

Hurricane Isaac may have been down-graded to a Category I by the time it made landfall but he traveled north, then east, trailing one rainstorm after another.  We had some very heavy rains but thankfully not much in the way of thunder, lightning or high winds.  Other areas weren’t so fortunate and several tornados were spawned along the storm’s route.

We had already planned to head southwest along the Natchez Trace Parkway as we begin our journey back to Arizona.  So it didn’t take much to convince us to make a little side trip to attend the Cruisin’ Cajuns rally in Patterson, Louisiana in mid-September.  Our new friends Rose and John insisted we’d have a wonderful time and it took only one glimpse of the rally menu to convince us that the trip would be worthwhile.  So we sent off our check and we’re on our way…laissez les bons temps rouler!

East Side, West Side, All Around Ohio - 2012

To recover from our fairly hectic tour of New York and New England, we made reservations at a membership campground near Williamsfield, Ohio for a week of R&R. It was a good choice; Lake Pymatuning, which straddles the border between Ohio and Pennsylvania, is nearby so the campground was busy on weekends with families and fishing folk but during the week it was blissfully quiet.  It was so peaceful, in fact, that we ended up extending our stay an extra week.  We had been in the area only a few days when the office advised us that a big thunderstorm was heading our way and we’d best be prepared.  We pulled in the big slide, turned on the NOAA radio and prepared for severe weather.  Fortunately, the worst of the storm passed to the south of us and the Weather Channel stopped throwing the term “tornadic activity” into their reports well before bedtime.  We didn’t even get the hail that was forecast. 

There isn’t much of interest in the immediate vicinity of Williamsfield, so we had to drive 18 miles into Pennsylvania to find the nearest Walmart Supercenter and the nearest Costco was 50 miles due west in Mayfield.  We made one trip to each.  It was not an unreasonable drive to Warren, the closest “big” city so we trekked there one day to poke around.  The downtown area is chock-full of interesting Victorian-era buildings, including this especially lovely City Hall.  It’s right across the street from the library, where we learned they’d be having their big book sale that coming weekend and we quickly made plans for a return trip.

Warren was home to the Packard boys when they started the Ohio Automobile Company in 1899.  In 1903, when the company began to expand, it was renamed The Packard Motor Car Co. and manufacturing was moved to Detroit  to put them closer to their sub-contractors.  The museum’s collection is not large and space is limited but the cars are nicely exhibited and not all crammed together willy-nilly.  We were just about finished with our tour when the building went dark and we were led back to the lobby.  It was quickly learned that half the city was without electrical power so we were given free passes for a return visit and sent on our way with the admonition to “be careful” because the traffic lights in much of the city weren’t operational.

On another day we made the slightly longer drive to Youngstown with not much in mind to do except visit The Butler Institute of American Art.  The building, opened to the public in 1919, is very near the Youngstown University Campus and there is no admission fee.  Joseph G. Butler, Jr. who commissioned the building and contributed a great many of the earlier works of art, was a local industrialist and one of the first to begin collecting American art.  Familiar names appear in abundance – Winslow Homer, Norman Rockwell, Mary Cassatt.  They even have a portrait by Gilbert Stuart, although not of George Washington.  This guard was the only sign we saw of anyone monitoring the collection; he was so incredibly life-like that he seemed more an example of the embalmer’s skill than an artist’s technique.  We were also much taken with a perpetual motion device which ceased to operate when a handful of marbles jumped the track and brought everything to a halt. 

Our final stop during such tours is always the gift shop (it’s also the designated spot to find each other should we become separated).  The Butler has an especially nice gift shop and the clerk there recommended that we also visit Fellows Riverside Gardens, which is part of the Mill Creek MetroPark.  So off we went to locate it.  The weather has been extremely hot and humid so most of the gardens were not at their best but we were still able to enjoy the few things that were in bloom and to wander around under some grand old trees.

Our final day on the eastern side of Ohio was spent making a mad dash back to Warren for the library’s book sale.  We arrived fairly early (for us) and I was dismayed to see folks streaming out of the building carrying big cardboard boxes filled with books.  I watched one man stuff four such boxes into the cargo space of his van.  How could there be anything left for us?  Well, not to worry.  We were able to fill a big shopping bag with treasures without ever making it to the room that housed the works of fiction.

Somehow or another we’ve gotten a little off schedule and find ourselves traveling on Sundays instead of Mondays as we prefer.  Sundays do offer the benefit of lighter traffic on the highways and we made the 250 mile jump to Wapakoneta, Ohio without incident, although we did encounter some fairly heavy rains on the eastern half of the state.  We weren’t sure what to expect in Wapakoneta, it sounds like the punch-line of a bad joke about small towns.  It fact, it is a delightful small city in a delightful area of other delightful small cities.  Neil Armstrong is Wapakoneta’s major claim to fame and there is a space museum built there in his honor which we did not visit.  Truth be told, we thought the admission fee was a touch on the high side; we’ve already visited much larger air and space museums and paid less.  Besides, there was too much else to do!

The Auglaize County Courthouse is in the final throes of a major renovation and is closed to tours.  However, we were able get get inside for a quick peek around.  What a handsome building!!  It boasts colorful stained glass ceilings, detailed moldings and tile, and this copper version of Justice which once stood atop the court house.  Local school children collected pennies to pay for her renovation.

 

The architecture in Wapakoneta is eclectic to say the least.  One of the most interesting homes is this Victorian mansion known as The Pink Lady.  The yard décor changes frequently.  Obviously the owners are used to tourists hanging out on the sidewalk and taking photos, the bolder ones may even venture into the yard or peep in the windows.  When we drove by on the weekend, there was a wooden-sided pick-up truck parked on the street bearing the label “The Pink Lady’s Gent”.  This place is whimsical with a capital “W”.

Lima, the nearest large city, is only 15 miles or so due north and we made the trip there to visit the Allen County Museum.  A docent was showing off the miniature train room when we first arrived and so we prevailed upon her to fill us in on some of the details of the train set up.  Not only is the display a panorama of Lima but a time-line as well.  She also told us in some detail about the Shay locomotive, built by the Lima Locomotive Works, to haul rocks out of the nearby quarries up an incredibly steep section of track.  Next door, and part of the Allen County Museum (but with an additional admission fee) is the MacDonell House, now undergoing extensive renovations on the exterior.  The interior is in pretty good condition although perhaps not as historically correct as it might be.  It was built in 1893 and lived in until 1960 so some “renovations” fall into the modernization category.  This stained glass window was particularly striking – the guide told us it is quite magnificent early in the morning when the sun first strikes it, bringing the clouds to life.

On Tuesday we set off on a drive through the western Ohio countryside with its fields of corn and soybeans, tidy farms both large and small, and all-American towns.  Our first stop was the town of St. Marys  (our GPS insisted on calling it Street Marys) on the shores of Grand Lake St. Marys which is referred to as “Ohio’s other great lake”.  Intended as a feeder lake for the Miami-Erie Canal, this reservoir was dug by 1000 men using picks and shovels.  Dirt was hauled away in horse-drawn carts and wheelbarrows.  The men got their room and board plus 30 cents and a shot of whiskey per day; the whiskey was for medicinal purposes, to ward off malaria.  At the time of completion, the lake covered 15,000 acres and was 10 feet deep; the surface area has now shrunk to 13,500 acres.  Using either figure, it is still a very impressive feat.  It was once the world’s largest man-made lake and remains the largest hand-dug man-made lake, even subtracting 2000 acres.

We continued around the lake, stopping briefly in the town of Celina on the western end of the lake, ending up back on the eastern side in the town of New Bremen (pronounced New BREE man by the locals).  The downtown area was exceptionally tidy; many of the buildings were unoccupied but in wonderful condition.  We learned later that the largest local industry, a fork lift manufacturer, is largely responsible for keeping the town ship-shape.  It is also responsible for bringing the National Bicycle Museum to New Bremen.  In 1997 Jim Dicke II of Crown Equipment purchased the entire collection of bicycles from the Schwinn museum in Chicago and moved it to this wonderfully restored old building.  Since then the collection has been added to; now it runs the gamut from a perfect replica of the first known wooden bicycle to the latest light-as-a-feather titanium model.  We were fortunate to be the only visitors that afternoon and so were treated to an in-depth introduction to some of the more unique configurations of the bicycle over the years.

New Bremen is also home to Lock One North, just one of the 106 lift locks on the 250 mile long Miami-Erie Canal.  Measuring 15 feet wide, 90 feet long and 10 feet deep, the lock was renovated in 2007.  The lock gates are made of oak and weigh 7000 pounds each.  A replica of the lockkeeper’s house, which was deliberately burned down 40 years ago, sits canal-side and is open for a quick look-see.  When the canal was in operation, the lockkeeper was on duty 24/7 to keep the boat traffic moving from the agricultural southern part of the state to the port cities on Lake Erie.

While we were in St. Marys we noticed that they were preparing for their big annual festival and learned that the library would be having…you guessed it…a book sale.  So naturally we made a mad dash back there on Friday.  Once again, we noticed folks moving books out by the box-load and once again we found plenty left over to choose from.  Another big bag of books crammed into the car and we were off and running to Greenville to tour the Kitchenaid factory.  We should have called first!!  It turns out they charge $5 per head for a factory tour which was about $4 more than we were willing to pay so we just looked around their museum, wandered around their outlet store and headed back to the the town we’ve come to know as “Wapak”.

Our final foray out into the western Ohio countryside was southeast to the city of Bellefontaine (which is pronounced Bell Fountain, just like you’d expect any middle American to pronounce it).  Bellefontaine lacks the charm of some of the other small cities we visited in the area but it does boast the oldest concrete street in America.  The street was poured around the courthouse in 1891 and it’s still there and still driven upon.  You have to really stare at it hard.  Otherwise it’s just as boring as any other concrete road. 

It was with some sadness that we bade farewell to western Ohio with its cluster of All-American towns and headed west into Indiana where we will be attending a trio of rallies.  It is unlikely there will be another report until mid September.

Hartford, Albany, Etc.–July, 2012

We established a base of operations in the Hudson River Valley about midway between the towns of Red Hook and Hudson.  From here we made forays to tour the capitols in Hartford and Albany, thus wrapping up our state house visits.  Our Capitols Passport book is full except for Honolulu and we can now begin to “collect” something else. 

Connecticut is pretty cramped in some areas and there aren’t that many roads suitable for motor homes so we opted to stay in New York and drive the 40+ miles to Hartford in the car.  Route 44 took us through some very scenic hilly areas, with fast-moving rivers and streams and past prosperous looking farms and trophy homes but it isn’t the sort of road on which you can make good time.  But we arrived at the state house in Hartford in plenty of time for our 12:15 tour appointment.  Designed by Richard Upjohn, the present state house was completed in 1875 and carries many hints of Upjohn’s work as a designer of cathedrals.  There are elements that are downright church-y but instead of saints the exterior gothic niches are filled with statues of Connecticut’s most famous folks.  A statue called “The Genius of Connecticut” once graced the spire but a lightening strike created an unsafe situation and she was removed to solid ground and during WWII she was melted down and made into armaments and ammunition for the war effort.  Fortunately the plastic cast for the statue was discovered and this (hollow) replica was produced. 

A famous piece of furniture also resides in the state house, the Charter Oak chair, carved from the ancient oak which once provided a hiding place for the charter signed by King Charles II allowing Connecticut self-government,  keeping it safe from marauding British soldiers intent on returning it to King James II.  It sits on the dais in the Senate chamber and is used by the Lt. Governor when presiding over the Senate.

 

 

 

The following day, in ever-increasing heat and humidity, we trekked to Albany for a visit to the New York State House.  Construction was started in 1867 and completed, more or less, in 1899.  Some might say it still isn’t complete.  Over those 30+ years there were at least three lead architects, each projecting his own style preference and the tastes of the times.  Like the rest of the state, it’s an interesting amalgam of this ‘n that.  At present, the state house is undergoing a major renovation.  Our tour guide pointed out water stains on the ceilings and rusted metal components so it is obvious major structural improvements need to be made.  However, in these hard financial times one has to wonder where the money will come from to replace the Minton tiles on the floors and other such ostentatious displays of New York’s previous status as the Nation’s richest state.

Our guide had a deep knowledge of and interest in not only history but the architectural details of the building.  He pointed out some unfinished carvings (see the line of “blocks” below the window) in a legislative chamber.  The story goes that upon taking office as governor, Theodore Roosevelt put his foot down and refused to authorize any further work on the building which was, at that point,  already 30 years in the making.  Some elements are carved, some half finished, others not even started.

 

There is a strong Moorish influence in some areas so that you almost expect to see men in white robes wafting about or find booths selling Oriental spices.  Alas, there are no such exotic types, just an endless stream of government employees milling about in various versions of “Friday casual”.

 

 

 

There is so much to see in the capitol that the tour went on nearly twice as long as any other and our guide was excellent.  More people should take advantage of this wonderful resource.  In addition to all there is to see in the capitol proper, the current governor has arranged for the underground passage between the capitol and an adjacent state office building to be used as display space for artwork and other treasures.  There were several restored antique cars on display at the time of our visit.

It was broiling hot when we emerged from the tour so we were happy to get in the air conditioned car and head back toward the campground, stopping along the way in Kinderhook to visit “Lindenwald”, a National Historic Site and home to Martin Van Buren, our 8th president and one of the founders of the Democrat party.  Van Buren purchased the house and surrounding acreage at the end of his political career thus returning to Kinderhook, the town in which he was born.  Apparently he did not have trouble adjusting to the life of a gentleman farmer after his years in Washington and he set about making improvements to the house and grounds, including running water and indoor plumbing. 

We arrived just in time for a narrated tour of the house and once again had an excellent guide.  This partners’ desk was brought from Washington but was not the one he used while in office.  We were told, during the capitol tour in Albany, that the term “OK” originated with Van Buren, that he signed his approval of documents with those initials which stood for Old Kinderhook, his nickname.  The guide at Lindenwald couldn’t confirm that story nor could he deny it.  Basically he said there’s evidence for it and evidence against it but that he had never seen any documents that had been “okayed” by Van Buren.

One of the most interesting details of the house is this spiral staircase which winds it way to the third floor.  Looking up to the top induces reverse vertigo, if there is such a thing.

 

 

 

Although we got an early start, it was a long drive to reach our next stop, a Corps of Engineers campground on the shores of Hammond Lake near Tioga, Pennsylvania.  The purpose for stopping there was to make a return visit to the Corning Museum of Glass in Corning, New York.  Once just a small adjunct to Corning Glassworks, it is now a museum of some significance and judging from the crowds, wildly popular with tourists.  A guided tour was offered and we decided to take advantage of the guide’s expertise and he led us eventually to this Baccarat crystal table.  Liberace owned one just like it.  And check out that floor lamp!  I’m curious to know what the Museum’s budget is for Windex. 

One of my all-time favorites is this Tiffany window which was designed for the music room of a “castle” on the Hudson River.  The owners loved the view in the summer but weren’t so fond of looking out when the weather was dismal so they commissioned this landscape to brighten up their winter afternoons.  It works!  Tiffany went to great pains (or would that be panes?) to select just the right piece of glass for each component.

We remember Corning as the manufacturer of all sorts of kitchenware.  All brides of a certain age had sets of CorningWare with the distinctive blue flower design and probably a set of Corelle as “every day dishes”.  Well, that’s not what Corning, Inc. does anymore.  Those divisions have been sold off and the concentration now is on glass items of a more scientific nature.  On previous visits to the museum we were able to watch the artists in the Steuben Glass factory at work, blowing, etching, carving.  But no more.  The Steuben factory closed last fall after 108 years of operation.  Art glass pieces created there had long been used as gifts of state, a deluxe symbol of  America’s ability to combine art and science.  So nowadays the Queen gets an MP3 player, probably made in China.

There was more disappointment in store.  The next day we trekked back to Corning (it was further than we first thought) to visit the Rockwell Museum of Western Art.  Had we been paying closer attention, we would have noticed that the name of the institution had changed somewhat since our last visit.  In a previous incarnation, the museum featured one floor of Western art (heavy on the Charlie Russells), one floor of antique toys, mostly mechanical, and one floor of exquisite glassware primarily in Art Deco and Art Nouveau styles.  All that’s left is the Western art.  The glassware is now part of the Corning Museum of Glass’ Frederick Carder collection and the toys are in storage.  This “lodge” where the Charlie Russell and Frederick Remington pieces are displayed was interesting but the rest of the collection was fairly dull.

Now it’s time to head toward Indiana for a trio of rallies in August.  But first we’ve got to sit still for a few days and get some chores done.  We won’t bore you with housekeeping news so check in again in a couple of weeks when we start rolling westward again.

New York and New England - 2012

In mid-June we paid a visit to our old stompin’ grounds in Western New York, paying visits to family and friends and collecting our few remaining possessions for shipment to Arizona.  We were fortunate to be hosted by a number of excellent cooks and so were well fortified by the time we hit the road again.  The visit served to remind us how pretty New York is and how expensive.  Unfortunately we wasted parts of several days in attending to repairs to the water heater in the coach; it still isn’t quite right but at least we have hot water, if not on demand at least within a reasonable period of time. 

We made a brief stop in Central Bridge, just off the Interstate and used that as a base for a visit to the bustling city of Cooperstown.  While there were several options to pick from for the day’s entertainment, most of the admission fees were more than we cared to spend and so we selected the Baseball Hall of Fame over the art and farm museums.  It turned out to be a good choice and was far more interesting than we might have expected, not being big fans of the national pastime.  I lost interest in the game when the Dodgers left Brooklyn and so was delighted that the museum’s heaviest concentration is on the glory days of the game, when the star players were mythic creatures, not over-indulged egomaniacs on steroids.

Our next stop was Rochester, Massachusetts which bills itself as The Gateway to Cape Cod.  It wasn’t the most convenient place to be for a visit to the Massachusetts State House in Boston but it was one of the few affordable campgrounds in the vicinity.  It was over an hour’s drive north to Boston and the day of our visit was a wet one with thunder, lightning and a heavy downpour for most of the trip.  Throw in bumper-to-bumper traffic and it was not a joyful experience, especially when we had to pony up $22 to park the car for a two-hour slog to the capitol and back.  The capitol was completed in 1798 and sits in what was once John Hancock’s cow pasture, making it one of the oldest capitols still in continuous use.  We had an appointment for a tour but unfortunately the rotunda echoes something fierce and we weren’t able to hear much of what the guide had to say.  The ominous rumbles and cracks of lightning didn’t help any.  We do know that photography is not allowed in the legislative chambers, probably to keep the taxpayers from seeing that nobody was hard at work.

And, because photography was not allowed, we don’t have pictures of The Sacred Cod, a wooden fish which serves as totem to the Representatives.  The Senators also have their totem which is known as The Holy Mackerel.   

The following day was much improved, weather-wise, and we were in a much better mood as we headed off to the east for a visit to the Rhode Island state house in Providence. The building is on a small knoll overlooking the city and is built of white Georgia marble.  Our guide pointed out that the dome is the fourth largest self-supported marble dome in the entire world, behind only St. Peter’s in Rome, the Minnesota state house and the Taj Mahal. 

There is always so much to see and each state house we’ve visited boasts its own unique architectural detail or artifact or snippet of history; Rhode Island’s state house boasts a cannon used at the Battle of Gettysburg with a cannonball firmly embedded in its barrel, proving some Reb was a mighty fine shot.  The barrel and the ball were both so hot that they are permanently fused together.

While in Providence we visited a National Historic Site devoted to the story of Roger Williams and the founding of Rhode Island.  The city of Providence is a bit on the run-down side and we were happy to get away and head back to the campground to enjoy happy hour with our new-found friends, John and Barbara and their two Siamese cats.  It was very impressive to see the male cat, Chauncey, strolling along on a leash just as a dog might.  Having once had a Siamese cat as a pet, we know that such signs of cooperation are rare or perhaps our cat was just a contrarian. 

It rained mightily on the day we moved north to Naples, Maine but once we got around Boston the skies cleared and we had more or less pleasant weather for our entire visit to the Lakes Region of Maine.  Naples turned out to be a cute little resort community perched between Long Lake and Sebago Lake.  One visit to the local library and we were hooked.  It’s a big white house with a wrap-around porch, a view of Long Lake and hanging baskets of bright pink petunias dangling from the porch rafters.   And they have, by far, the finest used book sale section we’ve seen.  It’s an entire room in the basement, the books shelved just as they would be in any self-respecting library.  Their half-price sale was coming up the very next day so instead of cleaning house we went back to town to buy books. 

The Maine State Museum is closed on Mondays so we made a special trip to Augusta on Sunday to tour the museum and then went back again on Monday to tour the capitol building.  Our tour guide was quick to point out that we shouldn’t expect to see any gilt, stained glass or other “just for show” adornment on the state house, Maine folks being frugal souls.  The Maine state animal is the moose.  There are signs along the highways and byways to keep alert for them but, once again, they eluded us.  Just as in Alaska, there were signs indicating their presence but nary a moose to be seen anywhere.  We are now convinced we are more likely to see a unicorn than a moose. 

Last year we were in Canada during the Fourth of July holiday and so weren’t able to partake of one of our favorite traditions, taking in a small town parade.  But this year we had Naples, Maine to enjoy.  It was a boiling hot day but we managed to set up our chairs in some semi-shade and settled in for the festivities, chitty-chatting with some of the locals and waiting for the excitement to begin.  All of the nearby towns sent their gleaming fire trucks, a local campground had a float, there were several Farmall tractors and just like that the parade was over with, the crowd cleared and we all went home to wait for nightfall so we could watch the fireworks out over the lake.  A rather severe thunderstorm moved in early in the evening, we lost electrical power and we decided to skip the fireworks, the pyrotechnics of the storm being sufficient.

Our next stop was Northwood, New Hampshire from which we made a drive to Exeter to visit the American Independence Museum, headquartered in the circa 1721 Ladd-Gilman House.  The Folsom Tavern has recently been moved to the same property and is now part of the tour.  George Washington may not have actually slept there but he did stop by for a visit in 1789.  Exeter is also home to the Phillips Academy, a prep school for the veddy veddy well-to-do. 

John and Barbara had invited us to camp in their yard during our visit to New Hampshire so we cancelled our reservations near Concord and went instead to their hillside home near Wolfeboro.  Wolfeboro bills itself as the nation’s first summer resort, perched as it is on the shores of Lake Winnipesaukee.  The town was hosting their annual arts and crafts fair plus Mitt and Anne Romney, local residents, were taking a break from campaigning so the town was teeming with tourists as we crept through our way through on the way up the hill.  Once we got settled in, John and Barbara whisked us off for a boat ride.  It was a beautiful bright afternoon and we enjoyed seeing all the interesting lakeside homes, some quite plain and ordinary, others fanciful and elegant.  Generally speaking, I’m not a big fan of boats but it was a most enjoyable afternoon.  Our entire visit was a pleasant change of pace, with happy hours and communal meals. 

Of course we had to make the trek to Concord to visit the state house and get our passport stamped. It was a long drive over hill and dale but we didn’t have any time constraints and we arrived in plenty of time to take a leisurely stroll through the capitol building.  They don’t have tour guides but the lady in the gift shop stamped our book and sent us on our way to poke about at will.   New Hampshirites cannot complain about a lack of representation – the state has 400 members in their House of Representatives which works out to one representative per 3000 people.  Their chamber is arranged like an amphitheater with row upon row of seats but no desks.  They get paid $100 a year plus mileage and are expected to get their legislative work done in 45 days and go back to the real world.  On the other hand, there are only 24 state senators, or one per 60,000 people.  The state’s motto, which intrigues me, is “Live free or die” and is attributed to a Revolutionary War general, John Stark.  Bought the tee shirt.  An enormous statue of Daniel Webster graces the front lawn of the state house.

After saying good-bye to John and Barbara and negotiating our way backwards out of their driveway the next stop on our New England tour was Williamstown, Vermont just a few miles southeast of the capital city of Montpelier.  Given that Vermont is such a small state and not heavily populated, it’s hard to understand why Montpelier is so very congested.  Everybody in the state, including children and pets,  must drive around alone in their cars all day.  We plunked a fistful of quarters into a parking meter and headed up the several flights of stairs to the massive pine doors.  Painted on the outside to look like bronze and inside to look like mahogany, they lead directly to the welcoming committee, a group of tour guides waiting to show off their state’s capitol.   Fire consumed an earlier version of the capitol and so when it was rebuilt it was made as fire-proof as the technology of the day allowed.  Which means cast-iron abounds – stair risers, radiator covers, supporting columns.  A statue of Ethan Allen guards the front door and the Goddess of Agriculture tops the golden dome.  The legislative chambers are beautifully restored to their original condition….or as close to original as old photos and building plans would allow. 

I was disappointed that the drive to The Vermont Country Store was in excess of 80 miles so we decided instead to make the much shorter drive to visit Rock of Ages Granite Quarry near Barre.  A tour guide accompanied us on the bus ride up to the quarry and provided a wealth of astounding facts regarding the granite memorial business.  Just the sheer weight of granite is mind-boggling…166 pounds per cubic foot.  Extrapolate that to the size of the blocks being lifted from the quarry and one is instantly awed by the strength of the derricks doing the lifting.  And how close to impossible it must have been back in the days when they used horses to drag the slabs out.  The days of blasting with dynamite are gone, along with the huge percentage of waste material.  Quarrying doesn’t look high-tech but it is.  Artisans turn the stone into beautiful and lasting memorials but also into machine parts both large and small.  We saw some enormous cylinders which are used to extract the water from wood pulp in order to make newsprint.

Rock of Ages has been in operation since 1905 when it was formed as the Boutwell, Milne & Varnum Company, and they’ve used just 1% of their total supply of granite.  According to the guide, they have enough left for another 4000 years.  During a tour of the gift shop/museum I came across a bas relief of some of the artwork which was installed at the Libby Dam in Montana in the 1970s.  Rock of Ages also provided many of the granite tributes at the WWII Memorial in Washington, D.C.  And of course the Vermont State House is made from Barre granite.  We were told that a majority of the quarrymen came from Scotland, near Aberdeen, and they settled in the highlands above Barre.  The stone carvers came primarily from the Carrera region of Italy and they choose to live in Barre in the valley.  Our guide urged us to visit Hope Cemetery where many of them are buried, their graves graced with tombstones of their own handiwork.

With the afternoon fading fast, we headed northeast to the small town of Cabot for a tour of the Cabot Creamery.  Owned by a consortium of dairy farmers, the factory has been in operation since 1919 and has won many prizes for their fine cheddars.  There was a lot of elbowing and jockeying for position around a counter spread with samples of many of the flavored cheeses Cabot produces.  The habanero cheddar cleared my sinuses quick as a wink…it’s not a subtle cheese.  They were all delicious, as were the dips and butter.  Our guide told us that it takes ten pounds of milk to make one pound of cheese.  We saw curds and whey being stirred in an enormous long vat, the whey eventually draining away (a-whey) and leaving the curds to be pressed into blocks.  The guide pointed out that New Englanders prefer white cheddar, the natural color, but that Cabot had trouble selling it “outside” where folks were used to yellow cheddar.  Sales picked right up when they began adding an organic color to the cheese. 

It was hotter than blue blazes (and humid to boot) when we visited the Hope Cemetery on Saturday.  One can hardly imagine the array of monuments!  There are some that were selected straight from the catalog but most are unique, lasting tributes to the skill and imagination of the carvers.  Some are austere, some elegant, some ostentatious with some whimsical themes thrown in for good measure.

 

 

We are now returning to New York, in the Hudson Valley where we will make sorties to visit the Connecticut capitol in Hartford and New York’s state house in Albany.  That will  leave just Hawaii’s page in the passport unstamped.  Maybe when they finish the bridge….

Bouncing Around Kentucky, West Virginia and Ohio - 2012

Before it slips my mind again, let me introduce you to our new GPS.  She’s been with us for almost six months now and we’re getting used to each other.  Like her predecessor, her name is Nuvi because we are decidedly unoriginal when it comes to naming inanimate objects.  Unlike her predecessor, an American male who tended to get hysterical if you didn’t do exactly what he told you to do (and then pouted if you ignored him more than twice), this business-like woman issues her instructions in a stern voice and recovers very quickly with the next option if you didn’t follow instructions the first time.  She seems to know when you’ve deliberately ignored her or when you’ve simply over-shot a turn and issues her next directive accordingly.  She does not recalculate, she adjusts.  Smart woman.  However, she does share her predecessor’s slight dyslexia…what she tells you is up here ahead on the right is very often up here ahead on the left.  And vice versa.  Nuvi I had trouble pronouncing Walmart, rolling the “wal” around in his mouth like a wad of chewing gum; Nuvi II cannot pronounce “supercenter”(it comes out sue-purse’-in-ter) but we love her just the same.

So with Nuvi II’s assistance, we located our campground in Glendale, Kentucky and made forays from there northward to Fort Knox to visit the General Patton Museum.  The museum is in a state of transition, with the Armor School and its remaining armor units -- the 194th Armored Brigade and the 316th Cavalry Brigade, having been moved to Fort Benning, Georgia and replaced with a museum devoted to the subject of leadership.  We did see replicas of Patton’s pearl-handled revolvers, his reconstructed staff car and various bits and pieces of military attire.  There’s a sizeable auditorium where a constant loop of the George C. Scott movie, Patton, is played.  Not far from the museum, the highway passes within a short distance of the National Gold Depository where the nation’s supply of bullion is stored.  Tours are not allowed, not that there’s anything left in there anyhow, but we were able to pull off the road and take this photo.  Altogether, this was not an exciting trip and we were soon on our way back to Glendale.

At the visitors center in Elizabethtown (called E-town by the locals) we picked up a brochure for the Swope’s  Cars of Yesteryear Museum and we’re so happy we did.  It’s a little treasure.  The museum sits amid several Swopes owned and operated car dealerships and is open to the public with no admission fee.  The cars are beautifully restored, although not all to original standards.  The gorgeous saddle tan and burgundy roadster probably was available in basic black when it was brand new.  One of my favorites was a ‘56 T-bird in  a desert coral color.   There was also a Nash Metropolitan – remember them? – which looks downright roomy and comfortable compared with some of the sub-compacts of today.  Not to mention a little more stylish.

The next day we took a scenic byway to visit the Abraham Lincoln Birthplace NHP near Hodgenville at the site of Sinking Spring Farm once owned by Thomas and Nancy Lincoln, Abraham’s parents.  The memorial surrounds the log cabin where Lincoln was born and is reached by 57 steps, one for each year of his life.  Unfortunately the farm was lost in a land dispute and the Lincolns moved to Knob Creek where Abe spent his boyhood.  It’s hard to imagine a family of four living in the small square cabin which has only one window and one door. A knob, by the way, is what they call hills around this part of Kentucky.   The scenic byway led us eventually to Bardstown with its historic downtown.

 

 

Naturally we had to pay a visit to the Oscar Getz Museum of Whiskey History and the Bardstown Historical Museum.  The whiskey museum told us more than we needed to know about bourbon.  We were told there’s a building in town with a cannonball imbedded in a wall, a scar from Civil War days, but we weren’t able to locate it on a quick drive-by and with serious storm-clouds gathering we opted to forego history and head back to the coach before the skies opened up.

Our final night in Glendale was on the soggy side with a heavy rain that lasted most of the night but at least the tornado warnings remained much further north of us.  It was still dripping the next day as we pulled out for the drive to Huntington, West Virginia.  We encountered fairly heavy rains around Lexington but by the time we reached our campground, it was merely overcast.  We’ve often stayed at campgrounds that are “multi-purpose” but never one that was both an RV park and an airfield.  Air activity was up and running by 9:00 the next morning with someone practicing touch-and-goes on the grass strip behind our coach.  We were gone most of the day so it didn’t bother us in the least and by the time we got back late afternoon the skydivers were making their last jump of the day.  The group we saw was very accurate, landing on their feet within a few yards of the clubhouse.  Good thing, too, because just beyond the hedgerow is the Ohio River. 

While others were jumping out of planes, we were in downtown Huntington visiting the Museum of Radio & Technology, another freebie, crammed chock-a-block with old radios, phonographs, shortwaves, computers and television sets with round screens.  When faced with those monster radios with their knobs and dials, fabric-covered speakers and wooden cases one cannot help but hear the ghostly voices of their favorite radio shows from childhood.  Why did we always sit on the floor and stare at the radio?  Were we just practicing for the days when television would come along and knock the radio off its entertainment pedestal?

Our next stop was the J. Taylor Auto Collection, generously displayed to the public at no charge by the proud owner.  This 1930 Cadillac limousine was reported to be air conditioned.  I’m not sure how well it worked but there was a tiny fan affixed to the steering column, pointing straight at the driver’s face.  With its V-16 engine, the car probably could have reached sufficient speed to keep things cool inside, even without the little fan.  This was another stellar array of impressive old cars, including the ‘64 Impala one of the docents drives back and forth to work each day. 

Rarely do we travel on Sundays but we’re on a condensed schedule so we traveled through the hills and hollows of West Virginia, enjoying the sunny skies and pretty scenery.  We arrived in Cambridge, Ohio shortly after noon and got hooked up before dashing off to town in search of a Sunday newspaper.  And aren’t we glad we did!  Howie noticed a sign for a museum and we followed the arrows to the National Museum of Cambridge Glass.  We arrived with an hour to spare and the hostess volunteered to stay late if we didn’t finish our tour by closing time.  The Cambridge Glass Company opened in 1902 and continued operation until 1958.  The museum is maintained by the members of an organization devoted to the collection of Cambridge glassware.  Beautifully displayed and lit in sparkling glass cases, the array of shapes and colors was dazzling.  The blues, reds and greens were particularly rich and vibrant.  It wasn’t so much a downturn in the economy that put Cambridge Glass out of business but a trend toward…yuk…plastic, cheaper products from the Orient and a lack of interest on the part of the American housewife in tending to large collections of stemware.

With only two days in town, we made haste on Monday morning to visit downtown Cambridge.  Signs led us to Mosser Glass, founded by a former employee of Cambridge Glass.  We were shown through the factory to watch pressed glass pieces being made.  It’s a  fascinating  process which has probably not changed much over the ages.  The guide told us that machines sometimes do the pressing but in the case of Mosser the glassmaker pulls the heavy lever to compress the molten glass into the mold.   With an abbreviated range of colors and patterns, Mosser continues to survive in a niche market.  They also have a second factory which makes glass products for the pharmaceutical trade…beakers, funnels and such.

Our final stop in Cambridge was The Hopalong Cassidy Museum and Antique Store.  The museum was free, thank heavens.  It would be difficult to decide how much that experience might be worth in terms of admission fee.  I did see a photograph of Guy Madison, just like the one I had as a pre-teen.  If only I’d had the foresight to save all that clutter.