6/30/13: Sunday, June 30: Hail and Farewell to the Rockies -- For Now. See Ya Next Year, Guys! I have so thoroughly enjoyed being in the Rockies that I can't wait to come back next year! Stormy or not, yesterday's drive was marvelous, and I must see more of the park and HIKE the park! If I play my cards right, I can take 2 weeks, drive U.S. Highway 6, spend some time in Great Basin National Park along the way, and then spend at least a solid week in RMNP!
This morning is lovely, though puffy cumulus clouds are building over the park. I hate to leave; I've really enjoyed this campground, even though it has only a wi-fi hot spot. Ah, well, time to head west again.
The drive was much longer than I had thought it would be, in excess of 350 miles. The GPS unit took me to Granby and then through Kremmling before vectoring me down Colorado 9 to meet I-70 at Silverthorne. Grand Lake is lovely, with 3 lakes including those adjacent to nearby Granby. I think I'm ready to move there, too, or to Estes Park or Silverthorne or Breckenridge or….Mountains! I need mountains!
The landscape ranged from wonderfully scenic to pretty nice as far as, roughly, Glenwood Springs, though it had been growing lower and drier for some time. Beyond Glenwood Springs, the terrain grew drier and drier, the land became flatter, often distinguished by flat-topped mesas dissected by canyons of various sizes. I-70 crossed the Colorado River often. It was not to my taste!
Then came the Utah border and, finally, Green River and the KOA, where I hooked up quickly and then walked to the nearby restaurant. I'd had only one Medifast meal today, plus a chicken tostada (minus the shell) in Glenwood Springs.
Back at the van, I fell to studying the Rand-McNally atlas for a couple of hours, immersed in rehearsing where I have been, remembering the features that most struck me, feeling a sense of wonder that I have seen so much -- and yet so little. I really had had no sense for how immense the country is. It's truly beyond my grasp.
Tomorrow, I may not go to Ely, NV, but instead detour to camp in Great Basin National Park, where I've never been. Terra nova, terra icognita!
Sunday, June 30, 2013
6/29/13, Saturday, June 29: The Big Mountain Drive Day! What a glorious day! No sleep last night for some reason, but I tanked up on coffee and Mountain Dew, and then I drove slowly through Rocky Mountain National Park (RMNP), savoring the scenery and rejoicing in the excellence of mountains, in spite of a thunderstorm that dropped lots of hail on those of us at higher elevations. I accidentally made the loop between paved roads out of Estes Park and then set out, retracing part of my steps, to follow Trail Ridge Road (Highway 34) through the park to Grand Lake. The road is primarily an east-west route, topping out at a viewpoint at 12,183 feet (3713 meters) of alpine tundra, bare rock, and snow-painted peaks. I took a photo there of a couple, and they reciprocated by snapping one of me with my camera. Not far beyond, the road turns principally south, crossing the Continental Divide. There was plenty of hail strewn on the ground as if it had snowed a bit.
There were a number of places along the road where people had stopped (though not in a designated pull-over-and-park area, naughty, naughty) to watch bighorn sheep, elk, moose, lightning, etc. This is verboten in RMNP, and rangers and volunteers materialized quickly at any such spot to organize the swift departure of the erring but enthusiastic tourists.
I stopped early on to enjoy a large alpine meadow on the east side, where I also photographed a group from Nebraska who've been to RMNP many times, the lucky dogs. The scenery reminded me so much of Tioga Road through Yosemite, I almost wept. I had some dark, self-pitying thoughts about the loss of my backpacking abilities, but I pulled myself back on track by pointing out to myself that I must focus on what I CAN do, not what I can't do, and who knows where the limit really lies until I try it? So I'll try it. The season isn't over yet.
I kept going in spite of the storm, because this was my one day to see the park. I confess I was pretty scared at times, especially on a high, wet road with a sheer drop on one side, no shoulder on the other, and hail coming down so hard it was bouncing high off Maybelline's hood and collecting a couple of inches deep at the bottom of her windshield.
At the high point, I felt a bit dizzy, so it was a relief when the dizziness quickly passed. I drove down out of the storm, through the park exit (rats!), and into Grand Lake, where I'd reserved an RV site at Elk Creek Park. Alas, there was someone already in that viewless site, and they looked pretty well established. The management assigned me another viewless site -- where someone had parked an extra car and then gone off and left it. I tried to be calm and cheery about it and wandered down the road to get a late lunch at Sloopy's while management figured out what to do. When I came back, they had assigned me yet another site, much better than the previous two: the new site has great views east of "Old Baldy," back into the park.
(Being cheerful, agreeable, and patient really pays off. I have learned that I can only control my temper if I never let it off the leash in the first place. It took me almost all my life to learn to do this, and boy, it's hard some times! It's all I can do to fight back against the boiling rage that would so easily consume me and the situation and lead to one of the disasters I've precipitated all my life until just recently. I wonder if being nice will ever be easy, come naturally? I always thought I was an anger addict until I realized that, with chemical help, it's a matter of choosing which habit to cultivate: throwing a fit, or smiling calmly and letting the situation resolve itself. Smiling calmly pays. Thank you, Zoloft and Lexapro.
(I haven't changed. I've just found a way, even if it's a hard one for now, to make what I am work better for me.)
There were a number of places along the road where people had stopped (though not in a designated pull-over-and-park area, naughty, naughty) to watch bighorn sheep, elk, moose, lightning, etc. This is verboten in RMNP, and rangers and volunteers materialized quickly at any such spot to organize the swift departure of the erring but enthusiastic tourists.
I stopped early on to enjoy a large alpine meadow on the east side, where I also photographed a group from Nebraska who've been to RMNP many times, the lucky dogs. The scenery reminded me so much of Tioga Road through Yosemite, I almost wept. I had some dark, self-pitying thoughts about the loss of my backpacking abilities, but I pulled myself back on track by pointing out to myself that I must focus on what I CAN do, not what I can't do, and who knows where the limit really lies until I try it? So I'll try it. The season isn't over yet.
I kept going in spite of the storm, because this was my one day to see the park. I confess I was pretty scared at times, especially on a high, wet road with a sheer drop on one side, no shoulder on the other, and hail coming down so hard it was bouncing high off Maybelline's hood and collecting a couple of inches deep at the bottom of her windshield.
At the high point, I felt a bit dizzy, so it was a relief when the dizziness quickly passed. I drove down out of the storm, through the park exit (rats!), and into Grand Lake, where I'd reserved an RV site at Elk Creek Park. Alas, there was someone already in that viewless site, and they looked pretty well established. The management assigned me another viewless site -- where someone had parked an extra car and then gone off and left it. I tried to be calm and cheery about it and wandered down the road to get a late lunch at Sloopy's while management figured out what to do. When I came back, they had assigned me yet another site, much better than the previous two: the new site has great views east of "Old Baldy," back into the park.
(Being cheerful, agreeable, and patient really pays off. I have learned that I can only control my temper if I never let it off the leash in the first place. It took me almost all my life to learn to do this, and boy, it's hard some times! It's all I can do to fight back against the boiling rage that would so easily consume me and the situation and lead to one of the disasters I've precipitated all my life until just recently. I wonder if being nice will ever be easy, come naturally? I always thought I was an anger addict until I realized that, with chemical help, it's a matter of choosing which habit to cultivate: throwing a fit, or smiling calmly and letting the situation resolve itself. Smiling calmly pays. Thank you, Zoloft and Lexapro.
(I haven't changed. I've just found a way, even if it's a hard one for now, to make what I am work better for me.)
6/28/13: Friday, June 28: Slowly the Land Rises: Because Burlington is at more than 4,000 feet, I know that the land is rising slowly, slowly before me. I wonder what Estes Park will be like. I've received feedback requests from several of the KOAs I've stayed at on my way back, but I can't remember a thing about some of them. This rushing back doesn't suit me, and I feel a deep weariness now.
I wonder, too, if the seeming flatness of the western plains is due to the gradual rise and greater aridity: there are few streams to cut into the land, to leave behind the lush, shallow valleys that made eastern Kansas so pretty. Thus, it seems there are fewer hills and less relief.
I wrote the above in the motel this morning before taking off. Naturally, the elevation gain grew more noticeable for a while, as if to defy my title for today!
In less than a week I shall be home, if all goes well, home with Da Boyz and glad of it. The cost for gas, running these last few days across the prairies and plains with the air conditioning sucking the tank dry and drier, has been shocking, except that I'm almost incapable of being shocked right now. Highway near-misses shock me. I think if I make it, I shall be ready to sit and stay in the same place for a while -- at least till mid-August.
Leaving Junction City yesterday morning, I saw rising out of the hazy blue distance in the west the ghostly frames of immense but spindly structures, as if white aliens had landed in the night. My guess was that they were immense wind turbines, as they indeed proved to be. I've never been that close to them, I guess. Twice I passed a truck loaded with a single turbine blade, and I couldn't believe how huge it was; it seemed to go on forever.
This morning mounds of cumulus clouds rode the blue haze on the horizon. At Limon, CO, I passed under that line of clouds and saw another….Suddenly I was on the outskirts of Denver, CO, in heavy traffic on a freeway with weedy brown roadsides -- gee, I miss them a lot less than I thought; they're pretty ugly -- soon to bear northwestward for Estes Park. I had no idea the Rockies were so far from Denver! But soon I was skirting the green foothills as I passed through Boulder.
Then up on a road that reminded me of California State Highway 89 over Monitor Pass, and into Estes Park's KOA campground! My campsite looks right into Rocky Mountain National Park, straight at Longs Peak, the highest in the park. It is 7,500+ feet here, cool and dry, and right now we are enjoying the most fabulous lightning show I have ever seen! It is amazing, spectacular! The flashes show not only as sheet lightning and huge bolts but through the clouds as brilliant lavender and rosy purplish light! Not all that much thunder, but WHAT A SHOW!
I looked in the local phone book for my cousin Todd Browne, saw a K Browne and a D Browne, but no T Browne. Cammy tells me he actually lives in Golden, CO. I haven't seen him for perhaps 50+ years, so maybe now I never will. He's probably too big to dress up as a baby angel now, anyway.
I wonder, too, if the seeming flatness of the western plains is due to the gradual rise and greater aridity: there are few streams to cut into the land, to leave behind the lush, shallow valleys that made eastern Kansas so pretty. Thus, it seems there are fewer hills and less relief.
I wrote the above in the motel this morning before taking off. Naturally, the elevation gain grew more noticeable for a while, as if to defy my title for today!
In less than a week I shall be home, if all goes well, home with Da Boyz and glad of it. The cost for gas, running these last few days across the prairies and plains with the air conditioning sucking the tank dry and drier, has been shocking, except that I'm almost incapable of being shocked right now. Highway near-misses shock me. I think if I make it, I shall be ready to sit and stay in the same place for a while -- at least till mid-August.
Leaving Junction City yesterday morning, I saw rising out of the hazy blue distance in the west the ghostly frames of immense but spindly structures, as if white aliens had landed in the night. My guess was that they were immense wind turbines, as they indeed proved to be. I've never been that close to them, I guess. Twice I passed a truck loaded with a single turbine blade, and I couldn't believe how huge it was; it seemed to go on forever.
This morning mounds of cumulus clouds rode the blue haze on the horizon. At Limon, CO, I passed under that line of clouds and saw another….Suddenly I was on the outskirts of Denver, CO, in heavy traffic on a freeway with weedy brown roadsides -- gee, I miss them a lot less than I thought; they're pretty ugly -- soon to bear northwestward for Estes Park. I had no idea the Rockies were so far from Denver! But soon I was skirting the green foothills as I passed through Boulder.
Then up on a road that reminded me of California State Highway 89 over Monitor Pass, and into Estes Park's KOA campground! My campsite looks right into Rocky Mountain National Park, straight at Longs Peak, the highest in the park. It is 7,500+ feet here, cool and dry, and right now we are enjoying the most fabulous lightning show I have ever seen! It is amazing, spectacular! The flashes show not only as sheet lightning and huge bolts but through the clouds as brilliant lavender and rosy purplish light! Not all that much thunder, but WHAT A SHOW!
I looked in the local phone book for my cousin Todd Browne, saw a K Browne and a D Browne, but no T Browne. Cammy tells me he actually lives in Golden, CO. I haven't seen him for perhaps 50+ years, so maybe now I never will. He's probably too big to dress up as a baby angel now, anyway.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
6/27/13: Thursday, June 27: Frying Across the Rest of Kansas and into Colorado: And I DO mean "frying," not "flying." By 10 AM, it was already 93 and wretchedly humid in Junction City! I was surprised my tires hadn't melted into the asphalt pavement.
It was a long haul across western Kansas, which grew steadily flatter and browner, with less and less of the scenery I enjoyed yesterday. I can't say I'm fond of western Kansas: in places, it really was the ironed-flat countryside I'd expected to find in all of Kansas.
Now I'm in a little motel in Burlington, CO, which is at 4,000+ feet and somewhat cooler and drier than the Kansas lowlands. And I'm in the Mountain Time Zone. Can't see the Rockies yet.
It was a long haul across western Kansas, which grew steadily flatter and browner, with less and less of the scenery I enjoyed yesterday. I can't say I'm fond of western Kansas: in places, it really was the ironed-flat countryside I'd expected to find in all of Kansas.
Now I'm in a little motel in Burlington, CO, which is at 4,000+ feet and somewhat cooler and drier than the Kansas lowlands. And I'm in the Mountain Time Zone. Can't see the Rockies yet.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
6/25-26/13: Tuesday and Wednesday, June 25-26: Columbia, MO, and Beautiful Kansas! Tuesday I passed quickly from Indiana, through southern Illinois, and on into Missouri, over the Wabash and multiple channels of the Mississippi rivers. The roadsides in Indiana, besides having the blue flowers (which may be blue flax after all), also had brilliant patches of orange daylilies. How they got there, I have no idea; someone must have gone on a planting spree, or maybe they spread by bullets. Very pretty!
The landscape grew flatter, the weather hotter and stickier, and then I was in Columbia, MO, at a nice little campground just off the freeway. Suddenly, it seemed, I was in the Central time zone, so it was an hour earlier (nice!). I keep wondering when the terrain will be as flat as if it had been ironed that way. Except for road work slowdowns, zipping along I-70 is easy driving, much less tiring than negotiating the back roads of Pennsylvania, but the going is much less interesting on many counts. I remember being exhausted at Dingman's campground in the Delaware Water Gap after a day of following obscure roads from Lancaster, PA, and through the Poconos, but also bowled over by how beautiful it was.
I have a fly in this van, a fly that needs some serious killing. No, it's 3 flies. In my enthusiasm for nailing one, I also killed an innocent piece of black fluff on the floor. Fly No. 3 is proving tough: How is it that these infinitesimal pieces of protoplasm can instantly see me coming with the swatter and escape my righteous wrath? I like that, so I'm going to write it again: Righteous Wrath. The beggars woke me this morning before 6, as it got light and warm, and they went exploring on my arms and shoulders.
Here's another burst of creativity: Games for the Solo RV Driver! (1) Flying Coffee: See how far coffee can go when you leave a cup on the counter, forget it, and take off fast at a green light. Here's a Personal Best: kitchen sink to dashboard. Fun for nobody! (2) Pretzel, Pretzel: Imagine where all those pretzel sticks go after you drop the open bag you were munching on while driving! Your guesses will be compared to the actuality if you ever find them all. (3) Love That Kitty: Spend the rest of your life rousting bits of kitty litter out of remote corners of the van because the goddamn bag tipped over while you were rolling, and it wasn't sealed. Just a little moisture cements it permanently to any handy surface! A very similar game can be had with Random Dry Cat Kibbles.
Beyond Columbia, I finally crossed two broad channels plus some islands of the mighty Missouri River. The scenery grew much more open, rural, and appealing. Suddenly: Kansas City and then a Welcome to Kansas sign! What was I in for now?
And here is the day's Monster Surprise: I like the landscape of Kansas very much! I think it's beautiful! Its long, low, rolling "hills" are still velvety green, and between the hills lie -- ravines? gullies? little valleys? -- all of the preceding, often full of lovely trees, little dark-green gems in an emerald landscape that has long, long views. No more smothering trees eating up the roadsides. The few higher hills seem all the more dramatic in this very gentle terrain. However, the weather is relentlessly hot and humid, and after 2 nights of heat and sweat, when even wearing just underpants seemed to be overdressing, I am ready for an air-conditioned Motel 6 here in Junction City, KS.
The landscape grew flatter, the weather hotter and stickier, and then I was in Columbia, MO, at a nice little campground just off the freeway. Suddenly, it seemed, I was in the Central time zone, so it was an hour earlier (nice!). I keep wondering when the terrain will be as flat as if it had been ironed that way. Except for road work slowdowns, zipping along I-70 is easy driving, much less tiring than negotiating the back roads of Pennsylvania, but the going is much less interesting on many counts. I remember being exhausted at Dingman's campground in the Delaware Water Gap after a day of following obscure roads from Lancaster, PA, and through the Poconos, but also bowled over by how beautiful it was.
I have a fly in this van, a fly that needs some serious killing. No, it's 3 flies. In my enthusiasm for nailing one, I also killed an innocent piece of black fluff on the floor. Fly No. 3 is proving tough: How is it that these infinitesimal pieces of protoplasm can instantly see me coming with the swatter and escape my righteous wrath? I like that, so I'm going to write it again: Righteous Wrath. The beggars woke me this morning before 6, as it got light and warm, and they went exploring on my arms and shoulders.
Here's another burst of creativity: Games for the Solo RV Driver! (1) Flying Coffee: See how far coffee can go when you leave a cup on the counter, forget it, and take off fast at a green light. Here's a Personal Best: kitchen sink to dashboard. Fun for nobody! (2) Pretzel, Pretzel: Imagine where all those pretzel sticks go after you drop the open bag you were munching on while driving! Your guesses will be compared to the actuality if you ever find them all. (3) Love That Kitty: Spend the rest of your life rousting bits of kitty litter out of remote corners of the van because the goddamn bag tipped over while you were rolling, and it wasn't sealed. Just a little moisture cements it permanently to any handy surface! A very similar game can be had with Random Dry Cat Kibbles.
Beyond Columbia, I finally crossed two broad channels plus some islands of the mighty Missouri River. The scenery grew much more open, rural, and appealing. Suddenly: Kansas City and then a Welcome to Kansas sign! What was I in for now?
And here is the day's Monster Surprise: I like the landscape of Kansas very much! I think it's beautiful! Its long, low, rolling "hills" are still velvety green, and between the hills lie -- ravines? gullies? little valleys? -- all of the preceding, often full of lovely trees, little dark-green gems in an emerald landscape that has long, long views. No more smothering trees eating up the roadsides. The few higher hills seem all the more dramatic in this very gentle terrain. However, the weather is relentlessly hot and humid, and after 2 nights of heat and sweat, when even wearing just underpants seemed to be overdressing, I am ready for an air-conditioned Motel 6 here in Junction City, KS.
Monday, June 24, 2013
6/24/13: Monday, June 24, The Big Flat and Flatter Day: I've finally got round to downloading all the photos I have on that Canon camera that have been accumulating for about 2 years. While there are a number of photos of this trip, I CAN'T BELIEVE I TOOK NONE IN CONNECTICUT! I CAN'T BELIEVE I HAVE NO PIX OF THOSE FABULOUS DOGWOODS THAT WOWED ME SO! I CAN'T BELIEVE I HAVE NOT A SINGLE ONE OF THE COUSINS AND OF MY ADVENTURES WITH LISA!
What was I thinking of? Not much, apparently. Guess I was having too good a time with Lisa!
So here I am, in a pretty KOA in Terre Haute, IN, just getting ready to launch myself across Illinois and into Missouri tomorrow. Here in Indiana, I'm really starting to see the cornfields, though the plants are not much more than a foot high so far. There are also lots of pretty, blue, roadside flowers that I suspect are chicory. There are two kinds of lilies at this campground, two varieties of daylily, orange and yellow, and also a beautiful orange fritillary. The people managing the park have no idea which is which.
I'm wrong about the lilies: I don't know what the non-daylily is, but it's not a fritillary. The bells of fritillaries hang down in a cluster below the topmost leaves. These don't: they are upturned and above the topmost leaves. Another trillium?!
And my odometer says I've gone over 5,000 miles so far.
I felt sick to my stomach most of the day till I had a BLT at one p.m.; then I had a salad and soft-serve ice cream (apricot and blackberry) for dessert. Shot the diet to hell, just after I had bagged all that Medifast food in Lancaster, PA. But I feel much better. I hope I don't have leg cramps tonight as badly as I had them last night. I need some sleep, and I need to get up earlier to get going in order to beat the heat and humidity.
It's still a great adventure, and I'm right near the fabled Wabash River: "Oh, the moonlight's fair tonight along the Wabash/From the fields there comes a breath of new-mown hay/Through the sycamores the candlelights are gleaming/On the banks of the Wabash, far away." So pretty, so sad (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i_Kkei933TA). Terre Haute was the composer-lyricist's boyhood home (Paul Dresser, brother of Theodore Dreiser).
And yes, Indiana along I-70 is very flat, except when it isn't.
What was I thinking of? Not much, apparently. Guess I was having too good a time with Lisa!
So here I am, in a pretty KOA in Terre Haute, IN, just getting ready to launch myself across Illinois and into Missouri tomorrow. Here in Indiana, I'm really starting to see the cornfields, though the plants are not much more than a foot high so far. There are also lots of pretty, blue, roadside flowers that I suspect are chicory. There are two kinds of lilies at this campground, two varieties of daylily, orange and yellow, and also a beautiful orange fritillary. The people managing the park have no idea which is which.
I'm wrong about the lilies: I don't know what the non-daylily is, but it's not a fritillary. The bells of fritillaries hang down in a cluster below the topmost leaves. These don't: they are upturned and above the topmost leaves. Another trillium?!
And my odometer says I've gone over 5,000 miles so far.
I felt sick to my stomach most of the day till I had a BLT at one p.m.; then I had a salad and soft-serve ice cream (apricot and blackberry) for dessert. Shot the diet to hell, just after I had bagged all that Medifast food in Lancaster, PA. But I feel much better. I hope I don't have leg cramps tonight as badly as I had them last night. I need some sleep, and I need to get up earlier to get going in order to beat the heat and humidity.
It's still a great adventure, and I'm right near the fabled Wabash River: "Oh, the moonlight's fair tonight along the Wabash/From the fields there comes a breath of new-mown hay/Through the sycamores the candlelights are gleaming/On the banks of the Wabash, far away." So pretty, so sad (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i_Kkei933TA). Terre Haute was the composer-lyricist's boyhood home (Paul Dresser, brother of Theodore Dreiser).
And yes, Indiana along I-70 is very flat, except when it isn't.
Sunday, June 23, 2013
6/23/13: Sunday, June 23: 'Cross the Wide Ohio: This has been a strange day of intensely muggy heat, when sweat dripped off my face and hair in fat, plentiful drops as I readied Maybelline for travel from southwestern Pennsylvania to southwestern Ohio. (Actually, it did last night, too.)
After a brief run through the last of southwestern Pennsylvania, a large sign over the highway welcomed travelers to West Virginia. But the segment of road actually in that state was so short that I whisked out of it and into Ohio without noticing anything but the immense Ohio River, once a highway to settling a West so far east that it is hard to imagine its ever having been "the West." If there was a welcome sign for Ohio, I never saw it.
The terrain grew less and less hilly, till here, at the Brookville KOA near Dayton, there are not even rolling hills left. It's still green, and there are quite a few trees, but it's mostly fields and towns along I-70. No Clamtowns; no HF, G&GRH; now I'm starting to miss them.
This campground is very well-shaded, and here I am, parked in their shelter. There was a severe thunderstorm to the north, and loud thunder shook the campground for a while in the early evening. The storm brought only a brief spattering of rain here, but it was apparently bad enough elsewhere to evoke emergency warnings over the radio.
And that's today's big excitement.
After a brief run through the last of southwestern Pennsylvania, a large sign over the highway welcomed travelers to West Virginia. But the segment of road actually in that state was so short that I whisked out of it and into Ohio without noticing anything but the immense Ohio River, once a highway to settling a West so far east that it is hard to imagine its ever having been "the West." If there was a welcome sign for Ohio, I never saw it.
The terrain grew less and less hilly, till here, at the Brookville KOA near Dayton, there are not even rolling hills left. It's still green, and there are quite a few trees, but it's mostly fields and towns along I-70. No Clamtowns; no HF, G&GRH; now I'm starting to miss them.
This campground is very well-shaded, and here I am, parked in their shelter. There was a severe thunderstorm to the north, and loud thunder shook the campground for a while in the early evening. The storm brought only a brief spattering of rain here, but it was apparently bad enough elsewhere to evoke emergency warnings over the radio.
And that's today's big excitement.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
6/22/13: Saturday, June 22: And I Made It to Medifast! Thank goodness.
I forgot yesterday to mention how grateful I am that Lyons Auto really aligned the van. That awful traffic jam in New York yesterday called for several sudden, hard stops, and Maybelline did not pull to the right at all, just kept on, digging her claws in, straight ahead, thank goodness.
(Did I mention that I stayed in a motel on Cape Cod because of the rain, and in a hotel in West Hartford because there are no campgrounds at all near West Hartford? And by "near," I mean, "including neighboring towns."
(It hasn't rained on me for 3 or 4 days in a row! I may be spoiled!)
Around 9 AM this morning, I was startled by a huge noise that I thought might be the Blue Angels buzzing the campground. I popped my head outside to see a large, open, blue-painted structure that looked like a roller coaster in the adjacent amusement park, Dutch World or something like that. (This was "Pennsylvania Dutch" country.) Sure enough, it was the morning load test of the roller coaster. A little later, there was the jingling of bells, and a horse pulling an Amish-style buggy walked by, possibly with someone peddling hot, soft pretzels or something like that. Either that, or the horse was doing all the business -- try to stiff its absent owner, and it bites you. Luckily for me, I detest pretzels.
After stops at Medifast and two Rite Aids (the first didn't have the med I needed, so they called another, very nearby Rite Aid and transferred the prescription! Such nice people!), I had a word with the GPS unit about why it was sending me on these crazy routes through tiny towns, such as Clamtown, PA: two narrow, winding lanes; streets very skinny; homes right on the rural highway -- I felt I was a lurching monster on the verge of scraping off all the facades. Clamtown is lucky to still be there. If it is.
Turns out that I had specified to the GPS unit "no toll roads," and most of the oughta-be-freeways in Pennsylvania ain't. I canceled that setting, and, lo and behold!, beetled through the Pennsylvania countryside for over 100 miles and $17.25 on I76 with nary a Clamtown to scrape through. There were plenty of "work" stretches, though. I think Pennsylvania has the worst road surfaces I've ever been on: potholes, cracks, tar-filled seams that have sagged down -- a real mess. But I76 was better.
Now I'm off of I70, which really is free, at least for a while. I'm ready to pay whatever they want to stay the hell out of any Clamtowns, but I'll have to hit a BofA ATM to be sure I have enough cash. It's cash or FastPass only at these toll plazas, and today's nearly cleaned me out.
My route today crossed several rivers, including the immense Susquehanna and the wide Monongohela -- both are probably navigable. The East's huge rivers continue to amaze me! You could count the navigable rivers of California on the fingers of one finger: the Sacramento, and that not very damn far -- to Sacramento or Stockton, I think.
The rolling countryside I find myself in tonight are part of the Allegheny Plateau, dissected into ridges and valleys. Earlier today, I must have passed through the last gasp westward of the Appalachian Mountains, of which the Allegheny Mountains are a lower, western part (that last gasp westward).
What I've seen of southern Pennsylvania seems lush, but not nearly as lush as Massachusetts and Connecticut.
I forgot yesterday to mention how grateful I am that Lyons Auto really aligned the van. That awful traffic jam in New York yesterday called for several sudden, hard stops, and Maybelline did not pull to the right at all, just kept on, digging her claws in, straight ahead, thank goodness.
(Did I mention that I stayed in a motel on Cape Cod because of the rain, and in a hotel in West Hartford because there are no campgrounds at all near West Hartford? And by "near," I mean, "including neighboring towns."
(It hasn't rained on me for 3 or 4 days in a row! I may be spoiled!)
Around 9 AM this morning, I was startled by a huge noise that I thought might be the Blue Angels buzzing the campground. I popped my head outside to see a large, open, blue-painted structure that looked like a roller coaster in the adjacent amusement park, Dutch World or something like that. (This was "Pennsylvania Dutch" country.) Sure enough, it was the morning load test of the roller coaster. A little later, there was the jingling of bells, and a horse pulling an Amish-style buggy walked by, possibly with someone peddling hot, soft pretzels or something like that. Either that, or the horse was doing all the business -- try to stiff its absent owner, and it bites you. Luckily for me, I detest pretzels.
After stops at Medifast and two Rite Aids (the first didn't have the med I needed, so they called another, very nearby Rite Aid and transferred the prescription! Such nice people!), I had a word with the GPS unit about why it was sending me on these crazy routes through tiny towns, such as Clamtown, PA: two narrow, winding lanes; streets very skinny; homes right on the rural highway -- I felt I was a lurching monster on the verge of scraping off all the facades. Clamtown is lucky to still be there. If it is.
Turns out that I had specified to the GPS unit "no toll roads," and most of the oughta-be-freeways in Pennsylvania ain't. I canceled that setting, and, lo and behold!, beetled through the Pennsylvania countryside for over 100 miles and $17.25 on I76 with nary a Clamtown to scrape through. There were plenty of "work" stretches, though. I think Pennsylvania has the worst road surfaces I've ever been on: potholes, cracks, tar-filled seams that have sagged down -- a real mess. But I76 was better.
Now I'm off of I70, which really is free, at least for a while. I'm ready to pay whatever they want to stay the hell out of any Clamtowns, but I'll have to hit a BofA ATM to be sure I have enough cash. It's cash or FastPass only at these toll plazas, and today's nearly cleaned me out.
My route today crossed several rivers, including the immense Susquehanna and the wide Monongohela -- both are probably navigable. The East's huge rivers continue to amaze me! You could count the navigable rivers of California on the fingers of one finger: the Sacramento, and that not very damn far -- to Sacramento or Stockton, I think.
The rolling countryside I find myself in tonight are part of the Allegheny Plateau, dissected into ridges and valleys. Earlier today, I must have passed through the last gasp westward of the Appalachian Mountains, of which the Allegheny Mountains are a lower, western part (that last gasp westward).
What I've seen of southern Pennsylvania seems lush, but not nearly as lush as Massachusetts and Connecticut.
6/21/13: Friday, June 21: The Big Day for Cicadas and the Summer Solstice!! I got away from the hotel before noon, at least, and stayed in town long enough to get a prescription filled at a local Rite Aid and then to see some cicadas, following the instructions of Terri [sic?] at the hotel's front desk.
This is a very special cicada event, the hatching of the 17-year cicadas, and these dudes have truly not been seen or heard from for 17 years. They've been underground in larval form, eating and growing, for 17 years. Suddenly they realize they are hormone-crazed adolescents, dig themselves out, fly around and find mates, lay their eggs, and then die. The aboveground lives of the whole hatch is only a couple of months, and then they are gone for another 17 years.
They are fairly large bugs, the body brown and about an inch long and quite rotund, the wings large and of a transparent brown tint. I didn't see but certainly heard live cicadas at Terri's site, but having scrambled up a very steep little slope, I found dozens upon dozens of their transparent brown first molts clinging to the trees and leaves. The chirping of the live ones could be heard easily in spite of the traffic! I called Terri to thank her.
For an event so rare, I figured the risk of poison ivy was worth it. No one yet knows why some cicadas are periodic like this. It certainly doesn't help them escape predators, as there are fungi and wasps attuned to their cycles and which prey on them.
"Thanks" to a massive, hours-long traffic jam on I84 that extended through New York from the Taconic Bridge to the Hamilton Fish Newburgh Beacon Bridge [sic?], a jam I was part of, I got to hear cicadas chirping loudly enough to be heard over the crowd of idling cars and big trucks around me, and I also got to see the cicadas flying. So I got to see the live adults in action!
If these cicadas are behaving according to Wikipedia, they are the East Coast brood that last emerged in 1996 and after this hatch won't be seen again until 2030. Periodic cicadas occur in broods local to particular regions, and each brood has its own schedule. Also, there are periodic cicadas with shorter cycles (e.g., 13 years), but apparently none longer than 17 years. Some cicadas are annual. It looks as if none occur west of a certain line that probably represents enough trees and moisture for them.
So here I am, at last, back in Lancaster, PA. Medifast, here I come!
This is a very special cicada event, the hatching of the 17-year cicadas, and these dudes have truly not been seen or heard from for 17 years. They've been underground in larval form, eating and growing, for 17 years. Suddenly they realize they are hormone-crazed adolescents, dig themselves out, fly around and find mates, lay their eggs, and then die. The aboveground lives of the whole hatch is only a couple of months, and then they are gone for another 17 years.
They are fairly large bugs, the body brown and about an inch long and quite rotund, the wings large and of a transparent brown tint. I didn't see but certainly heard live cicadas at Terri's site, but having scrambled up a very steep little slope, I found dozens upon dozens of their transparent brown first molts clinging to the trees and leaves. The chirping of the live ones could be heard easily in spite of the traffic! I called Terri to thank her.
For an event so rare, I figured the risk of poison ivy was worth it. No one yet knows why some cicadas are periodic like this. It certainly doesn't help them escape predators, as there are fungi and wasps attuned to their cycles and which prey on them.
"Thanks" to a massive, hours-long traffic jam on I84 that extended through New York from the Taconic Bridge to the Hamilton Fish Newburgh Beacon Bridge [sic?], a jam I was part of, I got to hear cicadas chirping loudly enough to be heard over the crowd of idling cars and big trucks around me, and I also got to see the cicadas flying. So I got to see the live adults in action!
If these cicadas are behaving according to Wikipedia, they are the East Coast brood that last emerged in 1996 and after this hatch won't be seen again until 2030. Periodic cicadas occur in broods local to particular regions, and each brood has its own schedule. Also, there are periodic cicadas with shorter cycles (e.g., 13 years), but apparently none longer than 17 years. Some cicadas are annual. It looks as if none occur west of a certain line that probably represents enough trees and moisture for them.
So here I am, at last, back in Lancaster, PA. Medifast, here I come!
Thursday, June 20, 2013
6/17-20/13: June 17-20, Monday-Thursday, So Pretty, So Much Fun! So here I am, seeing the cousins in West Hartford, CT, which is such a pretty town. The cousins are well, I've met Daniel's girlfriend, Nina, who is heading back to Germany today after having done a cross-U.S. tour from Houston to Las Vegas to SEKI and Yosemite and then a long visit here, staying with Lisa and Jim. She's a very bright, well-mannered young woman who speaks English so flawlessly you can hardly detect an accent. During the school year, she was part of a teacher-exchange between her university in Gottigen and Amherst; she taught German at Amherst last year, which is apparently how she and Daniel met.
Personal Notes: Roots getting longer than arms. Must prune caterpillars (eyebrows) before obscure vision. Birthday suit: Age + weight loss = Doesn't fit well any more, isn't permanent-press, can't be ironed. DAMN!
I sent out my westbound itinerary yesterday; my brother, Chris, asked why I'd fallen in love with Cape Cod. I wrote the poor guy a veritable essay, which I'd like to repeat here so I don't lose it:
"Following up on your question, I believe Cape Cod, which is vastly larger than I could have imagined, reminded me of the ways in which I remember the Southern California coast from years ago, especially in having open spaces. Now, I grant you, the clean-up of Tin Can Beach is a great blessing. But pus-filled boils of development have ruined most open spaces: the Long Beach Marina replaces a large saltwater marsh; Huntington Harbor -- sorry about this one -- is no improvement over the former salt marshes; the excrescence that's now Dana Point: capital punishment is too good for its developers. The cliffs, getting down to them, and tide pooling there were great joys, experiences in the "wild side" of Southern California that can't be replaced. You should have seen our father springing from rock to rock like a mountain goat as we roamed that shoreline! I have never gone into the new town of Dana Point, because I can't bear to. I hope its developers roast painfully in the hell I don't believe in.
"If it weren't for Camp Pendleton, the Southern California coast would be a totally bleak disaster area.
"But Cape Cod, possibly because its development took place in a far less mechanized and industrialized world, still has great stretches of roadside greenery, rolling dunes crowned with low thickets of magenta and white rugosa roses, and charming little towns with pretty, old buildings and NO -- I repeat that, NO -- high rises. Yes, there are stretches of freeway, and they are unlovely but well-hidden in the foliage. If there's a high rise, it's probably a 3-story Victorian house. There is, especially compared to Southern California, a sense of space and peace and room to breathe. You can see the sky, the sea, the strand, all in a glance.
"Of course, all this changes from, say, Santa Barbara north, as the California coast grows rugged and dangerous; the water ever colder and rougher; where just inland small mountain ranges thrust straight up from the sea, as if scorning our attempts to maintain roads and villages; and there is light, space, and room to breathe.
"May all the gods there aren't bless the Coastal Commission! Rarely have California voters shown such a convulsion of good sense!
"There'll be a pop quiz on this when I get back."
THURSDAY, 6/20: Bless her heart, Lisa took me to pick up Maybelline today. Maybelline's engine sounds great and her handling is much improved, all for a very reasonable price -- about a third of what I had feared it might be. I think they didn't get around to fixing the door, but that's minor compared to having her aligned and one of her serpentine belts replaced.
Today I finally saw "Man of Steel" -- much more fun than the new Star Trek bore-fest. Henry Cavill is gorgeous. I want him, dipped in caramel, for my birthday.
I've had such a wonderful time here in West Hartford with the cousins that I'm sad to leave, but then, I can look forward to coming back. Spent the evening at their house; I worry that I've been a burden to two extremely busy people. Lisa and Jim have been so hospitable! One of the greatest pleasures of this trip has been getting to know Lisa and Nancy so much better. A person couldn't wish for better and "funnier" friends!
Tomorrow: Westward ho!
Personal Notes: Roots getting longer than arms. Must prune caterpillars (eyebrows) before obscure vision. Birthday suit: Age + weight loss = Doesn't fit well any more, isn't permanent-press, can't be ironed. DAMN!
I sent out my westbound itinerary yesterday; my brother, Chris, asked why I'd fallen in love with Cape Cod. I wrote the poor guy a veritable essay, which I'd like to repeat here so I don't lose it:
"Following up on your question, I believe Cape Cod, which is vastly larger than I could have imagined, reminded me of the ways in which I remember the Southern California coast from years ago, especially in having open spaces. Now, I grant you, the clean-up of Tin Can Beach is a great blessing. But pus-filled boils of development have ruined most open spaces: the Long Beach Marina replaces a large saltwater marsh; Huntington Harbor -- sorry about this one -- is no improvement over the former salt marshes; the excrescence that's now Dana Point: capital punishment is too good for its developers. The cliffs, getting down to them, and tide pooling there were great joys, experiences in the "wild side" of Southern California that can't be replaced. You should have seen our father springing from rock to rock like a mountain goat as we roamed that shoreline! I have never gone into the new town of Dana Point, because I can't bear to. I hope its developers roast painfully in the hell I don't believe in.
"If it weren't for Camp Pendleton, the Southern California coast would be a totally bleak disaster area.
"But Cape Cod, possibly because its development took place in a far less mechanized and industrialized world, still has great stretches of roadside greenery, rolling dunes crowned with low thickets of magenta and white rugosa roses, and charming little towns with pretty, old buildings and NO -- I repeat that, NO -- high rises. Yes, there are stretches of freeway, and they are unlovely but well-hidden in the foliage. If there's a high rise, it's probably a 3-story Victorian house. There is, especially compared to Southern California, a sense of space and peace and room to breathe. You can see the sky, the sea, the strand, all in a glance.
"Of course, all this changes from, say, Santa Barbara north, as the California coast grows rugged and dangerous; the water ever colder and rougher; where just inland small mountain ranges thrust straight up from the sea, as if scorning our attempts to maintain roads and villages; and there is light, space, and room to breathe.
"May all the gods there aren't bless the Coastal Commission! Rarely have California voters shown such a convulsion of good sense!
"There'll be a pop quiz on this when I get back."
THURSDAY, 6/20: Bless her heart, Lisa took me to pick up Maybelline today. Maybelline's engine sounds great and her handling is much improved, all for a very reasonable price -- about a third of what I had feared it might be. I think they didn't get around to fixing the door, but that's minor compared to having her aligned and one of her serpentine belts replaced.
Today I finally saw "Man of Steel" -- much more fun than the new Star Trek bore-fest. Henry Cavill is gorgeous. I want him, dipped in caramel, for my birthday.
I've had such a wonderful time here in West Hartford with the cousins that I'm sad to leave, but then, I can look forward to coming back. Spent the evening at their house; I worry that I've been a burden to two extremely busy people. Lisa and Jim have been so hospitable! One of the greatest pleasures of this trip has been getting to know Lisa and Nancy so much better. A person couldn't wish for better and "funnier" friends!
Tomorrow: Westward ho!
Sunday, June 16, 2013
6/15-16/13: Saturday and Sunday, June 15 and 16: Cape Cod, Wow! Saturday was a gorgeous, clear, brilliantly sunny day on Cape Cod, and I was feeling up to sightseeing. It was so beautiful! After a visit to the Salt Pond Visitor Center for the Cape Cod National Seashore, I went to Wellfleet to Mac's Shack, one of Lisa's recommendations, for a Caesar salad with lobster -- my first taste of real, Atlantic lobster. After I ate one of the anchovies, I picked the others off, and the rest of the salad was very good. But I'll never knock myself out to get lobster.
Then I walked to Mac's Market -- yes, a related business -- for ice cream, which I ate while walking out onto the pier and then the beach. After that, I walked along the bayside road and ventured onto the sand to see some real horseshoe crabs. Or ex-horseshoe crabs: they were, alas, dead. They're much bigger than I had thought, and just as strange as I'd imagined (what DO they think of us?!). The roads were lined with charming homes that made me want to sign on the dotted line.
Then I was off for Provincetown at last, stopping to take in Race Point and dip my finger into the real, live Atlantic. I had to make three circles of the relevant part of U.S. Highway 6 to get a photo of the "End of the highway" sign going into Provincetown. I thought I'd see Provincetown by visiting a grocery store, and the GPS unit took me down a street so narrow there was parking -- barely -- on one side only. The street was also full of people, who must assume, rightly, that only a fool or a tourist would venture down there in a vehicle, especially a van. For a while, I thought I WAS going to encounter the mob of incensed Easterners chanting, "California, go home!!" The grocery store was closed.
Lots of charming buildings, but I was definitely out of place. The van needed Spanx* in order to get around in Provincetown, so I extracted myself and then, on the way out of town, found a real, accessible supermarket and got my shopping done, hooray!
Finally leaving Provincetown altogether, I had to stop and photograph the "Bishop, CA 3205 Miles" sign (only took me two go-rounds for that one). Then, on the way back to Eastham, I stopped at the Marconi Site, where Guliegmo Marconi built his wireless telegraphy station to send the first wireless telegraph to England, in then-president Theodore Roosevelt's name. King Edward promptly replied! It was a triumph! Time, erosion, and deliberate demolition have erased most traces of the construction, alas.
While I was there, I admired anew the rugosa roses that grow on the cape in such profusion, mostly ones with single, magenta-pink flowers, like Hansa, but also ones with single, white flowers, like Snowy Owl. The harsh environment keeps them very low-growing, but they sport the usual, enormous, cherry-tomato-sized hips. And the blossoms are very fragrant.
I stopped at Catch of the Day for a takeout order of seafood cakes and a small Caesar salad for an evening meal (sorry, Medifast!), tootled back to the motel, and ta da! Stretched out in the chair I'd been wanting to try, as I munched and read.
I had expected Cape Cod to be something on the order of the Peninsula in Long Beach which separates the ocean from Alamitos Bay. It's a -- to my childhood senses -- long, thin sandspit barely wide enough for a few homes on each side of its main street. But Cape Cod is ENORMOUS, a world in itself, and so forested at its southern end that I couldn't see the ocean or the bay at all! It's all created by the glaciers of the last ice age, principally as moraines, and is covered with those kettle ponds that are left when great lumps of ice melt in place and leave holes below the waterline. If you want to see kettles in California, you need to see the High Sierra. Tioga Road passes lots of them in Dana Meadows, although they are much smaller than Cape Cod's kettle ponds.
Sunday, it was sunny and lovely again, and I hated to leave beautiful Cape Cod, especially for the west. My "eastward-ing" is done: now I am sad for it, for I don't know if I'll ever see it again, and it has been so lovely.
And also it grew increasingly overcast as I forged west across Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut -- oddly, no markers at the states' borders which I could see. I'm now in the West Hartford Inn in West Hartford, CT, to see the cousins. It's a hotel, they have only underground parking, and I'm on the fourth floor. I wish I were somewhere else!
When I took my shoes off in the hotel room today, I found Cape Cod sand in them!
*All Spanx need are garters to be real, old-fashioned panty girdles.
Then I walked to Mac's Market -- yes, a related business -- for ice cream, which I ate while walking out onto the pier and then the beach. After that, I walked along the bayside road and ventured onto the sand to see some real horseshoe crabs. Or ex-horseshoe crabs: they were, alas, dead. They're much bigger than I had thought, and just as strange as I'd imagined (what DO they think of us?!). The roads were lined with charming homes that made me want to sign on the dotted line.
Then I was off for Provincetown at last, stopping to take in Race Point and dip my finger into the real, live Atlantic. I had to make three circles of the relevant part of U.S. Highway 6 to get a photo of the "End of the highway" sign going into Provincetown. I thought I'd see Provincetown by visiting a grocery store, and the GPS unit took me down a street so narrow there was parking -- barely -- on one side only. The street was also full of people, who must assume, rightly, that only a fool or a tourist would venture down there in a vehicle, especially a van. For a while, I thought I WAS going to encounter the mob of incensed Easterners chanting, "California, go home!!" The grocery store was closed.
Lots of charming buildings, but I was definitely out of place. The van needed Spanx* in order to get around in Provincetown, so I extracted myself and then, on the way out of town, found a real, accessible supermarket and got my shopping done, hooray!
Finally leaving Provincetown altogether, I had to stop and photograph the "Bishop, CA 3205 Miles" sign (only took me two go-rounds for that one). Then, on the way back to Eastham, I stopped at the Marconi Site, where Guliegmo Marconi built his wireless telegraphy station to send the first wireless telegraph to England, in then-president Theodore Roosevelt's name. King Edward promptly replied! It was a triumph! Time, erosion, and deliberate demolition have erased most traces of the construction, alas.
While I was there, I admired anew the rugosa roses that grow on the cape in such profusion, mostly ones with single, magenta-pink flowers, like Hansa, but also ones with single, white flowers, like Snowy Owl. The harsh environment keeps them very low-growing, but they sport the usual, enormous, cherry-tomato-sized hips. And the blossoms are very fragrant.
I stopped at Catch of the Day for a takeout order of seafood cakes and a small Caesar salad for an evening meal (sorry, Medifast!), tootled back to the motel, and ta da! Stretched out in the chair I'd been wanting to try, as I munched and read.
I had expected Cape Cod to be something on the order of the Peninsula in Long Beach which separates the ocean from Alamitos Bay. It's a -- to my childhood senses -- long, thin sandspit barely wide enough for a few homes on each side of its main street. But Cape Cod is ENORMOUS, a world in itself, and so forested at its southern end that I couldn't see the ocean or the bay at all! It's all created by the glaciers of the last ice age, principally as moraines, and is covered with those kettle ponds that are left when great lumps of ice melt in place and leave holes below the waterline. If you want to see kettles in California, you need to see the High Sierra. Tioga Road passes lots of them in Dana Meadows, although they are much smaller than Cape Cod's kettle ponds.
Sunday, it was sunny and lovely again, and I hated to leave beautiful Cape Cod, especially for the west. My "eastward-ing" is done: now I am sad for it, for I don't know if I'll ever see it again, and it has been so lovely.
And also it grew increasingly overcast as I forged west across Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut -- oddly, no markers at the states' borders which I could see. I'm now in the West Hartford Inn in West Hartford, CT, to see the cousins. It's a hotel, they have only underground parking, and I'm on the fourth floor. I wish I were somewhere else!
When I took my shoes off in the hotel room today, I found Cape Cod sand in them!
*All Spanx need are garters to be real, old-fashioned panty girdles.
Friday, June 14, 2013
6/14/13: Friday, June 14: Diner's Revenge Day! Thanks to what I believe is a combination of my own bad choices -- a heavy diner meal, too much caffeine, and too many sugar alcohols -- I was up most of last night with Diner's Revenge, until I took a couple of Lomotil. Thank god for Big L!
9 PM: It has turned out to be a day of recovering from what, effectively, was food poisoning, I think by having eaten too much very rich and oily food from which the Medifast diet has mercifully weaned me. Anyway, everything that didn't exit one way exited the other.
Oh, well, it was a rainy and overcast day anyway, I think. I spent it in bed, recovering. I'm staying another night and shall see Wellfleet and Provincetown tomorrow.
9 PM: It has turned out to be a day of recovering from what, effectively, was food poisoning, I think by having eaten too much very rich and oily food from which the Medifast diet has mercifully weaned me. Anyway, everything that didn't exit one way exited the other.
Oh, well, it was a rainy and overcast day anyway, I think. I spent it in bed, recovering. I'm staying another night and shall see Wellfleet and Provincetown tomorrow.
Thursday, June 13, 2013
6/13/13: Thursday, June 13: Eastham on Cape Cod, and the Diet Is Busted! I turned the trip odometer over to 4,000+ miles today.
Stayed up way late last night -- just couldn't sleep. Struggled up around 8:30 AM to do laundry -- so many things soaked with sweat and rain.
On Wednesday night, with a good internet connection at the Warwick Motel 6, I had reserved a room in Eastham, MA, about halfway out on Cape Cod to Provincetown. Provincetown was too expensive, campgrounds and motels alike; there's no camping in the national seashore; and, as I said before, I'm sick of camping in the rain. The van's door that gives primary access to the living space won't open in the rain. Why, I don't know. I've fed it lots of WD-40, but once it rains a little, the door doesn't respond at all to the inside or outside door handles.
I can get into the living area via the driver's seat, so I'm not shut out, but that entails actually sitting on the seat and scooting over it to get my legs into the living area's aisle. Nerts!
And I'm frustrated that I have indeed left all the Medifast centers far to the west. Getting to them on the way back may be too late, as I'm left with, of course, just the foods I have learned to dislike a whole lot. There seem to be no fatties like me in the New England; they're all slim, trim, and lovely like Lisa. In Pennsylvania, where the nearest centers are, WHOOEE, are there fatties. Lots of guys there have bigger titties than I do! Bring on the Bro (or the Manzier)!
So to revenge myself on Medifast, I had my "lean and green" at a local diner: corned beef hash, an egg over hard, and English muffins on the grill. The order showed up with some cottage fries, too. One of the all-female staff told me I couldn't leave unless I finished everything, so I did, and then she gave me a sample of Grandma's Special Pudding as a reward: a lovely sort of Yankee flan, with a crust of Grape-Nuts, and a spritz of whipped cream. I'm busted. The diet is busted. It was great!
Back at the diner, having finished up like a good girl, I lurched out the door into a light rain that followed me to the Massachusetts border, where it tapered off and then gave up. Before hitting the big road, I refilled a prescription at the Warwick Rite Aid (I love it when they don't bat an eye at another Rite Aid's prescription!) and decided to supplement my Medifast-I-Hate with some South Beach Diet bars.
After an hour or so, I began driving out onto Cape Cod, which amazed me by being pretty much HF, G&GRH, although with lower relief than the mainland. The one thing I hardly saw was the sea! Guess that'll be tomorrow when I drive to Provincetown.
But I'm comfy in this room, dry and snug, so why question tomorrow or its weather? Onward, I say, onward!
Stayed up way late last night -- just couldn't sleep. Struggled up around 8:30 AM to do laundry -- so many things soaked with sweat and rain.
On Wednesday night, with a good internet connection at the Warwick Motel 6, I had reserved a room in Eastham, MA, about halfway out on Cape Cod to Provincetown. Provincetown was too expensive, campgrounds and motels alike; there's no camping in the national seashore; and, as I said before, I'm sick of camping in the rain. The van's door that gives primary access to the living space won't open in the rain. Why, I don't know. I've fed it lots of WD-40, but once it rains a little, the door doesn't respond at all to the inside or outside door handles.
I can get into the living area via the driver's seat, so I'm not shut out, but that entails actually sitting on the seat and scooting over it to get my legs into the living area's aisle. Nerts!
And I'm frustrated that I have indeed left all the Medifast centers far to the west. Getting to them on the way back may be too late, as I'm left with, of course, just the foods I have learned to dislike a whole lot. There seem to be no fatties like me in the New England; they're all slim, trim, and lovely like Lisa. In Pennsylvania, where the nearest centers are, WHOOEE, are there fatties. Lots of guys there have bigger titties than I do! Bring on the Bro (or the Manzier)!
So to revenge myself on Medifast, I had my "lean and green" at a local diner: corned beef hash, an egg over hard, and English muffins on the grill. The order showed up with some cottage fries, too. One of the all-female staff told me I couldn't leave unless I finished everything, so I did, and then she gave me a sample of Grandma's Special Pudding as a reward: a lovely sort of Yankee flan, with a crust of Grape-Nuts, and a spritz of whipped cream. I'm busted. The diet is busted. It was great!
Back at the diner, having finished up like a good girl, I lurched out the door into a light rain that followed me to the Massachusetts border, where it tapered off and then gave up. Before hitting the big road, I refilled a prescription at the Warwick Rite Aid (I love it when they don't bat an eye at another Rite Aid's prescription!) and decided to supplement my Medifast-I-Hate with some South Beach Diet bars.
After an hour or so, I began driving out onto Cape Cod, which amazed me by being pretty much HF, G&GRH, although with lower relief than the mainland. The one thing I hardly saw was the sea! Guess that'll be tomorrow when I drive to Provincetown.
But I'm comfy in this room, dry and snug, so why question tomorrow or its weather? Onward, I say, onward!
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
6/12/13: Wednesday, June 12: A Big Day for Weird! The weirdness started as I left the campground after telling my GPS unit to take me to Providence, RI. Now, picture this: I'm almost at the border with New York. I can almost spit eastward onto yesterday's planned destination, Port Jervis, NY. So naturally the GPS unit tries to vector me west to Scranton, PA.
This is when you turn balky electronics off, pull the power entirely, and just let it think things over in the dark. Never underestimate the animosity of inanimate objects.
I stopped at a nearby Walmart in Milford, PA, and spent 2 hours tracking down the few things on my list along with the zillion I'd wished I'd had as I rolled along on this trip.
Ah, then, I motored across New York, where there were heavily forested, green and gently rolling hills (HF, G&GRH) and on into Connecticut pretty much at Danbury, where I met…Quitting Time and some of the heaviest, slowest traffic I've ever encountered. A jam on the 405 moves faster than these guys did. Stopped for a potty break in Danbury and, having crept to Waterbury (10 miles?) by 2 hours later, made an emergency McDonald's run. Such fun.
The scenery, though: HF, G&GRH!
Getting darker now, with sunset colors on the horizon behind me. I cross into Rhode Island where it's HF, G&GRH again. I have been feeling claustrophobic for some time now in the crowding by and sometimes the positive overwhelming of the HF, G&GRH. I need my weedy, brown California roadsides!
My Motel 6 at last! Only 10 PM! And the parking lot is full of police cars! Two more police cars pull up, one with a K9 unit barking like it needs a fresh leg off someone. What's going on? Dare I check in, or are they raiding the joint for mature Californians? No, an officer waves me into the lobby where…
...The bank NOW decides to reject my Visa because I'm too far from home. What happened to the half-hour I spent explaining to them why my card would be showing up eastward across the country and then westward? I've gone nearly 3,900 miles and NOW they complain?! But eventually the motel accepts my card. The manager is a gentleman and comps my wireless connection, bless him.
Now to eat at least 2 of the Medifast meals I haven't yet got round to today. I use my coffeemaker to heat water for a chicken noodle soup (spiked with no-sodium chicken bouillon powder). But I forgot to bring in a spoon! So the tail of my comb serves both to stir the concoction and then, after it sits for 20 minutes or so, to help me eat it. Not bad. I could never get used to this, but it'll do for now. (The other meal was a strawberry shake with a packet of Sweet 'n' Low.)
Hey, we Morey girls are real improvisers!
Tomorrow: Provincetown, MA, or bust!
(Thursday: Oops, Danbury and Waterbury are 25 miles apart.)
This is when you turn balky electronics off, pull the power entirely, and just let it think things over in the dark. Never underestimate the animosity of inanimate objects.
I stopped at a nearby Walmart in Milford, PA, and spent 2 hours tracking down the few things on my list along with the zillion I'd wished I'd had as I rolled along on this trip.
Ah, then, I motored across New York, where there were heavily forested, green and gently rolling hills (HF, G&GRH) and on into Connecticut pretty much at Danbury, where I met…Quitting Time and some of the heaviest, slowest traffic I've ever encountered. A jam on the 405 moves faster than these guys did. Stopped for a potty break in Danbury and, having crept to Waterbury (10 miles?) by 2 hours later, made an emergency McDonald's run. Such fun.
The scenery, though: HF, G&GRH!
Getting darker now, with sunset colors on the horizon behind me. I cross into Rhode Island where it's HF, G&GRH again. I have been feeling claustrophobic for some time now in the crowding by and sometimes the positive overwhelming of the HF, G&GRH. I need my weedy, brown California roadsides!
My Motel 6 at last! Only 10 PM! And the parking lot is full of police cars! Two more police cars pull up, one with a K9 unit barking like it needs a fresh leg off someone. What's going on? Dare I check in, or are they raiding the joint for mature Californians? No, an officer waves me into the lobby where…
...The bank NOW decides to reject my Visa because I'm too far from home. What happened to the half-hour I spent explaining to them why my card would be showing up eastward across the country and then westward? I've gone nearly 3,900 miles and NOW they complain?! But eventually the motel accepts my card. The manager is a gentleman and comps my wireless connection, bless him.
Now to eat at least 2 of the Medifast meals I haven't yet got round to today. I use my coffeemaker to heat water for a chicken noodle soup (spiked with no-sodium chicken bouillon powder). But I forgot to bring in a spoon! So the tail of my comb serves both to stir the concoction and then, after it sits for 20 minutes or so, to help me eat it. Not bad. I could never get used to this, but it'll do for now. (The other meal was a strawberry shake with a packet of Sweet 'n' Low.)
Hey, we Morey girls are real improvisers!
Tomorrow: Provincetown, MA, or bust!
(Thursday: Oops, Danbury and Waterbury are 25 miles apart.)
6/11/13: Tuesday, June 11: The Big "Lemme Get Outta This Rain!" Day. What started as a sunny day has by 11 AM deteriorated to cloudy with occasional light showers, dammit. I may just "motel" it this evening. I need a bath before I kill everything that smells me, but last night I was unwilling to wade through the rain to the showers and too chicken to stand naked under the downpour.
I just started reading James McPherson's The Battle Cry of Freedom, a book about the conditions leading to the Civil War and about the Civil War itself, highly recommended by stories-tour guide Wes. I think this is going to be a really good read! Tim recommended a book by Coddington; must read next.
Doped off till 1 PM in the Gettysburg KOA (checkout time is 2 PM there). It turned out to be a nearly dry day all the way, though not all the way to Port Jervis, NY. I've fetched up a little shy of there, in Pennsylvania's Pocono Mountains (pretty little beggars) at an NPS campground in the Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area. Hot diggity! I didn't expect to see either the Poconos or the Delaware Water Gap, so I'm thrilled!
It was getting on to 8 PM and getting a bit dim, and I had seen two road-killed deer. I didn't want to be the next person to hit a deer. Out here, both deer and driver typically get killed. So when I saw the Campground sign on the highway -- US Highway 209 -- I flipped on the turn signal. (It's a private campground within the national recreation area.)
I just evicted a June bug from my quilt. Poor thing is probably wandering around in the dark, looking for its Gettysburg home. New bugs are pinging off my lights, and there are a couple of funny little bugs that travel by flipping themselves over very effectively, like giant fleas.
I just started reading James McPherson's The Battle Cry of Freedom, a book about the conditions leading to the Civil War and about the Civil War itself, highly recommended by stories-tour guide Wes. I think this is going to be a really good read! Tim recommended a book by Coddington; must read next.
Doped off till 1 PM in the Gettysburg KOA (checkout time is 2 PM there). It turned out to be a nearly dry day all the way, though not all the way to Port Jervis, NY. I've fetched up a little shy of there, in Pennsylvania's Pocono Mountains (pretty little beggars) at an NPS campground in the Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area. Hot diggity! I didn't expect to see either the Poconos or the Delaware Water Gap, so I'm thrilled!
It was getting on to 8 PM and getting a bit dim, and I had seen two road-killed deer. I didn't want to be the next person to hit a deer. Out here, both deer and driver typically get killed. So when I saw the Campground sign on the highway -- US Highway 209 -- I flipped on the turn signal. (It's a private campground within the national recreation area.)
I just evicted a June bug from my quilt. Poor thing is probably wandering around in the dark, looking for its Gettysburg home. New bugs are pinging off my lights, and there are a couple of funny little bugs that travel by flipping themselves over very effectively, like giant fleas.
Monday, June 10, 2013
6/9-10/13: Sunday-Monday, June 9-10: So This Is Gettysburg. Yesterday's drive (Sunday) started out with the GPS unit, which I had set to take me to the KOA in Gettysburg, PA, sending me around in circles back to the KOA in Willamsport, MD. After the second pass by the KOA turnoff in 5 minutes, I turned the GPS unit off so it could chill out till I was nearer Gettysburg.
Once I was off the interstate, I had to follow the kinds of roads that had scared me so in North Carolina and Virginia: tiny, winding, next-to-no-shoulder, about the size and shape of a sweat duct, but posted for 55 mph. "These Easterners are freaking NUTS," thought I, until I realized that they are horse-and-buggy roads designed for 150 years ago and speeds of 8 mph tops. Giddyup, horse! Now, that would have made sense.
I'm in Gettysburg, PA, now (Monday), getting ready to take a couple of tours of the battlefield today, one for the major sites of the battle and a second for human-interest stories of the battle. I don't quite understand why Gettysburg suddenly has such a pull for me; maybe I'm finally realizing that of all our wars, THIS is the great American tragic war and battle. Almost all the participants were so young; so many lives that might have been full were instead never finished. The winter at Valley Forge; Pearl Harbor; 9/11 -- all tragic, but never was the slaughter so great. Causes? I keep thinking, Stubborn old men, sure, but at least in the South, headstrong young men longing to prove themselves and young women egging them on for the reflected glory. Was our Civil War really necessary? I'm reading a novel related to the Trojan War now, and it made me reflect on the ancient Greek ideals of mortal fame, glory and booty in battle being the principal ones. One hundred fifty years ago, many young men must have received classical educations including Latin and Greek, must have read the Iliad and the Odyssey in the original Greek, imbibing those ideals along the way, and reached their first years of manhood just itching to claim their own battle fame.
My eyes got puddly driving past the national cemetery yesterday, seeing headstone after headstone after headstone. Lucky me, it's raining today and is supposed to rain all day long. Oh, well, the soldiers of our Civil War endured worse.
MONDAY: And it rained all day today, too, so I wore my rain gear over my regular clothes.
Took two amazing tours of Gettysburg, one of the battlefield and battle sites and the other of human interest stories about the people involved in the battle. "Classic Gettysburg Battlefield Tours" (http://www.historictourcompany.com/): don't know how they compare to others, but I can truly say I found both tours fascinating, well worth the time and money -- more than worth it. I was the only person on the 5 PM "Stories" tour, billed at a little over an hour long, and enjoyed two hours' worth of exciting, sad, heartwarming, and even funny stories with visits to the locations where they took place, thanks to tour guide Wes.
I was surprised at how modest the area's relief was -- Cemetery Ridge and Seminary Ridge hardly worthy of the names, I thought, and Little Round Top perhaps 50 feet high at the most. (Wikipedia says 63 feet above the low saddle connecting it to [Big] Round Top. Standing at Little Round Top's summit near General Warren's statue and looking down into, among other things, the Devil's Den, I finally saw how even this modest an eminence could be very advantageous to whoever commanded it, and a difficult obstacle for those attempting to take it.
Between tours, I enjoyed lunch at a local place recommended by Tim, the 10 AM Battlefield Tour Guide, then crossed the street for a huge scoop of wonderful ice cream homemade at a small, local ice cream and candy parlor, and finally walked through part of the National Cemetery.
As I left the tour headquarters to go back to the KOA, the sky cracked open and spilt great sheets of rain. It took me 5 or 6 tries to get Maybelline back into her space; I thought for sure I'd fetch up on a rock, because in addition to the soaking rain, it had got quite dark by nearly 8 pm. At least I didn't back her into a ditch.
In spite of the rain, it's actually quite warm, and I have the fan going. Moving near-liquid air is more comfortable than still, smothering, humid air. I don't know why, but I'm very tired tonight. I think I'll sleep well!
Once I was off the interstate, I had to follow the kinds of roads that had scared me so in North Carolina and Virginia: tiny, winding, next-to-no-shoulder, about the size and shape of a sweat duct, but posted for 55 mph. "These Easterners are freaking NUTS," thought I, until I realized that they are horse-and-buggy roads designed for 150 years ago and speeds of 8 mph tops. Giddyup, horse! Now, that would have made sense.
I'm in Gettysburg, PA, now (Monday), getting ready to take a couple of tours of the battlefield today, one for the major sites of the battle and a second for human-interest stories of the battle. I don't quite understand why Gettysburg suddenly has such a pull for me; maybe I'm finally realizing that of all our wars, THIS is the great American tragic war and battle. Almost all the participants were so young; so many lives that might have been full were instead never finished. The winter at Valley Forge; Pearl Harbor; 9/11 -- all tragic, but never was the slaughter so great. Causes? I keep thinking, Stubborn old men, sure, but at least in the South, headstrong young men longing to prove themselves and young women egging them on for the reflected glory. Was our Civil War really necessary? I'm reading a novel related to the Trojan War now, and it made me reflect on the ancient Greek ideals of mortal fame, glory and booty in battle being the principal ones. One hundred fifty years ago, many young men must have received classical educations including Latin and Greek, must have read the Iliad and the Odyssey in the original Greek, imbibing those ideals along the way, and reached their first years of manhood just itching to claim their own battle fame.
My eyes got puddly driving past the national cemetery yesterday, seeing headstone after headstone after headstone. Lucky me, it's raining today and is supposed to rain all day long. Oh, well, the soldiers of our Civil War endured worse.
MONDAY: And it rained all day today, too, so I wore my rain gear over my regular clothes.
Took two amazing tours of Gettysburg, one of the battlefield and battle sites and the other of human interest stories about the people involved in the battle. "Classic Gettysburg Battlefield Tours" (http://www.historictourcompany.com/): don't know how they compare to others, but I can truly say I found both tours fascinating, well worth the time and money -- more than worth it. I was the only person on the 5 PM "Stories" tour, billed at a little over an hour long, and enjoyed two hours' worth of exciting, sad, heartwarming, and even funny stories with visits to the locations where they took place, thanks to tour guide Wes.
I was surprised at how modest the area's relief was -- Cemetery Ridge and Seminary Ridge hardly worthy of the names, I thought, and Little Round Top perhaps 50 feet high at the most. (Wikipedia says 63 feet above the low saddle connecting it to [Big] Round Top. Standing at Little Round Top's summit near General Warren's statue and looking down into, among other things, the Devil's Den, I finally saw how even this modest an eminence could be very advantageous to whoever commanded it, and a difficult obstacle for those attempting to take it.
Between tours, I enjoyed lunch at a local place recommended by Tim, the 10 AM Battlefield Tour Guide, then crossed the street for a huge scoop of wonderful ice cream homemade at a small, local ice cream and candy parlor, and finally walked through part of the National Cemetery.
As I left the tour headquarters to go back to the KOA, the sky cracked open and spilt great sheets of rain. It took me 5 or 6 tries to get Maybelline back into her space; I thought for sure I'd fetch up on a rock, because in addition to the soaking rain, it had got quite dark by nearly 8 pm. At least I didn't back her into a ditch.
In spite of the rain, it's actually quite warm, and I have the fan going. Moving near-liquid air is more comfortable than still, smothering, humid air. I don't know why, but I'm very tired tonight. I think I'll sleep well!
Saturday, June 8, 2013
6/8/13: Saturday, June 8: Hey, Wait a Minute!! I'm brewing cups of tea with the Super 8 room's handy little coffeemaker.
After yesterday's drive on old U.S. Highway 221, I'm seriously questioning whether I can return home in just 10 days by taking U.S. Highway 6. I had imagined that even if two-lane, it would be more like U.S. Hwy. 395: lots of four-lane sections, freeway-fast, straight and often flat for long stretches. Not so 221, which was more like a rotini noodle. It took me 3 hours to get from Boone to just southwest of I-81, a distance more like 90 some tortuous miles, with getting lost 2-3 times. Beautful, but…. Even U.S. Hwy. 6 was fast and relatively flat from Bishop through Nevada and Utah.
Oops, must find faster route home!
Oh, well, that's a Tomorrow Worry.
LATER: Holy Cow! I'm near Hagerstown, MD, and even went through a bit of West Virginia on my way! Favorite state for scenery so far: North Carolina. Sunny, hot, and muggy today, but I'm grateful for the good weather. It looked cloudy over the peaks to the east, though I was somewhat tempted to try to get back on the parkway. But i've had enough for a while of narrow, winding, wet, foggy roads.
Tomorrow, Gettysburg for a couple of days and a couple of guided tours, I hope. I can't hope to see or understand this immense series of battles by wandering around by myself. Why the Battle of Gettysburg strikes me to the heart puzzles me: 46,000-51,000 dead and wounded over those three days. Why? Why? I do not truly understand. Does anyone?
After yesterday's drive on old U.S. Highway 221, I'm seriously questioning whether I can return home in just 10 days by taking U.S. Highway 6. I had imagined that even if two-lane, it would be more like U.S. Hwy. 395: lots of four-lane sections, freeway-fast, straight and often flat for long stretches. Not so 221, which was more like a rotini noodle. It took me 3 hours to get from Boone to just southwest of I-81, a distance more like 90 some tortuous miles, with getting lost 2-3 times. Beautful, but…. Even U.S. Hwy. 6 was fast and relatively flat from Bishop through Nevada and Utah.
Oops, must find faster route home!
Oh, well, that's a Tomorrow Worry.
LATER: Holy Cow! I'm near Hagerstown, MD, and even went through a bit of West Virginia on my way! Favorite state for scenery so far: North Carolina. Sunny, hot, and muggy today, but I'm grateful for the good weather. It looked cloudy over the peaks to the east, though I was somewhat tempted to try to get back on the parkway. But i've had enough for a while of narrow, winding, wet, foggy roads.
Tomorrow, Gettysburg for a couple of days and a couple of guided tours, I hope. I can't hope to see or understand this immense series of battles by wandering around by myself. Why the Battle of Gettysburg strikes me to the heart puzzles me: 46,000-51,000 dead and wounded over those three days. Why? Why? I do not truly understand. Does anyone?
Friday, June 7, 2013
6/7/13: Friday, June 7: And…We're Rolling Again! I had to give up on my baby-wipe baths briefly as I couldn't get the danged wipes out of the package. Then I discovered that most of the package had frozen solid. The temperature gradient from the front to the back of this tiny, 1.5 cu ft Dometic fridge is pretty steep! Cold wipes were great in sizzling Texas, Arkansas, and Tennessee, but in this chilly, rainy weather near the Blue Ridge, I might as well keep the wipes where they can't freeze at all.
Funny thing: All of a sudden about a week ago, I lost my taste for coffee. The very thought of it made me queasy. I switched to black tea, and that first cup of tea, with cream and sweetener, was pure ambrosia. I'm still drinking tea! I wonder why that happened?
LATER, 5:58 PM: It looks as if the weather, thanks to post-tropical storm Andrea, will continue rainy into Tuesday, dammit. Andrea, how could you do this to me?!
The GPS unit led me uphill and down, around curve after curve, on wet two-lane highways often designated for 55 mph. The lanes were narrow -- looking like a pair of long, black shoelaces -- the shoulders frequently non-existent. I could only hope I was headed for I81, as I generally had no idea where I was, though it was quite green and pretty. But I kept my speed down to what Maybelline and I could handle, which meant checking the rear-view mirror often to see if there was someone else's windshield there, a windshield with a display of one to three angry faces. When I could, I pulled over to let them pass.
Now, looking at the AAA state map, I see it took me on old U.S. Hwy. 221 through North Carolina's West Jefferson and Jefferson (apparently Thomas Jefferson's father, Peter Jefferson, was part of the party that surveyed the area around Boone) to Virginia's Independence. From there I continued (unwittingly) on U.S. 221 and 58 to State Route 94, and on 94 through Fries and Ivanhoe to I81 just west of Fort Chiswell. I followed 81 to a turnoff in Roanoke that was accompanied by a heavy shower and choked with traffic due to a 3-car accident, sad to say. And here I are!
So I'm in a Super 8 motel in Roanoke, VA, tonight (no Motel 6s around this area). After having set up camp and then broken it down in the rain in Boone, I couldn't face that again, especially the mud. Mr. Su's leveling blocks work better than the plastic ones I bought, but his are wood, and now they're soggy and muddy. Maybe I'll be braver tomorrow -- I'll see.
CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?! According to their weather statistics, these places (the U.S. Far East) not only get a lot of rain, but per month, THEY GET MORE IN THE SUMMER THAN IN SPRING, FALL, AND WINTER. This is so upside-down!
Funny thing: All of a sudden about a week ago, I lost my taste for coffee. The very thought of it made me queasy. I switched to black tea, and that first cup of tea, with cream and sweetener, was pure ambrosia. I'm still drinking tea! I wonder why that happened?
LATER, 5:58 PM: It looks as if the weather, thanks to post-tropical storm Andrea, will continue rainy into Tuesday, dammit. Andrea, how could you do this to me?!
The GPS unit led me uphill and down, around curve after curve, on wet two-lane highways often designated for 55 mph. The lanes were narrow -- looking like a pair of long, black shoelaces -- the shoulders frequently non-existent. I could only hope I was headed for I81, as I generally had no idea where I was, though it was quite green and pretty. But I kept my speed down to what Maybelline and I could handle, which meant checking the rear-view mirror often to see if there was someone else's windshield there, a windshield with a display of one to three angry faces. When I could, I pulled over to let them pass.
Now, looking at the AAA state map, I see it took me on old U.S. Hwy. 221 through North Carolina's West Jefferson and Jefferson (apparently Thomas Jefferson's father, Peter Jefferson, was part of the party that surveyed the area around Boone) to Virginia's Independence. From there I continued (unwittingly) on U.S. 221 and 58 to State Route 94, and on 94 through Fries and Ivanhoe to I81 just west of Fort Chiswell. I followed 81 to a turnoff in Roanoke that was accompanied by a heavy shower and choked with traffic due to a 3-car accident, sad to say. And here I are!
So I'm in a Super 8 motel in Roanoke, VA, tonight (no Motel 6s around this area). After having set up camp and then broken it down in the rain in Boone, I couldn't face that again, especially the mud. Mr. Su's leveling blocks work better than the plastic ones I bought, but his are wood, and now they're soggy and muddy. Maybe I'll be braver tomorrow -- I'll see.
CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?! According to their weather statistics, these places (the U.S. Far East) not only get a lot of rain, but per month, THEY GET MORE IN THE SUMMER THAN IN SPRING, FALL, AND WINTER. This is so upside-down!
Thursday, June 6, 2013
6/6/13: Thursday, June 6: What Am I Doing in Boone, NC?! Increasingly long patches of dense fog drove me off the Blue Ridge Parkway yesterday evening, so I holed up at the KOA in Boone, NC. Even down here (3,333 ft.), it got very foggy at night, and then the fog turned to rain. It seems to have dried up for now, but I can see that the clouds are still dark and thick over the mountaintops. I'm staying here a second night and shall leave Friday.
I was up till after 3 AM trying to figure out what to do -- to make a new plan. Didn't get to bed till 4 AM+ but did wake up with a new plan: Instead of trying to get back on the parkway, which given the current and predicted weather is a lost cause, I'll head west to pick up I81 in Tennessee and take it northeast through Virginia.
The weather will still be bad in the mountains Friday, but I81 roughly parallels the Blue Ridge, though much lower down and to the west. It's marked as "scenic," which is surprising for a freeway. It's 236 miles from Boone to Roanoke, VA, and maybe I can catch the last 120 miles or so of the Blue Ridge Parkway beginning Saturday, when the sunshine comes back!
Uh-oh, 10:30 PM and it's raining again. Gotta go to bed. THESE are the nights for which Dalmane was made!
I was up till after 3 AM trying to figure out what to do -- to make a new plan. Didn't get to bed till 4 AM+ but did wake up with a new plan: Instead of trying to get back on the parkway, which given the current and predicted weather is a lost cause, I'll head west to pick up I81 in Tennessee and take it northeast through Virginia.
The weather will still be bad in the mountains Friday, but I81 roughly parallels the Blue Ridge, though much lower down and to the west. It's marked as "scenic," which is surprising for a freeway. It's 236 miles from Boone to Roanoke, VA, and maybe I can catch the last 120 miles or so of the Blue Ridge Parkway beginning Saturday, when the sunshine comes back!
Uh-oh, 10:30 PM and it's raining again. Gotta go to bed. THESE are the nights for which Dalmane was made!
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
6/5/13, Wednesday, June 5: Back to the Blue Ridge Parkway, Day 2, Weather Permitting: I forgot to note that I discovered belatedly that yesterday on the Waterrock Knob Trail, I saw a trillium! Sorry, this is real down-home country here: I seen a trillium!
Why so excited? When I was little, the Golden Book nature guide to U.S. wildflowers listed almost exclusively Eastern flowers, as the great majority of Americans then lived east of the Mississippi. In fact, it seemed to me that California must have NO wildflowers except for mustard and wild radish. Nothing with a classy name like "trillium."
I thought it was a wild ginger, because it had 3 brown petals and 3 green petals or sepals, arranged radially symmetrically, but it lacked a couple wild-ginger signs: the flowers were above the leaves (ginger flowers are below), and the leaves were in 3s (ginger has 2 leaves above the flower).
I tried to tell myself that it was some other variety of ginger than that pictured in my wildflower guides, but there were just too many differences. Was it (gasp!) the treasured trillium? It was! It was a Wake Robin Trillium, to boot!
In the real world, this morning I filled a prescription at a nearby Rite Aid (!), shopped for groceries, and got onto the Blue Ridge Parkway pretty late -- around 3 PM. It was overcast, but the deeper greens of the trees contrasted even more with the pinks and whites of the azaleas and mountain laurels, the cascading white roses, the vivid magenta rhododendrons, and the amazing bluets. Bluets are pretty minor individually, but they grow in masses, and the clumps and patches glowed like blue neon against the grasses.
LATER: WEATHER DOES NOT PERMIT: I encountered patchy, thick fog, even creeping along at 15 mph with my flashers on, but by 6 PM, the fog was so bad, I turned off the parkway and tried to get to my night's destination, Glendale Springs, on lower and presumably less foggy roads. It wasn't to be: as I tried to tack back, I encountered the same, impenetrable fog.
And it looks as if the next 2 days will continue rainy and therefore dicey for getting back on the parkway. I'm not sure what to do, but I'll think of something. If nothing else, I can hunker down here in the Boone KOA till Saturday, as the nasty weather seems to cover the rest of North Carolina, Tennessee, and Virginia. Rats!
(The grocery store I went to this morning was called Ingles: een-GLAYSS to me. But with a big sign out front saying "American Owned." Go figure. Turns out Ingles is ING-gulls. Just never can tell with these gringos.)
Why so excited? When I was little, the Golden Book nature guide to U.S. wildflowers listed almost exclusively Eastern flowers, as the great majority of Americans then lived east of the Mississippi. In fact, it seemed to me that California must have NO wildflowers except for mustard and wild radish. Nothing with a classy name like "trillium."
I thought it was a wild ginger, because it had 3 brown petals and 3 green petals or sepals, arranged radially symmetrically, but it lacked a couple wild-ginger signs: the flowers were above the leaves (ginger flowers are below), and the leaves were in 3s (ginger has 2 leaves above the flower).
I tried to tell myself that it was some other variety of ginger than that pictured in my wildflower guides, but there were just too many differences. Was it (gasp!) the treasured trillium? It was! It was a Wake Robin Trillium, to boot!
In the real world, this morning I filled a prescription at a nearby Rite Aid (!), shopped for groceries, and got onto the Blue Ridge Parkway pretty late -- around 3 PM. It was overcast, but the deeper greens of the trees contrasted even more with the pinks and whites of the azaleas and mountain laurels, the cascading white roses, the vivid magenta rhododendrons, and the amazing bluets. Bluets are pretty minor individually, but they grow in masses, and the clumps and patches glowed like blue neon against the grasses.
LATER: WEATHER DOES NOT PERMIT: I encountered patchy, thick fog, even creeping along at 15 mph with my flashers on, but by 6 PM, the fog was so bad, I turned off the parkway and tried to get to my night's destination, Glendale Springs, on lower and presumably less foggy roads. It wasn't to be: as I tried to tack back, I encountered the same, impenetrable fog.
And it looks as if the next 2 days will continue rainy and therefore dicey for getting back on the parkway. I'm not sure what to do, but I'll think of something. If nothing else, I can hunker down here in the Boone KOA till Saturday, as the nasty weather seems to cover the rest of North Carolina, Tennessee, and Virginia. Rats!
(The grocery store I went to this morning was called Ingles: een-GLAYSS to me. But with a big sign out front saying "American Owned." Go figure. Turns out Ingles is ING-gulls. Just never can tell with these gringos.)
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
6/4/13: Tuesday, June 4: This is the Blue Ridge Parkway, Day 1! What a glorious treat! As much as I hated to leave the Smokies, this road is really beautiful. I stopped to get some nature guides at the visitor center at the foot of Waterrock Knob and then hiked the short but very steep trail up the knob to great views.
The road is so well-laid-out, with numerous pull-outs for viewpoints, though it is very winding. I think someone actually mows the grass on the shoulders! Lucky me, the traffic was light enough that I judged I could get away with doing 35 mph tops instead of the limit, 45 mph. With all the pull-outs, I was able to get out of others' way when I needed to.
Now I'm in the KOA in Swannanoa, NC (it calls itself "Asheville East"), enjoying the convenience of hookups and wifi. Oh, I do love hookups and wifi, but I wouldn't have missed those nights in the Smokies for anything!
Tomorrow, back on the Blue Ridge Parkway. It's long: 469 miles that I hope to finish on Friday. I am so lucky to be able to do this!
The road is so well-laid-out, with numerous pull-outs for viewpoints, though it is very winding. I think someone actually mows the grass on the shoulders! Lucky me, the traffic was light enough that I judged I could get away with doing 35 mph tops instead of the limit, 45 mph. With all the pull-outs, I was able to get out of others' way when I needed to.
Now I'm in the KOA in Swannanoa, NC (it calls itself "Asheville East"), enjoying the convenience of hookups and wifi. Oh, I do love hookups and wifi, but I wouldn't have missed those nights in the Smokies for anything!
Tomorrow, back on the Blue Ridge Parkway. It's long: 469 miles that I hope to finish on Friday. I am so lucky to be able to do this!
6/1-3/13, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, June 1-3: These are the Great Smoky Mountains of Tennessee and North Carolina, and I'm agog at how beautiful they are. Driving from Nashville toward the Smokies, I was astonished at how impressive these mountains seem. I'd expected they'd look like rolling hills, but they're much more like the front range of the San Gabriels. Wow, something breaks this flat, flat landscape at last!
But first….
The manager at the Pigeon Forge KOA put me in a site immediately backing onto Patriot Park, where there was some kind of country music festival going on…and on…and on….At least until midnight, when I gave up waiting for them to SHUT THE F--- UP, took a sleeping pill, and stuck in the earplugs. Rest at last!
If I thought Pigeon Forge was tacky, Gatlinburg was tacky cubed. And crowded? You could hardly see the storefronts for the mobs of people. But the minute I passed into the national park, where I still am now, the crowds vanished and a deep green peace settled over the landscape. Yes, there was a bit of a crowd at the Sugarlands Visitor Center, where I stopped for information, but it was of a different quality. The visitor center had a wonderful film about the Great Smokies that left me dabbing a tear away. Dan Haun, my acupuncturist, is right: here, people say, "AppaLATCHian."
I begin to understand more of the park's organization, with only one major road going through it, U.S. Hwy. 441, and a number of subordinate roads penetrating it from the edges, the one to Cade's Cove going the farthest it. I40 skirts the northeast edge of the park but doesn't enter it.
Exhausted as I was, I didn't pause at Newfound Gap, the road's high point and apparently on the border between Tennessee and North Carolina. I was delighted to find a pleasant spot in Smokemont Campground, except that it is, alas, not level. I used one of the leveling bricks, but I think I need two. Should I leave well enough alone?
Sunday I slept nearly all day long. In fact, Saturday, having set up (no hookups), I set up my chair and table on the tent pad and tried to read, but I kept falling asleep. I gave up a little before 6 PM, lay down under Cammy's yellow popcorn blanket, and slept till nearly 11 PM! By 2 AM, I was more than ready to crawl back in bed, and I slept till about noon on Sunday. Eventually, I hauled myself up and dressed enough to open the doors at sit reading in the captain's chair till bedtime again, around 10:30 PM. My excuse, if one is necessary: It had rained, often very hard, from about midnight Saturday-Sunday and all through Sunday till 4:30 PM. Shades of San Antonio! Lots of people bailed out of the campground, and those who remained were pretty soggy!
Today, I'm finally up and out. It's intermittently sunny and hot and then clouded over. The rich, decaying and growing smell of this Appalachian spring is intoxicating! A tiny red mite has developed a fondness for exploring my Good Sam RV Travel Guide; it's too fast for me to catch and explain to it that its quest is fruitless.
This afternoon, I'll hike the Smokemont Nature Trail and all through the campground for my exercise. I must be the luckiest person in the world!
Later: The Smokemont Nature Trail was great! I enjoyed it enormously. There is some kind of spindly, low tree with big, puffy clusters of 5-petaled (largely joined), dotted white blossoms with a little spur near the base of each petal. Must find out what they are; sorry I didn't buy the tree-identifying book, as trees are much more dominant here, and there are so many different kinds, all of which are strange to me, almost all broadleaf species, with one evergreen, possibly a spruce.
Can't get over how beautiful this all is!
My time here is up; it's Tuesday, and I'm ready to move again. My deep-cycle battery appears to be kaput. No cell signal, much less wireless signal, here. It's been ever so peaceful, though everything cloth and paper seems to have that thick, damp feel to it. Asheville, NC, KOA tonight?
But first….
The manager at the Pigeon Forge KOA put me in a site immediately backing onto Patriot Park, where there was some kind of country music festival going on…and on…and on….At least until midnight, when I gave up waiting for them to SHUT THE F--- UP, took a sleeping pill, and stuck in the earplugs. Rest at last!
If I thought Pigeon Forge was tacky, Gatlinburg was tacky cubed. And crowded? You could hardly see the storefronts for the mobs of people. But the minute I passed into the national park, where I still am now, the crowds vanished and a deep green peace settled over the landscape. Yes, there was a bit of a crowd at the Sugarlands Visitor Center, where I stopped for information, but it was of a different quality. The visitor center had a wonderful film about the Great Smokies that left me dabbing a tear away. Dan Haun, my acupuncturist, is right: here, people say, "AppaLATCHian."
I begin to understand more of the park's organization, with only one major road going through it, U.S. Hwy. 441, and a number of subordinate roads penetrating it from the edges, the one to Cade's Cove going the farthest it. I40 skirts the northeast edge of the park but doesn't enter it.
Exhausted as I was, I didn't pause at Newfound Gap, the road's high point and apparently on the border between Tennessee and North Carolina. I was delighted to find a pleasant spot in Smokemont Campground, except that it is, alas, not level. I used one of the leveling bricks, but I think I need two. Should I leave well enough alone?
Sunday I slept nearly all day long. In fact, Saturday, having set up (no hookups), I set up my chair and table on the tent pad and tried to read, but I kept falling asleep. I gave up a little before 6 PM, lay down under Cammy's yellow popcorn blanket, and slept till nearly 11 PM! By 2 AM, I was more than ready to crawl back in bed, and I slept till about noon on Sunday. Eventually, I hauled myself up and dressed enough to open the doors at sit reading in the captain's chair till bedtime again, around 10:30 PM. My excuse, if one is necessary: It had rained, often very hard, from about midnight Saturday-Sunday and all through Sunday till 4:30 PM. Shades of San Antonio! Lots of people bailed out of the campground, and those who remained were pretty soggy!
Today, I'm finally up and out. It's intermittently sunny and hot and then clouded over. The rich, decaying and growing smell of this Appalachian spring is intoxicating! A tiny red mite has developed a fondness for exploring my Good Sam RV Travel Guide; it's too fast for me to catch and explain to it that its quest is fruitless.
This afternoon, I'll hike the Smokemont Nature Trail and all through the campground for my exercise. I must be the luckiest person in the world!
Later: The Smokemont Nature Trail was great! I enjoyed it enormously. There is some kind of spindly, low tree with big, puffy clusters of 5-petaled (largely joined), dotted white blossoms with a little spur near the base of each petal. Must find out what they are; sorry I didn't buy the tree-identifying book, as trees are much more dominant here, and there are so many different kinds, all of which are strange to me, almost all broadleaf species, with one evergreen, possibly a spruce.
Can't get over how beautiful this all is!
My time here is up; it's Tuesday, and I'm ready to move again. My deep-cycle battery appears to be kaput. No cell signal, much less wireless signal, here. It's been ever so peaceful, though everything cloth and paper seems to have that thick, damp feel to it. Asheville, NC, KOA tonight?
Saturday, June 1, 2013
5/31/13, Friday, May 31: This is the carny strip, Pigeon Forge, TN: Bob Lamia warned me that the entrance to Great Smoky Mountains National Park was a crazy commercial zone I just wouldn't believe, and he was right. It reminds me of Anaheim right around Disneyland. This condition is also due to Dollywood and Dolly's Splash Park, and the place is JAMMED. It's almost embarrassing. What must people from other countries think? ("What will the neighbors think?!")
I'm feeling a deep tiredness that calls for a few days in one spot and lots of sleeping. Yesterday, driving between Nashville and Pigeon Forge, I suddenly felt a wave of homesickness for my sun-scorched hills, California's weedy, brown roadsides, and for the smell of juniper and sagebrush. I was sick of green, green, green -- I must say, though, that I thought Arkansas was greener and prettier than Tennessee as far as the very little I could see. I miss Da Boyz, their shedding fur, their reeking letterbox. I wanted to call Cammy and beg her to "magic" me home. (Alas, she's in Georgia or Oklahoma.)
In a way, it reminds me of the strange "divide" I felt going from Van Horn, TX, to Sonora, TX. My skin had told me that the climate was getting drier and drier as far as Van Horn; my face felt as if it would crack into hexagonal plates like a desiccating mud flat. Guadalupe Mountains National Park was completely parched. Then, suddenly, I had a sense, a real, physical feeling, that this was no longer true, that moisture had returned to the air, that my skin was beginning to heal. And it was so: the climate grew steadily more humid. Curious!
Although I had planned to venture farther on Friday, actually into the mountains and the park, my body and spirit were just out of gas. Tomorrow will be soon enough for a couple of days in a campground -- Smokemont? -- in the Great Smokies.
I'm feeling a deep tiredness that calls for a few days in one spot and lots of sleeping. Yesterday, driving between Nashville and Pigeon Forge, I suddenly felt a wave of homesickness for my sun-scorched hills, California's weedy, brown roadsides, and for the smell of juniper and sagebrush. I was sick of green, green, green -- I must say, though, that I thought Arkansas was greener and prettier than Tennessee as far as the very little I could see. I miss Da Boyz, their shedding fur, their reeking letterbox. I wanted to call Cammy and beg her to "magic" me home. (Alas, she's in Georgia or Oklahoma.)
In a way, it reminds me of the strange "divide" I felt going from Van Horn, TX, to Sonora, TX. My skin had told me that the climate was getting drier and drier as far as Van Horn; my face felt as if it would crack into hexagonal plates like a desiccating mud flat. Guadalupe Mountains National Park was completely parched. Then, suddenly, I had a sense, a real, physical feeling, that this was no longer true, that moisture had returned to the air, that my skin was beginning to heal. And it was so: the climate grew steadily more humid. Curious!
Although I had planned to venture farther on Friday, actually into the mountains and the park, my body and spirit were just out of gas. Tomorrow will be soon enough for a couple of days in a campground -- Smokemont? -- in the Great Smokies.
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