Another Weekend Is Upon Us ...

And I find myself in a new venue. A family medical crisis resulted in relocation to Rock Hall, Maryland. Gee, it's REALLY Spring here! There's tulips and daffodils and forsythias and lilacs and acres and acres of fields being plowed and fertilized for the wheat, corn, oats, soy and barley commonly grown around here. Temperatures in the sixties and vernal rains. Cool beans. It bodes well for Maine if it is this warm next to Chesapeake Bay. There really is hope the ice will go out before the end of the month.


About that relocation. It was done on a Greyhound bus. It has been a very long time since I rode a bus. There have been a few equipment improvements. For instance, some of the buses had 110  volt AC outlets. I was on one that had seatbelts for each seat. The air conditioning worked on each of the 5 buses I rode on Wednesday and Thursday. That is right. Transfers were made in Boston, New York, Washington, D.C. and Easton, Maryland. A long, boring trip. Scary, too. Parnelli Jones came out of retirement, donned black-face and drove like a bat out of Hell between NYC and DC for four hours ( 1:45 to 5:45 AM ). I'd swear on a whole stack of Bibles that we only hit every third bounce or frost heave we encountered. And I know, as I was stuck next to the bathroom door on the rear bench seat on a full bus for 230 miles.


Then there are the things that haven't changed despite the spin that corporate Greyhound's new motto, "The New Greyhound", would have you believe. For the most part, riders are still poor, young or old, and often non-English speakers. Unlike the last time on a bus, no skis were in evidence. Service men and women were amongst us, usually on their first leave before deployment after training. Bus stations are still not as clean as airports, despite similar people loads and occupancy patterns. Chairs, if any are provided at all, are metal mesh and extremely uncomfortable for spend a six hour layover on. And some buses were atrociously filthy.


The best thing I can say about the state of interstate bus transportation is it is reasonably priced for an individual when compared to travel via a one-ton dualie pick-up. Make it two people and the economy vs. convenience takes a dive. Change the vehicle to something that gets far better gas mileage, like the Scion xBox I've driven for the past day getting over 40 mpg, and there'd be no comparison, even for an individual. Its still a third the cost of airplanes and at least I found the best kept transportation secret in Maryland - MUST. I was able to be picked up at the Greyhound agency stop in Easton, MD (about a half mile from the terminal of the Easton Regional Airport) within 15 minutes of my arrival and transported to within a few blocks of the hospital in Charlestown (thirty road miles or so away) for the staggering sum of a dollar (it'd be two dollars if I wasn't so old). In these days of $4 gas, that's a flipping bargain.


Anyway, I don't know how long I will be here nor when I can get back to Maine to finish the work I set out to do. That's the nature of medical emergencies, now isn't it? I do hope you are all safe and healthy. I will finally be able to catch up with reading some of my blog friends in the evenings. Who knows, I might have skimmed all  2400 entries by the time I leave. Then again, that delete button is looking mighty handy about now.


And So It Goes.

Neuse To Me...

We're tucked in amongst the Loblolly Pines and Gum Trees of the Croatan National Forest campground at the Neuse Rive (AKA Flanners Beach). That's about 12 miles southeast of the town of New Bern, North Carolina. It has about 35 wooded RV sites with electricity (water available to carry and there is a sewage dump site). The bathroom is clean and the price is right - $17US. We arrived late this afternoon (early evening, really). So, I will try for a photo of the waterfront for you in the morning as it is too dark to be banging around an unlit riverbank (no moon at all). Met a fellow from New Hampshire who was admiring our whisper-quiet air conditioner. He's in a tent in this 95° heat. He and his wife are on the way to Charleston, S.C. They had the misfortune of having a sparkplug blow out of the engine Friday night in Virginia while waiting to cross the Chesapeake Bay Bridge & Tunnel. About $500 and two days later, they are on the way again. He was sort of glad that they'd opted to only bring a tent for this quick trip to South Carolina. He figures the towing cost of both the truck and trailer, plus the repairs, would have left them stranded. Times are tough, folks. No doubt about it.

Tomorrow, if all goes well, we will head to Uncle's in Maryland. It is a solid 400 miles of secondary roads, more than I usually choose to drive in a day, but we'll give it the old college try.

Mill-doing

Hanging tight in P.F. due to wx forecast of severe thunderstorms. Yesterday drove up and over the Great Smoky Mountains to Cherokee, N.C. What a depressing reservation (and I've been on quite a few). The people are wonderful, though and are a handsome mix of Amerind and Eurowasps. Fell in love with a half dozen maidens working in the shops. None even glanced my way (pout). They sure liked my wife and her c.c. - she added to their coffers with the purchase of an Airstream-shaped birdhouse while I went off on a musical bent with a Cherokee traditional flute from the Wolf clan and an ocarina from Peru (don't ask).

If ever you get over that way, take a moment to stop at the Oconaluftee Visitor Center on the Cherokee side of the park. It was built by the CCC - the Civilian Conservation Corps - in 1941 and is trimmed out inside with stained American Chestnut. Oh my, what a wonderful wood and such a shame to have lost it all to blight. Also check out the working grist mill up the road - Mingus' Mill - and the Mountain Farm Museum next to the visitor center.

We plan on leaving tomorrow. Taking today to relax and regroup.

Shanghaied by Christians!

Bloody awful hot on Friday. Only made 300 miles or so. Made the mistake of getting off the highway at Pigeon Ford, Tennessee. That's right, home to Dollywood and about 1000 outlet stores, theaters, restaurants and other tourist traps. The main strip puts me in mind of Myrtle Beach, NC. All that is missing are the honky-tonks and strip joints. Pigeon Ford is all about family fun.

Anyway, pulled in to the River Bend Campground after deciding that two previous facilities looked at were a bit too religious, what with Jesus in flashing lights on the office rooves. It was what seemed like a reasonable hour -- 8 o'clock. Darned if the office wasn't closed up tight (turns out we'd crossed a timezone line and didn't know it - it was late, after all). Finally a tall skinny fellow gets out of his motorhome next to the pavilion and introduces himself as "Pastor Ron". Bloody Jesus-folks snuck one by me, dang-it-all! He helped get us signed in, but only after extracting a promise from my wife that we would attend the Saturday night gospel singing! If you hear of a pavilion collapsing on a bunch of gospel singing folk, you'll know why.

We'll be here a few days to play then onwards towards the soggy Northeast.

We're off!

Lots of false starts and failed attempts later, but we have departed for points North. Hard slog in 95° heat and high humidity. Put some miles on, despite a lateish departure time. Saw one bad accident (fatalities, I think) involving a 15 passenger van, a pick-up and a couple of cars. Somehow, two more cars and an 18 wheeler got tied up trying to avoid the mess.

Arrived at the Good Sam Campground - Birmingham South (in Pelham, AL) just at dark. I think I described it as a "rabbit warren" in an email to family. Lots about 25' by 60', small concrete pad with picnic table, hook-ups. No shade to be had. All for the low, low price of $37 a night with our club discount. Now, to be fair, they have significant overhead, pool, restrooms, mowing, etc. Still, even with lots of headaches and high taxes, it is a money maker, for sure.

Heading further north today . Haven't decided whether we're going up the east side or the west side of the Appalachian Mountains. Have to wait to see how the better half is feeling. She has developed a sore throat and laryngitis. All that money spent for cell phones and now she can't talk.

And So It Goes...

John M. Scalzi's Weekend Assignment #161: The Longest Trip

Weekend Assignment #161: What's the longest amount of time you've been away from home on a trip? By "trip" I mean things like a journey taken for pleasure (a vacation, cruise) or for business (business training, conventions, workshops, facilities tours) and things of that nature. Things that I would not classify as a "trip" for this assignment would be something like a military assignment or a long-term work posting, or going away for college. All of those will certainly keep you from home for a while, but they're of a different nature than when you're living out of a suitcase (or backpack, or whatever).

Extra Credit: What's the furthest you've been away from home?

Dear John,

I hope this finds you hale, hearty and healthy – you're going to need to be, if the life of a “road warrior” is to be yours for the next month or so. It can take an awful lot out of you. Particularly something like a book tour, with new cities almost every day with multiple venues in each – there lies madness. And while you have posted a nice picture of your suitcase, I don't see an accompanying garment bag. Surely you will have more than one suit coat or blazer with you for a month?

Anyway, I had to think long and hard about this one. The specific caveats regarding work, military and similar endeavors eliminates most of the things that came to mind. I was never one for vacations, once I was involved in raising children, simply because we just didn't have the money to spare.

I once made a five hundred mile journey from a suburb of Philadelphia to Bangor, Maine. This was accomplished in several stages. First, I was sent off with my maternal grandmother to Swarthmore, Pennsylvania from the tiny hamlet of Gardenville in the same Commonwealth. Seems my poor mother had had enough of me and my two siblings, so we were farmed out to Grandma, via our very special Uncle Howard, who drove us all down. Then I, and only moi, in the company of the aforementioned uncle took a local commuter train into town to be met my father's old college buddy and “little brother” (in the fraternal sense of Sigma Alpha Epsilon) in downtown Philadelphia at Penn Station, whereupon we boarded a north-bound steam clipper for “New York, Hartford, Providence and Boston.” This would have been accomplished in a couple of stages, the first being the trip to New York's Penn Station via the Pennsylvania RR. We then had to disembark and make our way to Grand Central Station, where we then boarded a New York Central – New Haven consist north to Boston. On that leg of the trip, I was so wound up on this hot, hot July day with no air conditioning that I very quickly puked the chocolate milkshake and bologna sandwich I'd eaten at Grand Central all over the lap of my father's friend. We were a mess, the pair of us. We only had day loungers in the smoking car, so we were both miserable and odiferous. Finally, late that afternoon, we pulled into South Station in Boston and had to make the mad dash to North Station in the “early weekend get out of town rush hour.” There we met up with my father, whereupon “Uncle Stan” gladly relinquished my sorry little ass to my pater and Stan went on his merry way (no doubt to a cold Martini in a hotel bar with air conditioning and beautiful gals for the picking. He was that sort. Why he'd ever volunteered to escort me northward, I never learned).

Meanwhile, Dad and I had embarked on a Boston & Maine train pulled by a streamlined diesel engine at North Station and claimed our berths in a sleeper car. I was starving once again, but in the whole rush hour dash across town my empty belly had been sorely ignored, so I was a cranky, pissy kid by the time we'd gotten settled aboard. Father thoughtfully ordered some snacks via our car steward while he put me through a bath. This had the salutary effect of cleaning me up, cooling me off and calming me down at the same time. I was soon back to my old, adventurous self, so it was off to the dining car and a steak dinner fit for a King! After, I was soon tucked into bed and watching the North Shore of New Hampshire whizzing by outside my window. The next thing I knew I was being awakened as we slowed to come into Union Station in Bangor, Maine. A short taxi ride to Grandmother's house later and I'd reached my destination for the summer. Over five hundred miles traveled in twenty-four hours by a five year old boy. Whew!

Two months later, I reversed the route. This time, it was Uncle Stan who accompanied me out of Bangor down to Boston and then we met my father at North Station. Dad took me the rest of the way, but this time we took the train from New York to Lambertville, New Jersey, where my mother picked us up. She seemed awfully relaxed... Then again, she'd been without kids for the better part of two months as she recovered from surgery that I didn't know she had undergone until years later...

There you have the tale of my earliest journey in memory (fading fast). As these things go, it wasn't all that far. But for a little boy of five, it was far enough and long enough to make an impression on this mind that would rather remember my first dog, my first brush with death in a personal way, or the time I gave my brother Richard a cake tin “helmet.” Funny how memory works.

I hope Krissy and Athena have a wonderful time together, just mother and daughter, as you wend your way across the USA and Canada hawking your wares. And I hope the reunion upon your return is so bittersweet the tears that flow from your eyes unstoppable. Then you will truly know you have arrived home, my friend.

Wil

P.S. My furthest trip from home would have to be the South China Sea. My longest trip was a sojourn around the United States and Canada for seven months in 1973. That trip was also my highest trip, in more ways than one...