Saturday, September 12, 2009
The Final Chapter
For several weeks now, we have noticed the subtle differences in the north woods’ foliage. At first it was just a bundle of red leaves here and there. As we moved on into September the changes have become more and more significant…some yellow here….some maroon there…and finally a maple tree in all its blazing red glory. Now that Labor Day is a memory, the Wandering Walters are following the fall foliage and finally turning toward Virginia…partly because Sarah and Dennis’s new house will be ready for them next week and so 981 Lupton Rd will again be available for us but also because it is just time to come home. We just finished two weeks of exploring the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. We have traveled through Michigan many times but the Upper Peninsula is a completely separate and distinctly different part of the state. My two favorite t-shirts (that I regret not buying now) were “Lake Superior…unsalted!” and “Hooray for Yoopers.” (Yoo for upper, P for peninsula, and –er for one who lives there.) We last left you in Wisconsin following our very pleasant stay at Lake Owen, the campground from Chuck’s childhood and one of the most beautiful of the entire trip. We drove from there into Michigan and followed the shore of Lake Superior all the way to Sault Ste Marie. Lake Superior is so huge…supporting such great trade and transportation…that it was easy to forget that it wasn’t salted! The lake also plays a very important part in the history and development of our county…first the fur trade and then the mining operations. We stayed in state parks and national forest campgrounds some right on the big lake and others on small inland lakes. We had one ferocious rain storm, but the rest of the days were sunny and the nights were pleasantly cool. We ate wonderful white fish and walleye, homemade pasties (Welsh meat pies), delicious breads and cinnamon buns, and great corn on the cob. We visited light houses, ore ship loading harbors, forts, waterfalls, islands, the Pictured Rocks National Seashore, Kitchi-iti kipi ( a very cool natural spring recommended by Esther Miller),the Soo locks, and as the grand finale, Mackinaw Island. We traveled all those miles including the caravan with our dear Airstream friends, Pat and Bob Collins…sharing travel adventures, beautiful sights, wonderful meals, and thousands of laughs and smiles. We went our separate ways a few days ago…they headed for Texas to visit their grandson and we are spending a couple days in one of CWW’s favorite fishing areas in mid Michigan as we lollygag our way back to Woodstock. Traveling together made all our adventures richer and more interesting. Thank you so much, Pat and Bob. So this is the end of this chapter of the Daisy Daily. The next one is still in the planning stages. For all those in the Woodstock area, we will see you soon. And for those far away…we will let you know when we go “on the road again.”
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Where is the world are the Walters this week?
Greetings to all…“From the shores of Gitchigumi, to the shining Big Sea waters”…That’s where we have been for the past week or so. We left Ely in the rear view mirror after a wonderful visit, and headed for “Up North”as they call it here…the Minnesota north shore of Lake Superior…or as Longfellow called it, Gitchigume. We went all the way from Thunder Bay, Ontario to Duluth and then headed east to Wisconsin…as the roving reporter tells you below. As a matter of fact, he was so prolific this week, I think I will just turn it over to him…
It’s morning and today breakfast is special. Sally is fixing birdseed, a new favorite of mine. Not everyone can have birdseed to start the day and some even might say they would not be the least bit interested. That’s OK; you cannot acquire any in the states to my knowledge, so there. Friends on the caravan introduced me. I immediately rushed out and purchased a box of Red River Hot Cereal made by Smucker Foods of Canada. It is cracked wheat, cracked rye, and flax [cracked and whole] and it looks like inexpensive bird seed. Thus my name for the product. It’s a bit like cream of wheat. One bowl and even at my age you can run out and jump a fence on a single bound (well one lying on the ground anyway.) So there is your culinary hint for today.. BIRDSEED. Keep an eye out on your grocery shelf for a new treat.
Ever heard of ON STAR? It’s my new champion. It came with my suburban when I purchased the vehicle and I kept the service as it has a phone that works anywhere, really. Cell phone advertising is junk – more towers in big cities and no American cell phone works in Canada. But On Star works in the middle of nowhere Alaska. That is not all… I was down town Winnnipeg with friends and the car went to reduced power and as I pulled to the curb, the “bus” quit! My dash was lit like a circus midway. Not good. Enter On Star. Push the blue button and the nice woman cheerfully answered and asked if she could help. I explained my predicament and she jumped to action. By satellite she located my location. Next she ran a diagnostic analysis of my car, and then she contacted their staff expert. Next she contacted a nearby GM dealer [there were 13 in the city], on a Saturday afternoon no less, and explained the problem. Finally she told me what to do to attempt to start my car – would you believe wait 20 minutes and try again -- and the directions to the dealer. We had lunch at McDs that happened to be around the corner, and 22 minutes later we started our 6.5 mile trip through downtown traffic to the dealer. It quit 4.5 miles later. Wait awhile. Start again…2.5 miles and I coasted into the bay as it quit. I stepped out and handed the keys to Darrell. He said, “ I wondered if I would see you? Sorry I cannot get you a loaner car—they are closed on weekends, so get your stuff – friends and dog – and I will give you a lift to your Airstream, fix the car and pick you up on Monday.” He did and after paying an amount just short of the price paid to Washington’s baseball new first round draft choice, we were on our way. For those of you who listen to Car Talk, the problem was the accelerator linkage, the stuff that transmits a message from the driver to the engine. When it “breaks” the vehicle quits so you will not go 90 miles an hour down the road and kill someone. ON STAR, my hero!
Ms Daisy always gets an input on travel when we travel. This adventure she requested we visit the headwaters on the Mississippi. She remembers our Lewis and Clark travels and she took me to the head waters on the Missouri. Good friends, the Homichs commemorated that event with a picture of Ms D and I sleeping [a power nap as I recall] adjacent to the spring as it bubbled from the ground, made the pix into a luggage tag which now resides on our suit case. But a trip to the start of third longest river in the world –that would be special. So we did, and it was. Frankly, though, Ms D and I were disappointed. The event is very civilized! It’s now part of Itasca State Park that first started in 1909. The CCC really finished the environs and as always did a great job. The campgrounds and lodges are excellent. The actual headwaters, however, is very busy – seemingly hundreds of people. Kids running around in the water… Trash born of visitor pressure…Information everywhere…and of course the usual gift shop. One cannot even get a decent picture to commemorate the event. Ms D says, give me the Missouri with its grass, sun and tranquility. She did, however, rate the campground as one of the best we have visited.
When you are married to a kindergarten teacher, you learn to sort and classify. Give me a pile of shapes and I can find all similar items. I am really good at colors – red it this pile, blue here and so on. These years of practice have finally paid off. I can now sort my “recreation” socks at a local Laundromat. I never worried about the task before. When they were washed, I put them in a drawer and when needed retrieved two and placed one on each foot. Then daughter Sarah once caught me wearing what she said were two different socks while volunteering in her classroom. Enter sorting and classifying. Thank goodness for all that former training. . First you get Ms D to ID what is a proper boot sock. They are her favorite and no matter where you leave then, she will locate a proper boot sock. After washing and drying, you must place them flat one at a time on a large table, left side up. Count – you must have an even number. Next you must rearrange them into color areas – blue black to the right, gray black in the middle, and brown black to the left. Count again to make sure there are even numbers in each area. And finally you put match pairs by folding the cuffs together. Too much trouble? You did not attend kindergarten? Right. Just do what I do; purchase all the same style and color socks. Problem solved. When you get an odd number, just wait and they will even themselves out.
Canola oil. It’s in your kitchen. Well its in mine. Great stuff. You even wonder where it comes from. Me either. We were driving down a two lane road in nowhere Manitoba and suddenly there was a yellow square. The primary color was intense even wearing sun glasses. It almost hurt you eyes. What’s that I inquired on my CB to fellow caravaners. Canola the voice said. Hummmm. Sally and I saw miles and miles of canola fields…can’t miss them. And if you are lucky they are bordered by a field of flax’s sea blue flowers. Breathtaking! Anyway, I simply could not get from the yellow field to my bottle on the shelf. Later, we stopped to visit a buffalo rancher who said he also grew canola. So I inquired. The yellow flower becomes seed and he showed me some. Each seed is about half the size of a small peppercorn. Squeeze the seed and oil is produced. My fast math said trillions to yield my 32 oz bottle of oil at the house.
Beaver. The kind that ate my cork screw willows. The type with flat tails and big teeth. Homely looking engineers. Turns out his skin makes the best hat imaginable and no man before 1900 would be caught dead outdoor without a hat – a beaver felt hat if he could afford one. Military, shopkeeper, professional or judge. Beaver felt hats. The economics of that fashion statement lead directly to the development of Canada and the American great lakes area. No beaver; no development. Sally and I visited the two hubs that ruled the north woods for over 100 years – almost until they trapped them out. Big business and quite different from our story books. The story I remember was of the movie featuring Jeramah Johnson. Purchase supplies and a Hawkin rifle in Missouri. Canoe to the western mountains. Trap beaver. Return and sell your pelts. Yes, a few did but that is not the real story. Two big companies hired men, voyagers to travel into the interior and trade goods for pelts trapped by native Americans and first nations people. Pots and pans, blankets, muskets, alcohol, beads, flower, needles each had a value in beaver skins. Nine beaver skins for one trade musket. The demand drove thousands of voyagers into the northwoods, northwest to Alaska, west to the pacific, south to the dekotas and north to Hudson Bay. I heard about gold and silver developing the west. And land. And rail roads. But the truth be told, beaver were real beginning. The next time I see a beaver I will pay him the special historical homage he deserves- well all but the one that ate Sally’s cork screw willows.
Nostalgia? I’ve decided it is not wise to tinker with the past. I spend significant time building an idea of what I perceived on a visit. Time shapes it—the visit—until it looks bigger than life, good or bad. It takes some work to hide it from Sally as she is the keeper of truth and measurement. All fish grow with time. The growth is accelerated at first and slows as we do with time. I can clearly remember the 6 pound largemouth bass I caught as a young lad when our family was camping on Lake Owen, Wisconsin. Big fish. Really BIG fish. We went camping on that lake for 10 years starting when I was about 8. Two weeks every August. So as we were traveling through Wisconsin, I saw the sign pointing south to Drummond, and Sally asked it that was where we vacationed? The car just turned and the pages of time flipped back, faster as we drove. I could remember it all, the town, the lake, the forest, the general store, the tent, and the BIG fish. I could see the water tower; we were almost there. Wait, water tower? There wasn’t any water tower in my memory. There was a water pump! Where is the general store? A library. No one would replace a real, old fashion general store that sold penny candy and ice by the cubic foot with a funky new library. When I told the locals I was here 55 years ago and wanted to know where the logging horse barns were, the responding look says, who are you and who cares? Well I am here and it is the right spot on the lake where I camped. I figured it was still extra special as a bald eagle flew over the trailer when we pulled in. I could make out land marks that Mother Nature and man simply cannot remove with the advance of time…a bay, two lakes, and a youth camp. It is Lake Owen…I think. The drive down to Hayward was little better. The giant lumberjack statue was gone. So was the pancake house where you could get 18 inch flap jacks… all you could eat. And that world record muskie long as a row boat? Gone too. Killed by time. All those wonderful memories now in conflict with the reality of today’s visit. I liked what I had here at Lake Owen 60 years ago. Yes, Lake Owen 2009 is special and we really have enjoyed our visit but even the future will not allow it to reach the magnitude of boy hood memories. You cannot turn back time. It is a good idea, I’ve decided, at my age, to pick and chose those bits of nostalgia I want to keep separate from the wonders of the present.
It’s morning and today breakfast is special. Sally is fixing birdseed, a new favorite of mine. Not everyone can have birdseed to start the day and some even might say they would not be the least bit interested. That’s OK; you cannot acquire any in the states to my knowledge, so there. Friends on the caravan introduced me. I immediately rushed out and purchased a box of Red River Hot Cereal made by Smucker Foods of Canada. It is cracked wheat, cracked rye, and flax [cracked and whole] and it looks like inexpensive bird seed. Thus my name for the product. It’s a bit like cream of wheat. One bowl and even at my age you can run out and jump a fence on a single bound (well one lying on the ground anyway.) So there is your culinary hint for today.. BIRDSEED. Keep an eye out on your grocery shelf for a new treat.
Ever heard of ON STAR? It’s my new champion. It came with my suburban when I purchased the vehicle and I kept the service as it has a phone that works anywhere, really. Cell phone advertising is junk – more towers in big cities and no American cell phone works in Canada. But On Star works in the middle of nowhere Alaska. That is not all… I was down town Winnnipeg with friends and the car went to reduced power and as I pulled to the curb, the “bus” quit! My dash was lit like a circus midway. Not good. Enter On Star. Push the blue button and the nice woman cheerfully answered and asked if she could help. I explained my predicament and she jumped to action. By satellite she located my location. Next she ran a diagnostic analysis of my car, and then she contacted their staff expert. Next she contacted a nearby GM dealer [there were 13 in the city], on a Saturday afternoon no less, and explained the problem. Finally she told me what to do to attempt to start my car – would you believe wait 20 minutes and try again -- and the directions to the dealer. We had lunch at McDs that happened to be around the corner, and 22 minutes later we started our 6.5 mile trip through downtown traffic to the dealer. It quit 4.5 miles later. Wait awhile. Start again…2.5 miles and I coasted into the bay as it quit. I stepped out and handed the keys to Darrell. He said, “ I wondered if I would see you? Sorry I cannot get you a loaner car—they are closed on weekends, so get your stuff – friends and dog – and I will give you a lift to your Airstream, fix the car and pick you up on Monday.” He did and after paying an amount just short of the price paid to Washington’s baseball new first round draft choice, we were on our way. For those of you who listen to Car Talk, the problem was the accelerator linkage, the stuff that transmits a message from the driver to the engine. When it “breaks” the vehicle quits so you will not go 90 miles an hour down the road and kill someone. ON STAR, my hero!
Ms Daisy always gets an input on travel when we travel. This adventure she requested we visit the headwaters on the Mississippi. She remembers our Lewis and Clark travels and she took me to the head waters on the Missouri. Good friends, the Homichs commemorated that event with a picture of Ms D and I sleeping [a power nap as I recall] adjacent to the spring as it bubbled from the ground, made the pix into a luggage tag which now resides on our suit case. But a trip to the start of third longest river in the world –that would be special. So we did, and it was. Frankly, though, Ms D and I were disappointed. The event is very civilized! It’s now part of Itasca State Park that first started in 1909. The CCC really finished the environs and as always did a great job. The campgrounds and lodges are excellent. The actual headwaters, however, is very busy – seemingly hundreds of people. Kids running around in the water… Trash born of visitor pressure…Information everywhere…and of course the usual gift shop. One cannot even get a decent picture to commemorate the event. Ms D says, give me the Missouri with its grass, sun and tranquility. She did, however, rate the campground as one of the best we have visited.
When you are married to a kindergarten teacher, you learn to sort and classify. Give me a pile of shapes and I can find all similar items. I am really good at colors – red it this pile, blue here and so on. These years of practice have finally paid off. I can now sort my “recreation” socks at a local Laundromat. I never worried about the task before. When they were washed, I put them in a drawer and when needed retrieved two and placed one on each foot. Then daughter Sarah once caught me wearing what she said were two different socks while volunteering in her classroom. Enter sorting and classifying. Thank goodness for all that former training. . First you get Ms D to ID what is a proper boot sock. They are her favorite and no matter where you leave then, she will locate a proper boot sock. After washing and drying, you must place them flat one at a time on a large table, left side up. Count – you must have an even number. Next you must rearrange them into color areas – blue black to the right, gray black in the middle, and brown black to the left. Count again to make sure there are even numbers in each area. And finally you put match pairs by folding the cuffs together. Too much trouble? You did not attend kindergarten? Right. Just do what I do; purchase all the same style and color socks. Problem solved. When you get an odd number, just wait and they will even themselves out.
Canola oil. It’s in your kitchen. Well its in mine. Great stuff. You even wonder where it comes from. Me either. We were driving down a two lane road in nowhere Manitoba and suddenly there was a yellow square. The primary color was intense even wearing sun glasses. It almost hurt you eyes. What’s that I inquired on my CB to fellow caravaners. Canola the voice said. Hummmm. Sally and I saw miles and miles of canola fields…can’t miss them. And if you are lucky they are bordered by a field of flax’s sea blue flowers. Breathtaking! Anyway, I simply could not get from the yellow field to my bottle on the shelf. Later, we stopped to visit a buffalo rancher who said he also grew canola. So I inquired. The yellow flower becomes seed and he showed me some. Each seed is about half the size of a small peppercorn. Squeeze the seed and oil is produced. My fast math said trillions to yield my 32 oz bottle of oil at the house.
Beaver. The kind that ate my cork screw willows. The type with flat tails and big teeth. Homely looking engineers. Turns out his skin makes the best hat imaginable and no man before 1900 would be caught dead outdoor without a hat – a beaver felt hat if he could afford one. Military, shopkeeper, professional or judge. Beaver felt hats. The economics of that fashion statement lead directly to the development of Canada and the American great lakes area. No beaver; no development. Sally and I visited the two hubs that ruled the north woods for over 100 years – almost until they trapped them out. Big business and quite different from our story books. The story I remember was of the movie featuring Jeramah Johnson. Purchase supplies and a Hawkin rifle in Missouri. Canoe to the western mountains. Trap beaver. Return and sell your pelts. Yes, a few did but that is not the real story. Two big companies hired men, voyagers to travel into the interior and trade goods for pelts trapped by native Americans and first nations people. Pots and pans, blankets, muskets, alcohol, beads, flower, needles each had a value in beaver skins. Nine beaver skins for one trade musket. The demand drove thousands of voyagers into the northwoods, northwest to Alaska, west to the pacific, south to the dekotas and north to Hudson Bay. I heard about gold and silver developing the west. And land. And rail roads. But the truth be told, beaver were real beginning. The next time I see a beaver I will pay him the special historical homage he deserves- well all but the one that ate Sally’s cork screw willows.
Nostalgia? I’ve decided it is not wise to tinker with the past. I spend significant time building an idea of what I perceived on a visit. Time shapes it—the visit—until it looks bigger than life, good or bad. It takes some work to hide it from Sally as she is the keeper of truth and measurement. All fish grow with time. The growth is accelerated at first and slows as we do with time. I can clearly remember the 6 pound largemouth bass I caught as a young lad when our family was camping on Lake Owen, Wisconsin. Big fish. Really BIG fish. We went camping on that lake for 10 years starting when I was about 8. Two weeks every August. So as we were traveling through Wisconsin, I saw the sign pointing south to Drummond, and Sally asked it that was where we vacationed? The car just turned and the pages of time flipped back, faster as we drove. I could remember it all, the town, the lake, the forest, the general store, the tent, and the BIG fish. I could see the water tower; we were almost there. Wait, water tower? There wasn’t any water tower in my memory. There was a water pump! Where is the general store? A library. No one would replace a real, old fashion general store that sold penny candy and ice by the cubic foot with a funky new library. When I told the locals I was here 55 years ago and wanted to know where the logging horse barns were, the responding look says, who are you and who cares? Well I am here and it is the right spot on the lake where I camped. I figured it was still extra special as a bald eagle flew over the trailer when we pulled in. I could make out land marks that Mother Nature and man simply cannot remove with the advance of time…a bay, two lakes, and a youth camp. It is Lake Owen…I think. The drive down to Hayward was little better. The giant lumberjack statue was gone. So was the pancake house where you could get 18 inch flap jacks… all you could eat. And that world record muskie long as a row boat? Gone too. Killed by time. All those wonderful memories now in conflict with the reality of today’s visit. I liked what I had here at Lake Owen 60 years ago. Yes, Lake Owen 2009 is special and we really have enjoyed our visit but even the future will not allow it to reach the magnitude of boy hood memories. You cannot turn back time. It is a good idea, I’ve decided, at my age, to pick and chose those bits of nostalgia I want to keep separate from the wonders of the present.
Friday, August 14, 2009
God Bless America!
Oh, it is good to be back in the good old USA! We spent our last four days in Canada outside Winnipeg…a very big city and completely different than anything else we had seen in Manitoba. The enclosed article was written for the caravan journal and tells the story of one of those days…
Friday, August 7, 2009
As the song says, “The days dwindle down to a precious few.” The caravan clock was ticking –faster and faster -- on this next to the last day. So quickly, here are some highlights:
-Gray and rainy…two Airstream groups – Caravan & Rally - in the parking lot trying to get organized. Go to channel 20!
-Wow, that Canadian mint building; spectacular. The tour was interesting and informative. We will add that to our other Caravan College Credit hours. The gift shop wasn’t bad either! Who knew a bar of gold was so heavy?
-Our memories of big city traffic come back quickly as we found our way to COSTCO through construction zones. Workers leaning on shovels just like at home.
-Still raining, but the Ohio gang came through with their special Cleveland Coney Dog lunch… with ice cream…to go. Yummy . Thanks guys.
-Free afternoon…still raining…nap, dog walking, trailer maintenance, and trip planning
-Alert! John Turner announces that our evening destination takes a 45 minute drive! Hurry…collect Pat and Bob Collins into the back. Race with Winnipeg rush hour traffic. Again we are reminded why we retired to a small rural community. CBs blaze directions. We make it to the Canad Inn bus stop with three other caravan cars just in time. Result: headaches and frazzled nerves. Once aboard the VIP World Tour bus #16 we count 13 fellow caravaners and we leave the driving to Albert, the bus driver, and the worrying to Mike, the Tour Guide. Folklorama here we come!
-First stop…Russia Pavilion…reserved seats…small plate of delicious appetizers…“wodka” or beer. The first sip of vodka reminds me of the alcohol we tasted at the ethanol plant! Several caravaners bought chocolate. Chocolate and vodka? Not too bad. On with the show…pretty costumes…lots of color…cute little girls…grand finale parade around the room. Back on the bus…
-Second stop…Korean Pavilion…greeted on the bus by costumed ambassadors…seated and served by eager young people…the meal included barbecued beef and chicken, Korean dumplings and kimshee, and of course rice…wine or saki …and the show was on. This production was much more polished and ethnically interesting…an intricate dance with fans (we should invite them to the final banquet!), an amazing drum dance which required great dexterity and flexibility, cute youngsters in a puppet dance, and a wonderful display of Taekwondo…skilled young people demonstrating all aspects of the ancient art. We were all impressed with the variety and quality of the entire show. Back on the bus…
-Third stop…Mexican Pavilion…again greeted by an young ambassador and ushered into a hockey rink where we were given stage side seats…much larger venue…colorfully decorated…yummy flan for desert…interesting displays and market with Mexican art and craft items for sale…on with the show. A troop of young dancers from Ontario provided a colorful and enthusiastic selection of Mexican dances…a songstress serenaded us with a love song, and, of course, enchanting little senoritas did their dance too. The finale was a rhythmic and lively rendition of a carnival celebration. Back on the bus… Is it possible our friends who went on tour #17 enjoyed the evening as much?
-Travel back to the campground much easier…midnight…not much traffic. Walk Ms Daisy. Campground dark. Good night friends. One more day!
The next day, Saturday, was a whole different story. We were headed downtown Winnipeg for some sightseeing when the Suburban suddenly lost power. The computer shut us down. Thanks to OnStar and a customer friendly local GM dealer we got it fixed by Monday noon. Our friends, Bob and Pat Collins offered their motor home as transportation on Sunday. So we all loaded up, went to a very friendly Presbyterian Church, picnicked for lunch, and visited a nearby reconstructed Hudson Bay Company community in the afternoon. The Lower Fort Garry community was very interesting with costumed interpreters and lots of hands on activities.
Monday we were relieved to get back our repaired vehicle and be on the road back home. We again had a problem free border crossing (Hooray!)and then drove south down the border of North Dakota and Minnesota. Phones are working again! We first camped in central Minnesota at Itasca State Park…the headwaters of the Mississippi River. After visiting Bemidji, the home of Paul Bunyan and Babe, his blue ox, we headed to Ely for a few days of camping on the lake and visiting with Steve and Steph Albers and Jolene and Don McGrogan who just happened to be at the Albers island cabin for the week-end.. We were delighted to be able to visit one of our favorite areas and some of favorite people at the same time. It is a beautiful place full of memories of past visits. In a couple of days we will continue our adventure at a nice leisurely pace as we wander across the northern Midwest eventually toward Virginia.
Daisy had an upset stomach (all over the back of the suburban) last night. We took her to the vet this morning where we got medication. She seems to be doing better this evening. Chuck and I, on the other hand are both fine and still having a great time. We would love to hear what you are doing this summer. Please let us hear from you.
Sorry…no roving report this week…he’s too busy preparing to fish tomorrow.
Friday, August 7, 2009
As the song says, “The days dwindle down to a precious few.” The caravan clock was ticking –faster and faster -- on this next to the last day. So quickly, here are some highlights:
-Gray and rainy…two Airstream groups – Caravan & Rally - in the parking lot trying to get organized. Go to channel 20!
-Wow, that Canadian mint building; spectacular. The tour was interesting and informative. We will add that to our other Caravan College Credit hours. The gift shop wasn’t bad either! Who knew a bar of gold was so heavy?
-Our memories of big city traffic come back quickly as we found our way to COSTCO through construction zones. Workers leaning on shovels just like at home.
-Still raining, but the Ohio gang came through with their special Cleveland Coney Dog lunch… with ice cream…to go. Yummy . Thanks guys.
-Free afternoon…still raining…nap, dog walking, trailer maintenance, and trip planning
-Alert! John Turner announces that our evening destination takes a 45 minute drive! Hurry…collect Pat and Bob Collins into the back. Race with Winnipeg rush hour traffic. Again we are reminded why we retired to a small rural community. CBs blaze directions. We make it to the Canad Inn bus stop with three other caravan cars just in time. Result: headaches and frazzled nerves. Once aboard the VIP World Tour bus #16 we count 13 fellow caravaners and we leave the driving to Albert, the bus driver, and the worrying to Mike, the Tour Guide. Folklorama here we come!
-First stop…Russia Pavilion…reserved seats…small plate of delicious appetizers…“wodka” or beer. The first sip of vodka reminds me of the alcohol we tasted at the ethanol plant! Several caravaners bought chocolate. Chocolate and vodka? Not too bad. On with the show…pretty costumes…lots of color…cute little girls…grand finale parade around the room. Back on the bus…
-Second stop…Korean Pavilion…greeted on the bus by costumed ambassadors…seated and served by eager young people…the meal included barbecued beef and chicken, Korean dumplings and kimshee, and of course rice…wine or saki …and the show was on. This production was much more polished and ethnically interesting…an intricate dance with fans (we should invite them to the final banquet!), an amazing drum dance which required great dexterity and flexibility, cute youngsters in a puppet dance, and a wonderful display of Taekwondo…skilled young people demonstrating all aspects of the ancient art. We were all impressed with the variety and quality of the entire show. Back on the bus…
-Third stop…Mexican Pavilion…again greeted by an young ambassador and ushered into a hockey rink where we were given stage side seats…much larger venue…colorfully decorated…yummy flan for desert…interesting displays and market with Mexican art and craft items for sale…on with the show. A troop of young dancers from Ontario provided a colorful and enthusiastic selection of Mexican dances…a songstress serenaded us with a love song, and, of course, enchanting little senoritas did their dance too. The finale was a rhythmic and lively rendition of a carnival celebration. Back on the bus… Is it possible our friends who went on tour #17 enjoyed the evening as much?
-Travel back to the campground much easier…midnight…not much traffic. Walk Ms Daisy. Campground dark. Good night friends. One more day!
The next day, Saturday, was a whole different story. We were headed downtown Winnipeg for some sightseeing when the Suburban suddenly lost power. The computer shut us down. Thanks to OnStar and a customer friendly local GM dealer we got it fixed by Monday noon. Our friends, Bob and Pat Collins offered their motor home as transportation on Sunday. So we all loaded up, went to a very friendly Presbyterian Church, picnicked for lunch, and visited a nearby reconstructed Hudson Bay Company community in the afternoon. The Lower Fort Garry community was very interesting with costumed interpreters and lots of hands on activities.
Monday we were relieved to get back our repaired vehicle and be on the road back home. We again had a problem free border crossing (Hooray!)and then drove south down the border of North Dakota and Minnesota. Phones are working again! We first camped in central Minnesota at Itasca State Park…the headwaters of the Mississippi River. After visiting Bemidji, the home of Paul Bunyan and Babe, his blue ox, we headed to Ely for a few days of camping on the lake and visiting with Steve and Steph Albers and Jolene and Don McGrogan who just happened to be at the Albers island cabin for the week-end.. We were delighted to be able to visit one of our favorite areas and some of favorite people at the same time. It is a beautiful place full of memories of past visits. In a couple of days we will continue our adventure at a nice leisurely pace as we wander across the northern Midwest eventually toward Virginia.
Daisy had an upset stomach (all over the back of the suburban) last night. We took her to the vet this morning where we got medication. She seems to be doing better this evening. Chuck and I, on the other hand are both fine and still having a great time. We would love to hear what you are doing this summer. Please let us hear from you.
Sorry…no roving report this week…he’s too busy preparing to fish tomorrow.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
The Most Northern Post
As Dr. Seuss would say…”Oh, the places you can go!” And this week we definitely went to one of those! Last week we left you in Flin Flon. We then drove, (yes, you guessed it) north yet again. The drive was longer than our usual trip and visually quite boring. We were happy to arrive in Thompson, “The Hub of the North.” We haven’t seen much of Thompson yet because we were immediately involved with packing and preparing for the trip to our ultimate goal, Churchill. Daisy was delivered that evening to a pet hotel with all the other caravan pets (7 dogs and 2 cats). We locked up our Airstreams and took a one hour charter flight the next morning, landing in a true arctic community. You must get out a map to see where we spent the last five days. Churchill is located on the 59th parallel on the south east coast of Hudson Bay at the mouth of the Churchill River. There are NO roads to Churchill which, by the way, is pronounced “Church-il” by the citizens. We stayed in the “Tundra Inn,” similar to an average US hotel and, of course, had to eat all our meals at the few restaurants available. We were scheduled and toured by two different tourist services and did just about everything one could possibly do there. We toured the town and area in two buses driven by two local characters including a lecture in the oldest prefab church in North America on the 350 year history of the area. We also explored the surrounding tundra in huge wheeled vehicles built on a fire truck chassis called Tundra Buggies…observing the polar bears, caribou, and Tundra Swans. We rode a jet boat and a Zodiac craft to view the Beluga whales and visit a 17th century French fort. In between we enjoyed the hospitality of the community in their museum, shops, and restaurants. We returned 4 days later by train (our first southern trip)…an overnight “experience” through the isolated tundra and forests from which we are still recovering.
Now the caravan trip is drawing down. We are spending a few days recovering in Thompson and then will head SOUTH to Winnipeg for the last few nights…a different kind of adventure. Then it will be back to the USA.
I must warn that the Roving Reporter uses a bit of exaggeration in his report this week…
I was off to the visit a Canadian doctor. My view of the world had turned green and I could not shake it. I tried all the normal remedies, aspirin, ibuprofen and the like, but nothing seemed to help. One’s world should not appear green and for that matter a bit fuzzy all the time. Just in the nick of time, Ms Daisy pointed out my affliction: my bug net hat. Up North you MUST always wear such a device or suffer clouds of mosquitoes. Some are tiny, about fly fishing size 24, and move at the speed of heat. They are 95% tooth and 5% body. The injection produces a yelp from the victim. At the other extreme, there are the slow movers about the size of an eagle. One bite and you need a transfusion. Neither, however, is in the class of the Canadian Black Fly. One chomp and you receive a welt the size of a Canadian loonie {$1.00 coin}. They swell up and itch and hurt and itch and hurt. So one wears their green mesh hat…always. Yes, one even wears the bonnet as a night cap. Yes, in the shower. Don’t go without it…ever! The eating thing is a bit of a challenge, but in another day of so practice… After a while your world is simply green and you forget about the hat. You believe you are Kermit. Next is the buzzzzz.
Churchill. I spent 15 hours on a swaying train traveling up to 16 MPH thinking about how to explain Churchill, Manitoba. First let me explain there are no roads to Churchill. Thompson is the last civilized stop and only a gravel one lane extends another 100 miles north to a collection of “homes” for workers who are building a power dam. No trails, not even for trappers, go beyond. So one flies or goes by train to Churchill. We experienced both. The town is the only such community on earth. Really! The area is a polar bear refuge in which the humans are the guests. It’s a living zoo where the humans live as a guest; no formal iron cages but you realize quickly to pay attention. The town and the provincial government hire guards to encourage the bears to avoid town. We were briefed on the four point program instituted to those who live in the zoo. Wise folks do not ever wander the country side on foot. In town, we were told, there are no locked doors, and if you are worried about bears, you are free to enter at any time. The town siren sounds when a bear strays into Churchill and daily there is an evening curfew. A 10 pm sharp siren warns that you must get off the streets till 0600. There is even a bear prison for bears who are slow learners. In the winter, they catch those who approach the city, incarcerate them in a black box [no food only water] and then give them a free chopper ride to the hinterlands. I know this living as the exhibit in bear country is a bit stark, but the rewards are special. By good fortune we happened to arrive as the ice cap on Hudson Bay was breaking up, and so the bears were swimming ashore. [] Moms and cubs head inland. Papa bears migrate down the shore line. In short all are hanging around till the ice forms again. This unique timing allowed us to see perhaps a dozen of these magnificent creatures. Our special treat was a Zodiak ride to a fort. While there, the bear guard spotted a mom with her cub resting. So on the return trip, we motored by and she allowed us to approach within 10 yards! Never would happen on land. I did note one black beady eye follow us as we slowly moved past. Next time I am at the zoo I am going to talk with the polar bear in the cage and share our experiences. I wonder what he thinks of us humans as he looks out of his protected environment. Our look out of the cage at him was sure memorable.
I asked one of the locals about the weather. Does it get cold here – in Churchill? I wanted a description. I knew it was routinely 40 degrees below but no feeling is attached to that number. How cold is cold? That request solicited several comments. First, I was told after it gets 25 below, it does not make any difference, cold is cold. One dons your parka in October and removes it when the first mosquito is spotted. The top response to “How cold does it get?” occurred last Christmas: Temp dropped to 45 below with 145 winds gusting to 165. Nothing moved. They heat with propane because of the cold but you must have electricity to ignite the gas. The town’s only electrician received an SOS. Citizens got a D-9 cat to pick him up and drive him to town so he could keep the electricity working house by house. The province of Manitoba declared him THE HERO who saved the village. City fathers know cold and plan for the harsh winters. Their facilities – hospital, school, playground/park, ice and curling rinks, cafeteria, movie theater, library, and shops are all located inside one enclosed facility. We visited it and it was quiet and empty, but we could imagine how it would buzz with activity during the winter. What a smart idea.
Sign of the week. Parking for sled dog’s only. Violators will be peed on.
Now the caravan trip is drawing down. We are spending a few days recovering in Thompson and then will head SOUTH to Winnipeg for the last few nights…a different kind of adventure. Then it will be back to the USA.
I must warn that the Roving Reporter uses a bit of exaggeration in his report this week…
I was off to the visit a Canadian doctor. My view of the world had turned green and I could not shake it. I tried all the normal remedies, aspirin, ibuprofen and the like, but nothing seemed to help. One’s world should not appear green and for that matter a bit fuzzy all the time. Just in the nick of time, Ms Daisy pointed out my affliction: my bug net hat. Up North you MUST always wear such a device or suffer clouds of mosquitoes. Some are tiny, about fly fishing size 24, and move at the speed of heat. They are 95% tooth and 5% body. The injection produces a yelp from the victim. At the other extreme, there are the slow movers about the size of an eagle. One bite and you need a transfusion. Neither, however, is in the class of the Canadian Black Fly. One chomp and you receive a welt the size of a Canadian loonie {$1.00 coin}. They swell up and itch and hurt and itch and hurt. So one wears their green mesh hat…always. Yes, one even wears the bonnet as a night cap. Yes, in the shower. Don’t go without it…ever! The eating thing is a bit of a challenge, but in another day of so practice… After a while your world is simply green and you forget about the hat. You believe you are Kermit. Next is the buzzzzz.
Churchill. I spent 15 hours on a swaying train traveling up to 16 MPH thinking about how to explain Churchill, Manitoba. First let me explain there are no roads to Churchill. Thompson is the last civilized stop and only a gravel one lane extends another 100 miles north to a collection of “homes” for workers who are building a power dam. No trails, not even for trappers, go beyond. So one flies or goes by train to Churchill. We experienced both. The town is the only such community on earth. Really! The area is a polar bear refuge in which the humans are the guests. It’s a living zoo where the humans live as a guest; no formal iron cages but you realize quickly to pay attention. The town and the provincial government hire guards to encourage the bears to avoid town. We were briefed on the four point program instituted to those who live in the zoo. Wise folks do not ever wander the country side on foot. In town, we were told, there are no locked doors, and if you are worried about bears, you are free to enter at any time. The town siren sounds when a bear strays into Churchill and daily there is an evening curfew. A 10 pm sharp siren warns that you must get off the streets till 0600. There is even a bear prison for bears who are slow learners. In the winter, they catch those who approach the city, incarcerate them in a black box [no food only water] and then give them a free chopper ride to the hinterlands. I know this living as the exhibit in bear country is a bit stark, but the rewards are special. By good fortune we happened to arrive as the ice cap on Hudson Bay was breaking up, and so the bears were swimming ashore. [] Moms and cubs head inland. Papa bears migrate down the shore line. In short all are hanging around till the ice forms again. This unique timing allowed us to see perhaps a dozen of these magnificent creatures. Our special treat was a Zodiak ride to a fort. While there, the bear guard spotted a mom with her cub resting. So on the return trip, we motored by and she allowed us to approach within 10 yards! Never would happen on land. I did note one black beady eye follow us as we slowly moved past. Next time I am at the zoo I am going to talk with the polar bear in the cage and share our experiences. I wonder what he thinks of us humans as he looks out of his protected environment. Our look out of the cage at him was sure memorable.
I asked one of the locals about the weather. Does it get cold here – in Churchill? I wanted a description. I knew it was routinely 40 degrees below but no feeling is attached to that number. How cold is cold? That request solicited several comments. First, I was told after it gets 25 below, it does not make any difference, cold is cold. One dons your parka in October and removes it when the first mosquito is spotted. The top response to “How cold does it get?” occurred last Christmas: Temp dropped to 45 below with 145 winds gusting to 165. Nothing moved. They heat with propane because of the cold but you must have electricity to ignite the gas. The town’s only electrician received an SOS. Citizens got a D-9 cat to pick him up and drive him to town so he could keep the electricity working house by house. The province of Manitoba declared him THE HERO who saved the village. City fathers know cold and plan for the harsh winters. Their facilities – hospital, school, playground/park, ice and curling rinks, cafeteria, movie theater, library, and shops are all located inside one enclosed facility. We visited it and it was quiet and empty, but we could imagine how it would buzz with activity during the winter. What a smart idea.
Sign of the week. Parking for sled dog’s only. Violators will be peed on.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Still Farther North!
Greetings! We have continued our travels past the 54th parallel. Look on a map and you will see how far north we have come. We have visited four small Manitoban communities, each one a little farther north…Dauphin, Swan River, The Pas, and Flin Flon (don’t you love that name?) We enjoyed their people, their food, and their industries. We are, however, in a bit of a time warp. The phones and broadband card are not available. Wifi is becoming more difficult to find. We have resumed our trips to the local libraries to check email and pay bills etc. The weather has been quite nice. Usually it is sunny around 70 degrees in the daytime and in the upper 50’s at night. There have been some thunder storms, but nothing that sticks around very long. Yes, the bugs are bad, but with the right clothes and insect repellant you survive. The flowers remind me of Alaska. Each community decorates their town with lots of colorful hanging baskets and curbside gardens. Their season isn’t long but with the extra daylight the flowers thrive. As I type right now, it is a little after 10:00 p.m. and dusk has just fallen. It just doesn’t seem quite right to go to bed when it is still light, but we are so busy that we rarely have trouble falling asleep. The climax of our trip is coming up this week when we fly to Churchill, Manitoba which is located on the Hudson Bay…hopefully to see beluga whales and just perhaps a polar bear or two. Tune in next week to hear all about it.
And now from your Roving Reporter (who in my mind repeats himself a bit, but oh well!)….
This caravan is quite different from our two past experiences. First, the people. We are a small group of experienced caravaners. This is our third, and we are relative newcomers. Several, including our leader, have been on more than a dozen caravans throughout North America. Thus everyone understands how this travel experience works and pitches in to make the trip a memorable experience. Age averages from late 60s through mid 70s. All were professionals in their former life. Two are full time travelers and several others might as well be given the number of days they camp each year. Eight Airstream motor coaches [a large number for this type of experience]; the balance are trailers like ours. The tin cans run from 25 feet to 34 feet – we at 28 are among the smallest. For the novice, that means home is 280 square feet. The group is small, 21 couples, and that means we all know and enjoy each other’s company now. Our wardrobe is limited but no one comments when it’s the third time they have seen my fishing shirt. You would be surprise how few clothes you really need. Wear it, wash it and wear it. I smiled when one of our new friends told Sally that she burned her few caravan clothes when she returned home. But I digress from the main point. This is a tight group. Many of us know other couples from past trips, so this caravan is a bit like a family reunion and in this case a reunion without black sheep. No grouches…no sea anchors… It make a great time terrific.
The second difference is equally profound. Its 180 degrees out. In the past we traveled most days. It was up early, pile in the car and travel most of the day. As we drove down the road we found lots to see and scenery to absorb. On arrival we ate dinner, had a drivers meeting and hit the feathers. Up and repeat the process. Not this trip. Most days we leave at a respectable hour and drive a short distance. We only go around 50 miles/hour. The scenery is stark, a beauty all of its own, but a little goes a long way. Brilliant canola yellow and blue flax fields at first a joy quickly tire. A boreal forest is made up of green trees.. Lots of green trees. Hundreds of thousands of hecters of green. Wild life only live in the national forest. No I cannot explain that observation, but with the exception of a pelican and a hand full of loons, that has been accurate. So we are lazy travelers who drive very short distances. Once we arrive, we flop for two or three days. Each day we visit all manner of local people doing their thing. I attended Cree language class, watched fire engines built, learned about a 28 family community whose foundation is socialism, made and tasted 198 proof ethanol, and harvested and cut a million board of lumber all in less than 10 days. People up here are wonderful and like all they take great pride in telling you about their life and work they love. They are young and life is harsh – the mean high in Jan is 1 degree F. People my age from Manitoba visit Florida. After a visit – remember fish, relatives and Airstream smell after three days – we move on down the road 3 or 4 hours.
Sign of the week. I had a real winner, but Sally and the city fathers would not allow me to publish the text. The message appeared outside of a local watering hole and was intended to draw a crowd for a certain kind of contest. And a crowd it drew if nothing else to check out the text. It lasted only a few hours Saturday evening before it was replaced. So, this week you get the second place winner. “NEW AND IMPROVED … GOVERNMENT APPROVED … BLACK DIRT … ON SALE.
Hurray. I believe I found a free lunch. Sarah, I apologize for all those time I told you that there was no such thing. For in fact it just might be possible to get something for nothing. It works like this. We arrived in The Pas and camped in the parking lot of a First Nation reservation Casino [no electricity, water or sewer. No campground in town and no parking lot large enough to accommodate 21 recreation vehicles.] They welcomed us and said if we would stop in we would receive credit to pay the slot machines. No free lunch I thought but it was worth a check. The lady explained we received $5 credit on a credit card. In addition it was senior’s nite so we earned an additional $10, $15 total. All you had to do was to insert $5. No free lunch, right. She assured me I could cash out any time and get my $5 back. What the heck, it’s only $5 and they had penny machines. I followed the directions and sure enough the machine told me I had five cash and 15 credit. One pull… five cash and 14.99 credit. No winner. Four more pulls. Five cash and 14.95 credit. So far so good. Pull six…bingo! A winner…Cash 5.01 and 14.95 credit. Hummm. Winnings went to cash and losses were withdrawn from credit. This was something I could learn to like. On to the two cent machine. Two hours later, credit equaled zero. But, but get this: cash was 26.43! I stopped. Maybe there is a free lunch in very unusual cases.
(P.S. I didn’t do as well, but did come home with $5.00 extra!)
And now from your Roving Reporter (who in my mind repeats himself a bit, but oh well!)….
This caravan is quite different from our two past experiences. First, the people. We are a small group of experienced caravaners. This is our third, and we are relative newcomers. Several, including our leader, have been on more than a dozen caravans throughout North America. Thus everyone understands how this travel experience works and pitches in to make the trip a memorable experience. Age averages from late 60s through mid 70s. All were professionals in their former life. Two are full time travelers and several others might as well be given the number of days they camp each year. Eight Airstream motor coaches [a large number for this type of experience]; the balance are trailers like ours. The tin cans run from 25 feet to 34 feet – we at 28 are among the smallest. For the novice, that means home is 280 square feet. The group is small, 21 couples, and that means we all know and enjoy each other’s company now. Our wardrobe is limited but no one comments when it’s the third time they have seen my fishing shirt. You would be surprise how few clothes you really need. Wear it, wash it and wear it. I smiled when one of our new friends told Sally that she burned her few caravan clothes when she returned home. But I digress from the main point. This is a tight group. Many of us know other couples from past trips, so this caravan is a bit like a family reunion and in this case a reunion without black sheep. No grouches…no sea anchors… It make a great time terrific.
The second difference is equally profound. Its 180 degrees out. In the past we traveled most days. It was up early, pile in the car and travel most of the day. As we drove down the road we found lots to see and scenery to absorb. On arrival we ate dinner, had a drivers meeting and hit the feathers. Up and repeat the process. Not this trip. Most days we leave at a respectable hour and drive a short distance. We only go around 50 miles/hour. The scenery is stark, a beauty all of its own, but a little goes a long way. Brilliant canola yellow and blue flax fields at first a joy quickly tire. A boreal forest is made up of green trees.. Lots of green trees. Hundreds of thousands of hecters of green. Wild life only live in the national forest. No I cannot explain that observation, but with the exception of a pelican and a hand full of loons, that has been accurate. So we are lazy travelers who drive very short distances. Once we arrive, we flop for two or three days. Each day we visit all manner of local people doing their thing. I attended Cree language class, watched fire engines built, learned about a 28 family community whose foundation is socialism, made and tasted 198 proof ethanol, and harvested and cut a million board of lumber all in less than 10 days. People up here are wonderful and like all they take great pride in telling you about their life and work they love. They are young and life is harsh – the mean high in Jan is 1 degree F. People my age from Manitoba visit Florida. After a visit – remember fish, relatives and Airstream smell after three days – we move on down the road 3 or 4 hours.
Sign of the week. I had a real winner, but Sally and the city fathers would not allow me to publish the text. The message appeared outside of a local watering hole and was intended to draw a crowd for a certain kind of contest. And a crowd it drew if nothing else to check out the text. It lasted only a few hours Saturday evening before it was replaced. So, this week you get the second place winner. “NEW AND IMPROVED … GOVERNMENT APPROVED … BLACK DIRT … ON SALE.
Hurray. I believe I found a free lunch. Sarah, I apologize for all those time I told you that there was no such thing. For in fact it just might be possible to get something for nothing. It works like this. We arrived in The Pas and camped in the parking lot of a First Nation reservation Casino [no electricity, water or sewer. No campground in town and no parking lot large enough to accommodate 21 recreation vehicles.] They welcomed us and said if we would stop in we would receive credit to pay the slot machines. No free lunch I thought but it was worth a check. The lady explained we received $5 credit on a credit card. In addition it was senior’s nite so we earned an additional $10, $15 total. All you had to do was to insert $5. No free lunch, right. She assured me I could cash out any time and get my $5 back. What the heck, it’s only $5 and they had penny machines. I followed the directions and sure enough the machine told me I had five cash and 15 credit. One pull… five cash and 14.99 credit. No winner. Four more pulls. Five cash and 14.95 credit. So far so good. Pull six…bingo! A winner…Cash 5.01 and 14.95 credit. Hummm. Winnings went to cash and losses were withdrawn from credit. This was something I could learn to like. On to the two cent machine. Two hours later, credit equaled zero. But, but get this: cash was 26.43! I stopped. Maybe there is a free lunch in very unusual cases.
(P.S. I didn’t do as well, but did come home with $5.00 extra!)
Monday, July 20, 2009
Greetings from Canada
Since I last wrote, we have crossed the border into our neighboring country. The crossing was quick, no waiting, and very few questions. The guard did mention that we might want to sign our new passports! We will spend the rest of the caravan in Manitoba, Canada. For a geography lesson, Manitoba is the province located directly north of Minnesota and North Dakota and stretches way up to the Hudson Bay. We have visited two communities so far…Dauphin and Swan River. The RR will tell you about our traveling so far. In my perspective, the most notable subject about the route is the fields and fields of bright yellow canola. When it is mature, the yellow is almost so bright it hurts your eyes. And then across one stretch, there were also fields of flax blooming a deep periwinkle blue. The contrast was awesome. The communities have been welcoming and hospitable. For instance yesterday we visited the local museum where they had gathered buildings…school, church, store, etc from the past. They served homemade bread made in clay ovens with fresh local honey. Needless to say that was delicious. They had extra bread for sale, and when we mentioned how good the honey was, they made a call and lo and behold, this morning the young niece of the honey producer showed up at our camp ground with honey to sell…wildflower or canola, your choice. See what I mean? Our cell phones and broadband card are turned off until we return to the states. Our Onstar phone remains as our last link…oh yes, and WiFi when we can get it. They tell us that this is the end of the prairie and so from here north the geography will become much more interesting…and perhaps some fishing too!
Till next time…here are some thoughts and observations from your Roving Reporter:
We have had the good fortune to visit a number of interesting churches on this trip. As expected, families who migrated from where ever, often to avoid religious persecution, start a congregation on arrival, and then a building followed quickly. Now I have been inside just all manner of churches from the old country, Europe and Russia. One thing they have in common. The pews. They are extremely uncomfortable. No sleeping; only the possibility of a back ache if you slouch or doze! As in Newfoundland, perhaps they [churches not pews] foretell the future in small American communities. So many facilities have closed. The congregation failed to sustain its numbership and as the group aged they could not support the facility. To complicate the challenges, the number of clergy also declined. The small buildings dot the landscape…a statement to what once was. Others are given to philanthropic groups to share history and explain what was so important or occasionally they house something new…a home, a business, etc.
In Manitoba, every community is proud of its history, and a young history it is north of Winnipeg. Typically towns were founded in 1880 to 1890. Folks moved north because the land was inexpensive and the soil rich. But they found there is no free lunch. The winters up here are brutal. Temperatures plummet to 40 below and the wind blows. The local museums tell the story of the hardships. What struck me? The old “stuff” are the items of my grandparents and my youth! I am not old, I thought, so why are these common household items in a museum. Yesterday it was paper milk bottle caps, skates you clamped to your shoes, Remington typewriters, and dresses Sally wore when we courted. Rotary phones on a party line – remember? For everyone on the caravan, it has been a trip down memory lane. No Sarah, I did not pick up Nana for a trip to the Tiger’s Den in a Conastoga Wagon. I guess 70 is old and 100 is ancient to these Manitobians.
Caravan travel this time is quite different. In the past (Alaska and New Foundland), we got up, left about 8:00 AM and drove most of a day. Along the drive we stopped to visit sites and sample cinnamon buns. The scenery was special, and around each bend there was something awaiting a visitor. Not in Manitoba. Yes we are up and off by 8:00 to 8:30 but we drive directly to our destination. Typically we drive from one camp site to the next. Sometimes we drive 110 miles; sometimes it is 240 miles. We go direct and we are expected to move along smartly. We do not race – 55 is the typical speed – a couple trailers in group separated by miles. When you arrive we stay several days and then move again to a new location. There is nothing to see while driving – not even traffic to speak of – between stops. Yesterday, for example, our traveling partner reported seeing only 6 cars and one truck in 100 miles. Think western Dakotas. It is flat
Till next time…here are some thoughts and observations from your Roving Reporter:
We have had the good fortune to visit a number of interesting churches on this trip. As expected, families who migrated from where ever, often to avoid religious persecution, start a congregation on arrival, and then a building followed quickly. Now I have been inside just all manner of churches from the old country, Europe and Russia. One thing they have in common. The pews. They are extremely uncomfortable. No sleeping; only the possibility of a back ache if you slouch or doze! As in Newfoundland, perhaps they [churches not pews] foretell the future in small American communities. So many facilities have closed. The congregation failed to sustain its numbership and as the group aged they could not support the facility. To complicate the challenges, the number of clergy also declined. The small buildings dot the landscape…a statement to what once was. Others are given to philanthropic groups to share history and explain what was so important or occasionally they house something new…a home, a business, etc.
In Manitoba, every community is proud of its history, and a young history it is north of Winnipeg. Typically towns were founded in 1880 to 1890. Folks moved north because the land was inexpensive and the soil rich. But they found there is no free lunch. The winters up here are brutal. Temperatures plummet to 40 below and the wind blows. The local museums tell the story of the hardships. What struck me? The old “stuff” are the items of my grandparents and my youth! I am not old, I thought, so why are these common household items in a museum. Yesterday it was paper milk bottle caps, skates you clamped to your shoes, Remington typewriters, and dresses Sally wore when we courted. Rotary phones on a party line – remember? For everyone on the caravan, it has been a trip down memory lane. No Sarah, I did not pick up Nana for a trip to the Tiger’s Den in a Conastoga Wagon. I guess 70 is old and 100 is ancient to these Manitobians.
Caravan travel this time is quite different. In the past (Alaska and New Foundland), we got up, left about 8:00 AM and drove most of a day. Along the drive we stopped to visit sites and sample cinnamon buns. The scenery was special, and around each bend there was something awaiting a visitor. Not in Manitoba. Yes we are up and off by 8:00 to 8:30 but we drive directly to our destination. Typically we drive from one camp site to the next. Sometimes we drive 110 miles; sometimes it is 240 miles. We go direct and we are expected to move along smartly. We do not race – 55 is the typical speed – a couple trailers in group separated by miles. When you arrive we stay several days and then move again to a new location. There is nothing to see while driving – not even traffic to speak of – between stops. Yesterday, for example, our traveling partner reported seeing only 6 cars and one truck in 100 miles. Think western Dakotas. It is flat
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Farewell USA
We’re posting this blog because tomorrow we are entering Canada. The majority of our email transmissions have taken place on our Verizon broadband card. That will end tomorrow as we lose Verizon capability. We will have to rely on finding WIFI which hopefully will be frequently available. We have driven north…I told you we would be saying that a lot…across the northern plains…few small towns…lots of corn, wheat, soy beans, and today sunflowers and canola. The Canadian adventure begins tomorrow as we cross the border (sometimes more exciting than others) and head for our first Canadian campground in Dauphine, Manitoba. Anyway, don’t worry if you don’t hear from us for a while. On the other hand, we may be back sooner than you think.
And now from our Roving Reporter:
As Patton said, “Americans are winners!” We just cannot tolerate being second. Remember in kindergarten, you had to be first in line. And later we learned, second is like kissing your sister. And as I travel, it is the FIRST national bank. And, the FIRST Presbyterian Church. Never have I seen the Second Methodist Church. And communities are competitors. I have already been to the popcorn capital of the world located in southern Illinois, the ice cream capital of the US – that’s in the Ozarks, and the pheasant capital of the world, on the road north of the corn palace. Rugby, ND claims to be the geographical center of North America. This is the land of the jolly green giant, but I missed him. I think I’ll stake my claim: I have the only yellow Labrador retriever who has ridden backward in a Suburban to both Alaska and Newfoundland.
In the ‘65 Mustang, I had Sally get a map and we took off. The map was free from the local “filling station” in Macomb, Illinois. Prep took seconds. Off we traveled down the state highway toward our destination. Not today pulling the Airstream! Nuvi [GPS] on? Check. Destination set? Check. Break controller? On. Break Lights. Red. Right signal…left signal…hazard? Blinking. Head lights. PC on? Check. Satellite acquired? Paper maps on the dash. Kindle. Tire pressure monitor on. Trailer TV antenna down. Stair step up. Then you pull up to a caravan “deparker team” for a safety examination and a communication check, a seven step process. CB on chanel 14. Walki-talki on 5? .. Driver manual in hand. Milage odometer reset to zero. Dog? Wife? We’re off down the road toward our destination. Anything different? Not really. Just 40 years passed down the interstate.
Sign of the Week. Entering a small SD prairie town, I read: EAT BEEF, WEAR FUR, KEEP GUNS, SALUTE AMERICA
On completion of this trip, surely I will receive a certificate from a learned university for three semester credit hours in general studies. Thus far I have attended classes in ethanol production, Huddites communal living, prairie water treatment, early prairie development, grist mill operations, and Auguste Rodin. And we have only been caravanning for one week!
And now from our Roving Reporter:
As Patton said, “Americans are winners!” We just cannot tolerate being second. Remember in kindergarten, you had to be first in line. And later we learned, second is like kissing your sister. And as I travel, it is the FIRST national bank. And, the FIRST Presbyterian Church. Never have I seen the Second Methodist Church. And communities are competitors. I have already been to the popcorn capital of the world located in southern Illinois, the ice cream capital of the US – that’s in the Ozarks, and the pheasant capital of the world, on the road north of the corn palace. Rugby, ND claims to be the geographical center of North America. This is the land of the jolly green giant, but I missed him. I think I’ll stake my claim: I have the only yellow Labrador retriever who has ridden backward in a Suburban to both Alaska and Newfoundland.
In the ‘65 Mustang, I had Sally get a map and we took off. The map was free from the local “filling station” in Macomb, Illinois. Prep took seconds. Off we traveled down the state highway toward our destination. Not today pulling the Airstream! Nuvi [GPS] on? Check. Destination set? Check. Break controller? On. Break Lights. Red. Right signal…left signal…hazard? Blinking. Head lights. PC on? Check. Satellite acquired? Paper maps on the dash. Kindle. Tire pressure monitor on. Trailer TV antenna down. Stair step up. Then you pull up to a caravan “deparker team” for a safety examination and a communication check, a seven step process. CB on chanel 14. Walki-talki on 5? .. Driver manual in hand. Milage odometer reset to zero. Dog? Wife? We’re off down the road toward our destination. Anything different? Not really. Just 40 years passed down the interstate.
Sign of the Week. Entering a small SD prairie town, I read: EAT BEEF, WEAR FUR, KEEP GUNS, SALUTE AMERICA
On completion of this trip, surely I will receive a certificate from a learned university for three semester credit hours in general studies. Thus far I have attended classes in ethanol production, Huddites communal living, prairie water treatment, early prairie development, grist mill operations, and Auguste Rodin. And we have only been caravanning for one week!
Monday, July 13, 2009
Across the prairie
And the caravan adventure begins…A week ago, we traveled along the Missouri River north to Sioux Falls, SD where we met our 42 Airstream traveling companions. They come from all over the USA…Florida, California, Connecticut, Iowa, Texas and Ohio…and of course Virginia. Two of the couples are full timers…in other words, they are homeless except for their Airstreams. We have 22 rigs…all kinds…trailers big and small and motor homes large and gigantic. We spent four days in Sioux Falls exploring with the gang and by ourselves. You will hear about some the adventures from the Roving Reporter. We were impressed with this prairie town and felt very welcome. We are now in Aberdeen, SD, our second caravan stop. We drove through Mitchell SD on the way to once again see the Corn Palace…one of those sights that just can’t be missed. Then we headed north across the heart of the prairie…very few towns and lots of corn, wheat and beans. Aberdeen again is a much more interesting town than we have ever imagined…if we had ever even thought about Aberdeen which we probably hadn’t. We continue to enjoy being with our friends, Pat and Bob Collins, and others from former caravans, and also meeting new friends from new places. We are in the younger end of the age spectrum of the group and one of the least traveled…at least if you are counting caravans. But each couple brings their experiences and expertise to the group making for an interesting social atmosphere. Wednesday our travels continue north (as they will do for several weeks) first to North Dakota and then into Manitoba. As busy as we are, our thoughts frequently turn home to friends and family. We are only an email away. Please keep in touch.
And now prepare yourself for some random thoughts from the Roving Reporter.
Eternity Defined. Sometimes it is a challenge to define words. And, something that seemingly lasts forever is one such word. So I have looked for examples – that is what we do, right. My non-stop flight from Hawaii to Australia takes an eternity. I found yet another. About 2000 friends and we took the trailer and chased the path taken by Lewis and Clark. We followed the Missouri River up the Iowa/Nebraska boarder. The road surface through the prairie changed little since L & C, and I declared at the time, Interstate 29 is one of the worst roads in America. Still is! But there is hope. Here almost 10 years later, they have started repair with an estimated 10 year completion date. It has taken them an eternity. I wonder what that says about the Stimulus Package?
Cycle Nite today. In Sioux Falls they substitute cycles for old cars. They expect over 1,000 bikes this evening. Park you chopper and hang out. Look. Stroll. No riding or slow trolling. Made me want to run right out and purchase Sally a wardrobe of leather. Want to attend?
By now you know we prefer to travel back country roads through bitty towns. They have a charm all their own. It’s America. Countless American flags. Small churches [where we often borrow their parking lots for lunch]. When we are dismounted and see folks, they smile and say “hi, can we help” They always wave when they see the silver beer can passing them on the road. Down home folks scratching out a living. It finally dawned on me, there are not any foreclosure signs. No homes for sale. No for sale placards. No reduced price. They seem to have purchased what they needed and could afford and then paid their bills. Seems there is a lesson to be learned out here in the heart land.
Often people get a funny look and inquire, “Why do you caravan with your trailer?” Here is one answer. How else would you get to Lyons, SD, pop 157, located down the road from absolutely nowhere. There we meet a young energetic plant manager who took a break from his hectic schedule so he could personally take us on a tour of “his” plant. Proudly he and his staff of local men and women hand build fire engines, one at a time. His product sells for200K to $1M … and for that you may select any one of the over 700 colors of red.
I passed the sign. Hummm. A challenge. I wonder, I thought, can I? But I am approaching 69, so should I even try? Why not! The little engine said I think I can so I hitched up my jeans, spit on the hands and gave my hands a brisk rub, palm to palm. Heavy breaths. I am ready. Straight back. Remember use the legs. I firmly grasped and tugged. Wow. Not enough power. I visualized I was the Green Hulk and revved my engine to 110%. My face turned red. Yes, a slow start and then progress. A millimeter. Two. A half inch. Success. I JUST LIFTED A NEW CAR, a 2,500 pound compact. Really. OK, now you want to know how. Sarah’s former 3rd grade class would know immediately. I used a simple machine located outside a former high school now a municipal cultural arts and science center. One area was set aside for kids, and since I am still a kid at heart, I could not help but participate. Incidentally it was the same facility that had a world class collection of Rodin sculptures.
Culinary Sign of the Week. “ETHOPIAN FOOD and Take Out . We service lap tops”
And now prepare yourself for some random thoughts from the Roving Reporter.
Eternity Defined. Sometimes it is a challenge to define words. And, something that seemingly lasts forever is one such word. So I have looked for examples – that is what we do, right. My non-stop flight from Hawaii to Australia takes an eternity. I found yet another. About 2000 friends and we took the trailer and chased the path taken by Lewis and Clark. We followed the Missouri River up the Iowa/Nebraska boarder. The road surface through the prairie changed little since L & C, and I declared at the time, Interstate 29 is one of the worst roads in America. Still is! But there is hope. Here almost 10 years later, they have started repair with an estimated 10 year completion date. It has taken them an eternity. I wonder what that says about the Stimulus Package?
Cycle Nite today. In Sioux Falls they substitute cycles for old cars. They expect over 1,000 bikes this evening. Park you chopper and hang out. Look. Stroll. No riding or slow trolling. Made me want to run right out and purchase Sally a wardrobe of leather. Want to attend?
By now you know we prefer to travel back country roads through bitty towns. They have a charm all their own. It’s America. Countless American flags. Small churches [where we often borrow their parking lots for lunch]. When we are dismounted and see folks, they smile and say “hi, can we help” They always wave when they see the silver beer can passing them on the road. Down home folks scratching out a living. It finally dawned on me, there are not any foreclosure signs. No homes for sale. No for sale placards. No reduced price. They seem to have purchased what they needed and could afford and then paid their bills. Seems there is a lesson to be learned out here in the heart land.
Often people get a funny look and inquire, “Why do you caravan with your trailer?” Here is one answer. How else would you get to Lyons, SD, pop 157, located down the road from absolutely nowhere. There we meet a young energetic plant manager who took a break from his hectic schedule so he could personally take us on a tour of “his” plant. Proudly he and his staff of local men and women hand build fire engines, one at a time. His product sells for200K to $1M … and for that you may select any one of the over 700 colors of red.
I passed the sign. Hummm. A challenge. I wonder, I thought, can I? But I am approaching 69, so should I even try? Why not! The little engine said I think I can so I hitched up my jeans, spit on the hands and gave my hands a brisk rub, palm to palm. Heavy breaths. I am ready. Straight back. Remember use the legs. I firmly grasped and tugged. Wow. Not enough power. I visualized I was the Green Hulk and revved my engine to 110%. My face turned red. Yes, a slow start and then progress. A millimeter. Two. A half inch. Success. I JUST LIFTED A NEW CAR, a 2,500 pound compact. Really. OK, now you want to know how. Sarah’s former 3rd grade class would know immediately. I used a simple machine located outside a former high school now a municipal cultural arts and science center. One area was set aside for kids, and since I am still a kid at heart, I could not help but participate. Incidentally it was the same facility that had a world class collection of Rodin sculptures.
Culinary Sign of the Week. “ETHOPIAN FOOD and Take Out . We service lap tops”
Monday, July 6, 2009
Stage 1 and Serious Fishing
Greetings from Missouri. We hope you will enjoy following us along on our 09’summer adventure. My job is to keep you informed of the where and when of our trip. My Roving Reporter has already set the tone for his contributions. I just warn you to only believe a small proportion of his tales. This trip can really be divided into three stages. Stage 1, the first two weeks of travel, is almost finished. We left the Shenandoah Valley on the 22nd of June. We spent a day at home in Urbana on business and enjoyed a lovely dinner with Mom and Dad Walters’ friends at Clarke Lindsey Village. Leaving Urbana behind, we drove south past small towns from childhood memories all the way to Cave In Rock State Park in southern Illinois on the Ohio River. If you remember, that was the week of the unbelievably temperatures. We explored in the mornings and hunkered in the AC the rest of the day. Finally the weather broke and we began the next leg on a ferry across the river to Kentucky. We dawdled across northwest Kentucky, crossed the Mississippi River, and continued our journey through southeastern Missouri. For the next week we camped in three different Missouri State parks. Daisy and I walked, Chucked fished, and we enjoyed a canoe trip together. We met our camping friends, Bob and Pat Collins, as planned, in the third park. We spent the 4th of July weekend sharing fishing and good food with them. Tomorrow we will all be traveling north to meet the group of campers that will form the Airstream caravan that we are taking to Churchill, Manitoba. The rendezvous is set for Sioux Falls, SD on July 8th. That will certainly be the most adventurous stage of the trip. Hopefully we will have internet capability as we travel so that we can keep you up to date. I see we have added the Hansons and Germans to our followers. This blogging is another fun part of the adventure. I urge everyone to keep in touch.
And from your Roving Reporter. Actually it is your “Wading Reporter.” I spare no effort or expense to bring you the strange stuff found as we travel America. And this is no exception. I located the home of the serious fisherman. The very serious fisherman. Sally found a state park in the Ozarks that offered fly fishing opportunities, but little did I know. For those of you uninitiated to the Ozarks, it is located in the middle of nowhere Missouri, miles from anywhere and founded by folks from the hills of West Virginia. In two days travel, the largest community stretched to reach 2,000 and the only critters I saw were mules and burrows. But reach the park we did and I gasped when I rounded the final turn… a beautiful waterfall dotted with fisherman waving sticks. My kind of place I thought. Then I started counting the sportsmen. Five…Ten…Fifteen…Twenty. We pulled in to the campground – it was time for self registration – and started to look for a site. Hummm. Every camp site had a clothes line with waders and hip boots. Picnic tables were covered with drying boots. Poles – cane, spinning and fly were tilted bristling from vehicles.. Men were seated rigging in prep…rather like mending nets. This is a serious fishing crowd. We found our spot and departed for registration. I inquired about trout fishing and was sent to the camp store for all the proper licenses. An ABC store in Virginia requires less documentation to open for business but I purchased an annual out of state license and a local park pass. I was ready. After all, this was not my first time fishing. Sally took me to the stream. Oh my goodness. A human was posted every five to ten yards. Old folks. I met a elderly gentleman who brought his metal chair and plopped it mid-stream and commenced fly fishing. I saw a gal with a walker. There were kids not yet in school. There was a dad with a baby in his arms. Everyone looked at me as if I were fishing without pants. Of course serious fishermen and women have to have a uniform. I didn’t. I thought of George Orwell. Each march to the stream with official Orvis chest waders, a dead grass green Exofficio fishing shirt, boots, a landing net fastened to the back, sun glasses on a lanyard. No staff. Head gear type was optional but covering required. That park daily fishing pass? It must be affixed to the back of the hat. Next I examined the quest. Each was a precisely 12.5 inches. I learned later 2.25 fish were released each day for every daily permit tag sold. Only on site hatchery grown rainbow trout. You could catch and keep 4. Now I thought, how will I know when to start. I heard the answer at precisely 0630. I shot straight up in bed. My GOD we are under attack!. Where is the air raid shelter? Two blasts on the siren (start fishing. start fishing). I am late. They are starting without me. I met folks walking home with their stringer, and I greeted them with a friendly “Good Morning” and commented on their good fortune. Scowl. Serious fishermen do not communicate. As I approached the water I discovered serious fisherman do not allow water recreation on their trout streams. The sign shouted: No swimming. No boating. No pets. No nothing. We are serious about our fishing. We also classify our serious folks: fly, artificial and anything goes. Pressure. Stress. Will I pass the test? Would I measure up to the standard, serious fisherman? I don’t know. While I was driving up the road, I thought maybe it doesn’t make any difference. After all, I caught my personal best rainbow, over 16 inches. But I could not shake the question of being serious, a serious fisherman. Had I found the meca of serious fishing? It just keep nagging at me. The next park hocked the answer when I rounded the curve and there was the stream, the water fall, the combat fishermen standing shoulder to shoulder, the fly only zone, and the signs. Is this ground hog day? Did I miss a turn in my travel? Nope. I learned there are four serious trout fishing parks. Folks take their fishing seriously in Missouri.
And from your Roving Reporter. Actually it is your “Wading Reporter.” I spare no effort or expense to bring you the strange stuff found as we travel America. And this is no exception. I located the home of the serious fisherman. The very serious fisherman. Sally found a state park in the Ozarks that offered fly fishing opportunities, but little did I know. For those of you uninitiated to the Ozarks, it is located in the middle of nowhere Missouri, miles from anywhere and founded by folks from the hills of West Virginia. In two days travel, the largest community stretched to reach 2,000 and the only critters I saw were mules and burrows. But reach the park we did and I gasped when I rounded the final turn… a beautiful waterfall dotted with fisherman waving sticks. My kind of place I thought. Then I started counting the sportsmen. Five…Ten…Fifteen…Twenty. We pulled in to the campground – it was time for self registration – and started to look for a site. Hummm. Every camp site had a clothes line with waders and hip boots. Picnic tables were covered with drying boots. Poles – cane, spinning and fly were tilted bristling from vehicles.. Men were seated rigging in prep…rather like mending nets. This is a serious fishing crowd. We found our spot and departed for registration. I inquired about trout fishing and was sent to the camp store for all the proper licenses. An ABC store in Virginia requires less documentation to open for business but I purchased an annual out of state license and a local park pass. I was ready. After all, this was not my first time fishing. Sally took me to the stream. Oh my goodness. A human was posted every five to ten yards. Old folks. I met a elderly gentleman who brought his metal chair and plopped it mid-stream and commenced fly fishing. I saw a gal with a walker. There were kids not yet in school. There was a dad with a baby in his arms. Everyone looked at me as if I were fishing without pants. Of course serious fishermen and women have to have a uniform. I didn’t. I thought of George Orwell. Each march to the stream with official Orvis chest waders, a dead grass green Exofficio fishing shirt, boots, a landing net fastened to the back, sun glasses on a lanyard. No staff. Head gear type was optional but covering required. That park daily fishing pass? It must be affixed to the back of the hat. Next I examined the quest. Each was a precisely 12.5 inches. I learned later 2.25 fish were released each day for every daily permit tag sold. Only on site hatchery grown rainbow trout. You could catch and keep 4. Now I thought, how will I know when to start. I heard the answer at precisely 0630. I shot straight up in bed. My GOD we are under attack!. Where is the air raid shelter? Two blasts on the siren (start fishing. start fishing). I am late. They are starting without me. I met folks walking home with their stringer, and I greeted them with a friendly “Good Morning” and commented on their good fortune. Scowl. Serious fishermen do not communicate. As I approached the water I discovered serious fisherman do not allow water recreation on their trout streams. The sign shouted: No swimming. No boating. No pets. No nothing. We are serious about our fishing. We also classify our serious folks: fly, artificial and anything goes. Pressure. Stress. Will I pass the test? Would I measure up to the standard, serious fisherman? I don’t know. While I was driving up the road, I thought maybe it doesn’t make any difference. After all, I caught my personal best rainbow, over 16 inches. But I could not shake the question of being serious, a serious fisherman. Had I found the meca of serious fishing? It just keep nagging at me. The next park hocked the answer when I rounded the curve and there was the stream, the water fall, the combat fishermen standing shoulder to shoulder, the fly only zone, and the signs. Is this ground hog day? Did I miss a turn in my travel? Nope. I learned there are four serious trout fishing parks. Folks take their fishing seriously in Missouri.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Willy's Song
On the road again. Yes, it’s great to be on the road again!” Willy sang it so well. We are off on our third grand summer adventure and on this blog plan to share with you the ins and outs and ups and downs that we encounter along the way.
The above sentences were an experiment to prove that we can write off line and paste it into the blog when we have access. As you can see, it worked!
We are enjoying Missouri State Parks before joining our caravan. The problem is they are located out in the woods of the Ozarks with no phone service...thus no internet access. I am posting this with wi-fi in the lodge. We have had a week of interesting adventures. I will ask my roving reporter to catch you up this evening. He is out fishing. Imagine that!
Thanks Wendy, Sarah, Karla, and Esther for being followers. More later.
The above sentences were an experiment to prove that we can write off line and paste it into the blog when we have access. As you can see, it worked!
We are enjoying Missouri State Parks before joining our caravan. The problem is they are located out in the woods of the Ozarks with no phone service...thus no internet access. I am posting this with wi-fi in the lodge. We have had a week of interesting adventures. I will ask my roving reporter to catch you up this evening. He is out fishing. Imagine that!
Thanks Wendy, Sarah, Karla, and Esther for being followers. More later.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Roving Reporter Joins Dog on Trip to Canada
Just a check... On my last adventure, I was fed carrots for 31 straight days as I recall. Not this time I vowed. But just to be sure, each day Ms Daisy and I ventured into the 95 degree surrounding and looked. We checked the car for carrots. None. We checked the road side stands. No carrots. We checked McDonalds. No carrots. We looked between rows of the miles and miles of short mid-west corn. No carrots! This we concluded was good. It says our outing this year will be a real adventure.
To prove this premise, let me give you just an idea what to expect in the coming days. Sal planned an outing for today. You can decide if it measured up to the standard: an adventure. We are camping at Hole-in-Rock, an Illinois State Park, so far south you are going North. Nice quiet place in the process of recovering from being ravaged by an ice storm last winter. Breakfast and a quick shower...temp 91. Pirates once lived here. Sal has maps, folders, brochures, and notes. I have Nuvi, my trusty GPS. Off we go to follow the Reader's Digest Illinois River trail. First we report to the highest bluff along the Ohio River. Hummm. No bluff. Remember this is an adventure. So we head off to a significant iron furnace built in 1830 to produce pig iron. Tale goes that the end product build cannon and iron clads. We missed that the first go round looking right into a river pool filled with swimming kids. Got lost. NUVI to the rescue. Turned around and back on track. On to a river town sporting a magnificant hotel famous for its 1800 offering to river traffic. Sal is going to check it out while I checked for carrots. I look in my rear view mirror and see my bride. She has a hose. Hummm. She is next to a cement truck. Yep, you got it. While looking left she walked into the fresh cememt. Plop...Plop. More river trail.... miles and miles. We pass a buffalo. We reach a ferry. What a treat. Our 3rd [after Texas and Alaska] free ride sponsored by Illinois Dept of Trans. Over to KY and into town. The lady says there is a terrific ice cream store. It was, a turn of the century store that looked the owner simply snuffed the candle and went home. No ice cream though. It is now a lunch/dinner cafe. Then it was off into the country side. Look, a horse pulling a 4 tine plow directed by a young man maybe a 6th grader. I suspect he was weeding the crops. Look, mom and two kids with a dozen new chicks. Look at the gardens. Look at the end of the road and the stream. Ups! Yes, we forged on and drove through the river exiting the opposite side. See two dozen Amish kids gathering in the grave yard to "meet" and play volley ball. Look, Amish fresh bread. Oh, you missed the sign along the way promulgating we were in the pop corn capital of the world!
Something to think about while siting at a red light. I counted 11 one story high yellow things running about the mid-west. The tires reach 8 feet in height and they are 1.5 traffic lanes wide. My trailer is .9 traffic lanes wide by the way. These machines have wings when folded resemble a grasshopper I use to catch trout. For the life of me, I cannot figure why they are all about at this time of year. Spraying and up to no good [think Round-up on gene spliced corn/beans].
Illinois citizens are on the ball. They found the means and then the funds to repair all SE Illinois bridges along Route 45 and Route 1. Each repair site has a traffic light and people really working hard. Not one person leaning on a shovel! But for some reason, all lights on the north side of the bridge are set on red. Must be a plot to slow Grant's march to Vicksburg.
Small towns are charming. They are the same everywhere. The people friendly. The true general store where you get gas, bread and gossip. You wonder as you ease by how they make their living -- supporting each other I guess. And it is interesting how few homes are for sale or being foreclosed by a local bank. Farms just out side the town limits are all neat and trim, ready for a white glove inspection by a commanding military general. The economy may have changed but real America still looks mighty good.
To prove this premise, let me give you just an idea what to expect in the coming days. Sal planned an outing for today. You can decide if it measured up to the standard: an adventure. We are camping at Hole-in-Rock, an Illinois State Park, so far south you are going North. Nice quiet place in the process of recovering from being ravaged by an ice storm last winter. Breakfast and a quick shower...temp 91. Pirates once lived here. Sal has maps, folders, brochures, and notes. I have Nuvi, my trusty GPS. Off we go to follow the Reader's Digest Illinois River trail. First we report to the highest bluff along the Ohio River. Hummm. No bluff. Remember this is an adventure. So we head off to a significant iron furnace built in 1830 to produce pig iron. Tale goes that the end product build cannon and iron clads. We missed that the first go round looking right into a river pool filled with swimming kids. Got lost. NUVI to the rescue. Turned around and back on track. On to a river town sporting a magnificant hotel famous for its 1800 offering to river traffic. Sal is going to check it out while I checked for carrots. I look in my rear view mirror and see my bride. She has a hose. Hummm. She is next to a cement truck. Yep, you got it. While looking left she walked into the fresh cememt. Plop...Plop. More river trail.... miles and miles. We pass a buffalo. We reach a ferry. What a treat. Our 3rd [after Texas and Alaska] free ride sponsored by Illinois Dept of Trans. Over to KY and into town. The lady says there is a terrific ice cream store. It was, a turn of the century store that looked the owner simply snuffed the candle and went home. No ice cream though. It is now a lunch/dinner cafe. Then it was off into the country side. Look, a horse pulling a 4 tine plow directed by a young man maybe a 6th grader. I suspect he was weeding the crops. Look, mom and two kids with a dozen new chicks. Look at the gardens. Look at the end of the road and the stream. Ups! Yes, we forged on and drove through the river exiting the opposite side. See two dozen Amish kids gathering in the grave yard to "meet" and play volley ball. Look, Amish fresh bread. Oh, you missed the sign along the way promulgating we were in the pop corn capital of the world!
Something to think about while siting at a red light. I counted 11 one story high yellow things running about the mid-west. The tires reach 8 feet in height and they are 1.5 traffic lanes wide. My trailer is .9 traffic lanes wide by the way. These machines have wings when folded resemble a grasshopper I use to catch trout. For the life of me, I cannot figure why they are all about at this time of year. Spraying and up to no good [think Round-up on gene spliced corn/beans].
Illinois citizens are on the ball. They found the means and then the funds to repair all SE Illinois bridges along Route 45 and Route 1. Each repair site has a traffic light and people really working hard. Not one person leaning on a shovel! But for some reason, all lights on the north side of the bridge are set on red. Must be a plot to slow Grant's march to Vicksburg.
Small towns are charming. They are the same everywhere. The people friendly. The true general store where you get gas, bread and gossip. You wonder as you ease by how they make their living -- supporting each other I guess. And it is interesting how few homes are for sale or being foreclosed by a local bank. Farms just out side the town limits are all neat and trim, ready for a white glove inspection by a commanding military general. The economy may have changed but real America still looks mighty good.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Oh Say Can I Blog?
This is my first blog posting for our summer 2009 adventure. Its purpose is to test the blog process.
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