Author: donhall930

No longer Novatas y Novatos (Rookies) in the Park, our last full day down here was sprinkled with relatively short jaunts from our site.

          The first excursion of the day was to Boquillos Canyon, the second most popular canyon to hike to and just look at, because there was really no way to go down the canyon (except by canoe) like we did in the Santa Elena the day before. One of the reasons that this hike was a good one was its proximity to us. It was only about 5 miles away, not the 56 of yesterday.

          This enabled us to sleep in (Not!) and get a later start.

          We actually left about the same time as yesterday because we had several destinations on our itinerary for this day and a few question marks that we may, or may not, be able to get to.

          One of the question marks was the little town of Boquillos that lay just on the other side of the Rio Grande. This town had its genesis back when there were mining operations in the area that spanned the Border. When the mines eventually shut down and the Park opened, they were able to stay in existence, in part, by the tourists that made the Crossing, aided by enterprising caballeros in small boats that would ferry you across the river….. for a fee.

          This practice still exists today. The US Border Patrol, in cooperation with the National Park Service, maintains a small Port of Entry here. It’s tiny as you may imagine, passports required, and the little town has its share local artisans that make local souvenirs to sell. There is also a small restaurante or two that will give you an authentic small town Mexican food experience.

          The question mark quickly turned into a declaratory statement when we pulled into the road that led to the Port and read the sign,     “Cerrado por culpa de Covid”.

          One did not need my four years of high school Spanish to interpret this when all you need was to read Covid and it became obvious.

          Besides, it was printed in both Spanish and English, but its more fun to write the Spanish one!

          This explained the plethora of trailside venues that the locals maintained in order to capture some of the Tourist Trade that has eluded them since the shutdown. They come across the river and set up small “stores,” complete with very polite signs that ask you to “Pay Here” for whatever you may want to purchase. I only saw one depository that was anchored in any way. Apparently (thankfully) there does not seem to be a problem with folks (on either side) absconding with either the wares or the dineros. There must also be a cooperative agreement amongst the proprietors of these “Shops” because  the price fixing conspiracy was evident, everything was priced the same. This was actually good because you need not worry , thinking that you may be able to “Get it Cheaper” somewhere down the path. Unless of course you just stole it, but as I said, this does not seem to be an issue.

          On our way to the Canyon, after we descended a small ridge, we arrived at the river level and proceeded to the mouth of the canyon. Soon we heard a melodious voice singing en Espanol. Rounding a bend, we came upon the ‘Singing Amigo’. He was an amalgamation of the ‘Singing Bush’ and the ‘Three Amigos’ from the movie of the same name. He was very polite and offered not only to serenade us but also to ferry us across the river if we wanted.

          He did not offer to check our passport’s, nor did he look like he cared. He said something like,

           “We don’t need no stinkin’ badges!”

            Not really!

           But I couldn’t resist the perfect spot to place one of the best lines ever delivered in a movie! We bid him “Adios!” and went on our way knowing that we would have this chance meeting once again on our way back.

          The canyon is, of course, beautiful and in the evening western light would have been magnificent. This is the stuff you learn and put to later use with a later trip. I can see one of these trips being taken during the winter or spring with a few canoe trips into these canyons being somewhat of a certainty.

          On our way back out we did encounter Ricky Martin again. We made a small monetary “Donation” to his cause, well… just because. He was very nice, and we exchanged pleasantries. He asked us if we had any granola bars. We did not, but we did supply him with a small package of Trail Mix for his enjoyment.

          Our next destination was Hot Springs.

          Apparently there is a fissure of sorts that finds it way up from the bowels of the earth and supply’s this area with a small pool of 105-degree water. It’s been happening for a really long time now, way before we (the collective we, as in humans!) came along. But when we  did, we immediately made a Resort out of it! This Resort  flourished during the early part of the last century up ‘til the Park was formed. The remnants of the town and resort are still here, nicely stabilized for all to see.

          It is still a favorite place to go here, even in this heat. One side of the pool is hot, and the other side (the river) is cooler. This may be another reason to visit down here when the weather is a little milder!

          We had our lunch here, taken from our now amply supplied backpacks that could have gotten us to the summit of Everest if needed. Then it was back to Base Camp for more binge watching of 24 during the heat of the day. Our next foray would be after an early dinner because it lay about 30 miles out and was supposed to be the best sunset view in the Park.

          We shall see.

          Our destination for that evening was a place called The Window. It was located in the Basin, which is snuggly nestled inside the surrounding rim of the Chisos Mountains.

          Think volcanic crater, albeit one from way, way, way long ago. This basin is where the Chisos Lodge is. This is the only lodging in the Park and has a restaurant, store, campground, and an amphitheater where the Rangers give talks in the evening. Many of the trails that lead upwards toward the higher terrain start here also. We arrived in time to witness this daily event, and even though the Window only affords a sunset viewed from our vantage point (through the middle of it) twice a year, it was still really nice.

           Unless you venture down the Widow Trail to change your angle of viewing, but we were definitely not prepared for that! But this time it was on purpose! The ‘Trail’ that we were on is actually ‘Wheelchair Accessible’, so we were not worried about “Being Prepared!”

Or, Parque National Grande Curva Dia Dos

Day Two’s weather forecast  at Big Bend N.P. was just as predicted, clear skies, sunny all day, and hot, with a chance of even hotter.

          This is why the recommended time for hiking is early morning with a goal of being off the trail by mid-morning, noon at the absolute latest. Our destination for the day was Santa Elena Canyon Trail, probably the most popular hike in the Park. The Canyon was 56 miles away, so we left early so that we could hike in the recommended time frame.

          But not too early, not because we didn’t want to get up, but because the light in the canyon would not be good until mid-morning. The Canyon runs kind of North/South so that means that the sun needs to be high enough to work its way down the Canyon walls in order to illuminate it nicely.

          Unfortunately, I am a Light-is-Everything snob when it comes to photography, so this makes a lot of our adventures Sun-Angle-Dependent. Most of the time it works out fine, as it did for this hike.          Hopefully you will agree when you see the photos.

          On the flip side, there is no doubting the advantage of hiking down here in the only shade in the Park.

           This shade is provided by Mother Nature only in the canyons and higher hills. Otherwise, the vistas need to be admired in broad daylight which after about 20 minutes becomes an issue. Fortunately, the hiker-gods were being nice that day as you will see.

          The Rio Grande may be Grande in some ways on its almost 1900-mile sojourn from the high mountains of Colorado down thru the deserts of New Mexico but at times it seems like just a small brook running over a pebbled bottom. It is ‘muy facil’ (very easy) to just walk across it. Hence the issues that our Border Patrol faces.

          It is hard to believe that this ‘rambling brook’ could carve out such beautiful canyons in this rugged landscape.

          But it did!

          There are three of these such canyons in the Park and we were fortunate enough to visit two of them. We were a tad more prepared for this hike than the one of the previous night.

          No, that’s wrong.

          We were way more prepared for this hike!

          Two backpacks filled with plenty of water, first-aid kit, sunscreen, more water, snacks, and of course lunch! Even my headlamp made the trip! And of course, our Leki Poles which came in handy when we crossed the “usually dry” Terlingua Creek. They helped us look for the best route across because both the hike and Canyon were on the other side of it.

          When hiking down here,  most of the time you encounter folks that are returning as you are going in. These “veterans” are very helpful if engaged in conversation. Most will impart their knowledge about the best and not-so-good parts laying before you. We then, return the favor by paying it forward on our way out.

          This practice was extremely helpful.

          Example:

          We needed to cross the aforementioned “dry” brook to get to the trail  on the other side. The problem was that unless you were following someone who knew the way, it was easy to go the wrong way as the destination on the other bank was not readily obvious.

          We started out and some folks let us know that “You’re going to have to get wet, no worries, it’s not too deep and your poles will help you look for the best spots to place your feet.”

          OK, good advice.

          We got to the edge and had to decide walk across with, or without, our hiking shoes on. Now these shoes can get wet, no issues there, but that means that the rest of the hike is in wet, squishy footwear. Not optimal. Surveying the situation from our vantage point, it didn’t look too bad. We spied what we thought was the destination on the far bank. We elected to go barefoot. This meant dealing with all of the rocks, etc. walking with feet that are only used to going barefoot around the house. This where the term “Tenderfoot” come in when you first join the Boy Scouts.  This was also the term the Indians called anyone who normally wore shoes as compared to their shoeless way of life, we definitely fell into that category!

          We slowly inched, (ouch!) our way across, shoes slung around our necks. When we got almost to our destination, a Voice from High Above, (no not That one!) yelled out, “Hey! You’re going the wrong way! Look there!” he said pointing. I looked up to a precipice high above the river to see one of the “People Who Had Gone Before Us” gesturing with his arms like C3-PO yelling at the Jawa’s transport, “Over here, over here!”

          It was a good thing that he advised us as we were heading for Mexico and a small beach that actually went nowhere! Reversing our course, we were able to find “The Way” and traverse the very wet “usually dry” brook and clamper up the other side, safely still on US soil, with only our Navigations Skill’s ego slightly damaged.

          Once there, we put our nicely dry footwear back on and proceeded down (up) the trail, up because it immediately gained probably 100 ft of elevation, using a set of very nice switchbacks that gave us the bird’s (hawks, eagle’s, you choose) eye view of where we had been and more importantly, where we did not go. It also afforded us a magnificent vista looking eastward.

          From there, the hike went about as smooth as can be, mostly in the shade, but with the sun creeping over the canyon walls, we could see that the further we went and the longer we stayed, the light would wash the western wall and afford us some beautiful views of the  morning sun-illuminated canyon cliffs

          We were not disappointed.

          When we were almost to the turn-around point, we met a nice young couple. They were perched out on a large rock, overlooking the river. I yelled to them, “Look over here!” and I snapped a few pics of them. “Give me your email” I yelled over. “And I’ll send them to you!” We’ve done this before; In Joshua Tree we saw two climbers scaling a vertical mini version of Yosemite’s El Capitan. I took some great pics of them climbing and then resting at the summit. We found them as they were walking out, and they were thrilled to have some photos of themselves.

          It’s hard to yell down to a random person happening by and ask to have your photo taken, so doing this was a nice way to surprise a stranger.                                                             

          On the return trip, we met our fellow hikers on their way in and gladly conveyed all of the trail factoids that we had learned and passed them on to them.

          When we clambered down to the edge of the “dry creek” and removed our footwear once more, we felt like seasoned pros. Reaching the other side, we advised all of the new soon to be “wet-backs” on the best route across. We ended the morning with our lunch where we shared a picnic table with a group of cyclists that made us feel like our cycling experiences were on tricycles. But they were very nice, (Hi, where ya’ from?) and I just silently drooled over the carbon-fiber frames of their bicycles.

          56 miles later, back in our home, we continued our binge-watching of Season One of ‘24’. We finished Season Two last week (because that was the set we found in storage) and decided that we needed to start from the beginning, so I ordered it and thankfully it came right before we left! This binge thing is way too easy to do when its miserably hot outside and there is no phone or internet service.

          Season Three has already been ordered.

          Big Bend National Park is one of the darkest places in all of North America and attracts sky watchers from all over. I went outside around 4 AM and was treated to a show that is not normally available to us. It is easy to see why astronomer’s like coming here. The photo was taken with just my cell phone.

          We had some decisions to make as we only had one more day here. A furious round of planning ensued as we got ready for the next day. Details to follow!

Or ……. Big Bend National Park, Day One

Anomaly is starting to become one of my favorite words to use while we are on these adventures because more often than not, it fits perfectly as a description of places we’ve been.

          Take our present location for example.

          Big Bend National Park is gigantic in size and has way too few visitors here now. There are several reasons for this. Mostly, the location and the time of year. These kind of go hand-in-hand, with an explanation.

          Get out your road atlases and find Texas. It’s the one with multiple pages to display it. Flip to the one for the southwestern part and find the Rio Grande River and trace it until its course makes a BIG BEND and starts to run in a northerly direction, until it takes another turn and starts to flow southeast again.

          That’s it!

          As I’ve said before, there a whole lot on NOTHING in this part of Texas. One really needs to travel to visit this Park, so remote would be a good middle name for it. There is No One here that is just “dropping in!”

          It is now the beginning of October, and their busy season is just starting. The Park’s busiest month is March. I’ve lamented before about the Hot Texas Summer’s and I’m a gazillion percent positive that their popularity is lower than a lizard’s belly in the summertime. It’s 94 today and forecast to be that and higher for the rest of our stay. It is highly recommended that any and all hiking be done early and that you be off the trails by mid-morning. They’ve had more than their share of heat-related rescues over the years. So, that means that you’d better have a stack of DVDs to watch in the afternoon because there are no services of any kind down here, Netflix is not an option!

          All of the Park’s services, such as the further-flung satellite Ranger Stations and camp stores don’t open until sometime next month and they close down in April, so good luck bringing the kids here over your summer vacation!

          After all this doom and gloom that I’ve cast over the Park, our advice is to get here as soon as you can! The hikes are spectacular, and in a way, the remoteness is refreshing.

           We attempted our first jaunt into the hiking world shortly after dinner on Day One. Sunset is around 7:20, so we figured that we had enough time to safely go and return with time to spare. Unfortunately, we put a little too much stock in the description of the hike. It was just at the end of our RV Campground road, where an old ranch had existed in the early 1900’s, irrigation ditches and displaced “Invasive Species” trees abounding. The Ranger Lady advised that it would be a “short hike” past the Daniel’s Ranch, and “There’s a short climb in the beginning and you don’t have to go the whole 3-mile trail, just go to the overlook, you can’t miss it.”

           Here’s where we learned the relative nature of trail terms.

          A good comparison here would be a ski area. There are no standards for rating ski area trails, one may designate the most difficult trail at your area as a Black Diamond. That means that Bill’s Ski Area can designate his most challenging run as a Black Diamond. Please don’t confuse his Black Diamond with one of Stowe’s trails.

          Not even close.

          The beginning of said Trail was easy……. for about 30 feet.

          Then it went vertical, or so it seemed.

          Once we were on the trail I began to have my doubts. We were woefully un-prepared for any emergency, and many lessons were learned after this. 

           We had no water with us. (It was supposed to be “Short and easy”. It was also in the cooler (?) evening.

          We had no helpful climbing apparatus with us. Mind you, there were no ‘technical’ parts to it so ropes, etc. were not needed at all, but we did possess two sets of “Leki Poles” that my daughter Lorelyn had given us. These look like ski poles but are adjustable, have built-in “shock absorbers,” and have two types of tips on them, one rubber and the other carbide, which seems to have the characteristics of Crazy Glue when it comes to adherence on rocks. These are “Walking Sticks” on steroids. They are most useful on the descent, where you place them on the ground before you to use your arms and the “shock absorbers” to help ease the gravity-fed drop when going back down, especially when you encounter a larger than normal “step.”

          These handy devices were safely ensconced back in the trunk, because the trail was “Easy” according to the Lady.

          We also did not have a headlamp because it was “Short”, and we would be back in plenty of time. Except the descent would be on the dark side of our ‘near-vertical’ hill. My headlamp was even safer than the Leki Poles, he was snuggled in a compartment back in the motorhome.

          Needless to say, our short hike to the overlook was not very successful. We did not, in fact, make it anywhere that even remotely resembled the Ranger’s description and we prudently (finally) elected to do an about-face and get back in the proverbial one-piece.

          Which we did.

           We also vowed to be like Scouts and “Be Prepared” in the future.

We were fortunate enough to actually depart on time, no weather anomaly delays! The morning was just perfect for traveling, good temps and bright blue skies. There was no rush to get going because we could have made this journey in just one day if we had wanted to, but we elected to do an overnight in Fort Stockton, at one of our usual Walmart’s.

          Unfortunately, this route was the same exact one that we were marooned on last winter in the Great Texas Icemageddon Storm of 2021. It is fascinating how past experiences have effects on our lives today. I don’t lean the obvious, big-ticket events of our lives. My example today is this trip in particular. As I said, the weather was just fabulous, we couldn’t have asked for anything better! So, why was this trip (for me) filled with such a feeling of uneasiness?  I finally figured it out and realized that the last time that we had been on this route was when we got stranded, and then when finally rescued, had to drive all the way back in those terrifying conditions. So much so, that when we retraced this route an underlying feeling crept into my feeble brain and sat itself down, right next to the “nice” feelings that I was having presently. My problem was that the “Bad Vibes” feeling was too fat and kept pushing my “Good Feelings” off of the sofa!

          It took that whole day, and it was not until we got past the “Breakdown Ground Zero Point” did I feel any relief!

          If we had done the trip all in one shot, it would have been a long one, 9 plus hours. And it would have gotten us down into Big Bend National Park by around six PM. The problem was that we did not have a reservation for that day. We had one for the next day which was Monday.

          But that was good, that was the plan!

          That left us with plenty of time to travel, no worries, no real timetable. The following days traveling time was in the 3-hour range so that meant that we did not even have to get going the next day too early, because check-in time was 1 PM!

           This left plenty of time for Paula to make some nice Cinnamon-Swirl French Toast for breakfast and for us to sit around and wait for the Road Service Guy to arrive and fix a flat tire.

          Yup, that’s correct.

          Now, a flat tire on one of these rigs is nothing to sneeze at!

          There is no way to carry a spare tire. They are way too large, and there’s definitely nowhere to store it!

          Nor would I want to try and lift it into place!

          That would indicate that I was able to get the lug nuts off!

          As they say down here, a short distance from the Mexican Border, “No way Jose!”

          The guy (Anthony, not Jose’) showed up with his truck and the requisite tools of his trade, namely a giant pneumatic jack and an even larger pneumatic air-gun-lug-nut-remover that would have made the guys in the NASCAR pits jealous.

          Now the back story.

          Remember back to last year when we bought the Life-Boat Honda CR-V to tow behind us?

          Remember the little automatic-brake-jammer-onner system that we got installed?

          Remember that the system also came with a nifty accessory to it that allowed us to monitor the tire pressure from each tire up front in the cockpit, displayed on a tablet?

          Remember how secure I felt, knowing that I would always be protected from a malfunctioning tire by knowing in advance that something was, in fact, wrong with said tires?

          Hah!

          Was I ever wrong!

          Because it was this system, namely the Pressure Detector Sending Unit, that gets screwed onto the end of the valve stem instead of the usual cap, that caused the problem.

          How could that be? (You may ask incredulously)

          Good question!  And I am now in a position for me to supply you with the correct answer.

          The Details.

          I was sitting at our table early that morning when I heard a little ‘POP’ and felt the motorhome move a little bit. Mind you, everything can make this thing move a little bit. At the same time, I heard/felt Paula arise from her nights respite and start moving about. I chalked up the sound and movement to her waking up. End of thinking about it.

          Until…… I went outside to re-attach the Honda and do an all-around inspection before we got underway.

          The first thing that I noticed was that the right rear outside tire had broken its bead and was no longer inflated. Well, that explains that! The question was …… Why?

          I never mind when something goes wrong except for the obvious reasons like its annoying and usually results in a delay.

          What really gets me is…..  Why?

          Why did this happen?

          When you get that answer, you know how to deal with it and are usually able to understand what to do to prevent it from happening again!

          But this was strange one.

          The tires were cold, we had stopped here in our favorite Fort Stockton Walmart the day before at 4 PM. The alleged offense occurred around 7 AM, a full 15 hours after we had stopped driving, when all was good, or at least it appeared so.

          When the suspected perpetrator went “POP” I did notice (thinking back on it) that there was no release of high-pressure air, you know that loud Hissss that can be heard when pressurized air is released. This just added more quandaries to my mystery.

          Anthony was not much help in this matter, although he was more than capable of fixing our tire. Which after re-inflating we were able to check for leaks.

          Nadda, not nary a one!

          Well, that’s good…  but it left me with the more bothering question…. Why?

          I called back home to Charlie at Tire King in Sussex. That was where we bought these tires, barely 10, 000 miles ago. Alas, Charlie was on vacation, but his son Dan got on the phone with me. I relayed our dilemma, reiterating that the tire appeared to be in great shape. He said that sometimes the valve stem can leak just a tiny bit and when the pressure gets too low, it can cause the tire to pop its bead. I explained that we had checked that already, so now the mystery would continue.

          I went back outside and checked the valves again, conferring with Anthony at the same time. He agreed that if a tire lost pressure then it would definitely be able to break the bead. He also agreed that our valve stem was intact.

          We were glad at least, that we did not need to replace the tire. Not only is that expensive, but it seems that there wasn’t any of our size in that region of Texas that day. It would need to be ‘imported’ from lands beyond. I went about re-attaching the valve stem sending units to the rear tire that had been worked on. The first one (inside) was just fine. But when I went put the second one on……..

          Hissssssssss…………very slowly.

          Ah-Ha! It seems that the sending unit had developed a crack in a seam (?) and was letting air escape! I screwed it off and called Anthony over and once again, put it on.

          Same result!

          Anthony concurred (not that at that point did I need a second opinion, but it’s nice to learn something new) so we did not re-attach the offending piece of malfunctioning hardware!

          And…. I took all of his brothers and sisters off of the rest of the tires until I can speak to the Company and get some satisfaction.

          I will now be checking the pressures manually once more.

          Thankfully we were finally able to extricate ourselves from the clutches of Walmart of Fort Stockton and finish the trip down to Big Bend National Park.

          Phewf!!!

           Now we were on roads that were brand new to us! Which, if you are travelers, makes for a somewhat exciting journey. I said that these road(s) were new to us which was true. But don’t think for minute that they are new to anyone else around here. Especially if you are Comanche or Apache. These roads had their genesis as the old trails that were used so long ago.

          By now, (if you are a regular reader of this blog) you have seen countless photos shot through the usually bug-strewn front windshield. These photos are of long, straight, and virtually uninhabited roads that seem to go on forever. Another premise that I have expounded on has to do with the vastness of out here, especially Texas.

          Well, here I go again!

          The road, US 385, leaves Fort Stockton and arrives in the Big Bend area about 150 miles later and is almost as straight as the proverbial (Comanche) arrow. For those of us from the Great State of Taylor Ham and Cheese (on a roll), this is like driving from Sussex County to Beach Haven on LBI, all on one two-lane road with nothing on either side of the road as far as the eyes (with sunglasses) can see!

          Nothing as in lots of nothing.

          Except if you are a desert critter, which then you are a something, but we didn’t even see any somethings the whole 3 hours on the road!     

          So, with our earlier dilemma-delayed exodus from Fort Stockton, we were actually only somewhat late getting into our site at the Rio Grande Village RV Park. We had assumed on arriving early, but you know what assume means….

          Correct!

           It makes a late person out of me,

          And an informed reader out of you!

          I could use many different  adjectives to describe the vastness of this Park, all of which would be for naught, so I will just tell you that it was 50 Miles from the Park Entrance down to our site in the RV Park.        

Need I say more?

          And “village” is a very generous name for this place. It has the Campground and the Store. This is where you check in, get some souvenirs, and more importantly (as it seems around here) also procure your essential’s, as in cold beer!

          It’s a good thing we stocked up on our milk supply before we entered No-Man’s Land down here because I’m not sure that I’d trust how fresh it may be!

          We are off the grid until we get back to Fort Stockton.

          Yes, that is correct. I will not be able to publish this until we return to some kind of civilization. There is no service down here and why should there be? With a lot of nothings around and the somethings not needing modern communication apparatus, it would be waste of resources to install a system.

          If we really needed to get a hold of someone, Mr. Drucker up at the General Store said that we could come in and he’d ring up Gladys and she’d patch a call into wherever we needed.

          It’s quiet down here.

Tomorrow we start a trip to Big Bend National Park which is way down by Mexico and derives it’s name from the big bend in the Rio Grande River that makes up its southern border (with Mexico). We have been here at the THB, (Texas Home Base) for exactly a month now. We did not intend to stay rooted for this long, especially in the Hot-as-Hell, Still Hanging Around, Texas Summer! But there were numerous doctor’s appointments that led to other appointments, that led to a few procedures, you know how it goes! Anyway, we used the time to improve our site here, pictures to follow, and to help out Danny with some campaigning and attend the County Fair. Here’s the rest of it!

Next post will be from somewhere in the Texas Desert. We’ve heard incredible things about Big Bend National Park and will report summarily.

Thanks, for reading!

Dateline: Rayville, Louisiana, (Walmart Parking Lot)

          A new long-distance record was shattered last Friday! While not necessarily attempting such a feat, the Dynamic Driving Duo of Paula and Don managed to jam 807 miles into their day. Departing an unknown Rest Area on Interstate 81 just south of Roanoke, Virginia, they forged their way through seven states and finally came to rest in the sprawling metropolis of Rayville, Louisiana (pop. 3695), just off of Interstate 20. This was a new route for the Duo, having finally had their fill of the infamous Interstate 10 and its Gator-Filled Wild Swamp Ride and the Six Flags-like Houston Destruction Zone Adventure. The previous record was 689 miles from Texas into Iowa. This accomplishment was attained by constantly driving and not even stopping for the usual necessities.         

          Being able to attend to these ‘necessities’ while not being utilized in the Pilot capacity is facilitated by the fact that, like a turtle, they carry their homes on their proverbial backs. So, one would partake of these activities while leisurely being the Co-Pilot. They did pull into rest areas just long enough to switch drivers and then zoom (?) back onto the Interstate leaving Bewildered Rest Area Onlookers gasping in amazement. Rumor has it that they are practicing an even faster DRM (Driver Replacement Maneuver), where Driver A sets the Cruise Control and stands up while Driver B slides in behind Driver A, sits down, and accepts control while Driver A exits to their right, which completes the DRM.

          So far this highly questionable maneuver has only been attempted in their dreams.

          The hasty exit from New Jersey was, unfortunately, not hasty enough. Many lessons were learned from the Great Texas Ice Storm of this past Winter. So, when (or as usual) a Meteorological Anomaly left them with no choice but to spend an extra day in Ortley Beach, they took it in stride and spent the day with Carol and Glenn, Paula’s cousins. A furious round of Mexican-Train Dominoes ensued. Curiously, Ortley Beach was Ground Zero for Superstorm Sandy back in 2012. But this time all that was encountered was a nice day and a few thunderstorms at night. The next day the Duo hastened to sneak out behind the departing Ida (as in Ida-Wanna-Be-Here) and had clear sailing all the way back to Texas.

          They arrived in Texas in time for Madison’s 5th Birthday and will probably exit as quickly as they arrived because the Texas Summer is still in full swing. With the feels-like temps hovering between 105 and 110 they will be seeking something a little bit cooler, say, someplace like Hell.

As that great group from Paterson , New Jersey, The Happenings, sang in 1966….

          “See you in September, see you… when the summers though….”

          Well, that’s what our friends and families to the left of the Mississippi are hearing as we get close to Embarkation Day, when we set sail for parts West.

           It’s been a great summer, and as usual, it went by far quicker than anyone realized. There are folks that we still wanted to get together with, but for whatever reason, that opportunity did not present itself.

          Our goal is to reach Texas by September 7^th, Maddie’s 5^th birthday. After that, we are not sure. We’ve made a few doctors’ appointments in September and depending on how long the hot, humid, yucky, Texas summer days hang around, we will be searching for cooler climes for a while.

          The usual suspects are all in the line-up of possibilities. Durango and Santa Fe the top destinations. Both can get warm, but at an average elevation of 7000’, the humidity is ultra-low, and the temps moderate quickly. We will be in Durango, Colorado later in the fall as the proprietors of Tomboy Farm are going on vacation to Eastern Europe and desire us to farm-sit for a spell.

          With three goats, two cats, and a myriad of chickens to tend to, I can assure you that there will be many a post with critters as the subject. All we can hope for is that we don’t have one about the dreaded Chicken Hemorrhoid!

          Our travels East commenced in mid-June and included stops in Tennessee, Maryland, Vermont, Maine, Virginia, and Massachusetts. Our “campsites “ in New jersey were all within a mile radius of the Chatterbox corner. Our summertime hosts were John and Diane in Lafayette, Steph and Ed in Wantage,  Ben and Jan at Ideal Farms and Tommy and his crew at Yetter’s Diner. We could not have asked for a better bunch of folks for us and our ‘house on wheels’ to descend on. Each one truly welcomed us and wanted us to stay as long as we wanted or needed to. It makes coming home a lot nicer when everyone is so welcoming!

          On one hand, it will be hard to leave our real home and everyone here. But on the other hand, I received a call from Willie, he needs someone to help him sing “On the road again, just can’t wait to get on the road again….” We all know that it won’t be me sharing the mic with him, but I can run his sound system, but anyway, The Further Adventures of Paula and Don,  (just like any other renewed series), awaits their highly anticipated second season.

          And while the regular cast-members are already signed up, our only problem is that Bonnie, our Fugitive Parsley Plant, is holding out for more Miracle-Gro in her contract negotiations.

          As we like to say in the biz…..

          “Stay tuned for further developments. Film at eleven.”

As we travel around the Country I am constantly amazed at how the journey has provided as much, if not more, satisfying surprises than the destination.

          Who would have guessed that we could have walked to the Buddy Holly crash site from our destination of Winnebago Headquarters in Iowa, or on our way south from Mount Rushmore, we were able to stop at Wounded Knee, the significant site of a terribly unfortunate incident in our ever-evolving history of living side-by-side with our Native American friends?

          Again, Journey vs. Destination.

          That brings me to today’s amalgamation of past journeys and destinations.

          Destination: Vermont

          Journey: New York State Thruway

          For the past 38 years or so I have traveled on this road on the way to Vermont. The destinations vary, Stratton Mountain, where all the kids learned to ski, courtesy of my friend Elaine, whose family has had a house since the early Eighties. Killington, where my friend Glenn and I would drive up just for the day to ski (and be the first people on the lift-line!)  Stowe, where Donny and Hilary started their careers and Augustus was born.  And Dover, the home of Paula’s sister and where her family had a house for years at Mount Snow.

          The journey was always the same, up the NYS Thruway and then through Albany, with it’s magnificent State Buildings that seem just a little more grandiose than most.

          Hey, it’s not called the Empire State for nothing!

          One of the things that I like about this particular roadway is its views of the Shawangunk Mountains (where if you know the precise place on the Thruway you can glimpse the Tower at Mohonk Mountain House in a fortuitous break in the trees along the highway) and of course the Catskills, home to Woodstock and the wonderfully nostalgic Borscht Belt resorts of the mid-twentieth century.

          It is also the setting for the aptly named mid-nineteenth century art movement, The Hudson River School. You may not know its name, but I’m sure that you’ve seen examples of it. I don’t know why, but I’ve always been drawn to this style of art and its paintings. Maybe it’s because of the detail on then canvas, or the way the artist used the sunlight, or maybe even because I was familiar with the environs and subject matter.

          Who knows?

          All I know is that I’ve always wanted to see as many examples of this style as I could.

          Enter the New York State Capital Region Visitors Center. This is a relatively new structure built on the northbound side of the Thruway, just south of Albany and adjacent to the New Baltimore Service Area. It is a convenient place to stop going north. It’s new, the restrooms nice, its not crowded and they do a good job of promoting the sights of the Region using displays and multi-media.

          Grinding to halt on my way to the restroom, I was mesmerized by one display showing the Albany Institute of History and Art. There, right before my eyes was the Holy Grail of the Hudson River School!

           A collection that rivaled by no other!

          A collection that fit because it was home!

          A collection that was nearby!

          But alas, it may as well have been a thousand mile away.

          Always traveling with the destination as the reason for driving from one place to another left little time for side-shows.

          Rule #1 – One pee-stop only!

          Rule #2 – Always try and break the Here-to-There Elapsed Time Record!

          No time for dilly-dallying!

          The traveling times would also need to coincide with the hours of the Museum and/or one would need to build in the time on the travel side so as not to interfere with the approved Destination Estimated Time of Arrival.

          Until yesterday.

          We left Dover mid-morning and had ample time to do whatever we wanted, for two reasons:

          #1 – We had nothing else on the schedule for the day

          #2 – We’re Retired!

          The Albany Institute for History and Art has been in existence since 1791, making it one of the oldest museums in the Country. Its names have somewhat  morphed through the years, but its purpose has not. It exists to display, catalog, and preserve the Art and History of that region of New York State. It seems do this nicely and at the same time offer a site for rotating exhibits that travel the Country. Starting next month there will be a sixty-piece exhibit on the art of the Wyeth’s. The Wyeth’s are considered the First family of American Art. More on this later.

          As we pulled off of the 787 loop and into the heart of Albany, all seemed a little too tranquil. Maybe because it was a Friday in August or maybe it was because their Governor just got the ax, but anyway, it was a pleasure driving the streets of this major city….. alone!

          The museum has its own parking lot, which surprisingly, was free. We walked in and there were only three other folks in front of us, a group of elderly ladies who seemed to be there for the same reason as we were. Admission was half-price because they were between exhibits, getting ready for the previously mentioned Wyeth Exhibit and one on period clothing of the nineteenth century. So, for the grand sum of eight dollars, (in total and Senior Discount included!) we entered and proceeded to the third floor where the Hudson River School had its permanent display.

          On the way we passed through an older part of the complex, one with those kinds of stairways that you seem to find only in museums.

And then through an exhibit on the New York Central Railroad. Seeing how travel was before the airplane took over made one yearn for those days. Dining Cars with elegant table settings, Sleeper Cars just as nicely appointed, and Lounge Cars designed with moveable deep-cushioned living room type chairs so they could be arranged for fun and conversation.

          Ahh… to be back then!

          And the advertising posters and ads! I don’t know about you, but there is something about that Art-Deco style that just give me goosebumps!

          Eventually we entered the gallery that was the home to The Hudson River School. It was very large and spacious which made it easy to be able to stand back and admire the work in the way it was intended to be viewed, but at the same time we were able to get within inches of it and scrutinize the techniques of these artists.

          The Hudson River School was started in the mid-nineteenth century by Thomas Cole. Fortunately, there were several of his paintings on display here at the museum.

           When it became obvious (back then, when Cole’s paintings started to sell rapidly out of a New York City gallery) that this was a style of  art that could be commercially successful, a handful of other artists started painting this way. In reality, this style is an off-shoot of the plein-air style which was gaining in popularity. All of the various new modes of transportation helped artists get out into country previously difficult to travel to. This was also one of the reasons for its popularity, it enabled folks to have beautiful scenic paintings of far-away place in their homes.

          One of the other things that the Institute is known for are  their Mummies. In the early 1900’s as travel abroad became somewhat easier, several artifacts of Egyptian Antiquity were acquired by the Institute. No grave robbing here! These artifacts were made available by the Egyptian authorities to bona-fide educational organizations. They have been, over the years, one of the top reasons for visiting here and one can see why. The displays are first-rate, with detailed explanations that don’t bore you to death!

          So now I’m back to the Journey vs. Destination quandary.

          I alluded to the Wyeth Exhibit coming next month.

          We won’t be here.

          I LOVE Andrew Wyeth’s work!

          Is a return trip in the offing?

          We shall see……

I watched as the guy driving the John Deere Gator came bouncing across the field towards me. I slowed my borrowed mower down and eventually turned it off as it was obvious that he was intent on talking to me. The guy stepped off the Gator with a bungee cord in his hand, came over to the mower, and lifted the safety chute up, bungeed it open and said to me, “It won’t clog up as fast now.”

          All I said was, “You must be Ben.” And as the saying goes, “The rest is history.”

          It was Saturday, April 19 of 2003 when I first met Ben Jorritsma of Ideal Farms in Augusta, New Jersey. I was mowing the aforementioned field next to Sonny’s Drive-In, which was, in two weeks, going to become The Chatterbox. Sonny had scheduled a car show for what was going to be our first weekend of business and I knew that if I waited until then to mow, that it would be a debacle trying to hack through what would have been essentially a hayfield by then.

          Hence the pre-emptive strike on all of those blades of grass.

          Little did I know that mowing that field would become one of my favorite pastimes in my entire life, but more on that later.

          Having Ben and Jan Jorritsma and their family-owned business, Ideal Farm Garden Center as our neighbor, was one of the highlights of our fifteen years in business at Ross’s Corner. We were right next to, and across the street from Ideal. In  fact, our common property lines were the boundaries between Lafayette and Frankford Township. To both of us, that boundary was non-existent.

          It is kind of strange how two business, so different from each other, can come to rely on, lean on, and totally depend on each other whenever we needed each other.

          Ours was a wonderful symbiotic relationship if there ever was one.

          How and why, you may ask?

          The answer was simple, but the bottom line is that we were both family-owned business that watched each other work like crazy to fulfil the niche that we had created for ourselves.

          To start, we both had card-blanche run of each other’s places of business. There were times when I needed a tool (or whatever), and all I needed to do was walk over to the big red machinist building, walk through the doors, and borrow said tool or even bring whatever needed repair over there to be worked on. In return, Ben and his crew could walk into the Chatterbox, coolers in hand, and fill up their needs from our beloved Ice Machine (which now sits proudly over at Ideal Farms continuing its legacy).

          Doing one’s own repairs is essential to both of our businesses. Not that we didn’t need the pros from time to time but calling them all the time would probably bankrupt us. One morning I was trying my best to work on our stalwart dishwasher and for the life of me (and the giant pipe wrenches in hand) I couldn’t get a fitting loose. In despair (because I didn’t like to bother Ben unnecessarily) I called him and asked if he could drop by for a minute. In a little while Ben marched through the back kitchen door, took one look at me and my dilemma, took the wrenches from me, put them down, then using his hands, grabbed the pipe and in about 6 seconds had my fitting apart. I received that patented Ben Jorritsma Smile, and another patented quote, “Call me if you need me!” and out the door he went.

          I don’t care how much you can bench press, there is nothing stronger than “Farmer Strong”!

          In return for all the practical favors, we would provide them with what we did best, food! We prepared all of their lunches, no charge, during the crazy Pumpkin Season and the just-slightly-less-crazy Christmas Tree Season. I would come up with a menu at the beginning of the season for the four weeks ahead, both Saturday and Sunday. At about 11:30 AM, just as we opened and before we became overrun with “Pickers” ourselves, we delivered roughly twenty sandwiches (or portions of whatever was on the menu that day), over to the main building where they were distributed to all of the workers. Those folks barely had time to breathe never mind stop for food!

          Pumpkin Season was particularly intense. The hayrides took customers past humorous ‘graveyards’  on the way to ‘Pumpkin Hollow’ to pick out their pumpkins and then tons of them came across the street to us for the rest of their tradition. Most were from “Down Below” as we affectionally called anywhere south of us. Throngs out of Bergen and Morris Counties made their annual pilgrimages ‘Up Country’ to our little corner, had a grand time, and wished us both well.

           A “See you next year!” was all the thanks we needed.

          A collective sigh could be heard from both sides of the road when the onslaught was finally over at the end of the season and our coffers were, hopefully,(depending on the weather!) full. This was what helped get us through the Dark Times……. The Dreaded Winter!

          During the summer, when the tomatoes were ready, I would make daily trips across the street to procure those red, ripe, softball sized examples of what all the world knows as the epitome of greatness, The Jersey Tomato! We even had special signs on our tables letting all know that these delectable slices of heaven came from across the street and Ideal Farm. Ben also supplied us with our GIANT pumpkin at the beginning of October for our Guess the Weight of the Pumpkin contest.

          You can’t believe what some of the guesses were!

          Leaving our friends at Ross’s Corner was one of the hardest parts when it came to selling the Chatterbox and leaving the area. I’m sure that its not quite the same for both of us.

          But the legend lives on at Ideal Farm and Garden Center because they purchased the Very Formidable Ice Machine and my most favorite lawn mower ever! I gave them instructions in Ice Machine Etiquette, which means I showed them how to bang on the side of it to loosen the ice stuck up in the top and other various ‘dos and don’ts’ of the ice-making world. They now don’t know how they survived before without one!

          As for my Lawnmower Extraordinaire, I have been able to use it as of late because we are parked, nestled behind the greenhouses and parked at Ideal Farm Garden Center and RV Resort!

          We have all the best of anything that we could want.

          Great produce,

          Fresh eggs,

          Tons of privacy,

          Goats, chickens, and ducks as our neighbors,

          And……  a wonderfully level grassy spot to park our own giant pumpkin, the motorhome!

          And we all know what level grassy spots need….

          Mowing!

          I get to mow our spot and as much of Ideal Farms property as I want!

          With my old mower!

          Eyeing my baby sitting in her special hanger, my pulse quickened. I slowly slid into the seat. Déjà vu took over and it was like I never got off of it.

           I sat in the cockpit, reached for the controls and…..  it all fell back into place. Little throttle, full choke, work the throttle, and then Vrooom!

          She roared into life!

          Carefully backing out of her hanger, I taxied into position and then, saluting the Catapult Officer as he shot me down the deck, I was on my way to Lawn-Mowing Nirvana again!

          Upon reaching cruising altitude, I throttled back a bit, engaged the PTO, the blades whirled to life as I inched the throttle back to full and set course for the Level Area.

          Being the mechanic that he is, Ben has my old baby running perfectly and I’m sure that he sharpens the blades more frequently than I did, so it makes beautiful passes back and forth like in Yankee Stadium!

          Life is good.

          Here we are experiencing a wonderful time in Beach Haven, New Jersey. A town on Long Beach Island which is, in reality, an eighteen-mile-long sand bar. Just ask anyone who survived Superstorm Sandy.

          Or, in regional Jersey parlance, we are at a grammatically incorrect locale simply called, “down the shore.”

          Not “down at the shore.”

          Not “at the beach.”

          Not “by the ocean.”

          Just “down the shore” and it fits just fine, thank-you.

          You need to be from New Jersey, specifically northern Jersey, to really get this, but we will forgive you if you are not from these parts.

          Just don’t mock our colloquial ways of speaking!

          New Jersey may be one of those places that you love to hate, can’t wait to leave, and at the same time, can’t get enough of. It is one of those proverbial places that are a “state-of-mind.”

          My daughter, Lorelyn (the one in Colorado and who will never move back) holds onto her Jerseyana-isms like they were precious heirlooms, which in her mind, they are. She has two tee-shirts that she wears out there. The first has ‘Welcome to New Jersey, now get out!’ emblazoned on it. The second says, ‘New Jersey, only the strong survive’. Someone once asked her about it and her reply was, “If I have to explain it, you can’t get it.”

          Going ‘down the shore’ has been a family ritual ever since my grandparents bought a house right on the bay in Beach Haven West. I spent as much time as possible there when I was a kid. A kid that was (and still is) enamored with life down here, especially if that life were to somehow have a boat entwined in it. Back then, there were no age restrictions for operating a small, private motor vessel, so here I was in Fifth Grade with my very own fourteen-foot boat with a three horsepower Johnson outboard firmly affixed to the transom.

           Talk about young-boy nirvana!

          I loved that motor so much that on the days that it wasn’t in use (rainy) I would spend as much time with it as I could wiping it down and polishing it with my special cloth.

          But that was 56 years ago.

          This is 2021 and…… nothing has changed.

          I was fortunate enough to go on a boat ride yesterday.

          Not just any boat ride. A boat ride in and around my old bay-side stomping grounds, or ‘waters’ if you prefer.

          Again…… nothing has changed.

          Thankfully!

          The face-full of spray from the bow plowing into the wake of a passing fellow boater, the wind giving you the much envied ‘boat hair’ look, and the familiarity of the channel markers and back-street lagoons made for a much-needed time-machine experience.

          We are down here for a week due to the generosity of my sister Kathy, and her husband Denny. They rent a house here every summer for a week and invite us to tag along.

          Not only us, but their three daughters and their respective families, and my daughter, Heather, and her family.

          All together we have seventeen peeps living under this roof, all very comfortably because the house is one of those old Victorian places from the turn of the century. Constructed of local oak, harvested from over in the Pine Barrens, it is as strong and permanent as it possibly can be.

          And large.

          Not just regular large, I mean big large!

          The kind of large that has a full third floor, (not a re-constructed attic) complete with bath up there. All in all, there are 151 bedrooms and 126 bathrooms (or something like that, I’ve lost count!) in this place.

          Anyway, you get the idea.

          We are very comfortable and having a great time.

          Especially for us. Travelling around in the motorhome does not lend itself to spending a lot of time with family. So, this kind of time is, in every sense of the word, priceless.

          I am pausing the writing process for a while because the kids came downstairs and are headed to the beach to watch the sunrise. It’s a tad cloudy out and it all depends on what is sitting on the horizon. When Heather came downstairs a little while ago she asked me (the meteorologist-soothsayer) if it was still a go. I gave her the thumbs-up because when I got up earlier I could see some stars, so I hope that it’s still good enough for viewing. Otherwise, there will be some cranky teenagers stalking the halls later!

          Sunrise Report upon return.

          (Pause for Sunrise Expedition)

          Success!

          Walking up to the beach my expectations were diminished substantially, but like I said before, it all depends on what is sitting on the horizon. Luckily, when the first arc of that nature-nourishing orb poked its head up and peeked over in our direction there were just a few clouds arranged there for dramatic effect.

          “Ta-Da”!!!

          Never underestimate the power of a well-placed cloud!

          Our activities down here tend to fall into a routine of sorts. That is, if something that is done annually can be classified as a routine!

          Each family unit is responsible for a dinner which makes that time of day either very relaxing or very hectic, depending on one’s status of the day. The days/meals run the gamut from grilled chicken and steak to tacos. Our contribution to this annual Festival of Feasts is BBQ’d baby-back ribs with a side of fresh scallops.

          I believe that a word on the scallops would be appropriate here.

          Luckily for us, the best scallops on the planet seem to live off of the Jersey coast and are harvested daily and landed at the fishing port of Barnegat Light. It is there that we procure these delectable morsels of delight, as fresh as can be, and just dying to be sacrificed to the Pan-Searing gods for our pleasure.

          Some of the other rituals that take place annually include boating, outings to the Mini-Golf course, a visit to Barnegat Lighthouse, a night at Fantasy Island Amusement Park, and of course the almost daily excursion to the sand. Sometimes (mostly) a brave member of our troupe volunteers to forge  ahead and stake out a claim of sorts, so that there is ample space for all of us to together in a compound, never to be invaded by the infidels.

          A week never seems to be enough time. By the time you settle in and then make sure that you cover all of the ‘Tradition’ activity bases, it’s time to start packing up again to go home.

          Until next year.

          When we get back here next summer, it will all be the same.

          Thankfully.

          Except we will all be a year older. The younger kids will have grown substantially, the teens will have matured a bit more, and us older folks will be trying our best not to let time slow us down too much.

          Hopefully we will be successful!