Colleen's Excellent Adventures

Pawnee, Oklahoma

2010-11-07T08:17:00.001-05:00

PAWNEE, OK

Two years ago, I visited Pawnee, Oklahoma, on a press trip. The town isn’t much, though there are a few small shops and places to eat along the main drag. But it was the stop at Pawnee Bill’s former ranch that was particularly memorable. It was one of those places that called to me, and I was anxious to see it again. So when Rick said we would be staying in an RV park located about 45 minutes from Pawnee.

In case you’ve never heard of Pawnee Bill (I never had), he was a famous western showman who got his start as one of the starring acts in the Buffalo Bill Wild West Show in the late 1800s. His real name was Gordon Lillie, but he actually lived with the Pawnee Indians in this part of Oklahoma. The story goes that a member of the tribe sold Gordon an enormous chunk of land located about 20 minutes from the town of Pawnee, where he built a series of structures to house everything from a blacksmith shop, to his beautiful home. Pawnee Bill’s heyday was at the time the Old West was dying, and people all over the world were eager to see the Wild West Shows in an attempt to recapture to romance of the old west. Both Buffalo Bill and Pawnee Bill became very wealthy providing old west hungry audiences with mock Calvary/Indian battles, rodeo-type acts, trick horseback riders, and sharpshooters.

Eventually, Pawnee Bill spun off his own version of the Wild West Show, incorporating an Asian group of performers after spending time in the Far East. It was Gordon’s wife, May, who was the real star of the show. May was raised as a Quaker and married Gordon Lillie when she was only 15. She had never shot a gun; nor had she ever ridden a horse. That changed immediately after her marriage, when her groom surprised her with a shiny new rifle and a horse. Much to everyone’s surprise, May became one of the best women shooters in the world, rivaling the famous Annie Oakley. Actually, I think May was better than Oakley, as May did her sharp shooting while riding a galloping horse!

Gordon Lillie and Buffalo Bill Cody remained friends throughout their lives and even teamed up in later years to join their shows in world tours. Both Buffalo Bill and Will Rogers were frequent visitors at the ranch, and the mansion has preserved a few articles that had belonged to them.

May Lillie’s story would make a terrific book. Hum…. I may be heading back to Pawnee in the near future to do research! I also recommend that any of you who are interested in the old west, or who would like to see what remains of Pawnee Bill’s own herd, visit the ranch.

Heart of the Ozarks

2010-11-04T09:01:00.002-04:00

THE OZARKS

One of the highlights of the trip was having a chance to visit with our son, Dane, his wife, Sapna, and our two grand daughters. They drove to the Ozarks from Texas and rented a cabin. We stayed in one of the few RV parks in the area, located about 30 minutes from the kids’ cabin. Day One entailed a hike. A very grueling hike, to be more precise. Dane thought it was 2.8 miles total. But because there was so much climbing involved, including what seemed like endless stone staircases that the Dept. of Forestry had built up some of the steepest paths, the hike seemed to go on forever.

We packed a lunch and carried it with us, stopping to picnic on some rocks beside a slow moving stream. Like so many areas in the Mid-West, Arkansas is in the midst of a draught, so rivers and streams are the lowest they’ve been in years. Without enough water, the trees turned quickly from green to gold to, well, dead and brittle leaves. A few hillsides near water sources were splashed with colorful leaf changes: orange, crimson, gold.

But I digress. Back to the hiking trail. The reward at the end of your effort is a cave containing a small waterfall. Portions of the cavern have ceilings so low that you have to crawl on hands and knees to get through. Here and there, water drips from the rock ceiling to the earth floor, making the crawl space a muddy mess. Still, it’s worth the trek. Even in this bone-dry season, the cascading waterfall, called the “Hidden Falls,” was a fascinating sight.

Anyone who knows our Dane will recall his love of the out-of-doors. Now a doctor with a family and little time to enjoy nature, he revels in things that involve outside activities. So, on Day 2, Dane wanted for all of us to canoe on the Buffalo ??? River. Never mind that all but one of the canoe rental places were closed for the season. And never mind that the river was so low, we could see sandbars from the bridges. Off we went in search of canoes, paddles, and life vests.

We were taken by van to a launch site, an area underwater in a normally wet year, and set off for a three-hour journey that involved scraping the bottom of our canoes over rocks and sandbars. In spite of the fact that it was more work than any of us had anticipated, it was a great day of fresh air, family fun, and exercising muscles that Rick and I hadn’t used in years.

To my surprise, I enjoyed canoeing, something I had never done. My first love has always been sailing, but now, canoeing is a close second.

We spent a great deal of time with our son and his lovely family. Sapna did a bunch of cooking at the cabin, and we had a great time playing with the girls. It was over too soon, but we hope to repeat the experience somewhere else next year. Hopefully, there will be more water in Oregon, where we plan to meet in the summer of 2011.

Now, it’s time to turn back towards home in So. Calif. We’ll go back the same way we came, though we’ll avoid the noisiest campgrounds when possible. We’ll eat at Cracker Barrel Restaurants until there aren’t more along the highways. California and Nevada don’t have CBs, so we’re trying to get our fill of their homemade biscuits, fried apples, chicken salad, and (for Rick) the chicken and dumplings.

So, it’s good-bye for now. We’ll be taking another big trip in the spring, so stay tuned…. And thanks for joining us on our first big adventure with Shamu. (One of my friends suggested that I call the blog “Stories from Inside the Whale’s Belly.” What do you think?

Dane & Rick in Dane's cabin near Jasper, ARK

Rick & Colleen at the start of the hike up to the waterfall / cave.
We didn't look so spry after the hike !

Inside the cave where the waterfall lands.

Pitch black inside, so you just point
and shoot and hope to get something.

Roof of the cavern with a watefall inside... had to spelunk to reach it.

I almost forgot this place !

2010-11-03T08:59:00.001-04:00

Springfield, Missouri ... most memorable for it's forgetableness...
Main thing we did there was fix the TV antenna that had gotten
bent up in the ferocious winds the day before on the road from
Hannibal. Had to remove it, bend it back, add reinforcing plates,
paint it, and re-install it. Added a dryer vent cover as a
streamlining device in front of it to prevent the winds from
picking it up and bending it again.

Lake of the Ozarks, Missouri

2010-11-02T08:59:00.002-04:00

Brief rest after a grueling day. Got there late, set up "camp", ate dinner and flopped. Got up
the next morning and pushed on toward Jasper, Arkansas and meeting up with our Son, Dane
and the grandkids.

Tom Sawyer's and Huck Finn's genesis

2010-11-01T08:58:00.005-04:00

HANNIBAL, MISSOURI

Mark Twain's home and the birthplace of many of his stories.

You’ve all heard of Hannibal, Missouri, right? No? Well, in case you haven’t, it’s where Samuel Clemens (aka Mark Twain) was born and spent his childhood. Hannibal is situated on the Mississippi River, about 110 miles north of St. Louis. Because it was built in a valley between bluffs to the north and south, and at a narrow point in the river, it became a favorite stop for steamboats picking up loads of crops and wood from local areas back in the mid 1800s.

This was the setting for Mark Twain’s fictional books, Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. Although he changed the names of people and places, Clemens eventually named names, and places like Becky Thatcher’s house are clearly identified.

Hannibal has fallen on hard times in this recession, and in spite of the 100th anniversary commemorating Clemens death in 1910, tourism is down. Blocks of historic buildings where businesses once thrived have been deserted. There are still a few places to eat and several motels, but the once-grand Mark Twain Hotel has been converted into apartments.

If you go, do visit Mark Twain’s house and the museum. There’s a touristy steamboat that will take you on a ride along the Mississippi, narrating Hannibal’s history and places along the river where Sam Clemens played as a child, then used the places and events in his stories.

We stayed in the Mark Twain Cave campground of Tom Sawyer fame, which is about 10 minutes south of town. That’s 10 minutes by car through hilly roads, but when Clemens and his friends hiked over to the caverns that he made famous in his Tom Sawyer story, it would have taken an hour or two for the kids to get there.

Okay, here’s what happened. It had been windy on our trip to reach Hannibal. Rick wrestled the beast all day to keep it steady on the road. We toured a little the first afternoon and had a so-so dinner in town. That night, the winds picked up considerably. Shaking the coach, it howled and whistled through the trees. The TV. shows were continuously interrupted with high wind warnings. Then tornado warnings were announced for our area! There were very few people in the campground (mostly full-time residents in their trailers), and the office, which was a considerable distance from us, was closed.

Many of the campgrounds where we had stayed actually had tornado shelters on the grounds. They were marked on the maps you are given when you check in. But not at this campground! We had absolutely no idea where to go, and the other RVs weren’t anywhere near us, so we didn’t know if the other people had evacuated. But where would they have gone? Rick decided that a nearby concrete block bathroom and laundry room would be stronger than anything else in the RV park. By now, the winds were gusting at over 60 mph! Leaves were flying and swirling, making it difficult to see outside.

At about 2 a.m., the tornado sirens still hadn’t gone off, and we were exhausted. We laid on the bed, fully dressed, the rest of the night. We dozed off and on, not knowing what to expect next. Boy, was that a long night.

Well, the tornados touched down about 20 miles away, then swept over to Indianapolis and up to Chicago. This weather front created a lot of destruction, breaking all of the records for wind speeds. Give me earthquakes, thank you very much!

The next morning, trees were down, branches had been snapped, and our TV. antenna, which was actually down, was considerably bent. It was still windy, and the weather was uncertain. We thought about simply leaving, but the winds were too high to be on the road.

The first thing we did was head for the campground office. We were advised that if the winds kicked up again, and tornados were in the area, we should run for the Tom Sawyer caverns. That was the tornado shelter! Wish they had told us the day before….

Anyway, we had planned to take the steamboat ride the next day, but it was so windy, the trip was cancelled. Instead, we visited some of the shops, the museum, and the cemetery where Clemens family is buried. Lunch was at the Rustic Oak Riverview Café in the touristy Sawyer’s Creek village across from our campgrounds. What a surprise! The food was fabulous! In fact, it was so good, we had to go back for dinner. As the sun set and the sky turned shades of pink, the muddy river actually looked beautiful.

The wind blew throughout the night, but the bulk of the storm had moved on, so the wind speeds weren’t nearly as bad. We were both pooped and let the shaking of the RV rock us to sleep.

Statue of Mark Twain ovelooking the Mississippi in Hannibal, MO

Statue in Mark Twain's boyhood home in Hannibal.

Entry on gangway in Hannibal

Mark Twain's boyhood home and the famous fence.

Becky Thatcher's house ... across the street from Twain's.

View of Hannibal from Lover's Leap.

Old Town Hannibal ... some of which Mark Twain would have seen.

Tom Sawyer's village on the river ... kid's park and good cafe.

Entrance to the Cave of Tom Sawyer fame and our RV campground.

Shamu and friend in the Cave campgroundl

Mark Twain's boyhood home in Hannibal.

Mark Twain statue on the banks of the Missl

Lincoln's Home

2010-10-30T08:56:00.003-04:00

Lincoln's home from 1850 ish to his death.

SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS

If you have even the slightest interest in President Lincoln, you absolutely have to head to Springfield, Illinois. Springfield is a good-sized city (actually, it’s the capitol of the state), and there are a lot of restaurants, hotels, etc. There are lots of beautiful neighborhoods, containing large traditional homes, sprawling lawns, and perfectly manicured gardens.

But THE neighborhood that is a must-see is the one where Abraham and Mary Lincoln lived. The Lincolns lived in this home for a little over a decade before moving to the White House when Lincoln took office in 1861. The thing that surprised me was that it wasn’t huge, nor was it grandiose. In fact, to the contrary, it was far more modest than you would expect, especially since Lincoln was a lawyer, a Illinois Representative many times, and then a U. S. Representative prior to his election to the presidency.

Here’s the thing that puzzles me. Mary Todd married Abraham, who wasn’t exactly a good-looking man, right? When she was growing up in Lexington, Kentucky, before they were married, she was considered a really attractive young lady and a real social butterfly. Plus, her father was wealthy, and the house in Lexington was large and lovely (please see the earlier entry from Lexington for photos). So, she marries this homely guy with very little money, and moves into a not-so-wonderful house for years before he becomes president. Hum…. I’ve been trying to figure out why she would do that! There was no way she could know he would become President of the United States. What do you think?

Anyway, the Lincoln’s neighborhood is a historic district containing about a dozen restored houses on streets that aren’t open to traffic. Walk from house to house, tour them, and learn their history. It’s a great way to spend an hour or two. There’s also a Visitor’s Center with gift items and a few displays.

In addition, there’s a Lincoln Museum/Library downtown if you want to see more of the Lincolns’ personal affects. We skipped it, as we were running out of time, and we wanted to get up the hill to the Lincoln Memorial at the Springfield Cemetery.

The huge memorial wasn’t built for quite a few years after Lincoln’s assassination. After it was completed in 1874, Lincoln’s body was removed from the temporary crypt that had been built on a nearby hill. His casket was placed in the room beneath the memorial, where it sat for a number of years. In fact, there was a plot to steal Lincoln’s body, though the robbers were caught before they completed their grisly deed.

Eventually, Abraham, Mary, and three of their four sons were entombed within the memorial. It’s magnificent and well worth a visit.

Meanwhile, back at the RV park, there weren’t many other people there, except for a few permanent residents (who live in their trailers). But the motorhome parked across from us had the prettiest paint job I’ve ever seen. Take a look at the photos I took and notice that the swirl patterns change color, depending on the direction from which I’m taking the shot. Purple, then green, then brilliant turquoise, then nearly tan/gold. Rick said this is one of the most expensive paints ever made, and I can see why. It seems crazy to spend that kind of money on RV paint, since RVs are constantly getting dinged by rocks and debris on roadways, scraped by trees and bushes, get filthy dirty in dusty and/or muddy campgrounds, etc., etc. And yet, that paint was mesmerizing!

Abraham Lincoln's home in Springfield, Illinois.

Lincoln's desk in his bedroom in his home.

Info about the desk / bedroom.

Even the Pres. had to use the outhouse.

View of the back of Lincoln's home.

Street view of the Lincoln "village" .

Side of Lincoln's home.

Lincoln's mausoleum memorial. Impressive !

Lincoln mausoleum.

Colleen in the doorway of Lincoln's mausoleum.

Motorhome with ridiculously expensive ChromaLusion paint.

Another view showing how the paint changes color.

Another view.

And finally, another view.

INDIANAPOLIS

2010-10-28T22:25:00.005-04:00

Indianapolis …. The good, the bad and the ugly !

Rick's Blog ...

The Good ….

Having been a car racing fan since 1954, Indy has always been near the top of my “bucket list”. Since Indianapolis was on our route home from Ohio, I wanted to visit the track, race or not. We got there in the early afternoon and got into a huge crowd of young farmers…there was a FFA convention at the fairgrounds that weekend and the track was overrun. We hopped on a tour bus, took a ride around the track, stopped at the yard of bricks at the finish line and toured the garages, the pagoda, the press room ( huuuuuggge ! ) and back to the museum. It was full of cars that won at the track and raced around the world. One of the cars, a Mercedes Benz W196 streamlined was the first race car that caught my interest in 1954 and started my fascination with racing, aerodynamics, et al. It is even more amazing in person than in pictures. Way ahead of it’s time! The track is so huge that you could fit Vatican City, the Coliseum, the Rose Bowl, All of Wimbledon and more inside it with room to spare. Frankly, the track is too big. The racing is boring and you really can only see a little of the track from most seats. The tradition and lore are better than the reality.

The Bad ….

On the way to the RV park, which happened to be the State Fair Grounds in Indy, we ended up on some narrow residential streets. A Salvation Army truck was parked at the curb, but it’s mirror hung over into the second lane, and on my left was a Honda pilot too close for me to move over. Our right mirror hit the Salvation Army truck's left mirror, destroying both. After stopping and exchanging info., we crawled our way back to the fairgrounds and RV campground. After disassembling the mirror and finding out what parts I needed to fix it, the search began. Dozens of phone calls and running around later, I found a local dealer that could order the parts from Wisconsin and have them in by Saturday noon. $ 250 and a day later, I had my parts and set about repairing the mirror. We would be ready to take off Sunday morning.

The Ugly…

On going out to the Honda to get some parts and other stuff, I found the right front tire flat. Wunnerful! So, I had to put on the goofy spare and go get parts and find someone to fix the tire. I was directed to a tire repair store not far away. It was in a very bad part of town and I was the only Caucasian in sight. I got the tire plugged, paid my bill and got the heck out of there, asap.

We're outta here !

Finally, Sunday morning and Indianapolis is in our rear view mirrors !!! It will be a long time before I return there !

Salvation Army truck mirror #@%&*#*%$@*$&^%

Shamu's wounded wingl

On the front straight at Indy

The old guy at the press desk.

The podium in the press room

Start-Finish line ... 3 feet of bricks ... goes all the way thru the garages.

The Start-Finish line

1954 Mercedes Benz W-196 streamlined Formula 1 Car

AIR FORCE MUSEUM

2010-10-27T09:33:00.000-04:00

DAYTON – Home of flight and aviation.

Another Rick blog .....

Where the Wright brothers developed their first powered airplane, Wright-Patterson Air Force Base is home to the US Air Force and the Air Force Museum. This is a huge facility with an Imax theater on the front, 3 enormous hangers full of historical airplanes and weapons and a huge silo at the back populated with full sized rockets. Starting with the first biplane all the way up to the latest F-22 fighter, it is a walk through history. The aircraft industry in the USA provided a lot of jobs for lots of people across the nation, including me. I worked for Lockheed from 1962 thru 1971 with a break for college.

Many of the planes that I admired in my youth are there in full size and some of the planes that I worked on, the SR-71 and the U-2 are there but not the L-1011. And planes that my son, Gary worked on in the Air Force, the F-111 swing-wing bomber and the F-117 Nighthawk “fighter” bomber are there. If you have any interest in aircraft, this is a must.

The history of amazing technological advancement there is stunning. Unfortunately, so is the fact that we, as a nation, have produced the most efficient machines and weapons for killing other people in the history of the planet. Necessary during WWII, fear and greed hav driven most of the development since then. Eisenhower was right .. "beware the military-industiral complex !" I’m afraid that in 50 or 100 years, history won’t treat us too well, recognizing us as the most violent society of our times… The technological advances are great; the weapons are not. I think the money would have been better spent on helping the people that needed it in our country and worldwide.

The SR-71 Blackbird ... fastest jet ever.

The SR-71 .. no weapons, just spy cameras.

The U-2 above a lot of famous airplanes. No weapons, just cameras.

The giant B-36, successor to the B-29 that bombed Hiroshima.
I remember in my youth hearing these behemoths droning overhead.

Little Boy and Fat Man ... A bombs dropped on Japan.

F-117 Nighthawk .. stealth fighter/bomber Gary worked on.

F-22 ... the lates killing machine in our arsenal.

The B-2 Stealth Bomber

Apollo 15 Lunar capsule .. no weapons !

2010-10-23T11:18:00.001-04:00

AMISH PIES, CAKES AND CANDIES

There are many areas in Ohio that Amish country. I always thought their settlements were clustered in the northeast portion of the state, but on our way driving southwest from Newark to an archaeological site known as “Mound City,” near Chilicothe, I noticed one of those classic black buggies parked beside the road. Nearby, a folding table had been set up under a canopy. A middle-aged woman and a little girl, dressed in typical Amish attire complete with bonnets, sat on folding chairs. Unlike the Mormon polygamist wives we saw in Arizona, their clothes were drab neutral colors (see earlier entry). The table was strewn with all sorts of homemade goodies: cookies, candies, pies, cakes…you name it!

I really didn’t want to buy anything (honest), but I was dying to have Rick take some photos. It would have been too rude to simply cruise by, roll down the car window, and snap their pictures (drive-by style). So, I casually sauntered over to their table, while Rick surreptitiously took a few shots of me talking to the Amish woman.

She was very nice and seemingly “normal,” except for her clothing. The woman actually invited us to “the ranch,” in Circleville, ( named after Native American mound circles found there ), where they not only had more types of candies for sale, but furniture, quilts, and other items their community had produced. Okay, now I felt guilty about only looking at the yummy stuff she and the other Amish had made. I knew this was their main means of support. Besides, the little girl was really, really cute. So, I scooped up several little plastic containers filled with a variety of candy. “The pies were fresh baked this morning,” she said with a pleasant smile. “They’re really good.” So…long story short, I bought a peach pie, our favorite.

Continuing on our way to Mound City, the smell of the pie (which was still slightly warm) wafted through the car. In a word, it smelled wonderful. If we had forks with us, we might have dug in right then and there. No, we promised ourselves we would wait to have a piece after dinner that night.

Mound City wasn’t nearly as interesting as the Newark Earthworks. It’s believed by many historians and archaeologists that there’s a direct link between the two sites (which are about 70 miles apart and were once connected by a walled pathway). So, we walked around and took some photos.

That night, I cooked a light dinner in the beast (soup and salad), in an effort to save space in our stomachs for a piece of that much-anticipated, delicious-smelling pie. We warmed up a couple of pieces, plopped on a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and got ready to devour it.

“Oh, no. This is terrible!” I said. Had the Amish forgotten to include sugar? It was so sour! And the crust was absolutely awful. Rick sprinkled some sugar on his piece and managed to choke it down, but I wound up throwing the entire pie in the trash! Store-bought pies were better than this one. I don’t know about you, but I figured that the Amish had been at pie baking for generations, and that they would have perfected it by now. What in the heck happened?

Oh well. Calories saved for the Fliedners, who certainly need to watch their weight and get more exercise! The candy was good, though most of that wound up in the trash as well. Too many calories!! But at least we got our pictures!!

2010-10-22T20:31:00.004-04:00

THE EARTHWORKS

The Newark Earthworks are the reason we went to central Ohio, and we weren’t disappointed. If you’re like me, you don’t know much about this massive archaeological site. Heck, I even took archaeology, Native American, and U. S. history courses in college. Although I read something brief about the ancient “Mound Builders” in America, I had never read about the Newark Earthworks! And it’s such a major thing! Go figure.

Last summer I learned that the site and that it has been nominated for World Heritage status. When I was told that little-to-nothing had been written about the site in magazines, Rick and I thought it would be worth making the trip to check it out personally. The museum’s director and head of the CVB also mentioned that they needed a book written about the Earthworks. Too tempting…we had to go!!!

So, the museum director set me up with Dr. Dick Shiels, the official historian for the site, who gave us a guided tour of the massive site. Newark Earthworks spreads for more than 4 acres of what looks more like a park than an archaeological site. The area is fairly flat, except for the circular rise completely encompassing the historic grounds. Known as the “Great Circle,” the native people who built it 2,000 years used baskets and primitive tools to dig out dirt. They piled it high, (about 8 feet in places) creating a perfect mound-like wall that surrounds what was once a sacred center. Not only have archaeologists and historians studied the site to find out its purpose, but mathematicians and astronomers have been part of the scientific team studying the site. While much still remains a mystery, these experts have determined that the Earthworks, which are actually made up of several geometric circles, squares and octagons, have a connection to the moon’s cycle. Yet, there are many unanswered questions, including who the people were that built the mounds, circles, and other geometric mounds.

This part of the country is rich with history. Plus, it’s pretty as the dickens. Not sure if I’ll write a book about the Newark Earthworks, but will definitely put together a few magazine pitches.

2010-10-20T22:51:00.001-04:00

GRANVILLE, OHIO

Not far from the RV park is Granville, one of the most charming little towns you’ll find anywhere. It’s like one of those Norman Rockwell paintings: historical, New England style houses; tree-covered hillsides interrupted by the occasional church steeple; inns; a few boutique shops, and small restaurants with sidewalk dining.

We ate lunch at the Buxton Inn, Ohio’s oldest continuously operating inn. The historic building opened in 1812 as a way-station and stagecoach stop. Reputed to be one of the most haunted inns in the area, we didn't have any sightings during our stay. I was sure I had died and gone to heaven. Here we were, enjoying a really excellent lunch in an amazing inn located in quaint town…with brilliant yellow and orange leaves wafting down from the huge old trees that line the property. Ahhh….this is the life.

After visiting the historical society’s museum, we learned that it wasn’t always so peaceful in Granville. It was here that anti-slavery citizens (abolitionists) had a nasty conflict before the Civil War with locals who supported slavery. Ohio was a Union state, and most people didn’t like slavery. And yet, some folks didn’t like the idea of interfering with what was going on in the South.

Granville eventually became an important stop on the Underground Railroad, so I’ll likely include it in my book about where to go to see towns, houses, and sites that were part of the route used by escaped slaves who were making their way north to Canada. Darned to luck…we’ll HAVE to go back to Granville next year. Oh, and for anyone who attended U. C. Berkeley, the world-famous historian and publisher, Hubert H. Bancroft for whom the Bancroft Library at Berkeley was named, was born in Granville. I located a particularly interesting story about his family’s involvement assisting slaves with their northern journey, something else I’ll need to follow up on during our next trip here.

The weather changed in the afternoon, and it began to rain. We spent the rest of the day snuggled inside the RV with hot cocoa, some goodies, and a nice dinner. I’m finally getting the knack of cooking in a postage stamp size kitchen and simply adore the combination microwave and convection oven. I haven’t cooked anything fancy, mind you, but I may attempt to bake something next week.

Tomorrow, Rick and I will meet with Dr. Dick Shiels, the university and Newark Earthworks historian, who will take us on a tour of the Great Circle. Rick took lots of photos, which will be on the next Blog entry. Hope you’ll stay with us!

Ohio - Bucolic ~ Pastoral ~ Rockwellian ... Beautiful !

2010-10-19T08:37:00.003-04:00

OHIO

The definition of bucolic is rustic, countrified, rural, pastoral. That’s exactly how I would describe Central Ohio. Round a corner and poof, there’s a beautiful bucolic scene straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting. Acres of fields, gold and dry now after the corn has been harvested and cut, bordered by maples and pines. Many of the Victorian-style farm houses are situated near small ponds, where their children likely spend much of their summers swimming.

When we arrived, the leaves had already begun their annual color change. Hopefully, some of those amazing shades of orange, crimson, yellow, and chartreuse will come through in the photos. But as you all know, seeing photos isn’t nearly as good as being there.

The air has been cool, dipping into the high 30s at night. The campground is beautiful and relatively empty. Rain is expected tonight, and we love hearing it pattering on the roof.

Tomorrow, Rick and I will meet with Dr. Dick Shiels, the historian in charge of the Newark Earthworks. Newark is the terminus of our trip and the reason we came to Ohio. I’ll be writing a magazine article or two about the Newark Earthworks, which is the world’s largest geometric group of mounds created by native people about 2,000 years ago. I was invited here by Susan Fryer, director of the Newark Earthworks Museum and head of the local Convention and Visitors Bureau. I’m also thinking about writing a children’s book about the mounds for the Ohio schools, though I’m not sure I want to make that commitment right now.

Rick is sharing some of the bucolic photos we took in the area. Enjoy!

Blue ? or Gray ?

2010-10-18T08:30:00.005-04:00

MARY TODD LINCOLN IN KENTUCKY

A Confederate or Union supporter?

When visiting the Frankfort Museum (Kentucky’s State Capitol), I was intrigued by one of the displays about Mary Todd, who was born in Lexington, Kentucky. Most of her family members supported the South during the Civil War; in fact, a couple of her brothers fought for the Confederacy. And yet, members of the Todd family who were Confederate sympathizers were hosted by Mary and Abraham Lincoln in the White House while the war was raging on.

As you can imagine, the press had a field day with the topic of allowing “Confederate spies” in the Nation’s capitol. Although Mary Todd Lincoln publically denounced slavery, the rumors continued and the newspapers spread suspicion.

So when we were in Lexington and had the opportunity to tour the house where Mary and her family lived before she met Abe Lincoln in Illinois, we grabbed the opportunity.

Lexington is in the heart of Kentucky’s Bluegrass country. Sprawling ranches with enormous houses are surrounded by the thick natural grass that gives the area its name. I was told that the grass takes on the bluish dark green because of the underground limestone formations that leach into the ground water. It’s beautiful there, and the town is very cosmopolitan—and by that, I mean that people from various parts of the world have moved here to go to the local university, open businesses, or to raise horses. There are abundant places to eat -- we found some of the best Middle Eastern food imaginable at a place called Oasis Restaurant! We'll be going back next time we are in Lexington !

The docents at Todd house (see the photos) wouldn’t allow indoor pictures, so you’ll need to visit the house and have a look for yourself! The volunteers did a wonderful job of restoring the house back to its original state – the house had been used for various purposes for over 150 years and was rescued from the wrecker’s ball by a group of concerned citizens (thank heavens). There are many of Mary’s personal possessions inside the house, including samples of things like the china dinnerware she selected for the Lincolns’ years in the White House.

Mary Todd Lincoln house in Lexington, KY

But the big question mark about Mary will always be her mental health. Was she as nutty as she has been portrayed? A lot of people believe she was manic-depressive, and by all indications, she was! And there are still many questions about her loyalty to the North during the Civil War. I would LOVE to write a historical novel about her and do a bunch of research! While the subject of her sanity is common knowledge, not many of us know about her big family division over the slavery issue.

Back of Mary Todd Lincoln house.

For pictures of Mary Todd Lincoln & family, just Google her name in Images ... you will see thousands of pictures of her.

Tomorrow, we head to Ohio, so we need to clean up Shamu, do more laundry, and get ready for an early start.

2010-10-17T21:32:00.003-04:00

KENTUCKY

Ghosts and Bourbon

Ghost Hunting

For years, Waverly Hills Sanitorium in Louisville, Kentucky has been reported to be one of the most haunted places in the country. The Ghost Hunters t.v. show has done a couple of shows investigating Waverly, capturing specters on camera and disembodied spirit voices on their tape recorders. We were determined to take one of Waverly Hills’ paranormal tours, a perfect experience considering that Halloween is quickly approaching.

Well, we weren’t the only ones thinking that wandering around in the huge, creepy edifice would be neat. Turns out that Waverly tours have been sold out for nearly a year! We’ll need to book tickets next month and come back to Kentucky next fall (darn the luck!!).

Very haunted mansion in Louisville

Our daughter-in-law, Marcella, and I were really, disappointed, though Gary and Rick didn’t really care. So, Marcella found a ghost walk tour in downtown Louisville, and we were back in “ghostly” business. After a lovely dinner at a downtown bistro, we met our tour guide and wandered the streets hearing tales of apparitions, like the Lady in Blue (a bride who was either pushed or jumped down an elevator shaft in an old hotel), a ghostly dog, and other spine chilling stories. Interesting, but we didn’t see a darned spooky thing.

One of the haunted places were visited was an Italian Renaissance style house built in the early 1800s. We’re posting a couple of photos of this very haunted mansion. The history of the place is very strange: It was owned by a family who never left! When one would die, the remaining siblings would simply close their bedroom door and leave their personal items in place. None of them ever married, so there were no descendents to care for the aging remaining family members. According to our tour guide, even though their physical bodies lie in the family plot at the local cemetery, their spirits continue to live in the beautiful old house. The city now owns the property, and the personal items remain intact. Hopefully, it will be preserved and opened for tours in the future.

Same ol' haunted mansion in Louisville

Bourbon Tasting

Kentucky is known for its delicious bourbon, and you can actually spend a couple of days driving along the “Bourbon Trail” visiting many of the distilleries in the region. Like wineries, there are tasting rooms where you can enjoy a shot of the amber liquid. On the other hand, the alcohol content in bourbon is much higher than wine, so you would be very wise to have a designated driver. Rick was ours. On the other hand, the bourbon at Buffalo Trace Distillery is so strong, it practically curls your toenails! Marcella, Rick and I all had a tiny sip, turned brilliant red, and gagged! That was the end of the Bourbon Trail for us!

Where burboun begins .... Corn !

Gary reaching into the huge fermenting tanks

Fillin' the barrels and hammering the bung.

Another barrel off to the aging warehouse.

2010-10-15T10:09:00.004-04:00

KENTUCKY

Kentucky is a surprising blend of history, beautiful landscape, and more history. Okay, I’ll admit it. There are more pick-up trucks containing a dead deer here than other places. And it can be a little difficult understanding waitresses with twangs so thick, you’d swear they have a mouth full of grits. But the people are friendly, even to weird Californians, the food is great, and prices are reasonable.

Speaking of good food, we ate lunch at China Moon, one of the best Chinese restaurants I’ve ever eaten at. It’s in Louisville (pronounced here as “Lu-vul) and overlooks a wooded area. If you’re ever in that area, it’s well worth a visit. Try the sweet and sour chicken, the crab and goat cheese wontons, or the beef broccoli. De-licious!

This is the fall, and what would a trip to America’s heartland be without a visit to a pumpkin farm and apple orchard. We spent the day with our son, Gary, and daughter-in-law, Marcella, who moved from California to Kentucky seven years ago. Huber Farms is about a 30-minute drive into the Indiana countryside. The fields of corn have turned to gold. Tall brittle stalks make a clattering sound in the wind.

Gary & Cella at Huber Farms

I thought that corn was harvested in the summer, when the ears were picked. But around these parts, the kernels are allowed to dry naturally on the cob. Then they’re harvested and used to make products like cornmeal and cornflour, which are used to make everything from cornbread to corn fritters. Fields are demarked by black fences, rather than the white fences seen in most parts of the country. The barns are black, too, often displaying a decorative quilt on one of the outside walls.

Rick & Colleen at Huber Farms

Why black paint on the barns, instead of the familiar red color we’re all familiar with? While I couldn’t get a definitive answer about the black fences, I did find out that the barns are black to attract heat needed to properly dry the big tobacco leaves that hang in racks inside.

HUBER FARM

Donuts, fudge, apple cider, hand-dipped caramel apples, popcorn, and cases filled with baked goods awaited us visitors. The donuts were made with fresh cider and were hot from the deep fryer. Rick ordered a ½ dozen and consumed most of them on the spot! He bought another ½ dozen to take home. (Okay, I had two, but they were very small. Honest!) There were gift shops, piles of pumpkins, baskets of apples, hayrides, and just about everything else fall-related that you can imagine.

Fall is my favorite time of the year. Between the pumpkin fudge, pumpkin bread, apple cider, and hanging around all of the Halloween decorations and scarecrows, I’ve received my much-needed “fall-fix!”

Luck of the Irish !! ?

2010-10-14T22:32:00.000-04:00

MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME

Their loss was our gain????

Most of our trip has been winging it. We pull off the road for the night when going any further isn’t an option. There have always been places to stay without any problem, since most normal tourists are home this time of the year. The exception had been in the Fort Smith area, near the big motorcycle gathering, and even then, we were able to land a nice place for the RV.

What we didn’t know was that (in typical Rick and Colleen style), our timing was OFF in the area of Kentucky we needed to stay. That’s where our kids, Gary and Marcella, live in a rural suburb of Louisville. The closest RV park was in Kentucky’s capitol, Frankfort, a historic, cosmopolitan town where a university is located.

I began making phone calls looking for a place to spend the next several days and soon learned that virtually all of the hotels, campgrounds, and RV parks were booked solid. The World Equestrian Games were being held in nearby Lexington, a real coup for Kentucky, since this was the first time they had ever been held in America. The event occurs (usually in Europe) every four years, so it’s really the Olympics of horse-related competitions. Good news for Kentucky’s economy; bad news for the Fliedners and Shamu.

I finally called the Elkhorn RV park, and they had one empty place left, though it didn’t have the proper amperage and few hook-ups. Plus, because of the horse games, the price was nearly double what we had been paying elsewhere up to this point. “I’ll call you back after I talk it over with my husband,” I said, no sure what to do. But our chances of getting anything else were just about zero. I called back and the line was busy. I was sure it was someone else grabbing the last place, but continued to phone until I got through.

“You’re very lucky,” the reservation clerk said. “I just had a cancellation, and it’s everything you need.” I grabbed it!

Rick and I celebrated. What a lucky break. Someone was surely looking out for us….

The campground was lovely and had a slow-moving river skirting the property. It was quiet (hooray!), shady, and had tons of amenities. When I went into the office to check in, the clerk brought up the fact that we were lucky to find anywhere in the entire area. Then she said, “You know, the reason the folks cancelled their reservation was because the husband was killed in an auto accident yesterday.”

Elkhorn campground near Frankfort, KY

Shamu in Elkhorn

Pond / Stream next to Elkhorn

Waterfall on Stream in Elkhorn

Gulp. “You mean, the guy who booked the spot we’re renting is dead?” That was our lucky break? Oh no! How creepy is that!

“Afraid so. Good break for you, though.”

I felt so guilty. But whatcha gonna do? We stayed at the campground, surrounded by horse people, horse trailers, and bunches of families, for the next 5 days. Life can be so strange.

The Wild Goose Chase

2010-10-13T22:38:00.002-04:00

KENTUCKY

LET’S GIVE ‘EM SOMETHING TO TALK ABOUT

From the time I was a child, I heard stories about my grandfather, James Polk Salyer, a rough-and-tumble Kentuckian who played a mean fiddle and was half-Cherokee Indian. He was born in Salyersville in the 1880s and worked in a sawmill just outside of town, until there was an explosion that killed one or more of his family members. With the sawmill out of commission, he decided to leave Salyersville and head to Texas, where a building boom was underway and jobs were plentiful. That’s where he met my grandmother, a Texas belle of considerable wealth and education. Not many girls were college graduates, like my grandmother was. The family was prominent, and grandma used to talk about growing up with the Connelly children. I haven’t checked this out yet, but supposedly, she went to school with one of the Connellys who was related to the Texas governor, John Connelly, who was in the car with the Kennedys when both he and the president were shot by Lee Harvey Oswald.

The bottom line is that no one has ever done the family’s genealogy, though my late Aunt Maureen had visited Salyersville over a decade ago. She didn’t actually do any research, but was told at City Hall that most of the Salyer descendents live “up the canyon,” and that most were partially Cherokee Indians. Maureen never followed up, and I have been dying to know just how much Native blood my grandfather had coursing through his veins.

By the look of his portrait and few fading photos left from him taken in the 1930s and 40s, grandpa was definitely part Native American. The fact that my grandmother was disowned by her parents when she married him also fit into the story. After all, he was part Indian AND he was poor.

Grandpa died at a relatively young age – sometime in the late 1940s, I’m told. So, that was the sum total of what I knew about him. Surely, Rick and I reckoned, if we looked through the Census materials in Salyersville from the 1880s through about 1910, we would be able to find a reference to James Polk Salyer. We hit pay dirt at the Salyersville Historical Society in the tiny, aging town situated in the beautiful backcountry of Northeastern Kentucky. They have photocopies of the microfilmed Census Records and copies of miscellaneous records all the way back to the town’s founding in the early 1800s. There were Salyers there, all right, but (just as my Aunt Maureen had been told on her visit), most remaining Salyers lived outside of the immediate area in a place known as Royalton…further into the mountains in a canyon. Sometime in the mid-to-late 1800s, the Royal Bank of Canada bought up the forests in those Kentucky hills and opened a saw mill. Was that the SAME saw mill where grandpa had worked? Yes! There had been an explosion around the turn of the century, when a steam engine had blown up. The puzzle pieces began to fit together beautifully.

The historical research center ... lotsa history.

Magnificent Salyersville, Kentucky

We scoured through volumes of materials searching for James Polk Salyer and, much to our surprise, there was no mention of his birth. He wasn’t mentioned in the 1880 census, and together with all of the other town data, the 1890 census had been destroyed when the City Hall burned down in 1892. And then I found him! James Salyer, born 1885 in Royalton. And he was the only James Salyer in the entire census! We searched the death records, and his name wasn’t listed. Hooray! We had finally found him. His father, mother, and several other family members were interred in the Robert Salyer Cemetery located somewhere in the hills. We were given the GPS coordinates and headed for Royalton, about a 20-minute drive along narrow roads that wound through deep canyons and colorful deciduous forests. We followed the directions given by our car’s GPS deeper and deeper into the woods, until we dead-ended in someone’s front yard. There was no place to turn around—a steep cliff on one side of the skinny road, a garden on the other side.

The woman whose yard we had to turn around in was actually very nice and took time out from picking green tomatoes in her garden (as in, fried green tomatoes) to direct us to a burg called “Gypsy,” where she believed Robert Salyer and his wife and a couple of their children were buried. And yes, she was a Salyer! Rick inched the car between the sheer drop and the woman’s plants, finally managing to get turned around.

The crowded roads around Gypsy, Kentucky

Obviously, our GPS wasn’t working properly – as we discovered over and over again on our trip across country), so from here on, we would have to find our way around by stopping and asking directions. The people in the hills were actually very nice, albeit a bit curious about the small red car with California plates invading their very rural neighborhood in search of a Salyer burial ground. Amazingly, they waved at us!

We stopped several times to ask for help were directed to continue up a narrow road to a hillside, where we would park and walk another 1,000 feet uphill to the little cemetery. A man in a pick-up truck was soon following us, so we nervously turned around, thinking we had gone the wrong way. Turns out his name was Jerin Salyer, and when I told him what we were looking for, he said that Robert Salyer was an ancestor of his. “Me, too! I said, enthusiastically. “We could be distant cousins!” He was as excited as I was and offered to guide us the rest of the way.

About then, three men riding by in a small off-road vehicle stopped to see what was going on. We talked about the local history, the Salyers, and the Cherokee Indians who had lived in the area. They confirmed that most of the “folks in them hills” had Indian blood in them. They suspected they were all part Indian, though “back in them days, no one talked about them things.” Jerin told me about one of the Salyer family members, our great, great grandmother, who was buried in another area. The four of them decided to give Rick and I ride to all of the gravesites.

They told us to park nearby, and then Jerin asked, “Which one of Robert’s children are you related to?”

“James,” I answered. “How about you?

“James,” he said, obviously puzzled.

Huh? How could that be? If my grandfather and his grandfather were the same man, was James married to a woman BEFORE he left Kentucky? I was confused.

“Is YOUR grandfather, James, buried here in Kentucky?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, matter-of-factly. “And he was the best damned stone mason in these parts.”

Rick and I exchanged glances. “Oh no,” I whispered. After getting all of these nice people involved in this hunt for what I thought was my great grandfather’s grave, we realized that there must have been two different James Salyers. Both had been born in Salyersville around the same year, in the same town. But my James is buried in California! What are the odds of that?

Rick and I apologized, thanked them, and slinked back to our car, tails between our legs, embarrassed beyond words. They had made such a big fuss over us, thinking we were all relatives. If there had been a hole to escape into, we would have gladly crawled inside.

I still don’t understand why there’s no record of my grandfather in the genealogical records in Salyersville. Rick came up with a possible solution – if he was born after 1880, he wouldn’t be included in the 1880 census. And if he had left Kentucky before 1900, he wouldn’t be in that census, either.

Our departure from the Gypsy area was very uncomfortable, and no one knew quite what to say. (Er, thanks anyway…. Er, sorry about that….) As we drove away, we noted the four men shaking their heads, puzzled no doubt by the crazy Californians who came to the hills on a fools’ errand.

With little else going on in that remote area, at least we gave them something to talk about!

Jackson, Tennessee ... lunch !

2010-10-12T06:48:00.005-04:00

CASEY JONES

JACKSON, TENNESSEE

You never know what you’ll find along the highway, and Casey Jones Village was one of those fun surprises where you have to stop. Remember the old musical Disney cartoon about Casey Jones, whose actual name was John Luther Jones, the famous railroad engineer who died in a train wreck in the late 1800s. I didn’t realize he was real person, did you?

Colleen in front of Casey Jones house.

The village is located just off of Highway 40 in Jackson, Tennessee. There’s a railroad museum, Jones’ house, several shops and one of best restaurants and country stores I’ve ever visited.

A Real country store !

Jackson was once a bustling railroad town, and the “Old Country Store” was (and still is) a place you can pick up just about anything you want. Today, the merchandise is more about tourism, and less about things like pickle barrels and yardage.

We ate lunch in the restaurant, which was an unusual experience. This was the “real deal,” about as country as it gets! Lunch was a massive buffet of biscuits, gravy, greens, all sorts of beans, fried chicken, corncakes, cobblers, and just about every fried sort of thing imaginable. The fun part was that because it was a buffet, we were able to taste bits of the various dishes, without having to guess at what we would like and not like. Surprisingly, the food was delicious, though I suspect much of it was made in the old fashioned way – using lard (ugh).

REAL Country Cookin'

We bought a few jars of locally made jams, and I found a dynamite necklace for $9.00!! Most of the candies were made by the Amish and looked delicious (though we actually used our nearly non-existent will power and resisted buying more sweets).

Back on the road this afternoon, heading to Kentucky.

Nashville .... not so much !

2010-10-11T07:01:00.001-04:00

NASHVILLE

Leaving Memphis – More Calamities!

Did I mention that we stayed in a lovely, very quiet RV park on the edge of the Mississippi River? Okay, then did I mention the name of it was Tom Sawyer RV Park? That’s really a laugh, as Mark Twain (Sam Clemens) lived in Hannibal, Missouri, and I doubt that his book’s character would have had much to do with the Memphis area!

Never mind that. We settled in quiet night of t.v. and munching. No traffic noise, no airplanes overhead. And then, out of nowhere, came the roar of a dozen deep-throated car engines. It began about 8:00 p.m. and continued until close to midnight. Little did we know that there was an auto race track less than a mile from the RV park. It was on the other side of a large stand of trees on the other side of the levee. It sounded like it was two feet away! ARGH!!!

Time to Hit the Road Again

Just about the time you think you’ve worked out all of the bugs in getting Shamu ready for the road, something else happens. Yesterday, Rick had to fix some sort of wire thingy connecting the car to the RV. Then, this morning, I really screwed up when pulling in one of the slide-outs. We had been leaning a little to one side while parked in Memphis, and I didn’t notice that the bathroom door had swung open while I was pulling in the bedroom side slide. I heard a kind of crunching noise, but didn’t see anything from where I was standing. So, I continued, until I heard a really big crunch. I stopped, stepped into the bathroom, and saw that the door jamb and door were hanging loose from the wall. The open door had caught on a kitchen cupboard knob, and the force of the motor that pulls in the pop-outs had forced the door jam out, nails and all!

Now, my first thought was how was I going to tell Rick that I broke the RV! Maybe I could fix it, and he would never have to know. He was outside hooking up the car, so I threw my hip into the door jam, pushed and pounded it back into place. I had to confess my goof, however, because the accident left a gash in the wood bathroom door. Plus, the door was out of whack and wouldn’t close properly. He took the news better than I thought he would….

When leaving Memphis, I thought I had pushed the right sequence of buttons to pull up the jacks, but, alas, I messed that up, too. Thankfully, the RV has an alarm light that lets the driver know before putting the beast into gear.

Then, while we were on the highway heading towards Nashville, we head a flapping noise. It was a bit windy, and the last time we hit wind, the canopy that covers one of the pop-outs had become partially “unfurled.” This time, however, Rick discovered that the door that covers the gas tank was opening and closing in the wind. Worse, the entire lock mechanism was simply gone! Good grief! Did it fly off into some poor driver’s windshield? We’ll never know. Rick used his ever-ready duct tape to close the door, and we still don’t have a replacement lock and will have to order one from the manufacturer.

When we arrived in camp, he discovered that the wires on the Honda CRV (our towed car) were crossed, so that when we turned right, it blinked left! We tested the wiring configuration before leaving home and still can’t figure out what happened.

Fun & games in Nashville !

Of course, Rick had to make another trip to Camping World and some other stores looking for parts. Then, more time for him to make the necessary repairs.

No complaints about the campground in Nashville. Little did we know that we were staying in the area that had recently been flooded. The clerk at the counter said that the area had been under more than 6 feet of water. The Grand Old Opry was down the street. It had reopened the day before we arrived. The mall surrounding the Opry, all of the souvenir shops, the restaurants, and the magnificent Gaylord Opryland Hotel were all still closed because of the damage caused by the wall of water that washed through the entire valley.

So, there was little left to do in Nashville. Because I’m not really a country music fan, we decided to skip touring the Country Music Hall of Fame. Instead, we drove around Nashville in search of something else to do and wound up running shopping errands. Wish we had stayed another day so we could have toured a couple of the plantations.

At least we got a good night’s rest. Off to Kentucky tomorrow.

Graceland .. what the... ?!

2010-10-07T22:38:00.004-04:00

MEMPHIS

There’s a lot of history in this old city on the Mississippi. Cotton was once king in this part of the country, and the plantation system was the basis of the local economy. Issues surrounding slavery are evident in the number of museums that house exhibits on the subject, including one that we toured late one afternoon. The “Slavery Museum” is inside of an old, unimpressive house that dates back to the early 1800s. There are secret tunnels leading into the basement, where escaped slaves hid until passage for them could be arranged by the white man who lived in the house. It’s impossible to tour the house, with its displays and photos depicting what a slave’s life was like on a plantation. They even had the reminents of an old blood-stained, braided leather whip, a disturbing artifact to be sure. One of the docents showed us advertisements from a man named Nathan Bedford Forrest, who owned a company that traded in slaves. That same man fought hard for the Confederacy, becoming something of a hero in several battles because of his prowess on horseback. After the war, however, Forrest lost his thriving business and turned to a new venture. According to the docents, Forrest was one of the founders of the Ku Klux Klan. The Klan was brutal, doing everything possible to keep the African-American population from achieving true freedom. No one knows how many lynchings the KKK was responsible for. Here’s the thing that shocked Rick and I the most: Tennessee still honors this man’s birthday each year with a state holiday, not mentioning anything about his Klan affiliation. We were told that a large statue of Nathan Forrest was erected near Nashville, where Forrest and his wife were buried. And each year, members of the Klan (yes, they still exist) gather around his statue in Nashville to pay him tribute. The state has continued to ignore the protests by people who don’t want to see Forrest deified. It has done no good at all, and the tradition continues. Of course, we haven’t had time to research these claims made by the Slavery Museum, but if it’s true, it’s a good thing I don’t live in Tennessee, or I would be one of the protesting folks arrested at next year’s big Forrest rally!!

The Civil Rights Museum is located inside the motel where Martin Luther King was assassinated. The motel’s exterior remains the same as it was that terrible day in 1968, and a permanent wreath marks the spot where the Civil Rights leader was shot on the walkway just outside of his room. Yes, there were people touring the museum, taking photos, and contemplating what a great loss had occurred at this very spot.

The infamous Lorraine Motel where Martin Luther King was killed.

The wreath marks the spot where MLK was shot and died.

Window from which James Earl Ray shot MLK

But it was nothing compared to the zoo over at Graceland, where Elvis Presley lived and died. Graceland has become something of a theme-park, with its own mimi-mall where you can buy anything imaginable, as long as it relates to Elvis. His two airplanes, his cars, his house – you can see all of it, for a price. Don’t hate me for thinking that Graceland is over-the-top; a shrine to a roll-and-roll singer who died of a drug overdose. There must have been a dozen Grayline buses lined up in the big parking lot…which, incidentally, costs $14 for an auto to park in. A tour of the house is another $30 each. Does Lisa Marie really need all of that money? On the other hand, as long as the tens of thousands of visitors continue to flock to Graceland to immortalize the singer, the entire area will continue to grow and add more attractions. BTW, there weren’t any big buses at the Civil Rights Museum, let alone countless shopping opportunities to pick up a souvenir or four to take home.

The highlight of our time in Memphis was visiting Beale Street, a sort of Tennessee version of New Orleans’ Bourbon Street. Restaurants blare live music onto the street to attract visitors inside. Eclectic souvenir shops are interspersed with famous eateries, like B.B. Kings famous Barbeque Restaurant. We ate at two different restaurants along Beale Street on different days, and the sauces and deep fried foods were delicious. Ever tasted a fried pickle? Neither had we, so we ordered a plate as an appetizer. They weren’t bad, but we still can’t figure out why they’re such a popular dish in this part of the country. The fried green tomatoes were much tastier, and Rick swears that the batter used in the fried chicken is the best anywhere. Oh, and we shared a fried peach pie, something like a small turnover that is cooked in butter and sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon. It was so, so good! Glad I brought my elastic waist pants!

A look up the famous Beale Street

Typical scene along Beale Street

Unique toilet seats offered along Beale Street

The weather has cooled considerably, dipping to “frost” levels at night. The RV is warm and comfortable, and we’re definitely getting used to the pace and lifestyle. Off to Nashville tomorrow.

Get your ducks in a row.

2010-10-06T21:15:00.005-04:00

Oops. I’m sitting here in the RV dining booth next to the big window…with the shade UP. Was trying to get comfortable, so I could get some writing done. Pulled up my top and unhooked my bra, just about the same moment as a big blue truck trailer pulled along side. Gulp. Did he see anything? I keep forgetting that we’re eye-level with the big trucks!

Oh well, there’s not THAT much to see! At least I’m now more comfortable and ready to share another story with you. In our ongoing search for a quiet RV park, we decided to stop trying the KoA campgrounds and go further off the I-40. We were in Oklahoma City and settled on a small RV park off the beaten path. There were trees, and it was relatively clean, except for the greenish swimming pool, that was closed for the season. The highway noise was doable, and all was well.

After popping out our slides (which I now call, spreading our wings), we laid down for a little rest. Toot, toot! The train tracks were on the other side of the high hedge about a block from the park. We began to laugh, and stopped when a 747 swooped down overhead, so close I could have tickled its underbelly! Yep. We were under the landing path for Will Rogers’ Airport, the main airport for that area. All night long, planes roared overhead, and trains blasted their horns. Even the earplugs couldn’t keep out the noise.

Weary, but anxious to get on the road, Rick did his final outside check, while I secured everything inside Shamu. Thankfully, he noticed that our tires looked low. I say, “thankfully,” since if he hadn’t seen it while we were still in civilization, we would been in real trouble. Again, the beast had to go into a nearby RV shop to have the wheelcovers taken off, and all six wheels pumped up. Supposedly, the air pressure had been taken care of by the dealer before we left So. Calif. Obviously, they didn’t do their job!

Now, a couple of hours behind schedule, we were back on the road, determined to get a good night’s rest. I went to work doing research and found a rural campground situated in the pines in Fort Smith/Alma, Arkansas. The road to the RV park was lush with trees, and the campground had its own lake! Hooray! Maybe we could finally dust off our new canvas chairs, set up the picnic table, and spend some time outside in the pines. We were really excited…until we were led to our treeless drive-through camp site that was located between two paved roads. Even worse, there was a motorcycle rally (we were told by the clerk) in nearby Fayetteville, and we were warned that some of the people in the campground might be returning from the big festival late that night.

The temperatures were the 90s, much too hot for the Fliedners. Instead, Rick enjoyed a Shiner Bock beer and turned on the t.v. INSIDE the R.V. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something moving on a nearby roadway. It was a long line of about 50 ducks, waddling beak to butt through the forest! It was the strangest thing you’ve ever seen. There were assorted colors and types of ducks – solid white, black and white, mallards, some with white tuffs on their black heads, and a few that could only be described as strawberry blondes. They quacked and walked and kept a perfect pace, following the leader to…where were they going? They were heading AWAY from the pond! It made no sense. Rick grabbed the camera and took some shots, but by then, a car had driven down the road, and the ducks had to break rank to keep from getting hit. About 15 or 20 had already disappeared in the distance, but the rest once again regrouped in a line, and continued their march. Rick the camera guy sneaked up behind them and got a couple of good shots.

Ever see a Duck Parade ???!! Very strange.

A hour later, they were back at the pond and segregated into duck groups. Before dusk, they were back in formation heading from the lake towards our RV. This time, not all of them participated. We watched as they approached, wondering what they were doing. We finally figured it out! A minute later, they had gathered around our steps, making as much noise as they possibly could…begging for food. We broke up some hamburger buns and tossed out the chunks. When the bread was gone, the group turned on webbed foot and formed a new line, heading towards another RV.

The duck brigade demanding dinner !

The next morning, I spoke with the woman who runs the RV park. She said that the ducks make about three trips a day up the hill to where a permanent camp resident puts out a big pan of fresh water for them to drink. Obviously, they prefer it to the lake water! Then they make the rounds through the large campground to hit up the RVers for a free hand-out. She didn’t find it unusual at all! For us, though, it was the highlight of that stop.

Sometimes you like Almond Joy; Sometimes you like Mounds !

2010-10-04T21:45:00.005-04:00

LITTLE ROCK, ARKANSAS

First of all, let me say that I don’t understand why you pronounce Kansas with the “s” on the end (KAN-ZAS), and Arkansas as if it has a “w” on the end (AR-KANSAW). Go figure….

Secondly, while I know many people who sing the praises of Little Rock, I never had much desire to go there. But the I-40 Highway passes through that area, and it made sense to spend the night. We wound up spending two! What happened was that we found a number of places we wanted to visit, including the Toltec Mounds Archaeological State Park. Why? Well, we were curious about the mounds that had been built by ancient, pre-historic people living in this area, especially because we’re heading to Ohio to check out the mounds in Newark. We actually unhooked the car and drove to the site. Then we WALKED for over a mile. After so much sitting in the RV, it felt good to get out into the fresh air and move our chubby bodies.

This is a big mound ... about 5o feet tall.

You may be asking why they are called “Toltec Mounds.” So was I! The Toltecs were in Mexico. Obviously, they never made it to this part of the U. S. (that’s an understatement!), so the local folks that named the ancient ceremonial center about a century ago were wrong about who built them. Very impressive site.

A view of 3 of the mounds at Toltec.

After that, it was time for lunch, and we accidentally wound up in the Hillcrest area, a lovely area filled with historic mansions set far back from the street, with beautifully manicured lawns, flowers, and old growth trees. There was a small Brazilian bistro (Café Bossa Nova) with some really unusual dishes, like Salpicao, a sort of salad that consisted of finely shredded veggies and chicken tossed with a light flavorful sauce piled on top of rice. Delicious food.

Then we drove around town, walked by the river, and did some shopping. The RV park was better than many of the others, and we actually got some rest. Off to Memphis in the morning.

Cow town comes of age !

2010-09-26T22:21:00.004-04:00

Oklahoma City remains one of my favorite destinations in the U. S. Most people who haven’t been to Oklahoma visualize the state as a flat, barren, dusty place, where tornados have unearthed most of the trees and completely flattened towns. Yes, they do have tornados, and yes, they have storm shelters where you can find protection (even in the RV parks). Still, Oklahoma is a lovely, green place resplendent with trees, rolling hills, a river that makes its way through town and tons of culture, history, and museums. To see my larger web article on Oklahoma City, go to

http://www.vacationtravelchannel.com/destinations/us/oklahoma/oklahoma-city/ .

Although I had toured Oklahoma on a press trip two years ago, Rick had never been there. So, when he routed us through Oklahoma City on our way to Ohio, the first thing I thought of was eating at Nonna’s Ristorante in Bricktown, the historic entertainment district. As you’ll see in the article I wrote about Oklahoma City, Nonna’s has the best tomato soup in the entire world! For weeks, I anticipated slurping down a bowl or two of that red liquid of the gods. According to Nonna’s web site, they opened for lunch at 11 a.m. Monday through Saturday (closed Sundays). At precisely 11 a.m. on Monday morning, Rick and I were at the door, hungry as the dickens. Then it was 11:15, and there was no sign of life inside the restaurant. A tiny sign revealed that they were now closed on Mondays.

There was no way I was leaving Ok City without eating at my all-time favorite restaurant. Would you believe we stayed a second night in town, so we could make a trip to Nonna’s on Tuesday? Well, we did! And the food was as wonderful as I remembered. YUM!!

Don't bother me ... it's bread pudding !

THE NATIONAL MEMORIAL & MUSEUM

On a much more somber subject, I took Rick to the Oklahoma City National Memorial & Museum. Hoards of school children were herded around the displays by patient parents and teachers. Apparently, it’s required for these kids to study the events that led up to the act of domestic terrorism that claimed just under 200 lives. It was my second time in the Memorial Museum, and yet, it still touched me deeply. Hopefully, the children who see the teddy bears and toys that belonged to the toddlers killed in the bomb blast that destroyed the Federal Building will understand the impact of such a horrific deed. I watched several girls as they stood before a glass display case filled with shoes (men’s, women’s and children’s) recovered from the rubble. How many of them had been on the feet of people who died that day? And the piles of car keys in another case. One child read the caption outloud to the others in her group. The devastation of this human tragedy seemed to have hit home….

I bought a small book that contains quotes from the museum’s walls. I would like to share a few with all of you:

“We come here to remember those who were killed, those who survived and those changed forever. May all who leave here know the impact of violence. May this memorial offer comfort, strength, peace, hope and serenity.”

“If we are to reach real peace in this world, we have to begin with children.” – Mahatma Gandhi

“May you keep on the armor of light, may you keep your light shining on this place of hope, where memories of the lost and the meaning of America will live forever.” – Pres. Clinton at the National Memorial’s dedication in 2000, five years after the bombing in April 1995.

The theme of the Memorial is that of peace, hope, and remembering the innocent lives lost that day. With all of the anger, fear, and hatred sweeping the nation in these difficult times, I wish that all Americans could visit the Oklahoma City Memorial Site and Museum. Above all, in addition to those who died, may we all remember the effect this event had on the lives of countless people who lived through this tragedy. Let’s all hope and pray that it never happens again.

View of the OK City memorial ...where the building used to be.

View of the other portion of the memorial.

RAIN ! Inside and out !

2010-09-24T21:58:00.003-04:00

SEPT. 25

Never made it into the Petrified Forest, as the sky decided to cloud up and dump rain all over the area. There was massive flooding in Albuquerque, where residents experienced the most rain in recorded history! Anyone who knows about our travels will understand the humor in this, although what we usually hear is that the area we visit – no matter where we are in the world – is having the hottest weather recorded in their history. We’ve become used to such things and simply roll our eyes every time another “record” something or other happens just in time for our visit.

I just love working in the rain !

The storm was warm (almost tropical), and the RV park was unpaved, though there were patches of gravel scattered across portions of the red, muddy ground. Puddles turned into tiny lakes, and I wondered if we were in an area subject to flash flooding. Thankfully, the pounding storm moved East, and we finally got on the road about lunch time, trailing slightly behind the nasty weather.

One thing we’ve already learned about spending a lot of time on the road is that just about everywhere you go, there will be an Indian casino with a buffet. The food is almost always terrific (a good way to draw people there to gamble), and is always very reasonable. And for me, the cook, if we eat a larger meal at lunch time, I can open a can of soup or mix up a protein drink for dinner.

Great buffet lunch at the casino outside Albequerque.

After finding a nice RV park, opening up the slide-outs, and settling in, I opened an upper cupboard and discovered a small flood inside. Water had dripped from an apparent leak that had given way in the deluge of water the night before. So (sigh), it was into the nearest RV repair shop for repairs.

By the time we picked up Shamu, it was too late to make our next destination. We ran errands while the RV was in the shop, so we only went a little further and found another place to stay overnight. One thing we have discovered since being on the road is that most of the RV parks are built directly next to the busy highway! I don’t understand the logic in this. Why don’t they simply put a sign directing anyone with an RV towards their location?? But, no! The RV park is often located on the frontage road, so that you feel as if you’re sleeping on the highway. Needless to say, one of the first purchases we made was a package of ear plugs. Still, there wasn’t much sleep happening this night. Several motorcycles raced back and forth for well over an hour about midnight. Oh, did I mention the train tracks that were nearby? Toot, toot!!!!

KoA campgrounds seem to be the worst, when it comes to the noise factor. Tonight we’ll search for a NON-KoA. A place far enough away from the highway that you can hear a pin drop!

Flagstaff / Williams AZ

2010-09-23T21:49:00.008-04:00

Shamu gets weighed ( and, no, I don't mean at weight wachers ! )
September 23 – Left William, AZ (near Flagstaff) on Hwy. 40 heading east. We got off fairly late. Rick needed to fix some things, like a cupboard that sprung the magnet when we had to hang a U-turn in a bumpy, unpaved lot. Everything bounced, but other than the one ruined cupboard thingy, we came through it with a nothing more than thick coating of dust on everything. Did you know that you can’t back up when pulling a tow car? I sure didn’t…until we had that small adventure searching for a place to turn around on a narrow two-lane highway way after we missed a turn-off. At an overall length of 58 feet, doing much of anything except driving in a straight line can be challenging.

We weigh about 28,000 lbs., which Rick says is lower than he expected. And no, all of you smartie pants. That doesn’t include the two Fliedners! I’m not telling how many more pounds would be added to the tonnage if we were both included in that number. And how do we know how much our rig weighs? Because Mr. Rick simply had to find a truck stop with one of those weighing stations for big rig truckers!

So picture our RV, which we have tentatively named Shamu because of its very plain light grey (supposedly, silver) and black markings, among huge trucks. Imagine the glare of the hardened truckers as Rick spun around not once, not twice, but three times through the one and only scale available. He had to weigh Shamu in various configurations to determine the weight distribution. Most amazing was that we were only given “the finger” once, though there were a few strange looks and shoulder shrugs when we pulled in front of trucks twice our size!

Shamu at the left, pretty coaches to the right.

Speaking of Shamu’s battleship gray and black exterior, I took a photo of our RV parked next some of the fancy rigs that surround us in the RV campgrounds. If I could draw, I’d make a cartoon of the other “pretty” RVs (with all of their expensive, swirly paint jobs) pointing and laughing at poor Shamu when we roll into our parking spot. We bought an ugly duckling, but saved a good amount of money by doing so. On the other hand, the poor beast may deserve a new coat of many colors this winter when we return to So. Calif. On the other, other hand, if we keep having to have repairs made constantly, the money tree may be bare by then!

No fat jokes, please, but we Fliedners were really excited when saw our first sign for a Cracker Barrel Restaurant. There aren’t any in California, so when we travel out of state, we make frequent stops at this down-home cooking, countrified eatery. Rick says they serve the best chicken and dumplings he’s ever tasted. I opted for a low cal chicken dish, though the side orders included fried apples with cinnamon. And the gift shop is terrific. Old-fashioned candies, home décor, fun clothes, and seasonal items. I bought a really great Halloween shirt, covered with sequins and colored stones, pumpkins and witches, and even the silhouette of a haunted house! (This should drive my kids nuts!)

Tonight, we’re in Gallup, NM, near the entrance to the Petrified Forest National Park. We’ll be detouring into the park in the morning to take photos and check it out. Rick and I have both been there, but we were little kids and have few memories of the place. The literature, however, sings the park’s praises -- its colorful beauty and postcard-worthy vistas seem to be worth the extra hour or two it will take to get off of Hwy. 40

The photo is of the overflowing drain in the shower this morning, a “slight” miscalculation about how full the “gray” water tank ACTUALLY was!! Won’t make that mistake again! (Drain, baby, drain!)

Shower filling up with water.

Another view of shower. .. dumb !!

Oh, and by the way, did I mention that we LOVE truck stops? They’re so great and have everything imaginable that one might need on the road, including inexpensive books on tape. Sometimes I feel like I’ve fallen down Alice’s rabbit hole, into a world filled with big rigs, mud flaps, and today’s version of a rough-and-tumble cowboy. Surprisingly, when you’re rubbing shoulders with them in the truck stops, they’ve very polite.

Flagstaff and cool weather !

2010-09-22T19:46:00.002-04:00

DAY 3, SEPT. 20

Woke up early and made eggs for breakfast. Rick knew that the coach wasn’t completely level, but didn’t know how to fix the problem. The jacks automatically adjust the entire RV, and we’re on a bit of a slope, so our front wheels are literally off the ground about a foot. Still, when I dropped the eggs into the electric skillet this morning, they all slid down to the end of the pan. Rick took a picture of me attempting to put the last egg in the pan; it rolled down to the bottom, low end of the pan in an instant. I had to fight gravity with my spatula, and the eggs were a total wreck. I don’t know if cracking eggs into a pan would make a better leveling device than the fancy one Rick has!

Using eggs to level the coach !

After a leisurely morning and a little fussing around rearranging a few cupboards, we headed into downtown Flagstaff for lunch and to run a few errands. After eating at a Southwestern Mexican restaurant, I headed to the ladies’ room and had an interesting experience. An elderly Navajo woman was in there with her granddaughter. She wore the traditional clothing (long navy blue skirt, untucked eggplant-colored blouse with silver belt, silver and turquoise jewelry, and leather moccasins. Her gray hair was fastened on her head with a silver comb. She looked like a painting. The lines on her face reflected her years in the sun. Her deep-set eyes reflected sadness. The two of them conversed in Navajo, one of the most difficult languages on the planet (which is why the Navajo Indians were used in WWII to transmit vital messages in their native tongue to confuse the enemy. No one could break the code of the Code Talkers!). It’s not every day that I hear Navajo spoken. It’s an ancient language, nearly wiped out by our well-meaning ancestors who rounded up Native American children, forced them off of the reservations, and shipped them to Indian Schools, where they were forbidden to speak their native language. The object was to Americanize the young Native people; to “civilize” the “savages” and bring them into the fold with the rest of the “foreigners.” The great experiment didn’t work.

The curious writer in me I wanted to ask her a thousand questions. But she spoke no English. Instead, I simply smiled, nodded, and said “hello.” Her granddaughter translated. The old woman smiled and dipped her chin to say hello back. It was a small thing, but something really cool!

Our next stop was good ol’ Walmart for some odds and ends we forgot to bring. I immediately noticed two women dressed in strange, long dresses. They were identical, except for the color. The women’s hair-dos were also the same, swept up in an oddly high roll with no bangs. There was a movie about one of the polygamous Mormon groups on t.v. a few weeks ago, and these women were obviously the victims of one of these strange cults. But what were they doing in Walmart, for heaven sakes?

I tried not to stare; others didn’t try to ignore them. A few minutes later, and there was yet another wife with a couple of children in tow. She wore the identical dress in pale green. She couldn’t have been more than 13 or 14. Were these her children? Not only were these women dressed the same, they were all expressionless: no anger, no happiness. Just vacuous eyes and blank expressions. What I really wanted to do was to kidnap the youngest of his wives. To take her to safety somewhere where she wouldn’t be forced to have sex with a man old enough to be her father. Why are these cults still allowed? Isn’t this statutory rape? At least two of these wives were obviously under 18. Isn’t it against the law to have plural marriages, especially with minors? I know that only the first wife is legally married to the man who is the center of the cult. The rest are wives in name only…. Ugh.

And then there HE was…the king/slave owner/husband of all of these women. Most likely, he had left more at home. He was 50ish, homely, skinny, and wore a plaid shirt, jeans, and belt with a wide belt buckle. No homemade clothing for this jerk. He pushed a grocery basket with two small children (maybe 2 or 3 years old). The little girl was dressed in a miniature version of the women’s dresses. And the boy wore a “store-bought” plaid shirt and jeans, like his daddy.

Okay, I admit that I had a reaction when I saw him. He came down the aisle where I was shopping and stopped beside me. I wanted to shout at him, to call him a pig, or pedophile, or any number of other names. Instead, what slipped out was, “Oh, god. It’s him. The lord and master.” I didn’t mean to say it outloud! Rick said, “The husband?” I motioned to what the children were wearing. “Yep! It’s him, all right.” I looked straight into that old letch’s eyes…make that, I glared into his eyes. No, I didn’t say anything else, but he heard our comments and quickly left.

The last I saw them, the “husband/owner/master” led his flock of wives and children out the front door, like a duck leading a line of obedient ducklings. I knew there were groups of these extremists in Utah and a few other states. But Flagstaff? In the mountains, where ranches off the beaten path are deep under snow for the winter? What do they do for money? Most of these cults are farmers. Does this guy own a cattle ranch and use his wives and kids for earning money to spend in the outside world? After all, they were shopping at a retail store. Even Walmart requires money!

Lastly, I wondered what these wives think about all of us. What comes to mind is the song lyrics, “How ya gonna keep them down on the farm, once they have seen Paree” (Paris).” And what about little children who have been exposed to non-cult children and kids’ toys, candy bars, etc. Will they continue the madness that these cults spoon-feed them, or will they reject it and enter society at some point? Hum…food for thought. What do you think?

Campground at Williams AZ

Another view of the Williams campground.

The Real Trek begins !!!

2010-09-20T21:08:00.000-04:00

DAY 2, SEPT. 19

Rick and I both ached from head to toe, and shoulder-to-shoulder. It was all of the lifting and stretching, loading up the beast for the big trip. Lunch in Bullhead City adjacent to Laughlin. The Colorado River looks like it has less water in it than ever. Hopefully, the winter rains in the north will help. From here, Hwy. 40 is a high desert terrain, interrupted by piles of huge boulders and jagged lava flows dusted with piles of sand. Hours of boredom later, the bleak terrain gave way to mountains, as we climbed to an elevation of nearly 7.000 feet. I say, “climbed,” when it was actually more of a chug-along at 45 mph in the steepest sections of the highway. The cedar pines were sparse at first, but the higher we got, the thicker the forest became. By the time the roadway leveled out, we were back up to speed, and the beauty spread out before us like a postcard: cornflower blue sky, a pillow-soft clouds, and a blanket of green forests stretching to the horizon.

Tonight, we stayed just outside of Flagstaff, AZ. I cooked a nice fajita dinner, and we stayed aboard the rest of the night. The temperature dropped from slightly too warm to eat outside, to a very chilly 58 degrees inside the coach in the early morning hours. Rick turned the heater on for the first time, and we were snug as the proverbial bug in a shag rug.

Tomorrow, we’ll spend time shopping, eating, and exploring Flagstaff.

OFF TO SEE THE WIZARD !!!

2010-09-19T23:08:00.000-04:00

LEFT ON SEPT. 18 IN THE AFTERNOON

After several days of frustration with Time Warner and problems with our alarm system, we finally got on the road; albeit two days later than planned! We were both exhausted and hot, so we decided to stop just outside of Barstow at the foot of the mountains where Calico Ghost Town is located. It was a KoA campground, and in spite of its location in the Calif. Desert, there were trees and bushes providing a smitten of shade. Our first night was pleasant. When we arrived, it was 111 degrees outside. We felt a guilty; we were so comfortable, sitting in our RV with the air conditioning, color t.v., and fully equipped kitchen. I made a simple dinner and had made a low-cal macaroni salad to go with the main course, veggie dogs. It takes time figuring out where you’ve stashed items, like the napkins. But it’s coming along, and in a couple of weeks, we should have this whole thing down pat!

When we checked into the campground office, a very British couple was at the desk. They were not-so-fresh off of a big Harley that they rented in L. A. Her fair skin had turned the color of strawberry juice…with the exception of the reverse-raccoon circles around her pale blue eyes. The area that wasn’t sunburned looked as if she still had on a pair of paper-white goggles. I felt pity for the poor Brits. Some travel agent in London had obviously talked her and her husband into this trip. Ah, yes, the adventure of a motorcycle ride through the “beautiful” Calif. Desert. Surely it would be a wonderful experience, since there are no deserts in Britain. Obviously, no one had warned the couple that the desert is still blazing hot in Sept. She commented that she had had enough of the sun to last her for a life time. The couple rented the Indian teepee – no amenities, no air conditioning, no nothing. It remained around 100 degrees until about 8 p.m. Then ever so slowly, the temperature dipped into the low 60s (from the oven to the refrigerator).

Drum Circles

2010-05-05T12:23:00.000-04:00

Ever heard of drum circles? They're loads of fun and very therapuetic as a stress release. Don't ask me to name all of the drums that are used in these loud, rhythemic group sessions. People collect drums from all over the world, then come to the circles to try their hands (literally) at pounding out infectious beats.

This is how it usually works. Somebody, usually the best drummer, leads the session. The lead drummer will introduce a beat, and the group will then follow. People get very creative in their interpretations, and all sort of percussive instruments are used.

So, after reading about the health benefits of drum circles, my husband and I decided to go to a group near our home in So. Calif. It was a great experience! And those who have studied the health benefits of these noisy get togethers are absolutely right! In spite of the loud pounding, it does lower blood pressure. Is it the act of banging on something to relieve pent up anger? Well, maybe that's part of it, but there's more. Studies show that after a while, our hearts will actually beat in cinque with the drum beats. Besides that, you find yourself closing your eyes in a sort of mindless meditative state. You certainly don't think about other things when you're drumming, so those worries you have about that job interview tomorrow, or that big test you have to take at school, or whatever is on your mind...things just melt away in the moment, and you're very carefree.

Will we go again. Absolutely! Once you've enjoyed the benefits of a drum circle, you'll find yourself shopping online for your own drum. World Market often carries them. One of the girls in last night's circle just returned from a trip to Seattle, where there are numerous music stores downtown with all sorts of imported drums.

Google for drum circles in your area. They're often held outdoors in parks or on beaches. There's a group that meets monthly on the sand in Laguna Beach, CA, for instance. Find one near you and give it a try!

Health and good wishes,

Colleen

Motorhome

2010-05-03T21:08:00.000-04:00

To motorhome or not to motorhome. That seems to be the question!

For anyone who has a severe case of wanderlust, the appeal of living on the road for much of the year is very appealing. What better way to see America's backroad towns; to meet the people whose lives are so different from mine?

As a travel writer, I have been blessed to participate in numerous press trips that have taken me to places I would have never seen. But press trips are high speed treks zipping past places you want to stop. No chance to browse through neat shops, sip a cup of coffee and people watch, or simply relax.

With a motorhome, we will go at our own pace. And for a writer, having the ability to spend time in the places you are researching, well, it's a dream come true.

The downside of motorhomes, of course, is the close quarters; constantly rubbing elbows (or rears) with one's significant other. For now, the pros far outweigh the cons, and we're actively searching for the perfect vehicle that is within our price range.

I welcome your comments and suggestions about makes and models.

There are places to explore and books to be written! Life can be so darned exciting! Can't wait to get on the road....

Travel Guidebook

2010-05-03T00:19:00.000-04:00

Just finished a 64,000+ travel guidebook, "Quick Escapes From Orange County" for Globe Pequot Press and await the proofs. Hopefully, there will be a little break, after so many months of intense research, travel, and writing.

Travel writing is an interesting business. I can't tell you how many people tell me they would love my job, stating that they "love to travel." But first and foremost, the emphasis is on the writing part of the phrase, "travel writing." The hours are long, and the work is tough. Yes, I'm on the road a lot, and I do meet really interesting people.

The most fun is when you happen across what I call "a surprise," while you're on the road. And I did find a bunch of surprises for the book. My favorite was "discovering" a ranch in the Santa Ynez Valley (not far from Solvang) where miniature donkeys are raised.

Here's the deal. They stand about 3 feet at the shoulder, and they're really affectionate. They love to snuggle visitors, and the owner allows children to ride them on a tiny saddle. And gentle...are they ever! And one of the really amazing things is that they love to play "tag" and "keep away" with rubber balls.

I don't even have time to get a dog right now, so heaven knows how I would take care of a miniature donkey. But if I had a chunk of land....!!

If you're interested, visit their web site at http://www.seeinspotsfarm.com/.

Come along with me on my travels, and I'll guide you to some really great places.

And visit my web site at http://www.colleenfliedner.com/ to read articles I've written about some of my adventures.

Just getting started

2009-08-17T00:25:00.000-04:00

This is kickoff of my new blog