Tales From Tennessee

 

Two weeks in Tennessee… plenty to tell.

Our first stop was Memphis, chock full of sights, sounds and smells. We drove to the Lorraine Motel, the painful site of Martin Luther King’s assassination. The motel is the anchor for the National Civil Rights Museum and has been preserved as it was in 1968 - two stories, open balconies, period signage. The Museum was closed the day we were there, and (except for two 60’s-era finned cars which are part of the museum) the parking lot was empty, which gave the site an eerie feel.

We continued deeper into downtown Memphis, and walked along Beale Street, which is like a small version of Bourbon Street in New Orleans. Bars, restaurants, music venues and souvenir shops are packed into a two block area. My favorite sign amidst all the neon and mayhem was at a corner bar, warning you to buy a drink there because “it‘s 25 feet until your next chance to get a drink”. Talk about making a person anxious!

 We returned to Beale Street two nights later for some of the renowned BBQ and then listened to the many live bands. Some bands are in clubs and others are out on the street - so as you walk along the sidewalk there’s plenty of music to enjoy. The bands were excellent!

 Another day we toured Graceland, perhaps Memphis‘ most talked-about site, Elvis’ home from 1957 (at age 22) until his death in 1977. We were skeptical, wondering if it would be worth the $30 admission charge, knowing that the house is small by today’s celebrity standards. But we thoroughly enjoyed the tour, which was more extensive than we realized. After walking through the first floor of the house (decorated with over-the-top 1960’s glitz), the tour continues to Elvis’ backyard, which includes a racquetball building, his father’s office, horse corrals, pool, and Elvis’ grave. There are also multiple exhibit halls featuring videos, Elvis’ gold records and Las Vegas show costumes, his collection of exotic cars and his two airplanes. Whew! It was fun to see it all and be immersed in all things Elvis.

The following day we took a tour of Sun Studios, where Elvis and others (Roy Orbison, BB King, Johnny Cash, and Ike Turner, to name a few) made early recordings. The studio is small but preserved as it was in the 1950’s, when Sam Phillips’ ear for talent and originality was a powerful force in the music industry. We were allowed to take photos “singing” with Elvis’ microphone in hand!
 

Franklin, Tennessee, just south of Nashville, was our next stop, where we visited my cousins. The town of Franklin is charming - with a small but vibrant shopping district, many blocks of historic houses, and much Civil War history.

Nashville is Tennessee’s capital, so, following our usual m.o., we checked out the capitol building to get an overview of Tennessee’s history. We learned even more at the nearby (and excellent) Tennessee State Museum. We walked by the famous Ryman Auditorium (home of the original Grand Ole Opry) and the Country Music Hall of Fame, a very cool building; the façade looks like a giant piano keyboard.

Lunch was at the highly recommended Prince‘s Hot Chicken, a small bustling restaurant in a dated strip mall, with Mom-and-Pop décor. You place your order at a small window in the back where you can catch a peek into the busy kitchen. There was a choice of four levels of hotness. We played it "safe" and opted for medium. WHOA! Even the medium made our eyes and noses water profusely, covered our hands with juice and sauce, and necessitated a gazillion napkins. But it was delicious. The chicken was plump, fried with a generous coating of seasoned crumbs - and served on a thick slice of white bread. BTW, this is white-bread country….I haven’t seen or used white bread in ages…

The next day was raining, but fortunately, we had an indoor destination planned: the National Corvette Museum, which is actually just over the Tennessee border in Kentucky. Bob considered it a “must” for a car guy. We weren‘t disappointed. The museum was lively, and included one of the first (1953) Corvettes (my favorite of the collection), a recreation of a 1950’s Mobil gas station, an interactive Pit-Stop game, film of a lap of the Nurburgring racetrack in Germany (which we have driven), interesting info about the designers and history of the Corvette, and of course many Corvettes from various years.
 

On the subject of cars, a sad aside. Bob’s good and long-time friend Paul Gagliardi was tragically killed on a business trip when he was hit by an oncoming van while crossing a street. Paul was a consummate car enthusiast; his special love was Porsches. Paul was outstandingly talented about the mechanics of cars. He was also generous with his time, helping other people with their cars and volunteering at Porsche Club events, among other things. We flew from Tennessee to NY for Paul’s memorial. He will be sorely missed by his family and many friends. This is an especially tough loss for Bob.

Tiny Lynchburg, our next destination, is home to the Jack Daniels Distillery, the oldest licensed distillery in the nation. We saw the massive outdoor fire pit where stacks of white oak boards are burned until the wood becomes charcoal. The brew is filtered through this charcoal to give it flavor. Flavor also comes from subsequent aging in hand-made oak barrels. The grounds include a beautiful stream (the all-important, pristine water source for the distilling process) and a tiny brick office from which the revenuers (federal agents) kept an eye on things to make sure all federal taxes were paid. The on-site revenuers have since been eliminated by government cost-cutting measures.

Usually, factory tours end with a free sample, so you’d think we’d have gotten a taste of this well-known Tennessee sour mash whiskey, right? Wrong. Lynchburg is a dry county. We were instead offered a small glass of lemonade!

We’d encountered a dry county before, when we wanted to buy some wine and couldn‘t find a liquor store. We asked someone where the nearest liquor store was, and were told that it was “just” 12 miles away in the next county! (Obviously we’re not in New York anymore.) Each county in Tennessee votes periodically on whether it wants to be dry or wet. Hmmm. The influence of the church and a throw-back to Prohibition - ?

Other things we’ve noticed in parts of the South: the absence of recycling (no easily-found facilities for depositing cans, bottles and paper) and the closing of many businesses on Sundays.

The next day we visited some Islesboro friends in the mountains in tiny Monteagle, Tennessee. Much to our surprise there was intermittent HAIL throughout the day. We aren‘t used to cold weather anymore, and we don‘t like it very much either - !

Chattanooga (pronounced “Chattanugga”) is a small, spiffy city on the Tennessee River. It has a lovely riverfront walk, some snazzy new architecture (aquarium and art museum on the river bank), and a free electric shuttle that takes you around downtown. The famous “Chattanooga Choo-Choo” train is on display at the handsome former Terminal Station (1909), which is now a hotel complex. The Chattanooga Choo-Choo, a route operated by the Cincinnati Southern Railroad, was the first line offering through passenger service from Cincinnati to the South.

Knoxville was next, another small and well-cared-for town. (We like being able to see the highlights of a city in a day, something you can’t do in a bigger city like New York or Boston.) Knoxville is the home of the Women’s Basketball Hall of Fame (the building has a giant basketball and hoop worked into its design). It was also site of the 1982 World’s Fair, with its iconic Sunsphere still adorning the skyline. A local radio station broadcasts live each weekday at noon at the Visitor’s Center; we took advantage of that by listening to some good country music while we ate our lunch.

Our final adventure in Tennessee was Smoky Mountain National Park, on the Tennessee-North Carolina border. Bob remembers it well because the Appalachian Trail runs through the length of the park. For old times sake we decided to hike about 2 miles of the A.T., enjoying the fall colors, serenity, and hazy mountain views - and appreciating that Bob‘s 2175-mile A.T. marathon is well behind him.
 

      Happy Thanksgiving in advance -
       Love from us both, Patty
 

The Deep South - Beignets, Bayous and Bigots

New Orleans – Arguably the culinary capitol of America (especially if you are a Paul Prudhomme groupie…), but unquestionably party central 24/7, 365. As we were driving into town, Patty was practicing her “Girls Gone Wild” blouse flash in the bedroom mirror (but sadly, came away with no beads…). We parked Mia about nine miles south in a scenic Parish park campground and explored New Orleans both day and night for three thoroughly enjoyable days. Arriving mid-day on Day 1, we drove into the city, circled the famed Superdome, parked the Integra and rode the restored St. Charles Ave. trolley to see the fabled Garden District southwest of the downtown, where the lovely antebellum mansions compete to have the best gardens in town.

Charmed by the beauty and luxury, we then drove to the northeast side of town to see the other extreme, the devastation wreaked by Katrina on the Lower Ninth Ward and St. Bernard Parish. Most of the mess has been cleaned up, but there are plenty of abandoned, overgrown lots mixed with a sprinkling of Brad Pitt’s “Make it Right” foundation homes sprouting up amongst them, like designer flowers in a weed patch. There are glimmers of hope starting to shine, but still a long way to go before the struggling community there is rebuilt to anything near what it was.

Day two began with a swamp tour in the nondescript small town of Houma (one hour southwest of New Orleans), given by a second-generation swamp guide (his mamma started the business when she was in her early seventies and lived to the ripe old age of 94…). It was a fascinating view of the bayous and swamps which make up the delta area along the coast. Our guide brought us to his favorite ‘gator spots and with a shrill call that would rival any Arkansas hog caller, called his boys out to meet us. Of course the bag of raw chicken parts he had for them was an enticement to come visit, although he swears they recognize his voice and the sound of his boat motor. Good fun and we got to see some ‘gators along with many exotic birds. That afternoon we made our way into the heart of the French Quarter, took the free ferry across the river (yes, the Mighty Mississippi…) to Algiers, a quaint little residential Staten Islandesque outpost, and then spent the evening back in the city for cocktails, cuisine and cavorting. Even on a mid-week night, there is plenty going on along Bourbon Street, loud music, loud people and alcohol flowing freely (ask Patty about the Hurricanes).

On our final day, we arrived in the Quarter early for Beignets (like square donut puffs) at Café du Monde and a ranger-led tour of the early history and architecture of the French Quarter. Jean Lafitte National Park is actually located there and the history of the revolving-door French, Spanish and American ownership of New Orleans is fascinating. We tried muffaletta sandwiches (Italian coldcuts with an olive tapenade) for lunch and then bid adieu to the charming debauchery of the old city.

Making our way along the Gulf Coast we motored through Biloxi MS (pristine, white sand beaches, which were the sight of integrated “swim-ins” on the “whites only” strip during the late 50’s and now, big, ugly high-rise casinos) and then Mobile AL, a charming well-to-do town where many of the cotton plantation owners built palatial second homes to be near the ocean and shipping ports. We tried the exotic fried crab claws there and were hooked, liking them almost as much as Maine lobstah. Continuing east, we visited friends and former neighbors in Pensacola FL, keeping our eyes open for any signs of coastal oil spill damage. According to the park rangers at the National Seashore, when there are offshore storms, a few tar balls and oil droplets will wash up, but not to any great degree. So far, the damage from the BP spill appears minimal, but it will probably be years before we can be sure.

 

 Heading north into the heart of Alabama, we braced ourselves for we didn’t quite know what. The famous civil rights battlefields of Montgomery, Selma and Birmingham conjure up so many images of the brutality and hatred that raged in the sixties (and simmered quietly long before then), that we had a hard time imagining what it might be like today. There are some wonderfully developed tributes and memorials, honoring the many that died during the Civil Rights struggle, and those who played pivotal roles in shaping its course. The Rosa Parks Museum, the Southern Poverty Law Center and Dexter Avenue Baptist Church in Montgomery (where Martin Luther King served). The 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham (site of the bombing where four young girls were killed) where the Freedom Marches began and thousands were arrested and water-hosed. The Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma (where the initial march to Birmingham resulted in beatings and tear gassing). The Greyhound Bus Stations where Freedom Riders were arrested upon arrival to the state. Each of these sites serve as powerful reminders of the past, but that’s not to say the past is entirely behind us.

 

In Montgomery, we were particularly struck by the sense of pride the Confederacy still holds for many in the south. The flying of the confederate flags in and around the Capitol, the extensive memorial to the confederate dead (with no mention of the Union soldiers). It seemed as if they’d secede again today if they had the opportunity, as they still honor its objectives. We had occasion to speak with one (of only a few) black men we saw, also a tourist in the capitol building, He had lived there for the past couple of years and was preparing to return to San Francisco. He was very articulate and expressed that Montgomery is still very much a white man’s town. Blacks (and other minorities) are repressed in numerous ways and there is little opportunity for them to do much but serve the powerful whites who still control most things there. Frequent roadblocks on the outskirts of black neighborhoods promote fear and victimize many young blacks, while reminding them of their lower standing. He referenced still being called “boy” frequently and was puzzled why so many blacks who had lived there for years continued to put up with it. In his mind, it’s a city still living in the 1950’s, with little real progress culturally. Interesting, but also sad. We didn’t notice any “Obama” bumper stickers while we were driving around Alabama, but we did find some excellent roadside barbecue.

 It almost made our return to Mississippi refreshingly uplifting, and heading to Tupelo (birthplace of “The King”, Elvis Presley) was a nice distraction from the somber thoughts we had through most of Alabama. Tupelo is a sleepy but charming little town where Elvis spent his early, formative years. His family’s two-room shotgun shack was carefully restored to what it might have been like in his early days and there were many testimonials from childhood friends of what a regular guy he was growing up. It helped give you a sense of what little he came from and how difficult it must have been to suddenly be thrust into the limelight. When we get to Memphis (where he moved at age 13), it will be interesting to compare the two environments he experienced.

From Tupelo, we made our way mid-state to Oxford MS, home of University of Mississippi, where a friend’s daughter has her first teaching assignment. Oxford has a mix of the over-privileged (mostly) white kids enrolled as students (lots of Lexus’, fancy pickup trucks and new Mustangs) and a lower-income black population on the periphery. There were only a smattering of minority students that we could see on campus, which was supported by what we were told anecdotally. Something told us right away that the opportunity is not equal in Oxford, but it’s still a lovely campus and we enjoyed seeing it. We took a side trip to Clarksdale, about fifty miles west (on the banks of the Mississippi River) to see some of the legendary “juke joints”, the small, blues clubs located in impoverished cotton towns, and were fascinated by the character they emanated. Unfortunately we visited on a Sunday with no action going on, but we could imagine how lively they had been the night before.

All aboard! Next stop, Memphis!        Bye for now, Bob

Back to School

 After our “summer vacation” in Maine, we’re in learning mode again. It feels like a new semester with new courses. Gone are the pale southwest landscapes and lessons about  westward expansion, railroads, cowboys and mining. Now we’re in the Deep South (see note below) where the landscape is green (trees!) and we‘re learning about the Civil War and civil rights. We even have “homework” - brochures from historic sites, visitors centers and National Parks, full of fascinating information, to study in the evening.               
 

Our first stop in the Deep South was Arkansas. (BTW, the Deep South refers to the four states of  Arkansas, Louisiana, Alabama and Mississippi.) On our first day in the capital of Little Rock we toured the capitol building, which was “plain Jane” as capitols go, with very little interior artwork to help tell the story of Arkansas.
 

A much stronger reaction was elicited by Little Rock Central High School, scene of  a historic and bitter integration battle, when nine black students wanted to attend the all-white school. The school, a handsome, immense 1920’s building, is part of the National Park System, but is also still a working high school. At the Visitors Center the presentation was moving and captivating, including photos, news clips and audio accounts from the September 1957 events. The Governor and segregationist whites had tried to prevent integration. Local police were not able to keep control of the crowds that gathered around the school. President Eisenhower finally sent the 101st Airborne Division to escort students to and from school, thereby enforcing the earlier Brown vs. Board of Education Supreme Court ruling. The students were not protected, though, between classes, in the cafeteria or on the athletic field. In these places the black students suffered horrible abuse: nasty comments, physical harm (kicking, hitting with baseballs), placement of feces in lockers, ostracism. Nevertheless, the students persevered with bravery, grace and determination. The ugliness of this period in our history was vividly portrayed at the site and was heart-and-gut wrenching for Bob and me.

Little Rock is also home to the Clinton Museum and Library, a modern structure poised over the Arkansas River and designed to resemble a bridge (reminiscent of Clinton’s phrase “a bridge to the 21st century”). The museum’s lively exhibits include re-creations of the Oval Office, the Cabinet Room, and a state dinner table. There were also timelines showing the administration’s year-by-year activities, alongside the concomitant national and international events. The scoop is that Clinton has a lavish apartment on the fourth floor and visits the museum about once a month.

Nearby Hot Springs was Clinton’s boyhood home, a small white clapboard house on the edge of town, now privately owned and not open to the public. More impressive was the row of bathhouses in the center of town. These had their heyday in the early 1900’s when the rich would spend their vacations in Hot Springs to take advantage of the therapeutic benefits of the warm water, which was piped into the bathhouses. These elegant buildings have been restored by the National Park Service. In one, the Fordyce Bath, you can see the individual bath rooms, massage and changing rooms, the gym, and parlors.

Next up was Vicksburg, Mississippi, best known for the 1863 Civil War battle for control of a critical section of the Mississippi River, the last portion still held by the Confederate army. We learned how important the mighty Mississippi was to the south as a supply and commerce route. By controlling the river, the north could divide the south and cripple it. The battle actually turned into a siege; the north’s forces couldn’t overcome the south’s soldiers in their hill-top location, so the north surrounded the city and starved the Confederate soldiers into surrender. A 16-mile road winds through the battlefields, with both Union and Confederate positions marked. Canons are scattered throughout the drive, along with elaborate monuments (erected later) by each state involved in the conflict. In all, about 19,000 died in the Vicksburg battle.   
 

Nearby Jackson, Mississippi is the state’s capital. We visited the capitol building and also spent some time at the small but snazzy Mississippi Museum of Art.

 We drove from Jackson to Natchez, MS on the Natchez Trace Parkway, with “parkway” being the key word. What a beautiful route! It‘s a quiet, winding, two-lane road through woods and meadows, with pretty scenery all the way. There are no businesses or homes along the route, just Zen-like beauty, especially in the autumn. The “Trace” was originally a footpath used by Native Americans and later by Ohio valley farmers and merchants; after transporting goods down the Mississippi on flatboats, the businessmen sold their boats as lumber, then walked home on the trace footpath! Are we spoiled by today’s way of life or what?

Downtown Natchez has many antebellum homes and reminded me of a mini-version of Charleston. We toured Melrose, a Greek Revival mansion, the estate home of John McMurran, who owned several plantations. We learned that owning slaves was a status symbol at the time and that even some free black people owned slaves (sometimes their own family, although they weren‘t permitted to emancipate them). An interesting feature at Melrose was the punkah - a huge flat mahogany fan suspended over the dining room table - which was operated by a slave pulling a rope. The punkah kept insects away and helped cool the room. Another interesting feature was the set of parallel but separate halls leading out of the dining room, one for servants and one for the family and its guests.

Our next stop was Baton Rouge, Louisiana  - our third capital in one week! The 1930’s capitol building is the tallest in the nation. Pelicans, the state symbol, adorn the art deco building both inside and out. Huey Long was instrumental in getting funds authorized to build the capitol. Long was a controversial and ambitious politician, known for his “Share the Wealth” campaign and for his likely challenge to President Roosevelt. He was assassinated before he had the chance to make the challenge….We learned more about Long and Louisiana’s rich history and culture at the excellent Louisiana State Museum. 
 

      Vocabulary from this week:
Parish - in Louisiana, the equivalent of a county; 

Cajun - a Louisiana person descended from 18th century French -speaking Canadian exiles (got that?);

Bayou - a sluggish, marshy secondary water course.

And finally, boudin (pronounced boo-dan) - sausage sold in long links, containing rice, ground pork, onion and spices, served with no bun or condiments. We drove out of our way to try these at Jerry Lee‘s Kwik Stop. Yes, it‘s a convenience store, but reputed to have the best boudin in Baton Rouge. Boudin is pretty good, but once is probably enough.   
 

Time to wrap up this report and get to my homework!
      Love from us both, Patty

The Mians are at it again...

After a lengthy break from the road spent at our island paradise in Maine, the Mians are back at it, burning up the miles seeing America. We had a lovely six-week return to Islesboro, eating lobster, visiting with friends and enjoying the peaceful pace of island life (except for the stresses of having to catch the ferry to and from the mainland). We were sad to leave Maine, especially with the spectacular weather this summer, but we’re on a mission to complete our trip around America. While we were relaxing in Maine, Mia patiently waited for us in a storage facility in Albuquerque and when we arrived there mid-September, I think I detected a (slight) smile on her grille.

We took a couple of days in Albuquerque to resolve a few final details before embarking. Since new, the “house” RV batteries (which provide power for lights and appliances) had not been right, constantly bubbling over and making a mess in the battery compartment. Despite several attempts by RV dealers to diagnose the problem, no one was willing to say the batteries were bad (meaning a warranty replacement). I finally decided to replace them myself, taking a calculated risk ($$$) that it might not correct the problem. But, it did the trick. If I had known the fix was so simple, I would have replaced them the first week we owned Mia, rather than battle with Winnebago and repeatedly hassle with inept dealers this past year. At the same time, I upgraded to larger batteries for more reserve capacity, which will be useful for camping without power hookups. This was the only repair we’ve had to make that wasn’t covered by the warranty (all have been minor) and we feel fortunate that overall, Winnebago made Mia such a reliable, well-designed, well-built motorhome.

While in Albuquerque, we encountered an unexpected problem with Patty’s car (a 1994 Acura Integra with 247,000 miles, historically also very reliable), which would not start after grocery shopping one hot afternoon. It’s frustrating to be miles away from home without tools, having no place to work on a car and being at the mercy of unknown mechanics. The only nearby service shop was a Pep Boys (national chain) about a mile away, so we had Patty’s car towed there. After about an hour of working on the car, it became clear that they had little idea of what they were doing. I had them put it back together again (fortunately, it “mysteriously” started), then took it to an Acura dealer, who diagnosed a faulty engine relay. All worked out well, but we killed an entire day standing around and gnashing our teeth over the problem.

Having resolved all the pending issues on our list, and being acclimated to living in two hundred square feet once again, we struck out to see southwestern Kansas and eastern Nebraska. The Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve provided beautiful scenery through the rolling Flint Hills of mid-Kansas. Along the route, we kept our eyes open for ladies-of-the-night in Hooker, Oklahoma, also watching for peculiar folks in Peculiar, MO. While there probably were a few left-leaning citizens in Liberal Kansas, I think there were apt to be more Tea Party conservatives from the look of things. Dorothy’s House (from the Wizard of Oz”) landed in Liberal also, so maybe if the democrats put on ruby slippers and click their heels together three times, they won’t do so badly in the mid-term elections this fall. Who knows? 

Next came Dodge City, KS, a legendary western town in its day (not unlike Tombstone AZ from last fall) and yet another famous haunt of Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday and Bat Masterson, renowned historical figures of the west. We spent a brief morning touring Dodge City (now known for a large Hispanic population and many meat-rendering/packing plants), but were soon ready to “get out of Dodge”, as the saying goes. Wichita followed next, a small city with lots of aviation manufacturing and some beautifully refurbished warehouses that have become condos, nightclubs and restaurants. Pretty quiet on a Sunday, but a charming, small city nonetheless.

Heading northeast towards the beige, autumn cornfields of Nebraska, we targeted the capital of Lincoln and Omaha, Nebraska’s largest city. Along with a beautiful riverside park, Lincoln features the phallic “Penis of the Plains”, a capitol building that sticks straight up in the air and defines the Lincoln skyline. Not a traditional-styled state capitol building (most mimic the US Capitol), but well designed, featuring art-deco styling. Nebraska is the only unicameral state government, having only one elected body of legislators, not two, and no party affiliations, eliminating the current partisanship battles of most elections. An interesting. political model that might be an idea for the future of our national government. Other highlights of Lincoln were the University of Nebraska campus (go Huskers!) and the Haymarket District (more restored warehouses).

Omaha is a lot more sprawling, modern and congested (although it too has a restored warehouse area called Old Market, apparently a common Nebraska theme). We drove by Warren Buffet’s home (spacious, but not pretentious), visited nearby Boys Town (an inspiring story of many children saved from neglect) and enjoyed the nearby rolling hills and cornfields. For an interesting lunch one day, we experienced a regional sandwich called a Runza, which is a spiced ground beef and cabbage pocket, similar to the regional Pasty we sampled in Michigan last fall. It has quite a loyal following and made us feel part of the local scene. By and large, Nebraska is pretty rural, but the few cities have a folksy charm and culture. Lots of wind all the time though, and often-harsh, bleak winters, we were told.

We routed back through Iowa briefly and again into Missouri, stopping in Carthage (near Joplin in the southwest corner) to see Red Oak II, a small, 1920’s village re-creation assembled by a Missouri artist to preserve the artistic architecture and charm of the town he grew up in. Local roads featured a Burma-Shave array of signs exhorting travelers to “repent before it’s too late”, a sign that we’re in the Bible belt. While in the area, we also made a pilgrimage to Bentonville, Arkansas, the birthplace of Walmart. Sam Walton opened a 5 and10 cent store in Bentonville in the 1950’s, growing to become the retail behemoth it is today. Walmart has lost all of the charm and character that it started out with, but it’s hard to argue with its success as the world’s largest retailer. If Sam were alive today, he might take pride in the money Walmart saves Americans by keeping prices low, but I think he would also be appalled at how poorly associates are paid and how few American products are sold there now. 

Turning east, we arrived at the destination city of Branson MO, a combination of Las Vegas (sans gambling) and Orlando, Disney meets Dolly Parton. It’s ticky-tacky incarnate, although if you like shows and glitz, I guess you could find plenty of amusement here. Not our cup of tea, but at least we can say we’ve seen it. The surrounding Ozark Mountains provide a scenic backdrop at least and we’ve enjoyed continued beautiful weather.

We are now right in the middle of “Tornado Alley”, where storm shelter signs are as common as the Civil Defense Shelter signs of the sixties. Spring and summer are the most common times for tornadoes, but they can happen anytime if the right conditions occur. We’re hoping they won’t occur any time this fall, as we’d hate to see Mia circling in the air with Toto and the Wicked Witch. As we continue to head south, we’re crossing our fingers that we’ll make it through unscathed.

Glad to be back on the road. We’ll keep you posted. Bye for now…   Bob

The Road To Intermission

Our drive from Colorado into Taos, New Mexico was a nail-biter. The gas gauge was on empty after a long day of driving through the historic silver mining towns of Ouray, Silverton and Durango and several mountain passes. (We hadn’t realized that the route would involve climbing as much, using more gas than anticipated.) We checked the map and hoped with a little luck to make it to the next town, Tres Piedras, just west of Taos. We made it, but “town” turned out to be nothing more than a 4-way intersection and an abandoned gas station. We felt doomed; with the gas gauge pegged on empty, there was no way we could go another 28 miles to Taos in petrol-thirsty Mia. Still, we had no choice but to continue. With Bob at the helm, using every gas-conservation trick he could conjure up, we drove slowly, coasting whenever possible, holding our collective breaths the entire way. Just outside of Taos we came upon an RV park (one of the very few businesses on that road), and pulled in, certainly running on fumes by then. Hallelujah! Using my car, Bob went into town to get a container of gas and the next morning we drove the motor home the final few miles to the gas station, putting 77 gallons into our 75 gallon gas tank, a close call!

Next, we headed to Santa Fe for Bob’s birthday. We celebrated in our usual way (champagne, berry pie, presents) but not in a usual setting: the rodeo grounds. The annual Santa Fe rodeo takes place in June; during the rest of the year the parking field is available to motor homes and campers. One evening there was a barrel-racing event for young, local riders, allowing us to step out of our RV and right onto the bleachers for some out-of-the ordinary western-style entertainment.

The art scene had been lively in Taos but was even more vibrant in Santa Fe, which is the third rated art center in the country, after NYC and LA. Canyon Road in the northeast section of town is famous for its galleries; we had fun browsing and marveling at the imagination and talent of hundreds of artists. Santa Fe is also New Mexico’s capital. As is often our routine, we took a tour of the 1960's era capitol building, which is round and therefore unusual among its rectangular brethren. New Mexico scores extra points for originality.

Albuquerque was our next stop. The three cities of Taos, Santa Fe and Albuquerque are similar in character and all of them reminded me in many ways of Antigua Guatemala, where we spent the winter two years ago. Each town has a historic, central plaza with a cathedral on one side,  adobe architecture, and a colorful, intriguing mix of Spanish, American Indian and Anglo culture.

 Albuquerque was our home for a week, giving us time to take care of various maintenance items: suspension work and tires for my car, wash, wax  and a replacement back-up monitor (under warranty) for Mia and haircuts for Bob and me. We also spent some time sightseeing with friends, including a visit to El Morro National Monument, an hour and a half west of Albuquerque, and well worth the drive. El Morro is best known for its carvings in the stone cliffs (i.e. graffiti), made by Native Americans, Spanish explorers, and railroad workers during the westward expansion of the 1800’s. The inscriptions included animal motifs, names, dates and even some commentary. For instance, boasting (in Spanish) about the glory and wisdom of the Spanish monarch! El Morro also had hiking trails with beautiful views of the distant pastel mountains, ruins of American Indian pueblos, and a small but historic pool at the base of the cliffs. The water pool was once a life-saving haven for travelers because it was the only water source for hundreds of miles. 
 

An aside. Our Maine license plates have made us quasi-celebrities in the southwest. People notice the plates and stop us, making comments like “Wow, you’re from Maine? We never see anybody from Maine around here! Gosh, what are you doing way out here? I hear Maine is really nice!”
 

Speaking of Maine, that’s where we are right now. We’re at the intermission point of our trip. At the end of July we left Mia in storage in Albuquerque. Then, traveling three days via plane, bus, foot, car and ferry, we made our way back to Islesboro. Summer on the island is just so lovely that we couldn’t resist returning for at least part of the season, taking a hiatus from our American odyssey. We’ll be on Islesboro until early September, then fly back to Albuquerque and continue our motoring adventure.
 

In the meantime, we’re delighted to be back at our little cottage, resting, enjoying the old-fashioned lifestyle, soaking in the water views, catching up with island friends (and sleeping on solid ground, not tires)! It‘s definitely a different world here, starting with the colors. So much green compared to the southwest…
 

We’ll continue our travel reports in the fall. In the meantime, here are a few stats.
 

To date: 34 National Parks/Monuments, 18 State Capitol tours, 7.6 miles per gallon (on average), and most recently -  2 Maine lobster rolls! 

Love from us both, Patty

Too Much Going On...

The last few weeks have been a whirlwind of driving, sightseeing and National Parks, and we’re looking forward to a Maine Sabbatical in August. Our plan is to leave Mia in Albuquerque with a babysitter (in storage, that is) and head to Islesboro to enjoy our cottage and friends there for at least a month. It will be a refreshing break from life on the road and we’ll pick up again in September where we left off. At least that’s the plan.

Leaving  the capital of North Dakota (Bismarck) earlier this month, we headed into South Dakota to see the capital of Pierre (pronounced Peer) the next day (we’ve not visited two capitols in one day, but who knows, it may yet happen). Arriving on a record 102 degree day, we were sweltering in the “dry heat“. That snow in Yellowstone seemed awfully appealing all of a sudden. We had planned to drive to Mitchell SD and see the famed “Corn Palace”, a kitsch treasure of corn country, but abandoned the excursion to stay local and cool down. An afternoon in the air conditioned local library to catch up on emails was just what we needed, waiting for the sun to get lower in the sky and cool things off. Even with Mia’s a/c going, it stayed in the  80’s inside until almost bedtime. 

Getting an early start the next morning (while it was still cool) we motored to the Badlands National Park in South Dakota to see the unusual moonscape of  eroded formations arising out of miles of prairie surrounding it. Lots of fossils to be found in the sedimentary sandstone and shale layers, with drinking water extremely scarce due to the alkalinity of  the Badlands environment. A small-time rodeo and a respectable Fourth of July Fireworks show provided some local action. A side trip to the famed Wall Drug Store in Wall SD was a disappointment, as it rivals if not exceeds South of the Border on the east coast. A massive tourist trap, and they were trapping them in a big way over the 4th of July weekend.

 

We motored on to Harley nirvana next, Sturgis SD. Although we were a few weeks early for the annual motorcycle rally there, we got a sense of  how Sturgis is a one horse town, an iron horse, that is. A half a million bikers descend on this scruffy town in the middle of August each year (the 70th edition is in 2010) and I imagine it to be like Marlon Brando in “The Wild One”, mayhem on every street corner. We used Sturgis as a base to see nearby Devil’s Tower in Wyoming (famous from “Close Encounters of the Third Kind”) and Belle Fourche SD, the geographic center of the US (could have skipped that…). I tried to rent a Harley for the day to tour on, but they weren’t available until bike week in August, a bit of a letdown, although it probably kept us from a hospital stay on our trip. The nearby Black Hills made for some beautiful sunsets and would have been fun to ride a Harley through.

Heading further south in the Black Hills, we visited Mt. Rushmore, which is everything you might imagine it to be from the pictures and more. An incredible feat to carve these sculptures onto the mountain face. The nearby Crazy Horse Memorial is a work in progress that will one day honor the famous Indian chief in a similar way. There are plenty of mountains to go around in the Black Hills, so nobody should be complaining. 

Making our way down into Nebraska, we passed by Carhenge, an artistic sculpture of automobiles painted gray and placed in the same formation as the Stonehenge site in England. Not sure how the Druids would feel about their religion being upstaged by Detroit’s castoffs. Heading west, back into Wyoming, we visited Cheyenne, the state capital, and toured what was one of my favorite capitol buildings thus far in the trip. It was elegant, but not opulent, simple, functional and dignified. They even used the same architect and plans as Helena Montana to save money. And I found a cowboy hat at the western outfitter downtown to add to my travel wardrobe. I liked Wyoming.

Entering Colorado, we made our way to Rocky Mountain National Park, home of bighorn sheep and 12,000-foot-plus peaks. Spectacular scenery, the highest elevation paved highway in the US, alpine tundra landscape, wildflowers all over - it was a magnificent park to see. We did some hiking, attended Ranger-led nature walks, observed wildlife and enjoyed the beauty of camping in such a special setting.

Leaving the serenity of RMNP, we plunged into the frenetic pace of Denver, another state capital. After so long in the calm of Montana, Wyoming and the Dakotas, it was hard to adjust to the frenzy of a big city. The capitol building was very much like many others, lots of stained glass, beautiful murals and gold leaf everywhere. Maybe it was the chaos of the city and maybe it was that we’ve seen too many of them (capitol buildings) lately, but I was in a hurry to get back on the road and find a quieter setting. Even the tour guides rushed us along and talked fast, like in New York City.

Next stop was Colorado Springs, a little less chaotic than Denver, but quite a lot of suburban sprawl. Several military bases nearby, the impenetrable NORAD headquarters buried deep in Cheyenne Mountain (in the shadow of Pike’s Peak), the Air Force Academy, Garden of the Gods Park (rock formations similar to Sedona AZ). A much more manageable downtown area though, with a lovely little history museum set in the former county courthouse and office building. We had a chuckwagon, cowboy dinner show one evening at the Flying W Ranch, which has been  providing such events for 58 years. It was good entertainment, hearty cowboy food and a fun night out from Mia’s kitchen. The next day we drove to nearby Cripple Creek and Victor (former gold mining towns retaining historic charm), the Royal Gorge near Cañon City and Manitou Springs, near the base of Pike’s Peak. Lots to see in the area near Colorado Springs, including a long time buddy of mine from high school days.

Next we made our way across the Rocky and Sangre de Cristo Mountains to the Black Canyon/Gunnison National Park, which features deep, steep gorges carved by the (formerly) fast-moving Gunnison River, which was dammed and partially diverted through a six-mile irrigation tunnel built in the early 1900’s. It was fascinating to learn about the scope and complexity of the tunnel project; the canyon was sharp, jagged and bold, even more so than the Grand Canyon. A beautiful, serene setting, without the crowds of the larger National Parks. We loved it.

On to New Mexico!       Bye for now…   Bob