Random Thoughts - 2012

Someone recently asked if we preferred living in a sticks and bricks house or in the coach.  Very difficult question.  Have not yet formed an answer.  There are a great many similarities (if something can go wrong, it will) and a great many differences.  Both abodes seem to need cleaning on a steady basis.  Meals need to be cooked and laundry done, repairs made.  However….

• Nowadays if I leave the refrigerator door open a little too long, it doesn’t start honking at me and shut itself off. 
• The mail forwarding service is on auto-pilot; we don’t have to request a new mailing address every week or so.
• Sunday mornings can be devoted to watching the news shows instead of running out to track down a newspaper which has the t.v. guide section for a city we won’t be in by Monday afternoon.
• One does not have to pick one from Column A and one from Column B (but no others) when using electrical appliances.  It seems luxurious to be able to microwave food, dry clothes and run the a/c all at the same time.  And it doesn’t take all day to dry a load of towels.
• Much time is devoted to wondering why a certain weight loss group meets at a local mortuary.
• Stay-abeds will not do well at estate sales.  The regular trollers are up and about early, scoring all the good stuff although there are real bargains to be had if items are overlooked until the final day.  The real winners are those who come very early or very late whereas middle-of-the-roaders are SOL. 
• We used to wonder how something could be so easily misplaced with only 400 square feet to be lost in.  Now there are so many rooms in which to misplace things.  And there’s always the possibility that whatever it is we’re looking for is still in the coach.
• It is considerably more difficult to remember to secure the premises when leaving for a period of time.  There’s something to be said for having only one door.
• Being able to cut a rose or two for the house is lovely.  “Real” roses smell so much nicer than the kind from the store.
• Living among large numbers of retired people makes me wonder why they drive so fast and shop so slow.  Or vice versa.
• Canned goods no longer shift around between meals.  We are unlikely to be concussed by a jar of Vlasic dills leaping from an upper cupboard.
• 55+ communities seem to have an unusual number of red Corvettes.

We seem to have leapt off the high-board and into the deep end of the activities pool.  With the possibility of lawn bowling seven days a week during most of the daylight hours, Howie has winnowed himself down to once or twice a day a mere three days a week.  But only if temperatures are fairly moderate, which they haven’t been lately.  He still prefers to stay snug a-bed until the sun has been up long enough to warm things past the frost point.  The two beading groups I’ve joined meet at the same time on the same day so I’ve had to make a choice.  The three book discussion groups fortunately meet at different times so I can indulge in all of them.  Having steady access to a library has really curtailed my book-buying addiction.  And we’ve jointly enjoyed meeting the RV Club members and indulging in their monthly potluck dinners.

And a number of friends have “dropped by”.  Pat R was in town to visit a friend who was passing through and found time to stop for a quick chat on her way back over the hill to the Verde Valley.  She comes to town frequently so we’re hoping to see her several times this winter.  John and Rose spent several days at a near-by RV park and we were able to show off some of Sun City’s amenities, including attendance at a potluck dinner with one of the bowling clubs. During their stay we trekked up to Wickenburg for a tour of the Desert Caballeros Western Museum, a combination of local history and Western art.  Wickenburg is in competition with Bandera, Texas as “Dude Ranch Capital of the World”.  The weather was somewhat unpleasant while Rose and John were here so it was a real treat when they showed up on our doorstep with a vat of chicken gumbo.  Rose swears that any sign of clouds means it’s time for gumbo.  And she’s right…it does ward off a chill.

Russ and Rochelle are spending the winter about 40 miles west of here and are in the process of house hunting in the neighborhood so we’ve seen them several times thus far.  This past weekend we drove out to spend the day with them and found ourselves in the midst of several FMCA chapters gathering for their annual New Year’s rally so we were able to touch base with some fellow Full Timers.  We’re all so busy, however, that it’s unlikely we’ll see them again until we meet in Sturgis in June.

The weather hasn’t been all that warm thus far.  It’s even a little on the clammy side.  I hadn’t expected to get so much use out of that ski jacket I bought in Denali!! 

Our little neighborhood seems to have an abundance of wildlife.  We’ve seen coyotes jogging down the street and one marched through our backyard at mid-day big as life.  And all this time we thought they were crepuscular.  An owl spends his mornings in an old pine tree right next door and does a lot of vocalizing about 5:00 a.m.  Gambrel quail, roadrunners and assorted other birds spend time in the shrubbery and the hummingbirds have been regular attendees at our feeder.  They are such peeping Toms, hovering in front of the windows to see what might be tasty inside.  My red slippers sitting in a patch of sunlight seemed to be especially attractive to them so now I’m careful to keep the slippers in the shadows so the little guys don’t knock themselves silly trying to get at them.

And so that wraps up another year.  We hope that it has been a good one for you and that the new one will be even better.  Happy New Year to you all.

Arizona Snowbirds–November, 2012

We arrived in the West Valley in mid-October and began the transition from life on the road to living in a sticks ‘n bricks home.  It took a solid week of shuffling “stuff” from one place to the other and involved more than one snafu.  Some folks can do this sort of thing gracefully; we do not number among them.  And by the time the coach was more or less empty, we could not believe how much “stuff” we had crammed into such a small space.  Our little “Welcome To Cram-a-Lot Inn” sign is more than appropriate than we thought.

Finding furniture was the first order of business.  We had ordered a bed prior to our departure last spring and it was waiting for our signal to be delivered.  Of course we hadn’t taken into consideration that a mattress and box spring might also be a good idea.  Having recently purchased a new mattress for the coach from J.C. Penney, we figured that the exact same mattress for the house would serve very nicely.  You might know that it was not in stock and could not be delivered until the day after we were scheduled to put the coach into storage.  Not to worry…when we arranged for the bed to be delivered, we had also purchased a sleep sofa for the guest bedroom so we would at least have a place to sleep once we vacated the coach completely.

One of us is a night owl and one of us isn’t so you can well imagine how thrilled we were to learn that the mattress had not been received on the expected date.  Trying to sleep in the same room with the t.v. and the computer was nearly impossible.  JCP could not tell us where the mattress was or when it would be delivered.  And they weren’t all that interested in solving our problem so we cancelled the order, vowing to never darken their doorway again,  and spent the better part of a day trying to find another mattress which was in stock and could be delivered sooner rather than later.  We got lucky and found a better mattress for less money, it was in stock, no additional charge for delivery and it would be at our doorstep that very evening.  We were so thrilled we purchased several other pieces of furniture just to make the salesman feel loved.  And just that quick the Arizona Room (known as a California room in California and a Florida room in Florida…we don’t know what they’re called in Wisconsin) had all the basic components of a real room and lacked only the little things such as lamps and wall hangings to be complete.

The West Valley, being the site of a number of 55+ communities, lives and breathes the world of estate, rummage, garage and patio sales.  Every intersection boasts a forest of signs pointing hither and yon directing the shopper to various meccas of used (and sometimes abused) household goods.  We located several bookcases, including a pair that can double as a china cabinet, and various other pits and pieces to fill in the blanks in the house.  Apparently there are protocols to estate and rummage sale shopping, such as discounted prices on the final day.  There seems to be no rhyme or reason to pricing, either.  Some items seem ridiculously high and others dirt cheap, quality or condition doesn’t appear to enter into the pricing strategy.  Our proudest acquisition to date is a 7’ tall bookcase which we brought home in the Saturn  (now referred to as “The Truck”).

As soon as we had more or less feathered the nest enough for comfort, we set about making ourselves part of the community.  After all, we purchased here because of the wide variety of activities afforded to residents.  One of the first orders of business was to get our library cards and within days I was attending a book discussion group.  It turned out to be a bright, articulate and opinionated bunch and I’m looking forward to participating in future discussions.  Finding the craft group that includes beading came next.  Within hours I’d joined two different groups, each meeting at a different rec center but at the same times.  It would be helpful to have a split personality….and my own car or golf cart.  After his very first outing to lawn bowling, Howie came home proudly showing off a set of bowls he’d just purchased.  How could he pass them up?  They are decorated with little red Jaguars.  He’s been going twice a day twice a week to get back into shape after an entire summer of not being able to bowl.

And, as a couple, we joined the RV group.  As expected, they are the most out-going and gregarious of the groups we’ve met thus far.  They have some caravans and rallies planned over the next few months but we’re unlikely to participate in anything except the day trips.  Just the thought of loading things back into the coach this soon gives me a sick headache.   Yesterday we attended the club’s potluck dinner.   After the meal, a local celebrity named Mike Chamberlin entertained us with songs and stories.  It was a pleasant, comfortable evening as are most times spent in the company of fellow RVers.

I’m looking forward to getting involved with the gardening club.  Knowing next to nothing about things that grow in the desert, I want to get up to speed so we can tend our citrus grove properly.  The grapefruit tree is loaded and the fruit is ripening quickly.  The oranges are much further behind, being barely beyond bright green.  The lemon tree, if that’s what it is, has no fruit at all.  I’m pretty sure the discolored foliage on the rose bushes is not due to black spot.  Maybe it’s sunburn, maybe something else.  Whatever it is, it’s not attractive and needs to be corrected.  But so far the only thing I know about xeriscaping is that you don’t pet the cactus.  Just because some of them look soft and fuzzy, it doesn’t mean they are.

Perhaps you’ve noticed there are no photos in this posting.  Maybe next time.  Life on solid ground is different from life on wheels.  To keep in practice for when we hit the road again, I’ve taken to stacking things awkwardly in the cupboards so they tumble out as soon as the door is opened.  That way we won’t lose our instinct to keep one arm raised to ward off falling cans of pork and beans.

P.S.  Did you know that household refrigerators do not beep if you leave the door open too long.  And you can use the dryer, the microwave and the air conditioner all at the same time without popping a breaker.  So many things to re-learn!

Waltzing Across Texas, New Mexico and Arizona - 2012

We departed the steamy lowlands of Louisiana right smack into the steamy lowlands of southeast Texas for a brief stay in the general vicinity of Houston.  The traffic around Houston is fairly amazing, so many people and in such a big hurry.  Further along in our trip we came upon a bumper sticker which claimed that life is too short to live in Houston; we concur. 

Our visit to Bandera was far more pleasant.  The temperatures had moderated by then and it was nowhere near as humid.  Our resort was purported to be on the shores of Medina Lake (or maybe it’s Lake Medina, not that it matters) but the lake has all but disappeared in the past three years leaving a lot of resorts in serious need of an “attraction” to lure the tourists.  The peace and quiet plus the opportunity to visit some RVing pals was plenty enough entertainment for us.  It has been several years since we’ve seen Bill and Jeanne.  They have settled in the Kerrville area and seem to be enjoying their new-found roots.  We had lunch and a nice long visit with them.

On another day we paid a visit to one of the Full Timers Chapter’s honorary members, Suzy, who lives near Bandera.  Suzy was secretary of the chapter for many years and has been very helpful via email in assisting Howie with some of his official duties.  While we chatted, her dog Boots taught us the finer points of playing “fetch”.  Boots has no sense of humor when it comes to “Fetch” and does not like to be toyed with.

Bandera prides itself on being the Cowboy Capital of the World and no doubt it is.  A drive through town on Saturday morning found every parking spot filled but with only a few sedans in evidence; most vehicles were larger-than-life pickup trucks, mud spattered and well-used.  Dude ranches abound in the Texas hill country and recently many have converted to “big game hunting”.  Immediately next to our campground was a large preserve surrounded by very high fences and protected by a locked gate.  Through the fence we were able to see zebras grazing as well as a herd of Axis deer.  We aren’t sure what sort of animals are available to be hunted on such a preserve but we are guessing that Axis deer would be fair game – although they are an exotic species from India, they were introduced to Texas in the 1930s and many herds roam wild.  In appearance they are larger and heavier bodied than the ubiquitous  white-tailed deer, with fawn-colored coats that retain fawn-like spotting through adulthood.  The males sport handsome sets of antlers similar to an elk’s. 

We spent one day in Fredericksburg, a German-centric town with an abundance of gift shops and restaurants.  Oompah music seeped from many of the eateries and the sidewalks were clogged with tourists.  One shop Rustlin’  Rob’s,  boasts the largest number of food stuffs to sample – mustards, sauces, jams, etc.  but everything struck me as horribly over-priced.  Some of the hot sauces might have been considered dangerous weapons.  It wasn’t until we’d left town and had a chance to read one of the local newspapers that we learned that Fredericksburg’s streets are named so that the first letters of each name spell out “ALL WELCOME”  heading east from the town square and “COMEBACK’ heading west.  We don’t know if the streets spell out “VISA” heading north and ‘MASTERCARD’ heading south but it’s something to consider.

After a visit to Kerrville for an oil change for the coach (an all day affair), we headed west on I-10, stopping for two nights in Fort Stockton.  Two nights became three when the slide wouldn’t retract and we had to extend our stay.  Fortunately Howie was able to make the repair himself because the area’s one and only mobile tech seemed to be extremely busy, too busy in fact to even return our phone call.  Fort Stockton boasts the remains of the old post, a cemetery and a handsome turn-of-the-century train depot which now serves as the Visitors Center.  Fort Stockton is considerably larger and busier than when we first visited five or six years ago.  There’s new art work around the depot, new retail stores and the town is eagerly awaiting the arrival of it’s very own Flying J.  That’ll put the icing on the cake!!  The town’s mascot is Paisano Pete, the world’s largest roadrunner, who guards the road to historic downtown Fort Stockton.  Pete is 11 feet tall and 22 feet long and is quite the charmer.

Having wasted an extra day in Fort Stockton, we decided to do just a quick over-night in Las Cruces even though it is one of our favorite cities to visit.  Just fighting our way through El Paso was enough to tire us out.  The traffic is horrendous!!  As soon as we arrived at our campground in Las Cruces we were immediately aware of the scent of roasting chilies.  Tis the season and we went off in search of some freshly roasted peppers.  We found some already cleaned and frozen at a shop in Old Mesilla so we purchased a couple of packages and called ourselves satisfied.

Our next-to-last stop heading west was in St. David, Arizona.  St. David is a wide spot in the road that leads to Tombstone.  It’s also only a few miles from Benson, another town which seems to be enjoying a growth spurt.  I was delighted to find a bead shop and spent a whole day learning a new (to me) stitch and making a crystal wristwatch band.  We made a day trip into Tucson for a visit to the 17th Street Market, a grocery that specializes in exotic bottled and canned foods as well as fresh seafood and vegetables essential to Oriental cooking.  I was in search of sriracha sauce which I was quite sure would only be available in a store featuring gourmet foods.  I later discovered large quantities of it sitting on a shelf in Walmart.  Maybe it’s not so exotic after all.

We were fortunate enough to be in Benson for Butterfield Overland Stage Days which kicked off with a parade down 5th Street.  A quilt show and craft sale was simultaneously occurring at the town’s historical museum, followed by a rodeo and fireworks at the fairgrounds.  And on Sunday there was a classic car show associated with the Stage Days – they had some beauties on display – followed by more rodeo-ing, which we opted not to attend.  Instead we stayed at home to enjoy the rare opportunity to see the Buffalo Bills play a game on TV.  They’ve been so pathetic for the past decade that their games are seldom televised but, thanks to a match-up against the Arizona Cardinals, they were on the tube.  The Bills won in over-time by a field goal so it was a game rife with excitement.

Speaking of excitement, Howie was tickled to find that the jujube trees in the San Pedro Valley museum’s back yard were still there and that the fruit was ripe.  We discovered these little taste treats on our first visit and haven’t seen them anywhere since.

The final leg of this trip segment brought us up I-10 and across Phoenix to the town of Surprise where we will “camp out” in the coach for a week while we try to find furniture for our little bungalow.  Our next posting will likely contain helpful hints on how not to furnish a house from scratch in just seven days.

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.