tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86345401986397533902024-03-13T15:40:07.961-07:00The Incredible Journey of Travelin' JoTravelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.comBlogger92125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-21531048761573570182014-04-20T22:17:00.000-07:002014-04-20T22:17:23.216-07:00The Great Romance<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Friday, November 22, 2013 (didn’t finish till April 20, 2014—life happens!)</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">How do I even describe this pivotal week? Do I need to write two versions--one for public consumption and one much more private? Well, let’s just get started.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Oh God. How do I even start? I guess the Romance started in California, after leaving family and friends behind in the central coast area. I was now alone. And realizing that I had no one with whom I could talk at night. During the day, I cycled for hours, taking breaks to get a drink or use the bathroom or just walk out the tension in the thighs and glutes. During these breaks, I chatted for mere moments with people I met. Often, these conversations were started by people who were curious after seeing Henry David. I mean, he is not the typical bicycle. He’s not even a bicycle, for that matter, but a recumbent tricycle. There are hundreds of cyclists along the coast, seen every day, and all with their unique stories. By HD is a conversation starter. Still, I considered it important that, after answering their questions about the trike and the trek, I would ask them questions as well. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">These were not relationships, but chance meetings. Some of them quite wonderful, to be truthful, but generally quick and gone. So, one night, while sitting alone in my tent with a good internet connection, I joined PlentyOfFish, an online dating service through which you could make friends, acquaintances, and even date—if that’s what you wanted. I figured that “dating” was really out of the question, considering I was on the road on a slow trek. But I could sure spend time sharing emails and meeting people. Someone had advised me to try out PlentyOfFish—POF for short. I had to answer a lot of questions and take a relationship personality test. OK, now we’re getting somewhere, I thought. I also could put in zip codes of areas through which I would be traveling and the search engine would include those areas. Fantastic—now I could possibly meet people on the way. This would help me learn about the areas I was traveling.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And I did meet a few people in Oregon and Washington that way. It was fun to talk to locals on the internet and then go to a locally recommended coffee shop or campground or park area. It was basically choosing some of the people I would meet and listening to their stories of the local areas.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The computer program would also recall my home locale and send “matches” from my area. I wrote to a few people living in New Mexico and Texas and got correspondence going, but, while they were very nice, I did not meet any from my home area that really tripped my trigger.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Until I saw Peter’s profile. Here was an attractive man, just the right age, within a 3 hour drive from my home. He was educated and loved his job teaching at the university. He was passionate about composing music; described himself as an honest person; and wrote that he would be willing to answer any question. The way he wrote his simple profile paragraph led me to believe that he was exactly what the doctor ordered. So, I wrote him a quick note saying I liked his profile.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And thus it started. He responded and we began email correspondence. Every single thing he wrote was perfect to me. His profile was very accurate. He really was the “real deal.” He was enthusiastic and boyish and yet wise and intelligent. We clicked on every level—religion, politics, world views, humor, and communication. It was hard to believe that within a few emails he asked for my phone number to talk to me. I generally avoid doing this until several weeks of correspondence has taken place. But I gave it to him immediately, surprising myself. Of course, I told him we would have to set up a time as I avoid talking on the cell phone on this trip unless I have a good cell signal and an electrical supply. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Events took a life of their own. All through Oregon, it rained. Hard. When I arrived in Tillamook, wet and tired, I checked into the Western Motel and unpacked my gear in the room to dry out. It was late by the time I was unpacked and ready to eat. There was a Chinese restaurant next door that responded to my phone call that, yes, they did have vegetarian fare, but they would be closing up within the next 15-20 minutes. So, I ran next door, placed an order, and had my food within 5 minutes. I took dinner back to the motel and ate in the room. It left me feeling a little queasy, but I chalked it up to fatigue. Still, the next morning, I was still a bit shaky, but finished off the leftovers for breakfast and headed out on a very rainy morning. It rained hard—all day. I had plans to make it to Astoria, but, by the time I got to Seaside, I was exhausted. I stopped at a Safeway that had a Starbucks inside and grabbed a cuppa joe and looked up local lodging on my cell. It was Memorial Day weekend and I expected the rates to be astronomical. In fact, I had looked up rooms earlier in the day, which was the reason I had been pushing so hard to get to Astoria. Seaside would perhaps be a bit pricey.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But I was in luck. Prices had dropped during the day, dramatically. I found a room at the Shilo Inn, a very nice hotel resort right next to the beach. $55 per night. Hot dang! I clicked “reserve” and was on my way to the events that have changed my life forever. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I cycled in the rain to the Shilo and walked into the beautiful lobby of this skyscraping hotel, dripping water all over the polished marble floors. There were two attractive young ladies at the desk; one was training the newer employee. The lady in charge took a look at my bedraggled appearance and, rather than turning up her nose, gave me a 500 watt smile. I checked in, after she reassured me that the pricetag listed on the website for the next two nights was actually correct. I explained that my trike was outside and asked if there was a place I could park Henry David. She went to the door, saw my loaded trike, and, after asking numerous questions about this journey, she told me to bring him in and park him in the conference room. Now, this conference room was smack dab in front of the door, right in the lobby, with floor to ceiling glass walls! I pulled him in and parked my sweet boy, then the lovely manager gave me an incredible room with a kitchenette, king bed, room to sprawl, and a seaside view on the fourth floor. She topped it all off by explaining they had a sauna, jacuzzi, pool, fitness center, and bar. She gave me a certificate for a free glass of wine and sent me on my way to my blessed room, in which I would stay for two nights. I needed a day to recover from this “thing” that had given me a fever, the shakes, and an upset tummy. I assumed it was the not-so-fresh food I had eaten the night before as well as this morning. I hadn’t really eaten all day after the spoiled leftovers. Tummy was still a bit roiling and my body was hot and cold simultaneously, and I was shaking.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">While I checked into my room, I received a text from Peter, asking if he could call me the next day. Wow. What a coincidence. I was staying an extra day in a wonderful hotel and I would certainly be available for a call. So I responded “Yes!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I took a welcome hot shower, went downstairs and sat in the sauna, then the jacuzzi, and then went to the bar for a glass of red wine. I sat next to the fireplace, warmth permeating my worn body, while the rain fell outside. I was in heaven.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The next morning, I awakened to gray skies and intermittent rain. I was nervous—I would “meet” Peter on the phone that night. I walked next door to the downtown coffee shop—owned by one of the people I had met online while searching for “locals.” I wrote for a few hours, drank their wonderful coffee, and took a long walk through Seaside, and ended up at a bike shop where I purchased wet weather chain oil. Henry David needed a drink too, after all.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then, I prepared for my first telephone conversation with Peter. One would think I was getting ready for a date. I dressed up as well as I could with my best cycling gear, brushed out my hair, and even applied makeup! My imagination wasn’t dead, after all. Even though we wouldn’t actually see each other, I wanted to feel confident and pretty. As pretty as one can on the road, anyway. Maybe I wouldn’t stutter all over the place and make a fool out of myself. I practiced “hello” to the mirror but all practice technique went out the window when the phone rang in the late afternoon.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And thus it began.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A pleasant tenor voice greeted me enthusiastically on the line. He was so sincere and genuine that he put me at ease while my energy level zoomed out of bounds. We talked and talked and found we looked at life so similarly it was as if we had written the scripts ourselves. It was a fantastic beginning. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Political views: check</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">World views: check</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Spiritual views: check</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Attitude: check</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sense of humor: check</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Interactions: check</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Where he grew up (really? yes really!): mine in reverse. His early life in coastal California, teens and young adulthood were spent in Illinois. I was born in Illinois and moved to California at age 6. We share both a midwestern and a southern California hybrid mix attitude. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, after that first conversation, he emailed or texted almost every day. As we became more and more interested in each other as well as comfortable to be ourselves, he began to suggest he would come to meet me when I reached the midwest. He has family there and would combine a trip to visit his sister and her family and then would drive out to meet me on the road. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I continued on my trip north along the coast and then turned west in Washington to cross the Cascades. Halfway up the range, I stayed in North Bend and spent the night with Robin Sims—the experience with Robin is in the blog Eastward Bound from June. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Peter asked if I would send him a photo of myself. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That was proving problematic. Friends and family would ask for a photo of myself but all my photos were taken with me behind the camera lens, not in front of it. And “Selfies” from my iPhone showed all my wrinkles!!! Yeck! So I needed someone to take a photo of me from at least 6 feet away—which is longer than my arm span! While sitting outside on Robin’s deck with a delectable vegetarian meal in front of me (thank you, Robin!), I asked her to shoot a photo. Which she did. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I sent it immediately in a text message to Peter.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He has jokingly declared that, as soon as he saw the photo, he decided to come in July and meet me at Rapid City in one month, rather than waiting another month or so and combining a sister visit. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I guess he liked the photo...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, we continued to text and email and chat when possible. This became more difficult while traveling the rural country in Montana, as the cell phone service was patchy at best. As I crossed Montana and South Dakota became closer, my excitement and anxiety ratcheted upward.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When I finally cycled into South Dakota and made it to Rapid City, I found a KOA where I could land for a few days ahead of Peter. Then I could do laundry and maybe girlie things to my face which was sun damaged and aging—to say the least. The Rapid City KOA was wonderful, perched on a short, very steep hill, with the Black Hills in view. Beautiful country. I was entertained in the evening by the singing cowboy poet at the KOA, and did laundry and face masks during the day. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Peter secured a room at The Grandstay Residential Suite. He was scheduled to arrive in the evening of July 2nd, but I could check in early. And I did. After sleeping on the ground and generally being dirty most of each day, it was heavenly to walk around the large suite, complete with a kitchen and living room, as well as the usual bedroom and gloriously large bathroom.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I started to hyperventilate. Thank god the living room couch was a sleeper couch.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So I cleaned up and even put on makeup. I had cycled in the dark the previous night to find a shopping center so I could buy a modest dress. I had been wearing skorts, leggings, tank tops, and lightweight sports shirts for a few months now. If we went out to dinner, I reasoned, what would I wear? I simply MUST make an impression when we meet, don’t I? So I purchased a diagonally striped A-line, sleeveless dress with a semi-flared skirt. And 2 dollar flip-flops. All I had were the cheap, purple running shoes that I used for cycling—bought for their plentiful, ugly rubber on the bottom, which I used as a brake pad going down those crazy, steep mountains. Well, I also had a pair of running Five Finger Vibrams, which separate your toes into nice little sleeves. I usually wore those at night, after showering at the campsite or in a motel. So, neither type of shoe was proper accompaniment for a dress.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It is very complicated being a female. The male touring cyclists don’t give a darn about their fashion. They wear the same shirt and shorts for 3 days and then, if they don’t have a laundromat handy on day 4, they simply turn their clothes inside out and wear them another 2-3 days. Gross!!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I am definitely not a guy and prize cleanliness and at least a semblance of fashion. So, inexpensive striped dress and flip-flops. Check!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I waited with nerves on high pitch for the rest of the day. He arrived around 6 pm, pulling into the far side of the lot. I could see him from the 2nd floor room and I peeked through window between the gap between the curtain and the wall so I could watch him surreptitiously. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Hmmmm. Tall. Light colored short hair. Purposeful walk with a very slight bend like Steve Jobs. But a better arm swing than the Apple genius. He grabbed a suitcase out of the trunk of the car and headed for the lobby.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Yikes! Oh God, help me!! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What if I don’t like him? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Hmmmm—I liked his personality, oh yes, quite a bit. But the pheromones. Those little smelly rascals that signal attraction or its opposite or, at least, indifference. I wouldn’t know till I was up close.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I would feel pretty bad for him if the pheromones were not right—he would have traveled all this way to meet someone who decided, “Uh, no, not quite right. Sorry!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And I would feel trapped. I hate that feeling.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So. Imagine the stress we were both feeling during those last hours leading up to our meeting.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He knocked on the door. I swung it open. We stood there staring at each other with huge grins on our faces for what seemed like an eternity but was probably only 10 nanoseconds. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He had a huge smile, perfect white teeth in a triangular face with a strong jaw, and deep blue eyes. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He let go of his suitcase handle and we hugged.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The next part may seem a bit weird for most of my readers, but anyone who knows a bit about biology will think this should become part of any dating ritual.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I smelled him. I smelled his neck, his face, his shoulder, his chest (it was at my nose level—come on!!), even his hand.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Oh wow. No scent. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">How was this possible? A man without a scent? He was like air! Or water! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Fresh air. Now that was something I loved.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The pheromones were there. And they were good.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He came in and set down his bag while we exchanged the typical, banal pleasantries regarding the drive, the day, etc. Then we walked down to his car to bring up his stuff. This took several trips as he had brought half of his kitchen. He planned to make me his signature black bean soup with mango relish the next day, so he brought groceries, kitchen pots and pans and utensils. He brought cheeses and crackers and delicacies. After spending most days devouring Subway salads and trail mix, I knew I was in for a gastronomical feast. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Not to mention other kinds of feasts...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We put away the supplies and went to dinner at Ruby Tuesdays. Still in my dress, feeling shy one moment and courageous the next. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Yak, yak, yak. We talked in person, face to face, enjoying the facial expressions we had missed with phone conversations. The spell was woven.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sitting on the couch at the motel room, we talked some more. He had brought recordings of some of his musical compositions. Exquisite music: moving, sensual, mysterious. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then he asked (and quite politely, I might add), “May I kiss you?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I said, “Yes.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Let’s just say, “Wow.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Yup, the pheromones were just fine. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The next 4 days were a flurry of excitement and fun and fond thoughts of our country as it was the week of the 4th of July. The next day was July 3rd. We started the day with a 1-2 mile jog around the nearby mall parking lot. OK, even better. He can actually run.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then, we went to Mount Rushmore—the wonder I read about as a grade school kid and always dreamt of seeing one day. That’s why I was in South Dakota rather than North Dakota. I had detoured southeast to capture the opportunity to see this incredibly massive mountain sculpture.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">To see this wonder at that time of year was incomparable. There were thousands of visitors, but still, we managed practically front row seats to see a Lakota woman do an incredible demonstration of hoop dancing. She was the first Lakota woman to break down the gender barriers and compete in the national hoop dancing competition. This had always been a male dominated field but she won first place. She joked about one of her male competitors who gave her the backhanded compliment, “You’re pretty good for a woman.” She laughed, with Award in hand and said, “Yeah, just try doing this in a dress!” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The dance was phenomenal. Imaging keeping a specific dance step while weaving your body in and out of hoops about the size of a hula hoop. She started with a single hoop and by the end of the dance had about 2 dozen in hand. Well, hand, feet, neck, legs, waistline, etc. Never missing a beat or tripping over the hoops. The camera could not catch the complexity of the dance.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">While at Mt Rushmore park, we listened to a Lakota man make melody on his flute while adding background guitar through his mixer. We saw wild mountain goats. And, of course, we saw Mt Rushmore, from every angle possible. I still am amazed at the scale of this sculpture of our presidents: Presidents George Washington, Teddy Roosevelt, Thomas Jefferson, and Abraham Lincoln. The design appeared to catch the hopes and the pains of each president as he faced the building and and rebuilding of our resilient nation. Yes, we Americans share different views. Yes, we can be our own worst enemy. But, at the end of the day, we rally for each other. It’s like saying: “We can criticize our family, but you better not.” We support each other. Generally. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I have met so many travelers from around the world on this wonderful trek. I ask them what they think about Americans. Even when they don’t like our politics of the day, they all agree that we are a warm, hospitable, friendly lot of people. On the news, we hear about those of us who would take another’s life. But, out on the road, you see the beautiful array of people who make up our country and make it the beautiful tapestry it is. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">People have goodness in them. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Later that day, Peter made his homemade soup and I added gourmet grilled cheese sandwiches to the meal. With candle light and a huge aster flower gracing the table center, we relished a delightful dinner after an exceptional day at Mt Rushmore. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It had been better than I had ever dreamed. Both Mt Rushmore and Peter himself.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On July 4th, we wandered the downtown of Rapid City, where the town showed itself to be about as patriotic as Boston. On every corner was a 3/4 scale bronze sculpture of another president. There were also beautiful sculptures of famous Lakota leaders, Lakota sayings, and Native American animal sculptures. It was a heady day mixing the patriotism of the 4th of July with the meaningful and touching phrases of the “first Americans.” While we as a nation, even still, are not honoring our treaties with the first residents, these same deeply spiritual peoples are trying to find common ground with us. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">While wandering the downtown section of Rapid City, we popped into quaint stores, took photos of the bronze sculptures, and watched a young fiddler play celtic tunes with her family band. We drank coffee near the square, watched children play in fountains, wondered at all the local art, and ate a lunch of vegetarian nachos while enjoying the outside air at a nearby cafe. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The next day, July 5th, was decision day. Peter had arranged it so that, if we didn’t take to each other, he could make an escape on the 5th. No harm, no foul. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Well, we DID take to each other, so we found a Super 8, less hard on the finances, and moved our stuff so we could spend a few more days with each other. We wandered in the downtown area some more, talked all day, lost track of time, and then went out to a popular pizza spot on the night before our dual departure. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I awakened on July 7th, a Sunday morning, with my adrenaline pumping again, as I prepared to take off on Henry David for the remainder of my trip. I had met Tammy, the lovely lady who worked the desk at the Super 8, and she came out with Peter and I to wish me safe travels. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We said our goodbyes and shared hugs and kisses and I cycled out of the parking lot into the rest of my life. Changed forever.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The next several months were spent on the road again. But this time with daily contact with Peter, whether by text or phone calls. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I met his sister and her family in Indiana. Maggie and Vince treated me to a pizza dinner in Monticello, Indiana. Maggie, Vince, and their two daughters, Kathleen and Carolyn, took turns giving HD a spin around the parking lot. The girls charmed me with their stories. What a nice family.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As I headed south along the Atlantic Coast, Peter helped keep up my spirits when I hit terrible roads or harsh conditions. He encouraged me every day of this long trek. It was so meaningful to have someone love you and support you and listen to you and tell you stories of his own life. His stories delighted me. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I met his parents and another sister and brother-in-law in Hilton Head, South Carolina. (That trip is also outlined on the blog <i>Magical Land</i>, posted in October). Peter came out to see me on October 2nd, right on Hilton Head Island. We spent the rest of the week together, sharing time with his parents, sister, and brother-in-law. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When he left on Sunday, October 6th, his sister Mary and brother-in-law Jack drove me around Savannah. HD and I hit the road again the next morning, heeding warnings of a possible hurricane. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Peter remained a vital force for the remainder of the trip: calling daily, texting intermittently, and sharing his daily life with me. His regular encouragement gave me strength. Every day he asked about the day’s ride: How was it? Did you meet anyone? Where are you now? Are you feeling ok? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And he ended every day with, “I love you.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He joined me for a few days in Texas, when I was within a few hours drive of his home in Lubbock. He also joined the welcoming party in Carlsbad. And, wonder of wonders, he received the approval of my daughter Shannon and my son Deois. Only one child remained to give their blessing. Heather—my angel in Albuquerque. But she told me that, if I loved him, she would too.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, I met the man of my dreams in Oregon on the Internet. He lives a scant 3 hour drive away from my home. He came to see me 3 times on the road, bearing gifts of flowers, food, warmth, and love. He shares my political and spiritual outlook—which is important to most Irish-Americans, such as we are! He kept me updated on world news as well as included me in his daily work, composing a violin concerto—a true masterpiece. He called every day to give me emotional sustenance. He has remained steady and supportive and loving, yet surprises me regularly with a new side of him as we get to know each other more deeply. He listens while I ramble—and even pays attention! I hope I give him half of what he has given me.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We are planning a future. Together. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Life is good.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Very strange things can happen on the road. Indeed.</span></div>
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Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-8540418682168207632013-12-11T09:26:00.000-08:002013-12-11T09:26:39.894-08:00<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Saturday, November 16, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I left the San Angelo Lodge shortly after 7 am, with the sky streaked with pink. I called the 1910 Sterling Hotel in Sterling City, my day’s destination. It was the only viable place in town. I spoke to Wanda on the phone and arranged for the night’s stay. Peter would be playing roadie, so it would be a great day. I zipped to Walgreens and then a final convenience store/bathroom break before I left the city limits on hwy 87.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was a very rural day, here in west Texas. I passed a spot on the road called Carlsbad, TX. The name and the surrounding countryside reminded me of home in Carlsbad, NM. But that was about it. This is an unincorporated village with a post office and it is located in Tom Green County---cool name for a county I think. Anyhow, the population of the zip code is less than 1500. That village population is about 100. Not even a bathroom. I kept going, after the required photograph of the sign. This was a day of finding bushes. But once, when Peter came by to provide coffee and snacks (boy, did I feel spoiled), I stopped at a lone milling business and begged to use the bathroom. The sympathetic lady at the desk welcomed me in. People can be so wonderful. And save lives!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I rolled into Sterling City in the late afternoon, with Peter and Wanda standing out in front of the 1910 State Hotel to welcome me “home” for the night. First, Wanda gave us the grand tour of this fantastic old building. This historic building was built in, you guessed it, 1910, and was one of the first building of this ranching and mining town. It started as a bank, then became an office for two doctors, then a drugstore,</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">confectionary, and a cafe. TrinaBeth Johnson purchased it and has been renovating the stately old building over the last year or two, making it into a welcoming home for travelers of all kinds. Now with the oil boom in west Texas, they are getting more travelers through this tiny town. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sterling City had a population of less than 1000 about 5 years ago. It is still called the “Windmill City” due to the prevalence of windmills in the surrounding area. The city records boast a population of about 1000, although the residents swear this is wrong and the population must be 10 times larger. Perhaps it feels that way, with the incoming workers. However, these workers are temporary, renting rooms at the Hotel. In the fall, they also have a large banquet and celebration for hunters, creating another draw of visitors. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wanda at the 1910 State Hotel gave Peter and I a great tour of the venerated old building. The renovations are going wonderfully and they have a dining room with the greatest coffee and cookies and pastries around. Peter and I kept running downstairs from our room to get their coffee. And, yes, the cookies too! Yummmm!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wanda has a long history with the building. She worked here as a young woman and just started working here recently as the hotel clerk. Her passion is her 28 year-old son. He was in a terrible motor vehicle accident a few years ago and it was touch and go for awhile, with his survival hanging in the balance. Eventually he recovered, only to get such a severe case of pneumonia that he almost lost his life again. In fact, he was in ICU for several weeks and Wanda checked him out of the hospital in San Angelo and paid for an ambulance to get him to a hospital in Austin. There, he slowly recovered, but he did recover. Wanda actually saved his life. There are not many people that would have the guts to go against a hospital and doctor’s orders to take a loved one to a different hospital hundreds of miles away. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">While we were finishing our discussion with Wanda, the night clerk or manager arrived--Leslie. This little firecracker is a transplant from Houston. Sterling City has a population of about 1000 and Houston’s population is 2.16 million! She is still dealing with some culture shock, but appears to be dealing well with it. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Here is her story. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Leslie met her husband through one of her best friends many years ago. This friend fell in love with a man through an online dating service (I can relate). This man had a twin brother and Leslie’s friend set her up with a date with the twin. They fell in love, got married, and had six kids. Yes, six. Leslie is a pretty, slender young lady who looks just old enough to have borne maybe two by now. But six??? She is looking mighty fine, lemme tell ya!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Since adulthood, Leslie has always worked at a job and she lived a pretty fast-paced life in Houston. Her husband was in the military and did recon in Iraq. He returned to the states and is technologically savy. Over the last year, he was hired in the oil fields to install, manage, and program the software that works the big rigs and pumps. It was a great job and it required a move to the tiny town of Sterling City. There might be a few more moves in the future for them, but for now, they are learning how to live the country life. Hubby has been building a chicken coop out of pallets and materials that they have found around the property that they are renting. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Leslie’s passions are multiple. She is passionate about her faith in God and her love for her husband and children. She loves the planet and her animals. They have a 30 pound miniature “house pig” who sleeps with one of the kids. She had Peter and I laughing as she described the rascal pig who can open doors and latches and cabinets. He will steal a loaf of bread and run through the house with it, Leslie’s husband chasing him for all he’s worth. The pig usually wins. They have bantam and silkie chickens that were purchased to raise for meat and eggs. But Leslie has made pets out of them and carries her favorite silkie hen around in her arms. This bright foul pecks on the front door every morning and, when the door is opened, she walks in and greets everyone and checks out the house for any changes, just like a curious cat. The farm is turning into a petting zoo and the Houston transplant family are the quirky new residents. And everyone loves them.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After I went upstairs and did my exercises, Peter and I came back downstairs to get their Keurig coffee and fresh cookies. There, we snagged Leslie again for more conversation and we discussed local and world issues, from water and oil to war and survival. We definitely enjoyed her passionate animation.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Eventually, we returned to the lovely room and Peter showed me some of his computer programing for composing music. Then he played some of the music recorded on his laptop, including sonatas and even opera. They were so beautiful my heart constricted and my eyes stung. Every time I woke up in the night, the strains were replaying in my head. They were so very beautiful.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I am very grateful for this life.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sunday, November 17, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When Peter and I hit the parking lot at the 1910 State Hotel at 7:15 am, the hotel housekeeper, Rosemarie, was walking across the alley toward the hotel. I believe she may live in one of the houses on the adjacent street. She called out and said that her daughter liked my bike. At about that time, Daisy, her pretty “tween” daughter came around the corner of the building, having just inspected Henry David. I asked her if she would like to take a ride on HD; I would show her. With a sudden look of apprehension, Daisy shook her head “no”. Still, Peter and I walked with Rosemarie and Daisy over to where HD had been locked down for the night. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">While we headed in that direction, Rosemarie pressed $10 into my hand, “from my husband”, she said. “We think that this trip of yours is really wonderful”. I hugged her and thanked her gratefully. She told me that she was the one who put all the little snacks in our room. What an absolutely sweet lady. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I showed Daisy and Rosemarie the trike and then demonstrated how to ride it. Daisy climbed on with some trepidation and took off slowly down the sidewalk. She rode it to the end of the sidewalk to the next parking lot, turned it around, and came back. Peter walked along beside her in case she had a problem. She didn’t. She did wonderfully. Daisy was very quiet and shy, holding up the sleeve of her jacket/sweatshirt up near her pretty face whenever we spoke to her.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">By the time Daisy returned HD to the 1910 State Hotel parking lot, her dad and her uncle had joined us. They inspected HD, asking questions about hills, gearing, steering, etc. We talked a bit about their jobs--both retired but Daisy’s dad worked for the utility department for about 25 years. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This is a family that appears to do a lot of things together. What a tight knit family. Rosemarie’s passion is fishing. She simply loves to be outside on the lakes and reservoirs in the area. Often, the water is fairly low, which has often been the case over the last few years. When the level is down, the water is murky and Rosemarie practices “catch and release”. But, when the water levels are higher, she enjoys keeping the fish and she cooks it for the family.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This led to a brief discussion of water issues; their opinion was that drought was the primary reason for water shortages in west Texas. Others have expressed the opinion that the booming oil industry has depleted the water supply as large amounts of water are needed for drilling. I imagine it is a combination of both. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Daisy said her favorite passion is hunting. She goes deer hunting for 2-day weekends with her dad and uncle. They dress out the deer themselves and eat venison most of the year. Rosemarie jokingly added that, when she sees they have brought home another deer, she thinks “oh no, more deer meat”. Sometimes she longs for a good ole beef hamburger (or fresh fish!).</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Daisy’s uncle said that this area is a popular spot for hunters. In fact, the annual hunter appreciation dinner would be held right here in Sterling City within the next week. Peter and I had noticed the banner strung across the main street welcoming the hunters. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Before HD and I made our departure from the 1910 State Hotel parking lot, Daisy’s unlce pressed $10 into my hand, “for the trip” he said. I tried to give it back, explaining that his brother had already given me some money. But he refused, insisting I keep it.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I thanked them all and pulled out of the parking lot. I would eat well this week. Here is an interesting thing. Sometimes, the people who have the least to spare are the ones who share what they have the most. I pray that this wonderful family is blessed beyond measure. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The route today was riding the 87 all the way to Big Spring, TX. There was a great shoulder the entire way and the sun was shining. The day would have been spelled </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">P-E-R-F-E-C-T, except for the fact that there was a 20 mph headwind all day till about 2 or 2:30 pm.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Well, ok, the day was still PERFECT. Peter played “roadie” all day again. He stopped by with drinks and snacks every few hours throughout the day, and even a Subway salad around noon. Due to the absence of any town or gas station, I was grateful for the use of his car to get out of the wind for 10 minutes at a time, and once to use it as a visual barricade...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">More than those wonderful benefits, I was grateful to have his encouraging presence and beautiful smile reappear throughout the day.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I arrived shortly around 4:30 pm at the Motel 6 on the west edge of town. After I took a much needed shower, Peter and I drove around town in his Jetta, looking for a place to eat. The “pickins” were slim and we settled on Pizza Inn, where a harried but sweet lady took care of our needs, while juggling almost the entire restaurant full of service needs and spill cleanups. Peter got a cheese pizza and I had the salad bar (I did sneak a few pieces of his pizza, though) and we finished it off with a dessert cinnamon and sugar pastry. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tomorrow, I will definitely have to get back to eating less bread and more fruit. Although, come to think of it, I still have some of that dessert pastry left over. I couldn’t let it go to waste, you know...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Peter headed back to Lubbock around 9 pm. It was so wonderful to have him as my personal “roadie”. Life can’t get much better.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Monday, November 18, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I slept fitfully and got it together by 7 a.m. It wasn’t even light yet. I waited 10 more minutes and, when the sky started to streak pink and purple, I turned on HD’s lights and rode him next door to the travel station in Big Spring, TX. After coffee reinforcement and shooting the breeze with the truckers, I headed northwest on hwy 87, in the early morning light. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was a great day: good roads, mild tailwind, temperature a bit cool, and mild grade to Lamesa, Texas. There were no bathrooms for 30 miles, but I was able to keep my fluid intake to a comfortable level. I arrived at the Lamesa McDonalds around 2:30. The assistant manager chatted with me outside and then bought me a cup of coffee from his store. While sipping my coffee and examining my iphone for potential lodgings tonight, a gentleman at another table asked me about Henry David. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This was Conrad. This gentleman wore a right eye patch and what appeared to be an electronic device in his ear, perhaps a hearing aid. It looked like a blue tooth ear piece. There was a cane by his side. Conrad is a Desert Storm veteran and former police officer and trainer. He came down with Guillain Barre syndrome a few years ago. This is a neurological disease with an acute onset that basically results in paralysis. Usually it is temporary, but many have died without proper care. He spent many months in the hospital followed by additional months of outpatient physical rehabilitation. By the time he had recovered enough from the Guillain Barre and was up and walking with a cane, he then suffered a stroke, affecting his right side. A double whammy, for sure. However, he has not given up, by no means. He continues to work on his exercises but longs to have his therapy advanced. Insurance coverage has discontinued for any more physical rehabilitation. So, he was very curious about the sleek, low Henry David, with his stable three wheels but high requirement for lower extremity strength. Conrad says he is a very determined person and refuses to accept failure. His passions are all related to his career: service as a peace officer, training other officers, and participating in search teams in the rugged Texas wild lands---on horseback.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After the delightful conversation with this brave and determined man, I headed out to search for lodging. The cheapest motel looked half abandoned, and the parts that didn’t appear abandoned were cluttered as if hoarders have been living there for a few years. Out of desperation, I stayed at the Best Western---too pricey for my budget, but I figured I was almost home and so I splurged on a room. It was really lovely. Clean, large, airy, and big enough for HD. The breakfast in the morning was fantastic. They had a jacuzzi and a pool but the jacuzzi water was too cold, so I took a hot shower instead and wandered down the street to Subway and brought a nice, big salad back to the room. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Keep going, girl.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tuesday, November 19, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was a windy day to Seminole. The nights are becoming cooler, but the day time temp was still in the 70’s. A-ok! HD and I traveled pretty much due west to Seminole. It seemed almost flat, but there was a gradual increase of elevation. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was getting harder to find places to, well, you know, pee. The plains were giving way to sparse desert brush. I found that, if I turned into a rare ranch road with the gate opened, I could park HD and no one would bother me. Then I could walk a bit further and find a ditch and a bush. A nice outdoor bathroom combination. Every now and then I would also come across an oil or agricultural related business---not many out in the country---and I could beg use of the facilities. Most businesses are tucked into town or along the edge of town. So, if it is 45 miles between towns, about 38 of them are empty of roadside businesses. On HD, it takes several hours to go 35-40 miles---it could take 5-9 hours, depending on wind and road conditions. Ah, such are the challenges to a female on a trike. We really need privacy. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">About 15-20 miles from Lamesa, I was hailed to a stop by a ranch hand. This was Joe Rodriguez and his friend Manuel. Joe had many practical questions about traveling on the recumbent trike. We talked a bit about the agricultural practices in this area as well. The farmers grow cotton or milo or some other grains but usually rely on rain to water their fields. This is often not practical, as this area is entering the very outer edge of the Chihuahuan desert, although still technically considered Texas “plains”. Thus, the farmers take out insurance and then they are covered for their losses. Sometimes they don’t even plant, if the weather is just too dry. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Texas is a huge oil producer and this is becoming a more profitable use of land than agriculture in this dry terrain. But farming gets into people’s blood, especially if passed down from generation to generation. There is something so bonding to the earth when you farm. So, even when they are paid to not even plant anything, these farmers hold onto their land, rather than sell it off. I have to admire that. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Although it does seem odd to try to farm in a desert. Prickly pear does well and is quite edible, doesn’t require water, and grows just by winking at it. But I haven’t seen any cactus farms for serious agricultural use.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Anyway, Joe finished our conversation by asking what I eat on the road. I thought about what was in my cargo area at that very moment. “Ummm. Let’s see”, I responded, “I have some apples, peanuts, and some crackers I think!” I explained that I try to pick up food from grocery or convenient stores and often eat salads at night if I can get them, with occasional restaurant trips. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He pressed 10 dollars into my hand and said, “Go get something to eat!” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This was not only sweet and generous, but humorous, as there was not a store for another 30 miles. But, I knew that I would be hungry tonight, so there was definitely a use for it, especially now that I am living off my credit card. I thanked him and cycled off, thinking how touching it is that some of the folks I have met who have the least to spare are the ones who press $10 into my hands after just a 5 minute conversation. I pray they are blessed beyond measure.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I pulled into Seminole in the mid afternoon. Now the excitement was really building. This was a town through which I have driven numerous times, on my way to Lubbock. I took an iPhone photo of the town clock, which has been the landmark for where to turn to switch highways, and sent the photo to my oldest and youngest children, who also have driven through this town more times than they want to count. They were excited and responded with all the wows and oohs and ahhs that I needed to spur me on to the motel. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I checked into the Seminole Inn on the west end of town, giving me just a little headstart for the morning. It was the most reasonable priced motel in town, so I was glad for that. The owner told me he had met his dream to own his own business and he and his wife were doing what they could to spruce it up. It was a decent place with clean rooms. I did my exercises, showered, and then took my laundry bag full of dirty clothes to the RV camping park next door, where they had a small laundromat. I did my laundry, ordered eggplant parmigiana take out from the Italian family restaurant next door (Thank you, thank you, Joe!!), and headed back to the room. I ate every bit of the heavy meal, as the ride next day was going to stretch the limits of daylight, as well as my endurance...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wednesday, Nov 20, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I slept fitfully due to the anxious anticipation of the long day ahead combined with the excitement of entering home territory. I was on the road by 6:20 a.m. with the sky still dark and Henry David’s meager lights turned on full blast. Grabbing a gas station coffee on the way out of town, I joined the work trucks and cars beginning their day in the dark. The road was flat and swift, which I needed for this day. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I pulled up to the New Mexico border around 10:30-11:00 a.m. and stopped to take a photo. Wow! My home state. At last! Wahoooooo!!! I sent it off to Facebook and also to a few family members on my iPHone, and then shed a choked up tear or two as I realized how close to home I had come. How far I had come. The past and the future, rolled up into one pristine sign: </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Welcome To New Mexico. The Land Of Enchantment.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Yes, indeed it is!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A short while later, HD and I hit the edge of Hobbs, NM, the last town before Carlsbad, my home. This hopping town is thriving from the oil and gas industry as well as nuclear facilities, ranching, and farming. The highway that forms an “L” as it turns through the edge of town is like any other west Texas highway: industrial and nothing to write home about. To see and experience the fun of these west Texas/east New Mexico towns, similar to small towns and cities throughout the country, is to veer into the old downtown areas or into the newer shopping districts. Hobbs also sports a casino and a horse race track, so there are plenty of places for the oil workers to spend their money!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I stopped at the west edge of Hobbs around noon for a final convenience store stop and drinks. Then it was an all out struggle to get to the Halfway Bar and Grill, which is the halfway point between Hobbs and Carlsbad. There is actually a little cafe, Monties, about 10-15 miles from Hobbs, and I stopped there for a quick break. The wind was in my face most of the afternoon and it was hard work indeed to get to the Halfway Bar and Grill by 5:15 pm, after sunset and just as the sky was getting dark. My daughter Shannon met me there and we shared excited (and very tired!) hugs, took photos, and went inside to meet our contacts.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Shannon had contacted the owner, Mike Burton, the day before and obtained permission to park HD in their locked yard when we arrived today. While Mike was not there when we arrived, the two ladies working inside the restaurant were expecting us and showed us where to park my boy. Shannon and I unloaded what I needed for the night and then went inside to share a plate of french fries and a margarita.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This was about my worst nutrition day on this trip so far, due to lack of any grocery stores and paltry offerings in the convenience stores on my route. After the fries, I could feel the fatigue from excessive exercise (68 miles in a headwind on a fully loaded trike) and poor nutrition (you don’t even want to know!). </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We headed back to Hobbs in Shannon’s Hyundai Tucson and stayed the night at the EconoLodge. This was the only place we could find that would allow us to have a pet, as Shannon was accompanied on this last night by her loyal companion, Lou Dawg, a small Dalmation mix canine. Lou is always happiest when Shannon is in his line of sight. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That evening, I was getting texts and messages from family and friends who wanted to know when I would arrive in Carlsbad, as they hoped to meet me there. I insisted I didn’t want a big deal but I gave my best guess on estimates, thinking I would arrive between 2 and 4 pm.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I went to bed, knowing that this journey would soon be over and home was just over the hill. Or down the hill, as the case would be.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">___________________________</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Thursday, November 21, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Shannon and I packed up and arrived at the Halfway Bar and Grill around 9 am. We had the opportunity to meet Mike, the owner, who had so graciously housed HD for the night. Mike allowed us to take photos of him with us and he told us to come back and enjoy the music venues at the bar as well as the great food. What a great guy. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I departed from the Halfway Bar and Grill about 9:30 a.m. It was 32 miles to Carlsbad and the wind that had been forecast for the day was decidedly absent. The temp reached the mid 70’s and the weather and road conditions could not have been better for this last day on the road. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">About 10 miles from the Halfway B&G, a policeman in a sheriff’s vehicle pulled up beside me, lights flashing. Well, I certainly wasn’t speeding, ha ha, and I was well over onto the ample shoulder. I stopped and he rolled down his window, asking if my name was Patricia Jo Kearney.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Yes sir” I replied with some curiosity.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Well, I have been looking forward to meeting you. My name is Officer Wyatt and I will be escorting you back to Carlsbad”. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">OMG. So much for a quiet entrance. Some one had put out the APB and I was getting a police escort.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Let me tell you. There is nothing like a police escort with lights flashing on a sunny day on a road with a mild downhill grade to get a cyclist pumping. So, I told myself it was time to actually push hard, so, I did. For the next 20 miles, I cycled hard and flew along at 10-12 mph, which is fast for ole HD. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">About 5 miles from town, another policeman pulled next to me and told me he also would be ensuring my safe arrival. He moved in front and I had an escort in front and behind. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Yikes.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I was smiling and giggling and decided that someone would be getting a noodle lashing from me later today.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then, about 1 mile from home, there were 2 more police cars and a firetruck. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What the....??</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">One block before my street, I saw my son and my dear “little brother” Preacher Dave, among other friends on the street, taking photos and waving ecstatically. My son broke into a run, which is impressive due to sciatic nerve damage which has resulted in left foot paralysis. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Thus, I was escorted down my street with lights flashing and sirens blaring. Neighbors came outside to see what the hubbub was about and HD and I rolled to the end of the block in front of my house to a small welcoming committee. Preacher Dave Rogers was behind the welcoming committee, bemoaning the fact that I was an hour early and the party was 1/4 of the planned size. Over the next few hours, friends arrived and I received many hugs and flowers and congratulations and welcome home sentiments. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The police and newspaper reporter and photographer gathered around while Dave presented me with a framed statement from Mayor Dale Janway while the cameras flashed. The Mayor proclaimed it Patricia Jo Kearney day and called me a Hometown Hero. It was special and sweet and moving and unbelievable.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Within about 45 minutes, the mayor himself arrived and shook my hand. The police drove off in their 4 cars, congratulating me. I was humbled.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I was interviewed for the Carlsbad Current Argus, the local paper. Friends came and went for the rest of the day and evening. My house was warm and welcoming.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I am truly blessed.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And very, very happy to be home. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Friday, November 22, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This morning, safe in my warm home, I awakened to freezing temperatures and snow. Yes, snow. I had finished my journey in 75 degree weather, just in time.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Funny how things work out...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">While the journey is over, the story is not. I still have one more chapter to write. Check in with me, on this blog, around Christmas. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My love to you all. </span></div>
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Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-12226105263347757752013-12-11T09:07:00.002-08:002013-12-11T09:25:05.311-08:00Texas Hill Country<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">November 10, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I got up in the morning and packed up Henry David in the early morning light. I popped back in and gave Shannon a hug, kiss, and warm goodbye before hitting the road. I cycled through Austin to get to the west end of town. Luckily, the traffic was light as it was Sunday morning on a holiday weekend. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This was now officially Texas Hill Country. It is really quite stunning. The higher the elevation, the drier it gets. So cedars and oaks give way to more grassy plains. There are a few rivers and lakes, but most of the lakes are actually manmade, catching the river water and supplying water to the small towns. Apparently, there is quite a water issue here, as the usage of water by homeowners and golf courses are affecting the rice farms and other agricultural needs in the valleys downstream. The ground is pure granite, so getting water out means drilling through tough rock. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I read an article about the oil drillers who do fracking around here. Because water is limited, they are now adopting recyling practices instead of simply using all the effluent water and polluting the water table. About time.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It’s usually about money. Not altruism. Man, as a species, is just not that good. If you want policies to change for the betterment of the planet, and you think that people will make changes in their lifestyle and their business practices because it’s the “right” thing to do, well, think again. But when a price tag is in place, making planetary respect the </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px; text-decoration: underline;">economical</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> thing to do, then policy can be changed. Yay for recycling water! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">In a gas station about 15 miles from Marble Falls, I met a man named Robert today. He has held many jobs in his life, most of them quite successful. He has been all over the world in the pro golf circuit. Now, he doesn’t play golf much anymore due to some serious spinal surgeries, but he still has a hand in the field. Literally. He designs and builds golf courses. He has built them all over Texas and is very familiar with the water issues. Most golf courses now water their grass with gray water, which is cheaper than potable water and adds fertilizer to the soil. Robert has always been such a busy man that he doesn’t like to sit around. So, even though he runs a successful company, he took on a part time job cooking on weekend nights at Poodies--a popular night spot in the area with live music. We had a great talk about the world, politics, and Texas water.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I crossed the Colorado river twice: in Austin and again in Marble Falls, my destination for today. I understand the Colorado river is shrinking, like so many others. Still, it was cool to cycle over it. Twice.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">About 5 miles from Marble Falls, I left hwy 71 and turned north on 281. This was not such a pleasant road, but I had a great road most of the day, so I had no complaints. HD and I rolled into town in the late afternoon. I got an inexpensive room at the Hill Country Inn, a modest but clean motel. I did my usual nightly activities, grabbing a bean burrito for dinner from the convenience store at the end of the block. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Time is so fascinating on the road. Each day is a new place and things seem so long ago. Austin seemed like last week, not last night. New Orleans seems like a month ago, not just over a week ago. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Strange. Time.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Monday, November 11, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Veterans Day on the road. No parades, no flags. I spent a good part of the day thinking about veterans, war, battle, diplomacy, international understanding. It was a bit different not to see a veteran friend in person and thank them. Just lonely stretches of road with very few towns. The area is becoming more and more rural. I see some farms and ranches, but mostly just wild land. Feels like home. I’m still in hill country, and will be for several more days, so the ride was challenging but good. I am averaging a very slow pace, even though the load is much lighter. I gave up my camping gear as I figured I could stay in motels for the rest of the 2 weeks I expect to be on the road. Nights are long and cool and the idea of sitting in a cold tent for 11-12 hours is just not appealing. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After an uneventful but pleasant day on the road, I reached Llano, Texas in the early afternoon. It was a short ride today as the next ride to Brady would be hilly and long, with no opps for lodging in between. The signs welcoming you to Llano read:</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“We Welcome Hunters”. It is a town of 3000 but has limited services. It does have a few restaurants luring in the hunting crowd. In the evening, I walked by a store that sells hunting gear with a neon, lighted deer hung upside down in fresh kill fashion, with a red pool of blood dripping from its heart. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Welcome to Llano!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tuesday, November 12, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">An Arctic blast arrived today, with a North wind of 20-25 mph predicted, thus keeping me in Llano, as I would have to struggle not only with hills but an unreasonable headwind. Tomorrow, the forecast suggests a mild wind, maybe even a slight tailwind. So, I took the opportunity to stay here today and write. I’ve been working on the blogs since New Orleans and have been at it almost 4 hours. My neck hurts, my bottom hurts, and I think I’m ready to do something else! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">______________________________</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wednesday, November 13, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Another day through the hills, this time to Brady, Texas. Brady is in McCulloch County, which is the geographical center of Texas. It is also the last of my time in Texas Hill Country. It was over 50 miles today of road--no gas stations or towns or convenience stores. This meant finding bushes, trees, and culverts to take care of bladder business. At one point, I took a “break” to hide in a culvert to relieve myself. While I was busy tucking my tank top back into the waist band of my pants, I heard a voice overhead, “Excuse me, ma’am. Are you ok down there?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I look up to see an attractive police officer, peering over the railing of the culvert. While my face burned hot, I laughed with embarrassment and answered, “I am fine, officer. No problems!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I saw the bike parked at the side of the road and I was concerned” he responded.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Now, truly embarassed, I answered, “Everything is ok, officer, I just needed to take a leak!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Are you sure you’re ok, then?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Yes, sir, I’m fine”.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I climbed back up the culvert and climbed back on the trike and took off. I should have taken the time to go back to the squad car to talk to him as I bet he had some fantastic stories to share. But, I guess I was a bit embarassed still, and so, off I went. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The hills were diminishing in grade and the flora was changing. The trees were getting smaller and more scrublike. I rolled into Brady in the late afternoon and found the Sunset Inn. It was situated next to a McDonalds, so I went next door and got a coffee. Then I settled into the motel for the evening, with exercises and laundry to do. It was a long day but I was energized. Tomorrow would be a shorter ride and there was a wonderful gift at the end of it.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Peter would be coming from Lubbock and would be my “roadie” for the next 3 days. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Yay!!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Thursday, November 14, 2013</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was only about 35 miles today. I practically raced to Eden, TX today, checking into the Slumber Inn at the west edge of town. This was another small town, dotted with a few residential motels for workers and one viable motel for travelers. I waited for Peter to arrive in the evening, finishing my exercises beforehand. We ate the goodies he brought in his car. So nice to see him again.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Friday, November 15, 2013</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was close to 50 miles today, from Eden to San Angelo, TX. There were enough towns that coffee and bathroom stops were available. But Peter met me on the road with snacks and hugs and encouragement. He checked into the San Angelo Inn in the early afternoon and I arrived mid afternoon. We had plenty of time to take a walk in the park, hand in hand, marveling at the sights along the Concho River. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">San Angelo has an annual Christmas celebration, lighting up the river for the “Tour of Lights”, which is now a 2.5 mile driving tour. While it was not yet Thanksgiving, the light structures were either already going up or being set up. The river, by Fort Concho, is a delightfully well kept river through San Angelo. In Carlsbad, we have the Pecos River and we celebrate “Christmas on the Pecos”. You can take boat rides along the part of the river where the riverfront homes are located. The owners, or community volunteers, set up fantastic light displays in the back yards, which extend down to the river itself. The boatswains play Christmas music and give you thick blankets in which to enwrap yourself to stay warm in the cold December night air. This reminded me of the approaching NM destination. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We went to dinner at a precious home that had been converted to a chic restaurant. It was definitely a higher class than the Subway or convenient store dinners I utilize when I’m alone! Thank you, Peter!</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I think I’m liking this “roadie” deal!!</span><br />
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Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-4469769349374097722013-11-12T13:53:00.002-08:002013-11-12T13:53:37.631-08:00Austin City Limits<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Friday, November 8th, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Shannon arrived at the Howard Johnson Inn after dark. Her google map sent her to the north part of Austin to an apartment complex. Once she figured out where the real HoJo really was located, she turned around and came south, crossing the Colorado River, which cuts through the center of Austin, and found the motel. We brought in her stuff, locked up Henry David, and went out on the town. Well, we didn’t really kick up our heels that much.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We went to Chuys--the ORIGINAL Chuys restaurant--it started right here in Austin. The building was old and colorful and quaint and we split a veggie enchilada plate. Even sharing the dinner, we were so full, we were glad we didn’t get a full plate each. She regaled me with stories of her time earlier this week in Austin with her close friends Shersy and Lori. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As the evening wore on, we got sillier and sillier. We drove to downtown Austin and parked her Hyundai near 6th street and ---- and shot photos of St Mary’s Cathedral, even though it was dark. There were enough street lights to capture just a fraction of the magnificence of this building, which was constructed in-----. Looking out over the downtown area, we saw a mixture of architecture styles, from modern and post-modern skyscrapers to grand old brick buildings to ornate Gothic and romantic Victorian era buildings. And of course, in the section of 6th street known for its night life, the buildings were a hodgpodge of bars and restaurants and nice stores. It was Friday night, so the live music was pumping. After wandering just a bit, we went back to the motel. Tomorrow night we would do the music thang!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">How sweet to be in Austin with Shannon.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Saturday, November 9th, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This morning involved drinking coffee from the continental breakfast room in the motel. There was only cereal and bread, no fruit or yogurt, so I returned to the room to rouse Shannon and get the good times rolling. She doesn’t drink motel coffee as a rule, so we planned to go to a quaint little coffee shop a few miles away. Within a short time, she was ready and we ventured out into the Austin city streets, ending up at Flipnotics, a great little coffee shop, perched on a hillside. They play live music most nights and a man was busy tuning the piano for the hour or so we were there. With both inside and outside seating and the shabby chic that is the cool Austin style, this little coffee shop is a local fave. While sipping our joe, Shannon and I took care of business on our macs.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then, to the thrift shop we went. Last night, Shannon had shown me a music video about thrift shopping. Apparently, the slang term is now “poppin’ tags”. The video is by Macklemore and Ryan Lewis. It does have some very “colorful” language and is a rap/hiphop song, so go there only if you like that style of music. I found it absolutely hilarious and we kept singing phrases from the song while we headed for the thrift shop. Shannon makes me laugh so much that every thing becomes funny.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We bought books for 25 cents each; she will bring them home to Carlsbad. She picked up a few things, including a very cool leather belt pack. She can find a deal, lemme tell ya!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then, we wandered along South Congress, or SoCo to the locals. The buskers were out on the street corners and there were several craft and art fairs tucked between buildings. We wandered through a craft fair and then into some local shops selling goods from all over the world. I have been looking for a headscarf since I lost mine several months ago. I had been unable to replace it because the fashions have changed and you can’t find a simple scarf to tie country bandana style around your head and ears. You can get either a small bandana scarf on which to blow your nose, or a long narrow rectangular scarf to tie around your neck. So, I found what a needed to keep my hair back and ears warm, as I am expecting some cold weather as I trek across Texas in November.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After coffee at Jo’s (cool, huh?), we went back to the motel and got ready for the evening. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We met Daniel and Kristine Griffin at Masala Wok in north Austin. Daniel is my son’s best friend from 6th grade. They were best man for each other’s wedding and Daniel will always hold a very special place in my heart. Both Deois (my son) and Daniel are rather brilliant men and were the lovable nerds in high school. Both of them have a gift for languages and travel and have many exciting stories to tell. This was my first time to meet Kris, Daniel’s wife. He done good! She is just a cool lady and we had a great time. Daniel works at Spreadfast, one of the fastest growing software and website companies in the world. Daniel works in the customer support department, so he has to understand technology communications to a tee. Which he does.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After dinner, we went down to THE area in Austin to spend a Saturday night: 6th street. While Daniel was able to park in his company parking garage, Shannon and I searched the streets until we finally succumbed to a paying $10 for a spot and walking to the night scene area. We met up with Daniel and Kris, walked to a jazz club which was closed to outsiders that night, and then wandered back toward 6th street, popping into a bar with a good blues band. We had a single drink, listened to the music, and then shared hugs and goodbyes.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Shannon and I were back at the motel by 11 or so. She had meetings to attend the next day, and I had a date with HD and the road towards home.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Austin was wonderful. I loved the architecture, the shops, the funky people, the local and international arts, the music, the music, the music. Everywhere the music.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This trip has been Amazing.</span></div>
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Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-30329750310851821722013-11-12T13:52:00.003-08:002013-11-12T13:52:22.295-08:00Alone On The Road Again<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Saturday, November 2, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This morning, we all packed up and checked out of the Lamothe House. We had such a wonderful time and we were sad to leave. The first item on the agenda was to get Shannon, our driver, her morning coffee. It took all morning to get these 4 women, who had stayed up till 3:30 am the night before, to shower, pack, and haul their stuff 1/2 block down the street to cram into the car. Thus, Shannon didn’t get her morning joe till about 11:30 am. Once she got her first sip of coffee, you could see the smile appear and we knew we would have a good day of travel. We had so much stuff packed into her Hyundai Tucson that, with the exception of our fearless driver, we all had luggage under our feet--to knee level or higher. Six feet were propped on any ledge or dashboard or seat back available. It took a good portion of the day to get to Lake Charles, because we needed a few bathroom and stretch breaks, from our legs being crammed into tight spaces. I wasn’t the only one looking like an old lady with the first 3 steps of walking. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The ladies dropped me off at Capitol Cyclery at about 4 pm. John, the owner and expert mechanic who put Henry David back in running order, had borrowed his father-in-law’s truck to take HD and I across Lake Charles to Sulphur--the town on the other side. Apparently, in this part of the south, you can cycle over rivers and lakes on the interstate if there is no other option--except for over Lake Charles. The interstate bridge has no shoulder and bicycles are prohibited. I had to wait until the store closed for the day, so I hung out in the parking lot and met a most interesting family.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Loyd, a retired man with a passion for cycling and a mission to pray for cancer victims, came to the cycle shop to pick up a few supplies. He approached me in front of the store and asked if I were traveling long distance. I responded yes and he said that he and his family were all traveling on tadpoles---these are recumbent trikes with two wheels in the front and one in the back. I became very excited and just had to meet this family; his wife and kids were in the car. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Loyd and Denise Truly and family are from Quebec---New Brunswick to be specific. They started 4 months ago, traveling 30-35 miles a day when cycling. They stay mostly in campgrounds, with a motel interspersed here and there. Paul does all the repairs himself and, on occasion, the family has had to stay put to wait for parts when there have been breakdowns. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Loyd, Denise, and their 13 yr old daughter all pull single wheel trailers behind their trikes. Their 12 year old son does not pull a trailer but cycles his own tadpole. The youngest, a cute little blonde about 5 yrs old, rides behind her daddy’s seat. Denise keeps a daily blog on her facebook page. They often stay at people’s homes through the “warm showers” program. This is a hospitality program for hikers and bikers traveling the country. You can pull into a town, find out if any resident is part of the program, call them up, and see if you can take a shower in their home. This is often accompanied by an offer for a meal and a bed. The family has met some incredible folks this way. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Part of the purpose for this family trek is a “Pray for Cancer” program. They ask people whom they meet if they have a loved one with cancer; this family will pray for them. Isn’t that so cool? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I talked to the kids for a bit. The two older kids enjoyed the first 3 months. Over the last month, however, they have been getting homesick and a bit tired of life on the road. But, they have many miles yet to go. Yet they did admit that they have had many adventures and have met some really wonderful folks. The goal is Brownsfield, TX; then they turn around and cycle back home to Canada.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Yikes, it will be winter!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The teenage girl, a very pretty young lady, said her favorite time was when they got a rental car and went to Florida. She enjoyed the cycling break and got a brief chance to enjoy the scenery while at rest.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">However, the reason for the rest break wasn’t so great.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">While approaching a hill, a truck passed the family but cut in too fast, before fully passing Denise. The driver ran into her front left wheel and crunched her trike, causing her some minor injuries but pretty much totaling the cycle. Loyd ordered a replacement cycle to be delivered to a shop in Florida, so they got the rental car, drove to the shop, visited some folks, and then got back on the road. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This family will have memories to last a lifetime.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After the family left the parking lot, I went inside and talked to the guys. It was quite entertaining! I love it when the bro’s do their thing and tease each other as a way of support. John and “Quads” are serious cyclists and participate in local races. “Quads” got his nickname because he was a bodybuilder for a few years and developed such huge thighs that he had to walk with his legs apart. They are still quite well developed but now he can stand with his feet below his hips. The heavy weightlifting resulted in some injuries so he switched to cycling and he is enjoying it. He has a race tomorrow.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He and John enjoy pop music and compared notes about who were their favorite musicians and groups. They both have a secret, well, ok, not so secret, crush on Katy Perry. John is married and Quads has a girlfriend, but they explained that they are guys, so they still can have a crush on a pop singer! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There was also a young man at the shop; I missed his name. Ethan? Oh, heck, I can’t remember. He is 18 and very slender and youthful appearing. Adorable. He is also participating in some cycling races. He enjoyed teasing his older counterparts.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I say “older”, but these guys are just in the mid twenties. All of them are incredibly good looking. The “older” guys have dark hair, the ever popular and sexy five o’clock shadow, and fit physiques. Young “Ethan” looks like he may follow in their footsteps. Time will tell.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After closing the shop, John took HD and I across the lake. John has a business related college degree and opened this cycle shop with a partner. Over time, he is buying out his partner so that he will have sole ownership. They have another shop and he takes great pride in all aspects of the business. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">John said that it is hard to find capable bike mechanics and employees. He cannot compete with the wages of the local plants in the area. Gas and oil refineries are a big deal here and there is a new plant coming in, which will be able to hire 25,000 employees!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jeez. That’s the size of Carlsbad, where I live! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That is one HUGE refinery. Its own city. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">John dropped me off at the Super 8 in Sulfur City, LA. I had a quiet night and got myself ready to get back on the road.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sunday, November 3rd, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was a nice ride today to Beaumont on hwy 90, crossing the final frontier into Texas. Next state is home! HD and I crossed a few bridges on the interstate as the only option, hopping on and off as soon as possible. Once we arrived on the east end of Beaumont, we got off the interstate and wove through the neighborhood streets. I found a Super 8 on a frontage road and arrived in the late afternoon, shortly before dark. After exercises, I went next door to Cafe Del Rio, a really wonderful Mexican restaurant. I ordered a spinach enchilada plate and thought I had died and gone to heaven. That’s the thing about exercise, for me, anyway. It makes me really enjoy eating a tasty meal. I even had a sopapilla afterward. It wasn’t served with honey but a small bowl of whipped cream---oh my god. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">OK, back to apples and bananas and crackers!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Monday, November 3rd, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I hit the morning traffic in Beaumont and was surprised by the size of this town. After leaving the congestion of the city centre, I cycled through tree lined streets. It had a small town feel with all of the mod cons of a big city, including a universit. Nice town!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was another quiet ride along hwy 90. I’ve had a mild tail wind for a few days while I appear to be just missing the rainstorms by a day or two. The road has been fairly flat and there is still a bayou/swamp feeling as I head toward Houston. It is still nice and warm here in early November, but I hear that Austin just got 14 inches of rain!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I stayed the night in Liberty, TX at the Residence Suites Inn; the room was simple and clean and I was happy. Happy to be off poor old HD, my trusty trike!!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tuesday, November 4th, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Today was the day to address the big city of Houston. I crossed the Trinity River on hwy 90 and, when I reached Dayton, I got off that sweet hwy and jumped onto Texas FM 1960. FM is a “farm road”. This had a glorious shoulder all the way to Houston. The map shows it crossing over the north end, so I thought, “Great! I will miss all the crazy Houston traffic everyone has warned me about!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Ha Ha Ha! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The traffic didn’t bother me, until about 3/4 mile before reaching the Hardy Toll Road, which is the most northern part of the FM 1960. Then, the shoulder disappeared and there were no sidewalks and I was blocked by curbs. For the next 7-10 miles, it was city driving at its nastiest. This was a 6 lane highway, called a “farm road”, but it was stop and go and hundreds of stoplights, and stores, etc. The road was hemmed in by a curb most of the time, and then there was a grassy bank. People walked in the ditch of the grass. This was my first, and hopefully last, “close call”. All the drivers saw me ahead of time and took the opportunity to switch lanes before they reached me, whenever they could. Occasionally, the traffic in the next lane was thick enough that a driver might have to follow me for 10-20 seconds before sliding over. I kept an eye on my rearview mirror.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then, a big black pickup came roaring up the lane, probably excited that he thought he had the lane to himself. After all, the cars had all moved over and I am sure he was taking advantage of the “clear path”. I had no where to go because there were no driveways or curbs and this guy was NOT slowing down. He obviously did not see me until the last second when he slammed on his brakes and stopped behind me with only inches to spare. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I was grateful that he didn’t honk at me in anger or fear. His heart was probably beating faster than mine. It happened so fast, I had no time to be worried more than 2 seconds. I’ve been more scared going over tight bridges in traffic, vehicles whizzing past but giving me just enough room to continue unharmed. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This was the only time any vehicle had to slam on his brakes to avoid hitting me. Not bad for 8600 miles. I remain very grateful.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On the east end of Houston, I pulled into a McDonalds to grab some coffee. When I came back out to the trike, there was a white cargo van parked nearby, with 3 men inside, waving. Lee Morris, the driver, called out, asking where I was going and how far, etc. After a quick explanation of the trip, I asked him about what he loves. He said he used to love something that was bad for him, but he had “quit all that”. Now he enjoys his job and loves his kids. He currently sells and delivers office furniture. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I arrived at the Extended Stay on Champion Centre Driver in the late afternoon. When cycling around the parking lot to my room, I met Ed Casey, a local resident. His wife had just undergone a foot surgery so they were staying in the bottom floor of the motel for a week. Their home has 2-3 stories and she has to climb stairs to even get to the front door. So, until she recovers enough to manage the stairs, they will stay at the Extended Stay. These rooms have kitchenettes and are fairly economical for Houston prices. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Ed is semi-retired. He got into real estate about 33 years ago. You know--buying, renting, leasing, selling. This has been a huge success for him and he can close a deal in 3 days. He likes to live simply and says that he and his wife are comfortable and have all that they need, so he doesn’t feel the need to push it as hard as he used to. His son graduated from Texas Tech University and got into the real estate business upon graduation. But, when the housing market crashed in 2008, the son jumped ship and went into investment banking. He makes good money, but often works 7 days a week. Ed thinks that the real estate business is solid--the market may vary but people always need a home. He tries to work out win-win situations with his buyers so that everyone gets the deal they want. I like that! Ed and his wife have lived in Houston for decades; they raised their children here and all of them live in the area. It is a good life and Ed is happy with his choices.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After unpacking a few things, I took a long walk around the nearby mall and grabbed an ice cream cone at McDonalds. I had been craving a frappecino, but a frappe has twice as many calories as an ice cream cone. So, the cone won. I picked up a Subway salad for later, to eat in the room.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was a good day all in all. Most of the ride had been uneventful and pleasant. I was hit by some sprinkling rain, but it was very mild. FM 1960 had been heavenly, until the last 10 miles. I arrived safe and sound and had a pleasant evening. Who can complain about that? Still, I needed to get off that FM 1960 road as soon as possible. Tomorrow.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wednesday, November 6th, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I meant to get up earlier, but dagnab it, I keep going to sleep too late. So, I headed out about 7:30--about 30 minutes later than planned. But that wasn’t so bad. I had figured out how to get off that busy road after about 1/4 mile. Wouldn’t you know that they added sidewalks right about the time I got off that street? LOL!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">HD and I made it through the city streets in morning traffic. It was actually quite good, because the school buses were all out and everyone was driving at a safe speed and so they had plenty of time to go around me when needed. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On the northwest end of Houston, I leapt onto the frontage road of hwy 290. I rode this highway option for several miles to Hockley. Then I took the business 290 through Hockley, Waller, and Hempstead, getting directly onto the hwy after Hempstead, when it is no longer considered “limited access”. I hit some rain, a little stronger today, and battled a headwind all day.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">In Waller, I stopped at a little gas station and convenience store at the west end of town. There, I met Dalip. This attractive, slender man is from Sri Lanka. He came to the USA about 2 years ago and hopes to return home in 1-2 more years. He came here to work and make enough money to pay for the modest home that is being built back home. He needs to earn $20,000 to pay for it, so he has been sending home whatever he can. He has a wife and 2 sons, age 6 and 10. He misses them terribly but talks to them almost daily on Skype. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I am very grateful for modern technology. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He told me a little about the tsunami that hit Indonesia and Sri Lanka in 2004. (Then, of course, I had to read about it some more that night.) Almost 250,000 people were killed. The wall of water was 98 feet high in some areas. The causative earthquake was the highest and longest in recorded history, measuring over 9 on the Richter scale. His family lived near the coast, but at a high enough elevation that no one in his family was injured or lost their homes. He described the sad plight of the Sri Lanka fishermen and their families, who live right on the coastline near the water. So many lost their lives. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I asked him about the cultural differences between residents of Sri Lanka and USA. It is worth noting that Dalip has lived in 2 cities in the US: New York City and Houston---megacities. I think he drives from Houston to Waller to work every day in this store that is owned by a good friend from home. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When I asked him about the cultural differences, Dalip’s eyes grew wide and he warmed up to his subject---home. He said the differences were substantial. At home, he said, people live very simply. He and his entire extended family are Catholic, but most of the people in his town and country are Buddhist. This has shaped the people to be peaceloving, close knit as families and communities, and satisfied with the basic pleasures of life. “They enjoy the 5 senses and each other”.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sri Lanka is a tropical island in the Indian Ocean off the southeast border of India. It is often referred to as the “pearl of India” and the land of “smiling people”. I can imagine that there is plenty there to titillate the senses: smells, sights, sounds, tastes, and textures in this tropical paradise. Heaven!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Dalip said that people eat together in the evening; families gather to share simple food and converse and relax. His father still buys fresh fish from the fishermen at the wharf every day--the daily catch. The produce is fresh-picked and people eat simple and healthy. People don’t have a lot of possessions, but that is the give-and-take between a fast-paced life to get “stuff”, and a slower life to simply enjoy what you do have. That being said, Dalip still felt the need to come here to work so that he could provide a nicer home for his family. He wants the simple life, but in a sturdy home that can withstand the vagaries of weather. He is anxious to return to his beloved homeland.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I got back on the road with plenty to think about after talking to Dalip. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Around Hempstead, the flat lands gave rise to gently rolling hills. The headwind increased and the last 20 miles of the day were quite a challenge. I had to turn on the flashers during the final 45 minutes of the ride today. I arrived at the Super 8 on the east end of Brenham shortly before dark. This is a newly remodeled motel with spacious halls and rooms. I brought HD inside and I had a pleasant evening with the typical rituals of exercise, shower, and a simple meal. Tonight’s dinner was a sweet potato that I nuked in the microwave and a small back of jalapeno kettle chips. Yumm!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Thursday, November 7, 2013. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After cereal, yogurt, and coffee from the offerings at the Super 8, I headed out on HD through Brenham, stopping at a Walgreens for bottled water and a bar of chocolate. I still had bananas and an apple and figured I would pick up some peanuts at a convenience store somewhere along the way when I needed a “break”. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When I reached the town of Burton, there was a great little gas station/convenience store and auto mechanic shop at the west end of town. I pulled in to find a restroom and a drink and had the opportunity to meet Jim Bobo, one of the mechanics there. Then, the owner came in, who told me his name was “George”, with a wink in his eye. He added “Curious George” and let me know that I did not need to know his name. “George” ranted for a bit about the country’s politics for the last several decades (since he reached drafting age and experienced VietNam). Then he ranted about people in general and gave me advice on personal protection gear. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But, from “George” and Jim, I did get a bit of local history of the shop. It was built in 1929 and was initially a Ford dealership, selling Model T’s and the like. The store has a round front with ceiling high windows--perfect to show off those cars. The auto shop is the original one, with tall steel rafters and huge wooden ceiling beams. I saw the old car lifts and Jim showed me around the place. It used to be quite the place to stop: a car dealership, auto repair shop, diner, motel, and picnic area were all on the property. Since it is several miles between towns here, I imagined it to be a popular stop. There were old black and white photos of yesteryear throughout the convenient store and repair shop. In the repair shop itself, there were a few old classic cars undergoing rehabilitation. There was an old Studebaker that I particularly liked. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Those old cars were gas guzzlers, but boy oh boy could they move! My first car was an old Plymouth Fury, a retired police car painted gold. It cost me $50. I had to put in a new battery and buy the insurance and that was all it took to make this car ZOOOMM!! If I took my foot off the brake, it would fly across the intersection with just a teensy bit of verbal encouragement! I loved that old car. That was when there was a gas war in 1976 and the gas was a measly 19 cents a gallon. Still, I rode my bicycle more than drove my car, but when I wanted to travel far and fast, that old Plymouth did the job with flying colors. And I mean flying! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jim is a friendly man who enjoys meeting the travelers who stop in the store. The convenient store is being renovated and expanded and will soon offer fresh sandwiches to customers. Jim works on the cars and helps as needed in the shop. His passions are people, music, and helping others. He moved back to this town, after living in the city for most of his adult years, to take care of his aging parents. He is “semi-retired” and works the hours he wants, while checking on mom and dad throughout the day. For fun, he grabs his guitar and jams with a few friends. He loves the small town life where everyone is family. The churches are the town hub and the fire department does a few fundraisers a year with games, music, food, and fun for the kiddies. In a neighboring town, there is a place where there is like a big hoedown from time to time, where the locals can gather and kick up there heels to some good country music. Life is slower and relaxed and suits Jim well at this time in his life.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I rode hwy 290 all the way to Giddings, Texas. It was a great ride with a wonderful shoulder. The scenery is really lovely, with wide expanses of meadow and grassland. The hills are becoming more evident and it will basically be uphill to New Mexico from here. So far, the hills are easily managed, but when I hit the official “Texas hill country” as I head west from Austin, the grades will be getting steaper. The air was much cooler today and I even kept on my leggings and long sleeved shirt. When I left the Super 8 this morning, it was 46 degrees. That was ok with the leggings and lightweight shirt I wore today, because of the exercise of cycling. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I arrived at America’s Best Value Inn around 3:30 pm, where I was assured the prices were the best in town. I walked down the street to the grocery store for the next food supply for today and most of tomorrow. I have been snacking on corn tortillas and sandwich cheese slices (they were cheap!) while I write. Soon, I will hit the floor with my exercise routine. I plan on an earlier night because I need to get to Austin before dark, if I can. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I love Henry David, my trusty trike. But he IS a bit slow, if you know what I mean. Or is it me?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Friday, November 8, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">HD and I left America’s Best Value Inn when the sky was bathed in pink. I tried to get a somewhat earlier start today as the ride would be hilly and long. And it was. But, oh so beautiful. This is entering my favorite part of Texas--the beginning of hill country. It did not disappoint. Hills, meadows, cows, horses, streams and brooks, autumn flowers and subtle changing colors in this subtropical land. I even saw my first prickly pear cactus and felt as if I were coming home once again. The air was cool today but I didn’t have a headwind, so I wore my long sleeved shirt, an overshirt, thermal socks, the everpresent leggings and riding skorts, and a fuzzy hat, and continued on, enjoying the sights and sounds. The highways were fairly kind and the drivers respectful. It was an uneventful ride, mostly because I was simply concentrating on getting in the miles so I could make it to the motel before dark. These shorter autumn days are interfering with the number of available, safe hours I can cycle. So, I find myself in a hurry, taking fewer breaks. My odometer/speedometer has not worked since Lake Charles, so I have no truly effective way to gauge my timing. Every now and then I come upon a road sign telling the distance between towns, but these signs are few and far between. When I don’t have a speedometer working, I find myself getting lost in the sights and sounds and I often slow down. So, I tried to concentrate on keeping the pedals moving. I arrived at the Howard Johnson Motel South in Austin by 4:30, giving me time to do my exercises and even shower before my daughter Shannon arrived.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Once she arrived---the hilarity began. It is so nice to have her here again. No longer alone...</span></div>
Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-30918926568036927002013-11-12T13:50:00.001-08:002013-11-12T13:50:29.577-08:00What Happens In New Orleans...<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wednesday, October 30, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After a busy night last night of laundry, doing exercises, picking up supplies for Shannon’s Halloween costume, eating more salad wraps, and simply conversing and texting friends and loved ones, I was prepared for the trip to New Orleans. Well, almost. In the morning, Shannon and I went to Lake Charles Starbucks and we both wrote for about 3 1/2 hours. Shannon is writing a game sequence for Choice of Games (<a href="http://www.choiceofgames.com/"><span style="color: #021eaa; letter-spacing: 0px;">www.choiceofgames.com</span></a>), called NOLA Burning. This is an online story game or interactive novel--no winners or losers, in which you read a story and choose optional changes to affect the outcome of the story. Apparently, it is a popular game among the young folks that would have been the D&D lovers of a decade or two ago.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We hit the road in the early afternoon and drove Interstate 10 over the bayous, swamps, and rivers of southern Louisiana, heading for New Orleans. The interstate was basically a bridge for at least 20 miles. No cyclists here, that’s for sure. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We arrived in the French Quarter in the late afternoon. Lori Bowen, Shannon’s close friend and the Director of Operations for Viscera, Org., had arrived about 30 minutes ahead of us, having flown in from Portland. In typical Lori fashion, she immediately set to exploring the surroundings and figuring out all the room details of our shared suite at the Lamothe House. She gave us the grand tour and we were enchanted with the digs.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The Lamothe House Hotel was built in 1839, originally the home of Jean Lamothe, a wealthy sugar cane plantation owner. It is a block away from Frenchman Street, considered the “Local’s Bourbon Street”, where some of the best local music and cajun cuisine can be found. The hotel is said to be haunted, but I had a peaceful time there. However, Shersy, the 4th member of our Halloween team, said she felt that “Courtney” (Shersy’s pet name for the persistent resident) was a mischevious little lady who kept picking on her. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Our bedroom had 2 large beds with head- and foot-posts and mini canopies stretched overhead. Old wood dressers, a bureau, and a wardrobe were spaced throughout the suite. The living area had a round marble table perched on clawfoot legs, a Victorian couch rested against the wall, and a balcony hemmed in with wrought iron allowed us to watch the goings on down below in the street. There was a Keurig coffee maker, which we used frequently. There were 2 TVs, which we didn’t use at all. The bathroom was small but functional and we all got along very well, taking turns throughout the 3 day period there. That is saying something about our moods and our congeniality---four women sharing one bathroom SUCCESSFULLY. It would have been hard to dampen our spirits, though. We were in the mood to have fun in the French Quarter for Halloween and All Saints Day. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After investigating our digs, Lori, Shannon, and I walked through the streets, enjoying the street musicians as well as the live music wafting into the street from the many bars and restaurants. We walked into a few shops and stood at street corners shooting photos of cool bands playing jazz, blues, and ragtime. This town is simply ALIVE!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We stopped at a corner shop advertising local tour information: swamp tours, ghost tours, cemetary tours, etc. There, we met Brian Crochet, a New Orleans native. He pointed out the good tours to attend, should we be interested. I asked him about life here in New Orleans and he warmed up to his favorite subject, his Cajun accent becoming more apparent as he spoke. He has worked in several jobs over the years, but he loves to: fish, do handyman work, play music, and live in New Orleans. His son is a skilled musician and Brian ran over to his stereo system and played some incredible funk music. We all began to move our hips and shoulders in response to the mesmerizing rhythmic tones. How can one stand or sit still when the funk is rising??</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Brian showed us photos of the band to which we danced---men dressed in elaborate feathered costumes. Brian described how the Mardis Gras celebrations at one time, in the 1700‘s I learned, prohibited black slaves from participating, so they dressed up as indians. I had to read up on this, because I really wasn’t savvy to the history of the local parades, which are a huge hit the world over. When people want to celebrate Mardis Gras, they go to New Orleans. So I wondered, what is really the deal here?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The French colonists in Louisiana originally captured and enslaved the Native Americans in the 1600s and early 1700‘s to work the tobacco plantations. But, these native locals knew and understood the swamps and bayous and kept escaping, much to the colonists’ frustration. So, enter the black slave trade. As the African slaves were brought in, they became friends with the Native Americans, who often helped them escape. The two races intermingled, resulting in the large mulatto population, which has become known as Black Indians or the Mardis Gras Indians.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">During French and Spanish rule of the territory in the 1700s, the slaves had a certain amount of freedom: Sundays off, local gatherings in the town square, and they could even take on a job for pay to buy their own freedom. But freedom had its limits. The French and Spanish loved to party, so the holy days were often celebrated with balls and parades and costumes, the Mardis Gras celebration being the largest. For many years, during that shadowed history of slavery, the African Americans were prohibited from wearing costumes and masks, as they were sometimes known to crash the costume balls and parties of the upper eschelons of society. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When Jefferson made the Louisiana Purchase, the “Americans” moved in and took over the plantations and the slaves lost their rights. There is a long history of treachery and power struggles, not only among the powerbrokers called Americans, but also among the slaves, free men who were formerly slaves, and the Native Americans. Fast forward to the 1900s when many New Orleans neighborhoods were populated with rival gangs with a vendetta to score from century old betrayals of fellow Native Americans, African Americans, and Black Indians. As the years progressed, these formerly violent rivals changed to competitions, especially during the holy days’ celebrations, such as Mardis Gras. Now, rival groups sew elaborate feathered costumes, replete with fake gems and jewels, sequins, and incredible handiwork. There are specific songs and dances, mixing old and new Native and African American cultures, which are played out with great pomp and circumstance. Old wars are now waged with competition of song, dance, and costuming. It reminds me a bit of some of the current college and street dance competitions that take place in the bigger cities throughout the country. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This culture has fairly become the signature of the Mardis Gras celebration, with incredible parades and elaborately decorated floats and costumes. Now New Orleans is a hodgepodge of people of multiple nationalities and cultures, all living together in a more relaxed celebration of the life that is New Orleans. </span></div>
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Brian summed up the local attitude quite succinctly. He said that, when Hurricane Katrina devastated a good portion of the city, and so many died or lost their homes, the government was too slow to respond, making the rescue efforts ineffective. “But, New Orleans has always had to take care of itself. This is what we know how to do. This is what we do. We get back up, rebuild ourselves, and begin again. We recreate ourselves while we still try to hold on to our history and culture”. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was wonderful to meet Brian and get a brief glimpse of the local attitude. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Lori, Shannon, and I returned to Lamothe House rather late and ate salad wraps one more time. I couldn’t believe that neither Shannon nor Lori wanted to go to a restaurant! After all, we were in New Orleans! We ate our salads with gusto, but I made it clear that I wanted at least one dinner in a local restaurant. They laughed at me and assured me that, yes, yes, we would go out tomorrow and they would actually eat something!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Shersy arrived at about 1 a.m, having flown in from Santa Barbara, CA. She hadn’t slept more than a few hours the night before, but was too wired to go to bed right away, so she shut the double doors to the bedroom and did whatever she does for a good hour before she fell into bed.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Before proceeding with the fun times in NOLA, I wanted to say just a bit about Lori and Shersy, two of Shannon’s very closest friends. First, let me just say what an honor it was to spend two of my favorite days of the year with these wonderful friends. The combination of the four of us could not be beat in terms of compatibility and the ability to understand and appreciate each other.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Shersy has been Shannon’s friend since high school. She is true blue and loyal and generous. She just finished her MBA and has been working with the Dream Foundation for a few years now. This incredible non-profit organization grants wishes to the terminally ill. We have all heard about the Make A Wish Foundation---the NPO that grants wishes to terminally ill children. The Dream Foundation concentrates on adults. Shersy is a big softie and I am so amazed she can do this job. At first, she said she cried quite a lot every time one of her clients died. Now, she can hold it together when they pass away, except for the ones to whom she becomes attached. These are often the ones she knows the longest. Some of the clients are accepted into the program but pass away before their wish is granted. Those who live long enough to have their wish come true have incredible experiences. Shersy says that many of the wishes revolve around family or children. For example, if a parent is dying of cancer, his or her wish will often involve either gathering family members from all over the US for a reunion or a trip to Disneyland or Disney World with their children. Shersy’s job is to make the wish come true. She is a great organizer and can talk anyone into giving her anything, so she is able to make many dreams come true.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Shersy’s passions are helping others (duh!) and adventure. She is a people person and she is the easiest lady to love in the world. I love her dearly.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Lori is a gem. She and Shannon work together thru the Viscera Organization, but are also close personal friends. They can tell each other anything. Lori is quite brilliant and has a mind that never stops. She knows so much stuff that, if any of us wanted to know anything, we just asked Lori! She is a topnotch organizer and manager and she loves to play an assistive role to help others reach their dreams. Lori’s mother was in a terrible accident when Lori was about 10. Since then, Lori has managed the home and has taken care of her mother. She grew up, therefore, taking care of someone she loves very deeply. She has taken that love and those skills and made them work for her. During the New Orleans trip, Lori navigated the streets, told us where the restaurants were that served the food we like, found the cemetaries, places of interest, and, well, anything we wanted. She is most happy when she is allowed to do that---help guide others to achieve what they want. She is easygoing and makes no demands for herself. She is absolutely amazing. Her passions are helping others achieve their goals, horror movies, and Stevie Nix. I am so very glad I had the pleasure of meeting Lori on this delightful trip. I hope to spend many more wonderful times with her in the future. Again, she is amazing.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Thursday, October 31, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Shannon and I took off in the morning, walking down the street to Cafe Envie for coffee and more writing. Shannon finished her New Orleans story and emailed it to the Choice Of Games owner. Lori got up shortly after Shannon and I left, to do more research on the area. Shersy slept in, after her 2 days without sleep, and was still in bed when we returned around midday, but she got up when we were all in the room. We pulled it together and took a nice long walk in the French Quarter. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">More music. More voodoo shops. More bands. And people coming out early in their Halloween costumes. Shersy and I got the locally advertised “hurricane” drinks and sipped our drinks while we wandered.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On drinking alcohol: I have never been drunk. I was a “good girl” in my teen years--no smoking, drinking, pot, or parties. I rarely even had a date. Even now, I talk more about having a margarita than I actually have one! I have been to many dinners with friends where they hand me a glass of wine. I have a hard time finishing it! I will have a bottle of Baileys in my refrigerator for over a year and it doesn’t diminish till my son pays a visit!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> And I don’t smoke---yeck!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When I left on this trip, I told my kids that I would experience things that I have never done---I might carefully sew some wild oats, if they were offered. (Wait, can you carefully sew wild oats? Hmmm, yes, I think so! It’s called informed experimentation) So, I had told Shannon that I would actually see what “drunk” is like, once in my life, with trusted people to keep me safe. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, I had a rum shot and hurricane. While I felt slightly lightheaded, it was not time to do the grand experiment. So I didn’t have anything else at the time. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After enjoying the sights and sounds, we headed back to Lamothe and enjoyed the pool for a bit. It was sunny and warm and the water was like a bathtub. Afterward, we started working on outfits. The makeup I had purchased for my own “costume” wouldn’t stick to my face at all, so I was virtually without a costume, other than brightly colored tulle strips attached at my shoulders for Cicada wings. So I looked like a cyclist with strips of fabric on my shirt--LOL!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Lori dressed as Joan of Arc, AFTER she died. She fit the Joan of Arc style well. Lori is strong and has great posture---she looked imposing and valiant. When she put her hands together in prayer position and looked heavenward, she was downright convincing as the warrior saint. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Shersy dressed as a Greek goddess. With her blonde hair and perfect complexion, she carried it perfectly. She posed on the Victorian couch in decadent goddess fashion. I expected a sparsely clad Adonis to arrive and peel some grapes for her!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Shannon dressed as Alma from Santa Sangre. I sewed white tulle strips to the shoulder straps of her pale, floral corset. Shersy applied white makeup to her face and drew thin brown eyebrows. Shannon applied false eyelashes and red lipstick. The white face paint kept cracking, making her look like a porcelain doll. It was really striking. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">With all the thousands of people in the streets that night, people kept stopping to look at Shannon and make comments. But, this is common, even without the Halloween costume! Part of this is due to her unique beauty, but it is also because of her great posture and the confident way she carries herself. Add to that a sashaying, sexy walk and she is hard to ignore. In NOLA, they did not ignore her! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As mama bear, I wanted to keep close to her and ward off any one getting too friendly.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After we wandered through the French Quarter, enjoying the sights, sounds, and all the wonderful, crazy young people out in the streets, we went to K Paul, a well known NOLA restaurant in the area. We ate and ate but still had leftovers to take back to the motel. Shannon and I both ordered an eggplant and rice dish, Cajun style. It was really fantastic. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We went to bed before midnight, tired and happy and full. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Friday, November 1, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I got up at 6:30 and made it to the 7:30 mass at St Louis Cathedral about 1/2 mile from Lamothe House. The inside of this famous Catholic church is stunning; the French had pulled out all the stops in 1720 when it was constructed. It is the oldest Catholic cathedral in continual use in the USA. The curved, ornate ceilings are painted in religious scenes; the statues and icons are well crafted; the stained glass windows are incredible. There are chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and the beauty is in every detail of every cornice. The altar area is opulent as well, in true old Catholic style. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After mass and shooting photos outside, I headed back to the hotel and got everyone out of bed. Well, Lori was already up, of course. Shannon emerged from the covers shortly after I came into the room. Shersy cleaned up next and we all walked down the street to visit Cafe du Monde. This is a local and tourist fave for coffee and beignets. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Shannon does not eat any bread and Lori does not drink coffee, cokes, or any alcohol. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So Shersy, Shannon, and I ordered lattes and Shersy, Lori, and I ate the beignets. These are a fried pastry served with a heavy sprinkling of powdered sugar. The pastry dough is made only of butter, water, flour, and eggs--no yeast. The high moisture content is what makes them puff up as they are fried: the heat creates a rising steam. People rave about them. I thought they were very good, but really just a typical fried bread covered in powdered sugar. (I bet there is someone out there who wants to spank me for saying that!) But now we can say we ate beignets at Cafe du Monde. The latte was fantastic but pricey and served in a small cup. I stuck with just one. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then we went for a long walk in Cemetary 1 by the St Louis Cathedral. All of the graves are above ground. Some have said that the “above ground burials” were due to the high water table in the area, pushing the caskets up to the surface and making it hard to keep the little rascals underground. But, actually, this was the common French and Spanish method of burial at the time that the St Louis Cemetary (consists of 3 cemetaries, actually, 1, 2, and 3) was constructed. Cemetary 1 was constructed in 1789. Basically, the caskets are inside a brick or marble mausoleum or vault. Sometimes there are more than one body in each mausoleum. The rules were that you could add an extra body 1 year plus 1 day after the previous one had been buried. You could fit an entire family of bones in a single vault--of course, this would take many years to fill. There are other cemetaries in the area that followed the underground burial practices--the burial systems were all more due to cultural practices than due to fear of floating bodies from a high water table. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Whatever the reason for the burial practices, the cemetary we visited was very, very cool. The burial sites were almost hodgepodge in some areas, instead of the typically clear grid layout. These mausoleums were centuries old. Some were quite elaborate, with sculptures of angels, children, and saints, perced atop the marble vaults. Others were plain, with only the well worn family name carved into the stone. Some were so old that the identifying names were worn off. Some of the marble vaults that were believed to hold revered spiritual people were marked up with graffitti from people who were requesting blessings from the departed. Three X’s were seen on a few tombs were voodoo practitioners were believed to be buried. People leave offerings, such as candy, ribbons, oils, etc, on the flat step bordering these vaults. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This is the most popular cemetary visiting day of the year in NOLA. There were several tour guides on duty, leading groups of people. We weren’t in one of these groups, but several guides passed by while we were there, and we heard bits and pieces of their spiel. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Madame Marie LaVeau is said to be buried there. But there is debate about which gravesite is hers, as her body may have been moved for protection. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The facts about the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans are in some dispute. What we do know about this legendary woman is that she was a free woman of color, with Creole heritage. She was married for a brief while to Jacques (or Santiago) Paris, who died within 1-2 years of marriage. She called herself the Widow Paris for many years after that. Most of her life she had a common law marriage, called a “placage”, to Louis Christophe Dominick Duminy de Glapion and is said to be buried in the middle tomb of the Glapion family. In that era, interracial marriages were illegal, but the law did allow a legal common law marriage. They had several children. She worked as a hairdresser and thus knew the scoop around town--who was doing what and to whom. This may be why she had such “power”---she could get things to happen. She was a devout Catholic who mixed African spiritualism with Catholicism, developing a unique New Orleans voodoo. The Catholic saints were revered and were included in her voodoo practices. Her gris gris bags were highly prized. She was said to be quite beautiful up to her death in the late 1800’s. Apparently her services were sought after by the rich and poor alike and her fame was more attributed to her curative powers than anything “evil”. She is said to have worked closely with Pere Antoine, the local Catholic priest, in working with condemned prisoners and the ill. People still pray to her as they do to Catholic saints. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We all did our own thing in the afternoon. I gave Shannon a head massage. Then she and Lori went on a long walk to the river and took photos. Shersy’s friend Natalie came for a visit and they hung out at the pool for awhile. I tried to do a few exercises but didn’t get far. Shersy brought Natalie up to meet everyone and it was wonderful to meet this brave young lady. She is studying to be a social worker and we discussed the challenges she expects to face. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After Natalie left, I gave Shersy a hip massage. Shersy had strained her foot the day before coming to NOLA and her gait was off, affecting her hips. That, coupled with a chronic hip issue and 10 bucketloads of stress over the years, has left her with a few aches and pains. But, she is working on major changes in her life and things are going to be MUCH better! Shersy is one of the kindest, most generous people I know and she deserves the sun and the moon and the stars. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After we all reconvened in the evening, we got together to do a Day Of The Dead ritual. Lori had purchased a candle, and then ran out to find a lighter. Once we were all ready, Shannon led the ritual and we all participated in a most meaningful time.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">First, we wrote our names and birthdates on the wrapper of the candle, which had been removed. Shannon had purchased a Halloween card with 4 witches on the front, a generic card with plenty of space to write. We all wrote a paragraph inside the card, to commemorate our time together. The strip of paper with our names was placed on the table, then the card placed on top, and finally, the candle over all. </span></div>
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The candle was then lighted so that any wax dripped from the candle would land directly on the back of the envelope, sealing it in wax.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then we meditated for awhile, with hands on the table, about our lives and all the things we were letting go. Then we meditated on all the possibilities of the way we want our lives to develop from this moment. Then we each said a prayer of gratitude, aloud, one at a time. I spoke to Mom, who died in March 2012, thanking her for all she did as a person and as my mother. We finished with more deep contemplation until the candle was out. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then Shersy did our tarot cards, 3 each. All the card messages were extremely positive and encouraging. I We hugged each other and then prepared ourselves for our last night in NOLA.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This was my night to actually drink enough to get drunk---in the safety of my friends and my daughter. Lofty goal, eh? Lori was our supervisor and navigated the streets for us. We walked to the Blue Nile, went to the 2nd floor, and ordered drinks to imbibe on the balcony. Many New Orleans partygoers were still dressing up in costumes tonight, so it was quite entertaining. The live music at the Blue Nile was great, but a bit loud, so standing at the balcony was perfect. A pair of newlyweds went by in a horse drawn carriage. What a night.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I had 2 stiff margaritas and a double rum and coke. It was really rather funny. I am a scientist and an “observer” at heart, so I was very clinical about this experience. When I noticed a sense of being unsteady and then noted that my far vision was blurry to the point that I was seeing slightly double, I declared the goal was officially met and I stopped drinking. Then, Shannon brought me water and I drank water the rest of the night. What was left of the night that is.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We left the Blue Nile and Shannon and I held onto each other as we followed Lori to a restaurant still open at 2 a.m. Shannon was getting cranky from not eating enough for the last few days, but felt that no restaurant would have the foods she could eat (vegetarian, gluten-free). While Cajun seasoning is delightful, most Cajun restaurant meals are heavy on the meat. So, I ordered stuff “for me” that she said she would not eat. Then, when it arrived, she ate my salad and the insides of my portabello mushroom sandwich. She instructed Lori to prevent me from eating the bread, so Lori took the sandwich buns and held them out of my reach. This left me with a portion of pasta and some roasted red tomato dip. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was all delicious.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">By the time we got back to Lamothe House, I felt steady, vision was normal, and I was able to reflect on the week’s happenings. And go to bed...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Saturday, November 2, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I awakened with the promised headache, although it was more in my neck than inside my head, and I felt sluggish and bloated in the belly all day. Goal finished---cross it off my bucket list and, well, never again do I want to drink like that! LOL! It was 3 stiff drinks and a few sips of whatever Shersy was drinking---more than enough! What a lightweight!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I found myself wondering why people get drunk on a regular basis. I believe that once in my life is enough. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What a time we had. Sisters. New Orleans. Music on every street. French Quarter dressed up in ghoulish delight. Lamothe House. Halloween. Day of the Dead. Beautiful rituals. Incredible architecture. Old cemeteries. Madame LaVeau. Cajun cooking. Killer coffee. My first and last drink-till-I-see-double occasion. The energy that is only New Orleans.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What an other worldly visit to New Orleans at this particularly spiritual time. </span></div>
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Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-90948610879425781612013-10-30T08:41:00.000-07:002013-10-30T08:41:45.475-07:00Cajun Country!<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tuesay, October 22, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Today was spent off the trike and in a motel in Gautier, Mississippi, glued part of the day to the computer to write and label photographs. I am still labeling photos from Niagara Falls! This trip may be completed before I actually can post them on the website. So many sights, so many memories.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A little about this area. Actually, there is a lot to say about this area. Friends and family request different things. “What are the people like?” “Any signs of Katrina damage or rebuilding?” “How is the economy?” “Tell us about what you see and think about all day long.”</span></div>
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Actually, if any human wrote about what they think about all day long, he/she would never have time to write it all down. According to a study by UCLA, humans have an average of 70,000 thoughts per day. (<a href="http://www.loni.ucla.edu/"><span style="color: #021eaa; letter-spacing: 0px;">www.loni.ucla.edu</span></a>). Since my thoughts are no more special than the next person, I will refrain from telling you everything I think about. Unless you’re an insomniac. Then, it might be helpful! But you could think about everything YOU think about, too!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Hey, let’s count thoughts instead of sheep! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, I noticed that Pascagoula, MS, was a bit shabby on the highway, but there is a tremendous amount of reconstruction going on. The road crews are busy. The motels are filled with workers, which is one reason why I went ahead into Gautier. No more rooms...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When I cycled into Gautier, I noticed the Welcome sign to Gautier. They had decorated it with a Halloween theme. In fact, Halloween is a big deal in Cajun country. Gautier has been busy decorating corners with pumpkins and skulls, with signs pointing visitors to go on a Halloween tour this weekend and then during Halloween week up to the Big Day.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I noticed that Gautier is a proud little town trying to do what it can to beautify itself. There are sidewalks with decorated tiles; park benches shaped like boats; colorfully painted alligator sculptures hanging along the street from tall poles. One of the ladies at the motel told me that the town was hurt quite badly during Katrina but is working very hard to recover. All the schools in this town have the “Gator” mascot, so you see its theme everywhere.</span></div>
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Gautier is located next to the Singing River. So, you see the river theme in the city decor, winding through the town. When I booked the motel, I was excited to see that it was located across the street from “Singing River Mall”. However, when I cycled up to the area of the mall, which was about a block from The Suburban Stay (also filled with workers and their families), I was dismayed to see an empty parking lot, weeds coming up through the pavement, and what looked to be like a mall going down. On this day, after writing and labeling most of the day, I walked over to the mall to the Dollar Tree and picked up a few things. I wandered through this mall that was 90% empty, but had been nicely laide out. There were marble tiles on the floor and stores, and a bright blue, metal grid river sculpture running the length of the ceiling of this fairly sizable mall for this town of 18,500. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When I asked the lady at the motel, who so enthusiastically provided me with Gautier infobytes about the condition of the mall, she explained that it was scheduled to be demolished. The good news, however, is that the new owners were going to rebuild it as an outdoor mall. The shop rental prices of the indoor mall were forcing small operators out of business. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Essentially, in an indoor mall, the shop owners are paying for the utilities of the entire place. It becomes a dominoe effect. When the rent is too high and the little store owners move out, the remaining ones have a larger share of the utilities to cover. When that becomes unbearable, they move to a separate location and the mall begins to tumble. So, in the warmer areas of the country, fewer indoor malls are being constructed. Just like “open kitchens” and “open floor plans” are the currently popular mode for newer homes, “open malls” are becoming the preferred “floor plan”. Personally, I like wandering through indoor malls in the winter because of the climate control---I can see several shops in a few hours and I don’t get cold. But, here in the deep south, where it is pretty doggone nice in the winter, it doesn’t make sense to put everything under one roof. Little outdoor courtyards and restaurants with outdoor seating are very enticing. I love to sit outside to drink coffee or share a meal with a friend. I really like those outdoor heaters to take the chill off the night air so I can still sit outside. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Apparently, behind the Singing River Mall is a huge bronze sculpture in a central fountain, gracing a large playground or park. I didn’t get a chance to see it, but I did look it up on the ‘net. It really IS something.</span></div>
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So, Gautier is a town with a heart for art. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I finished the day eating fruit and crackers in my room. It was time to get moving again.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wednesday, October 23rd, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What a great day! After continuing for about 15 miles on hwy 90 to Ocean Springs, HD and I crossed the bridge over Biloxi Bay to Biloxi, MS. Russ, my stepdad, had requested that I wave to him, facing north to Illinois when I arrived in Biloxi, as it is due south from Normal, Illinois where he lives. So, I parked at a little harbor to enjoy the view of the Gulf waters, turned north, and waved to my whole Illinois family and then sent Russ a photo of the map. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I enjoyed Biloxi. What a fascinating town. It was dotted with harbors and beaches and parks on the Gulf side of the hwy, which is right next to the coast. Several highways that skirt the coastlines of the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans don’t actually hug the coast but are separated from the seaside by a few blocks of homes and businesses. But today, once reaching Biloxi, it was hwy 90, right on the coast. From Biloxi to Pass Christian, there is a large sidewalk on the coast side for bikers, runners, walkers, skaters, and strollers. I imagine that it gets fairly packed in the summer, but I just about had the next 30 miles to myself on that expanse of decent cement! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Biloxi is still rebuilding after Hurricane Katrina, but the government money is now long spent and the rest of the recovery process is up to private investors. Casinos are springing up, luring tourists back to the area. I saw several large lots next to the water where there once were homes and businesses. Katrina wiped them out, but the concrete foundations are still present, with grasses and weeds poking through. Across the street, on the “inland” side, there are the typical businesses of any city as well as those that cater to the tourist and summer population. Seafood restaurants are on every block for miles. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When I cycled through the residential section of the area, still on the highway of course, I saw many places for sale. They looked like empty lots, but actually, upon closer inspection, you could still see the remnants of home foundations. The homes that are now up and standing are all built on stilts of wood or huge metal poles. They look fairly new, so they have been recently constructed, post-Katrina. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I stopped at a convenience store in Biloxi and spoke to “Johnny” at length about the area as well as about him personally. He owns a small construction company and said that his business was doing quite well about 8 years ago, prior to Hurricane Katrina’s hit in August 2005. He typically would be working on 3 homes at a time and booked up for 6 months, receiving daily requests for more houses. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Katrina hit him a nasty blow. Government funds for reconstruction were present but insufficient for a full recovery. Then, the economy tanked in 2008, sending his company “under water” so to speak. His credit sank, he turned his toys back to the bank, and has been about a month behind in his bills ever since. He is now working on only one house, employing 4 men part time, as the money trickles in from the bank, which is holding and dispersing the money as work is being completed. He gets a small lump of dough, then he and his men work furiously on the next stage of construction. Then they have to wait for the next installment. It has been hand-to-mouth for 7 years now. He used to keep an operating expense account of $20,000 to keep his construction business afloat. Now, his company operating expense account is held at $200. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Johnny pointed out the many lots for sale. He said that, after Katrina hit, leaving so many thousands of people without a home, the housing prices soared. This fact has been confirmed by the many locals with whom I have spoken on this issue. Construction went wild to fill the need for housing. But, insurance costs also soared, so the lower and middle classes couldn’t afford their homes any longer, leaving a vacuum in its wake. Just like a tidal wave: it moves inward in a rush, then recedes back out to sea, leaving flotsam and jetsam in its path. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Now, the coastal towns are trying to survive on tourism. It is growing, but slowly. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So that is why I have seen so many casinos--they bring in lots of cash. And that is why so many condominiums are going up--to attract the retired folks with disposable income. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It is so beautiful here, I believe that it will recover, albeit slowly. Shipping is still ongoing. </span></div>
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But then, the BP oil spill occurred. The oyster beds were demolished. This year they finally had a small harvest, but it will be many years, if ever, before it fully recovers. Johnny said he loves to go fishing, and he has been able to catch some nice red snapper. That is good news at least.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Johnny has a few dreams. He wanted to retire at 52, but these disasters have necessitated that he continues to work. He is now 53. But, he loves to travel and plans to enjoy smaller vacations than in the past. He would like to take his wife to NYC and enjoy the big city for a week. Maybe go on another cruise--he and his wife have been on 3 cruises, when finances were better. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It is the indomitable human spirit. We get knocked down, but we keep getting back up. Really, there is no other option. You must keep getting back up. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After continuing to marvel at the deep, sapphire blue waters of the Gulf on this day, I crossed the bridge at Bay St Louis and continued to hug the coast to reach Buccaneer State Park. This park is, or “was”, connected to a huge wave park. While it is a state park, it was once quite an amazing place. It had a pool, a wave amusement park, incredible nature trails, a store, laundry, showers, etc---like a private campground with all the bells and rings. I had read on the internet that it had suffered but was on its way back up after the hurricane. I passed by the east end of the park, all locked up, and cycled for a few more miles before entering the part of the park that is now opened to the public. There I met the two park rangers, Joel and Ed. Of course, I asked them about the park and the changes they have seen. Each of these men has worked here 10+ years and know the scoop. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">They have lived through the scoop.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Katrina flooded the park, killing the trees on the hiking trails, wiping out the campground and all of its buildings, including the wave park. Joel and his family live at the park and the presence of water amusement park was a big reason he moved his family here. He and his wife, who is a nurse practitioner, raised their daughters right here at the campground. When the girls were children (now ages 18 and 20), they played in the pools and at “Waveland Park” every day in warm weather. It was a great perk for a fairly low paying job. The kids loved it.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The park has been under reconstruction from state and federal funds. The campsites are now rebuilt and nicely spaced among the coastal pines and oaks. The store and laundry are almost finished. There was a pool with a little waterfall effect---I have never seen a state park like this. The Waveland Park down the street is not up and running yet. The hiking trails will take years to rebuild because the damaged, dying trees had to be clearcut and removed. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The new buildings at the park are all elevated, with the business end of each building held on the 2nd floor. Or, well, it’s supposed to be held on the 2nd floor. The stairs at the check-in station would be a bit difficult for many campground customers to ascend. So, the bottom floor has the computer and basic equipment for operation. When there is a serious storm threat, however, they have to carry all the equipment upstairs. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The campground is really quite beautiful. Yet the prices are currently quite reasonable. $13 for primitive site; $24 for basic sites with electricity and water; and a little higher for pull through spots for the big RVs. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Joel believes that the federal funds could have been spent with more forethought. He is concerned about Mississippi’s debt to the US government, as the relief funds were actually loans, not gifts. The reconstruction was necessary, but he is concerned about the cost. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Ed was the quieter of the two helpful rangers. His passion is his work. He has worked for the state parks for several years and plans to continue for several more. He has 2 grown sons and a lovely wife who is an RN. While he enjoys the ranger work, someday he would like to retire. He will continue to enjoy the out-of-doors through his retirement.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">In the meantime, these two coworkers enjoy each other’s company, and keep things running at the park. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After our conversation, I cycled into the park to find a spot. While getting ready to set up the tent, a camper came by to chat. He goes by Wolland, his middle name. Wolland and his wife Brenda have a pop-up trailer and love to travel to the state parks. Wolland worked in the carpet mill yarn industry for about 38 years. His avocation, in younger years, was flying airplanes and he actually built his own. He still loves to stay active and was interested in HD. He said he has arthritis in his knees and hips. He also broke his back in a plane accident. But, he keeps moving and said his knees bother him more than his back. He likes to meet people at the campgrounds and hear their stories. He asked good questions about HD and, later in the evening, he and his wife came by to ask if I needed anything from WalMart, as they were making a run into town. I got out of the tent to meet Brenda, who was sitting in their truck, as she had a hard time believing Wolland’s story about the crazy lady cycling the US.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Another camper named George came by as well. His passion is playing poker. He was coming back from Florida and staying in campgrounds to save his money as he did not fare well at his last poker game. He gives himself a poker loss limit. When he loses $100, he stops and goes home. Or sometimes he goes to visits friends in the area for a little vacay, and THEN goes home. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It had been a busy day. I learned a bit about southern hospitality. They sure have it in Mississippi. They also have the gift of gab, whether they are from the area or not! It is the Gulf Coast air that makes people so friendly? It got to the point where I was hoping another light wouldn’t shine into my tent, with someone hoping to talk, so I could actually go to sleep! This made me laugh! Sometimes I will go for a few days with people smiling and waving but exhibiting no real desire to “set a spell for a nice, long natter”. But the folks here in Mississippi? Well, they would like to share a story. Or two.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I like that!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Thursday, October 24th, 2013.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I awakened before dawn and HD and I were out of the park by 7:15 am. I cycled into Waveland and picked up some coffee, where a couple of folks insisted that I take a back road to get back to the highway, supposedly shaving off some miles. They were very nice and told me they had a lifetime of stories to tell. But, yikes! I needed to get on the road as we had already chatted for a bit and this was going to be a long mileage day. I blessed them and went on my way. I felt obligated to follow their directions, as they watched me leave, and their blessing to me was to give me local advice.</span></div>
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Sometimes that works well, and sometimes it doesnt. Today, it added a good 45 minutes to my ride! LOL!! But I did get to see some Mississippi back country. The Old Lower Bay Road emptied onto Hwy 90 again and I crossed the Mississippi and Louisiana border formed by the Pearl River, followed by 4 tributaries.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There is so much water in Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana! At least, that’s the case down here in the southern edges of the state. Any ditch fills with water. Today I saw several homeowners redigging the ditches between the roads and their homes, hiring backhoe operators to move the dirt. Rivers are barely held within their banks, and spread for miles on shallow grounds. I wondered, what is the difference between a bayou and a swamp? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Well, of course, there are answers to that.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">According to the CoveBear (<a href="http://www.covebear.com/"><span style="color: #021eaa; letter-spacing: 0px;">www.covebear.com</span></a>), a bayou is a very slow-moving stream, attached to a larger streem or river, and usually with many open spaces. The word bayou comes from the Choctaw Indian word “bayuk”. While a bayou is usually an open stream with vegetation along the sides, a swamp is a boggy wetland where water seems to stand still, although its water does rise and fall with freshwater tides. Sometimes the water stands still so long in a swamp that algae grows on top and the water stagnates. Swamp water tends to be a dirty brown color due to the dead vegetation, such as fallen leaves, which have decomposed in the water. Or it might be bright green from the algae growth on top of the water.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Anyhoo. I now veered west-northwest, along hwy 190, near the eastern border of Lake Pontchartrain. After going through Slidell, this hwy lost all semblance of a shoulder and it was now “grass riding”. A few miles from Slidell, a man pulled over to tell me that there was a bike trail about 500 feet from the hwy, paralleling the highway all the way to Mandeville, then cutting north to Covington. The next intersection was about 1-2 miles up the road. I thanked him profusely and went on my way, looking for the intersection. After passing by a deadend street, I pulled to a stop to check for the street I needed. That is when I met “Madeline”. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Madeline pulled over to tell me about the bicycle path as well. She says that, whenever she sees a cyclist on this road, she makes a point to tell them how to get on the path. The path is Louisiana’s first official rail-to-trail bike and walking path. For those of you unfamiliar with the rail-to-trail program, this is a fantastic use of the old railroads and railroad service roads of yesteryear. There is quite a movement to resurface these old roads for use by the population for walking, cycling, skating, hiking, and even backpacking. This particular biker/hiker trail is called the Tammany Trace. It is 28 miles long</span><span style="color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; letter-spacing: 0px;"><b> </b></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">and goes from Slidell to Covington. First, it parallels hwy 190. Then, at Mandeville, it turns and parallels hwy 59. A little more on “The Trace”, as the locals call it, in a bit. But first... Madeline.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Madeline is a retired junior high schoolteacher and her passions are animals and her faith in Jesus. She says she shares her faith with everyone she meets because she wants to make sure they are saved. As a teacher, she lived by example in front of her students as being true to one’s beliefs is very important to her. Madeline does a lot for the community in volunteerism and says she is also a political activist for the Republican Party. Madeline is a lovely woman, probably about my age. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Shortly after Madeline departed, I found the entrance to The Trace. My, was it heaven! Nicely paved, shaded by lovely oaks, pines, and cypress trees, the path was well cared for. And utilized! I met, passed, or was passed by, several walkers and cyclists. I met a retired man named Tommy, speeding along on a serious cycle, who slowed down to match my pace for a little bit. He cycles 3 times a week for a goal of about 30-35 miles each ride. He sprints at a fast pace and was quite familiar with this bike path. He stopped for awhile to see if there was a way I could ride The Trace almost all the way to the motel in Covington, which was on hwy 190. But, alas, I really would need to get off in Mandeville and return to the 190 as there were no connecting roads from hwy 59 to 190 in Covington. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Hey, I loved The Trace for several miles and it was lovely!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then, another cyclist joined me a few miles further down the road, after Tommy zipped on his path to pick up his pace. This was “Mike”. He joined me for a few miles and we talked about The Trace and then we chatted about how he and his wife met. Now, THAT was a story. It would take several chapters to regale you with all the delightful and interesting details, but here is a summary. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mike was born in El Paso, Texas, which is only a 3 hour drive from my house. His mom bore him when she was only 17. While she and his dad were married, it was a brief marriage, and Mike never really knew his blood-father. When he was about 3, his mom remarried and his stepdad eventually adopted him. His mom and stepdad had 3 more children--his half-sisters. His stepdad was from New Orleans so Mike says that the family went to New Orleans often to visit his family. There, Mike became fast friends, by age 8, to his “step-cousin”, Fran. He would see her on various family visits to New Orleans and they would write to each other in between. This went on for several years. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When Mike graduated from high school in El Paso, he had a girlfriend. Fran had a fiance. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then, Mike and some buddies took a car trip and stopped in New Orleans. He stopped to see Fran and the sparks started to kindle. A few months later, after his road trip with buddies, Mike returned to New Orleans and the kindle turned into a tiny flame. Fran moved to El Paso to go to college at UTEP. They started to see each other more often as they were already family anyway. Fran had moved in with Mike’s mom, while Mike had his own apartment. When Fran went home to New Orleans during Thanksgiving break, Mike suggested that she make a decision about her fiance who was still in New Orleans.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She did, indeed, make a decision. She returned from Thanksgiving break, and told Mike that she was no longer engaged.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">They got married 3 weeks later. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">They have been married 41 years. About 39 of those years have been in Louisiana. They started their married life in El Paso. After a few years and the birth of their daughter, Fran’s mother became very ill with cancer and they moved to New Orleans so Fran could help take care of her. They stayed. Now they live in the Mandeville/Covington area. She is retired and he hopes to join her too, although he will likely do some part time work of some sort. They have carefully budgeted their money and, if they are frugal, they will enjoy a modest retirement and get to do some traveling. He wants to see the Grand Canyon and the fall colors in New England, among other places all over the country.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After Mike zipped off to continue his cycling route, I moved on to Mandeville, where I had to exit The Trace and get back on hwy 190. It was fairly populated between Mandeville and Covington, so I was able to ride on sidewalks. There was just one hairy section where 190 crossed I-12 when the on- and off-ramps got crazy busy. But, I made it to the Super 8 on the edge of Covington and worked for about an hour cleaning HD’s chains. Then, I settled in for the night. Long day, but a good one.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Friday, October 25th, 2013. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On the internet last night and again this morning, I had searched out lodging in Baton Rouge and Denham Springs. Louisiana State University was having a home game tonight (Friday night college football!), so the motels were filled. The closest town this side of Baton Rouge with rooms to spare was Hammond, which was about 30 miles from my current location. So, I booked a room at Super 8 and headed out on the 190.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Rough road! Back to the grass and gravel. It took longer than usual and, at one point, the cable going to the rear drive train failed and I couldn’t change the crawler gears. This was ok for now, as the road was still fairly flat. But it would need to be fixed before I hit any serious hills. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Just before I reached Robert City, which is actually a small village, a man pulled over in front of me, hopped out, and handed me a bright orange, fabric Halloween bag with a witch emblazoned in black on the front. He said he had passed me earlier and was concerned that I needed more visibility than my little orange bike flag. So I put the Halloween bag on the bag of the cargo area and thanked him profusely. He waved and went on his merry way. Now, I am cycling in the Spirit. The Halloween Spirit.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Louisiana friendly.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Hammond is a very busy town, right there on the highway, without regular sidewalks or room for HD. It took awhile to get through to the west end of town, as I moved in and out of parking lots, up on grass, and, when I ran out of options, onto the road itself, interfering with one lane of traffic. There wasn’t a bike shop in town, so I pulled into a motorsports business, about 1/2 mile from the Hammond Super 8. The two men who owned the store did not know anything about bike repair, but told me they had an employee who might be able to help. Just then, Paul, the employee extraordinaire, rode up on his cycle. Paul is a friendly young man of 18, who was happy to try to figure out what was going on. After fiddling and trying different things, he got under Henry David and tightened up the cable. This was a partial fix, but allowed me to move the gear to his crawler setting, which would give me what I needed for hills. I could use the primary drive chain for adjustments when the road was flat and easy. The owners told Paul to do it for free, so he wouldn’t even take a tip.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Paul says he loves to work and works at both the motorsports store and at McDonalds. What does he love most about work? The money! He wants to buy a car. He pointed out a brightly colored scooter and asked if that would withstand a trip around the country. I said, yes, indeed it would! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He advised me to try out some great restaurants in New Orleans. He has lived here all his life---either in Baton Rouge or in Hammond. But he wouldn’t mind doing a bit of traveling! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After checking into the Super 8 and doing my nightly exercises, I sat down to write. And here I sit. I think I’m done for the night---all caught up, except for any editing. But my bottom is sore from sitting in this chair for several hours. I think I will take a shower and see if there is anything to eat around here. I wish I could follow Paul’s advice and find some great restaurants, but the budget says a Subway salad is now in order.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But, when Shannon and I meet with her friends in New Orleans, we will splurge on a dinner and a breakfast out!! I will get to sample some Cajun cooking yet!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Saturday, October 26th, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After consuming raisin bran and 2 cups of coffee in the Super 8 lobby for breakfast, I packed up HD and hit the road, just after 8 a.m. It was hwy 190 almost all the way to Port Allen. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This hwy is a popular highway and roughly parallels interstate 12 and it is in fairly ragged shape in many areas. The Louisiana DOT is repaving portions of it, but it has a long way to go to be a comfortable road. When I got to Baton Rouge, I had to follow the 190 north along the Mississippi River for about 4 miles before it turned west to cross the river. Because pedal driven cycles are not allowed on the Interstate, HD and I were relegated to cross the river on the highway. But, YIKES! It was an old, narrow bridge without any shoulder or space for HD and I, so we had to take up a good portion of the right hand lane. Luckily, the traffic was a bit light on this Saturday afternoon crossing the bridge. The interstate bridge was much busier, but, oh, the interstate has such a nice, lovely space that just goes unused...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I may be forced to cross a few rivers or lakes on the Interstate.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The highlight of the day was meeting Jeanette, just outside of Walker. She pulled up behind me while I was straddling the grass and gravel on the highway, and gave a little toot on her horn. I pulled to a stop and climbed off the trike while she hopped out of her car and literally ran up to me to say she just had to see what I was doing and where I was going. I answered her questions and she explained that she loves to ride her bicycle but generally prefers to transport it to Baton Rouge and then rides it on the levee by the university (Louisiana State University) or in the neighborhood subdivisions with good roads. Jeanette even asked to give HD a try! So, she climbed aboard and rode him around an empty parking lot a few times. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jeanette is a very compassionate person who just exudes enthusiasm. Her passion is her love for Christ. She says “it is not about me, but about Jesus and what HE wants for me”. We talked about gratitude for all things, appreciating our lives, and living in the moment, rather than in the past or future. She says she loves to talk about God, but also says that being “religious” is not always such a good thing, if it means getting stuck in rules and judgments and pointing fingers at other people. She says she remembers that God loves everyone, so she tries to do the same.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She prayed for me and with me, right there on the side of the road, and her compassion and love were contagious. We blessed each other and parted.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What a lovely lady. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Now I am in Port Allen and figuring out tomorrow’s route. May you all have a lovely evening!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sunday, October 27, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After raisin bran and coffee in the Super 8 lobby (now becoming a standard motel breakfast on this trip), I headed out of Port Allen, Louisiana. Once reaching hwy 190 again, I turned due west toward Opelousas. Hwy 190 was a variable road today---sometimes a good shoulder, sometimes covered with debris, sometimes stretched across with those ribs that I really don’t like anymore at all, and sometimes without a shoulder at all. But, I had to admit, the road was better than the day before.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On the west end of Livonia, I met a man selling sweet potatoes out of the back of his truck. Most of them were bagged in plastic mesh in 10-20 lb bags. But there were also several unpackaged potatoes for sale. I really do love sweet potatoes and they are so nutritious. So, I stopped and asked to buy just one. I picked up a small one, planning to nuke it at the motel that night. He wouldn’t accept any money and then asked me if I had ever had a white sweet potato. I didn’t think I had, so he handed me a nice, big one. Again, accepting no payment. We talked about the road and he warned me that there was a 4 mile bridge ahead without a shoulder. His car had broken down on that road and he found it extremely frightening. He finally got off the bridge but was shakey the rest of the day. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I appreciated the warning. It meant another hwy 190 bridge just like the one over the Mississippi River in Baton Rouge. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Eventually, I reached the bridge. It spanned a good length of the Atchafalaya National Wildlife Refuge. I pulled to a stop just before the bridge so that I could take off the earphones to my iPod and pull off the orange flag that is positioned on HD’s left rear wheelguard. I could feel my anxiety elevating a bit and then, just before I took off, I realized I was standing in a bed of little black ants. The little critters had covered my right ankle and had a nice lunch, but the adrenalin was coursing through my blood vessels and blocked any sense of pain. I brushed the ravenous critters off my leg and took off across the bridge. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">For four miles, I waved that little orange flag overhead, sticking my arm up as high as I could reach. The strategy worked and all the vehicles saw me in plenty of time to get out of “my” lane until they passed me. I pedaled as fast as I could and was glad for all the arm exercises I have been doing, so that my little arm could stay up in the air, enthusiastically waving that bright orange warning flag. I found myself grinning about the entire experience, which was not as scary as I thought it would be. This was due to the courtesy of the drivers. Only a few had to actually slow down before they could pass.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I thought, “Hey, I should wave this flag overhead every time there is no shoulder” Maybe the cars would see me ahead of time and move over, just like on the bridge.” I tried the technique later that day during a shoulder-less stretch of 190. It didn’t work. I guess I have to be on a bridge that makes the car drivers more alert and nervous. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Anyway, it was two days later before I realized that a quarter sized area of my right ankle was swollen and blistered fromt the ant bites. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That adrenalin worked quite well as a pain killer. This is why people don’t really feel it when they are injured during a truly frightful time, such as a car accident or in battle. They feel it later, when everything calms down and they realize they are bleeding. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As for the blistered ankle, it still doesn’t hurt. Go figure.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The rest of the day was uneventful. Well-wishers and kind travelers and locals continued to wave, wished me well, and occasionally asked a few questions. I was on a mission, however, so I kept on the move as much as possible. My daughter Shannon had texted me, letting me know she was on her way and I would see her that night.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I pulled into Opelousas, LA shortly after 5 pm and had just finished my exercises when Shannon arrived. My beautiful daughter swept in, blonde hair flowing around her shoulders as she strode in the room, wearing flowered skintight jeans and high heels and her typical 2-3 shirt layers. She is a fashionista and buys her clothes from thrift stores. Her outfits tend to cost less than $10 and everyone stares because she has a flare for style. And a killer figure. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Her grandmother---my mother---had the same gifts. Although my mother dressed modestly and conservatively, she could shop a bargain and all her coworkers always thought she must spend all her money on clothes. My mom was slender and fit and always looked like a million bucks. The only arguments we had when I was a teenager were about my horrible wardrobe. I felt ugly and fat and my mom always wanted to take me shopping. The last thing I wanted to do was try on clothes and see my figure in the mirror. Most teenage girls love to shop for clothes. I hated it. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was fun to have daughters who both liked to shop. My two girls have very different styles, so there was not a lot of borrowing or sharing. Shannon is flambouyant and chic; Heather is sporty and wears more tailored clothes. As a teen, however, Heather was my little hippie chick. That part still comes out. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, Shannon and I yacked our heads off for the rest of the evening, rushing off to get Subway salads at about 9:30 pm and bringing them back to the room to continue catching up with the “news” of her life. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Nice day and a fantastic way to end it.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Monday, October 28th, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I got an early start, leaving the motel around 7:15, with Shannon still sleeping off her travel fatigue. I had left the tent, my laundry, and one of my backpacks for her to carry in the car, thus lightening my load. Boy, I could feel it, too! I zoomed along the road without the usual fatigue at the 30-40 mile mark. Hwy 190 was also very sweet the entire way, once outside of each little town. Once a highway reaches a local corporation limit, the town or city has to accept some responsibility for the road. Typically, the condition then deteriorates. But, the towns were small along this hwy today and the way was easy.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The previous night, I had arranged for an inexpensive room at The American Inn in Kinder, LA. My iPhone map directed me north of Kinder on hwy 165 for about 5 miles. This made no sense to me, but every time I put in the address again, the map showed the same results. So, I headed north from Kinder and, after going about 4 miles, I passed by a lone little house with a small family sitting on the porch. The matriarch of the family called me over--a slender little lady with a friendly smile and a generous heart. She offered me a drink and asked me where I was going. After describing the general route, I told her I was looking for The American Inn and my phone map said it was another mile north. The woman, as well as her grown daughter, both said simultaneously, “Oh no, you passed that motel. It is back there in Kinder a few blocks from Market Basket”. I called the motel and asked the lady who answered the phone about her location. She didn’t know how to answer my questions as she didn’t know north from south nor did she know the numbers of any of the highways, so she couldn’t really help much.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But, I trusted the ladies at this little country home, so I turned around and headed back to town. The ride today was supposed to be about 50 miles but had now turned into 58. No big deal, I was running ahead of schedule with Henry David’s lighter load. But, still, I found myself feeling frustrated about the map misdirection and stopped at a McDonalds at the north edge of Kinder for an iced coffee and a quick text to Peter, who immediately responded. Both strategies eased my angst.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, armed with a rapidly diminishing iced coffee, I continued south and reached the motel in the late afternoon. I still beat Shannon there and finished my exercises just as she arrived. She brought groceries with her and this cheered me up even more! Yay food and yay Shannon!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After a quick shower, we went out to find a movie DVD and a few more groceries. We returned to the room and made veggie lettuce wraps while we watched The Heat, with Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy. This is an hilarious film---it is like the typical movie about a beat cop and an FBI agent teaming up on the job, like the Odd Couple. This theme has previously focused on </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px; text-decoration: underline;">male</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> law enforcement officers. This is the first one I’ve seen about female officers. I loved it. Shannon and I laughed our heads off.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A good day, all in all.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tuesday, October 29, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I slept in just a little and headed out around 8 am this morning. HD and I headed southwest on 165, then caught hwy 90 and turned west to Lake Charles. It was an easy day, just 35 miles, to reach Capitol Cyclery. I left HD in their capable hands and then went next door to the McDonalds to write and wait for Shannon. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This blog has been titled Cajun Country, so perhaps I should spend a few paragraphs on this topic.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Cajun” is the adopted-or slang- term for Acadian. The Acadians are descendants of the French colonists who settled in Acadia in what was called New France. Acadia was located in what is now Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island, part of Quebec, and Maine to the Kennebec River. The Acadians were conquered by the British in 1710 and continued to live there until the French and Indian War against Britain and New England. The “Great Expulsion” was carried out from 1755-1763. The Acadians were deported---many back to France but quite a large number to Louisiana. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The “Cajuns” developed their own dialect, considered “Cajun French”, and their own, unique culture, heavily influenced by their French heritage. The Cajun, or Acadian, territories in Louisiana were primarily in the southern third of the state. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Cajun music finds it roots from the French Catholics, Initially the fiddle predominated. Later, the accordion took the limelight and its joyous, rhythmic tunes make fun dance music. Zydeco music is the most popular Cajun music style. I own a few old Zydeco music tapes and used to dance around the house to them, shouting out “bon temps” and “et toi” at the appropriate pauses! It’s a wild ride.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Cajun and Creole cuisine are often differentiated by food experts. Both find their roots in French cuisine, but Cajun tends to be spicier and heartier. Both the French Cajun and Creole populations tended to live in the country as farmers; they utilized local produce and game and they did not waste anything. “Cracklins” are fried pork skins or fat and “boudin” is the leftover pork parts, ground up, and mixed with rice. It is then either made into sausages or rolled into balls and fried, called “boudin balls”.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When we think of southern Louisiana cuisine, we also think of crustaceans: shrimp and fresh water crawfish, called “crawdaddies” or “mudbugs”. Oysters and clams are also popular, as well as gumbo, which is a dish containing spicy stock, meat or shellfish, rice and seasoning vegetables. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jambalaya is a Creole dish and originated in the Caribbean Islands. It has both Spanish and French influence. This is the “red jambalaya” and usually includes chicken, sausage, seafood, celery, peppers, onions, and tomatoes. Cajun jambalaya does not contain tomatoes, so lacks the red color. The cooking processes differ a bit between Cajun and Creole jambalaya, giving each type its own flavor. In some restaurants, they make a quick variety, sans the veggies, to entice the kids to eat it. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, local veggies, meats, and rice. Good country cooking. With a French flair. Welcome to Cajun Country!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Grab your accordion and move!</span></div>
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Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-5189825809674972932013-10-22T10:15:00.000-07:002013-10-22T10:15:01.170-07:00The Emerald Coast<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Thursday, October 17, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I was really excited about this day as I would be hugging the Gulf Coast. HD and I crossed the bridge to Panama City Beach around 8:30 am and we were treated by the sights and sounds of a seasonal tourist spot, Gulf style. There were amusement parks, miniature golf parks, stores, seafood restaurants on every street, hotels, resorts, and condominiums. The busyness of the first 10 miles gave way to quieter stretches of land, with hints of white sand dunes on both sides of the highway. I pulled into public access parking lots and shot a few photos. Since it was no longer summer vacation time, the streets were quieter and I noticed that some restaurants and resorts sported signs saying, “Closed till 2014. See you next year!” The day was cloudy and threatened some possible showers, so the ocean was gray and moody. It was really wonderful to be there at a quieter time, where I could actually look around at more than the road directly in front of, and behind me. I imagined some thick traffic would be the norm in the spring and summer, requiring my eyes to stay on the road, rather than enjoying the scenery.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This area of the Gulf Coast is referred to as “The Emerald Coast”. When the clouds depart and the day is sunny, the shallow waters near the edge of the bedge are an incredibly vivid green, turning turquoise as the water depth increases. The sand is soft and white; it feels like cornstarch under your feet. It isn’t the grainy, rocky sand of the Pacific Ocean, where I grew up and played. This sand ia luxurious and silky and ever so fine. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The water temperature was inviting. At a different time, I would be donning a suit and frolicking in the water.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As I turned at Miramar Beach, I stopped at a convenience store for water and a few snacks, as I would be camping that night. I met a young man, just 18 and fresh out of high school, who came into the store with a big backpack. When we were both outside and he stopped in front of the store for a light meal, I asked him about his trip. He is walking from Miami to Mexico. He has no specific plans after that, but said that he wants to learn boxing and get into the boxing circuit, maybe eventually as a professional. He was on the high school wrestling team and he was certainly strong and healthy looking, althoug a bit lean from the miles of walking every day. We talked about exercise regimens and working out the soreness we experience from a long day of physical traveling. He carries a long dowel and slips the backpack straps over the ends and does bicep curls and overhead presses with his makeshift barbell. He sleeps in church parking lots or lawns or sometimes on the beach. Occasionally, a church member may give him a room for the night and sometimes money or food. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I am much more of a planner. I wanted the safety of established campgrounds and motels. I saved my money and got my affairs in order and then set up a website. The older we get, the more encumbered we are with bills and responsibilities and the need to figure things out before we do whatever it is we want to do. I wanted to take this trip when I was 19. I am so glad I am doing it now, instead. I don’t think I would have been able to finish it when I was that young. Or wise enough to appreciate it. Or brave enough to talk to "strangers". </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The roads are better now. Cycles are more advanced and ready to take the beating of longterm travel. It is even safer now, in my opinion. Communications in this technological age are so much easier to maintain. Now I can talk to my loved ones at any time. I can look up roads on my phone and even get a satellite view, helping me to avoid bad roads or reroute to better ones when I run into dead ends. “In the olden days”, if you needed money, you had to have it wired to you. This was time consuming and expensive. Few people carried credit cards. Debit cards did not exist. Cash was the respected currency. You paid cash for most things. Sometimes, a restaurant or motel would accept a check. But most businesses preferred cash, because checks could bounce. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Times sure have changed. Enter the Modern World.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I checked into the Henderson State Park Campground in the early evening, took a walk on the beach, and got back to my tent around dark. I exercised, showered, and turned in. The days are getting shorter and it was really too early to be cooped up in my tent, so my tired legs got uncomfortable as the evening wore on. I did exercises in the tent too, but the ole body just didn’t want to be sitting or lying. It was a fitful night, but still, I enjoyed being at the beach.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Another good day, all in all.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Friday, October 18th, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Last night, when I had set up the tent, I smelled the unmistakable odor of mold. It was light, but present. The night was moist, with some light rain, which didn’t do much to dry out the tent. I awakened in the morning with a headache, neckache, and a sense of constriction in my lungs. Yikes! I had not been sick yet and didn’t want to get ill from breathing mold spores. That’s it! Either a new tent, a bleached tent, or no camping until I could eradicate the mold issue. Even so, with the shorter days, I would prefer a private campground like KOA because I could hang out in the rec room and type and walk, etc, and wouldn’t have to spend 10-11 hours in my tent. Definitely I would wash my tent and stay in some motels until the tent issue was fixed.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This would be my last day in Florida. The roads had been sweet and the Panhandlers were respectful of cycles. After exiting the beach and stopping for a cup of coffee, I cycled on 98 past Destin onto a narrow strip of land that was like a connected island, forming part of the Gulf Intercoastal Water Way. It crossed back to the mainland at Fort Walton Beach. Then, at Navarre, you could go across again and travel along for another 5-10 miles. But, alas, there was no lane or room for HD on the bridge, so I chose not to take that 2nd strip option and crossed the more cycle friendly bridge over Pensacola Bay into Pensacola.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I stayed at the Days Inn on North Palafox Street. This sprawling motel consists of about 3 separate buildings, built on a hill, so they are all at different levels. I washed my tent in the motel washing machine, but it still carried a very light mold scent. I would have to get some bleach and do it again. But not tonight---there was no grocery store around, and no bleach to be found. There was a cajun tavern/restaurant attached to the lobby, and the young folks were partying it up in the tavern and in the parking lot. Another Friday night and the young men were feeling froggy. The menu in the tavern was above my modest budget and there were no other restaurants or grocery stores I could see in close proximity. As it was dark, I just walked across the street to the gas station and purchased water and peanut butter filled crackers. Combined with the apple and banana still in my room, the dinner was light but sufficed. I was very tired and was still battling the headache from the night before. I didn’t even do my exercises. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Saturday, Oct 19th, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After downing a full sized waffle drowned in maple syrup from the continental breakfast offerings, I packed up HD and we departed from Pensacola, FL. The plan was to head practically due west to Foley, AL, about 35 miles away. I was looking forward to a shorter ride, in a way, hoping to give me more time to fully recover from mold inhalation. As it turned out, the relaxed evening of the night before, without any significant exercise, and drinking water laced with vitamin C yesterday to help me recover--- all seemed to do the trick. I felt pretty good all day and I was relieved.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The Florida roads continued to offer a nice shoulder when on the highways, and made up for the lack of bike lanes in the cities by planting sidewalks. Cycling sidewalks is not as fun as riding on the street as HD feels every bump and crack. Therefore my skeleton feels them, too! Sidewalk riding is inherently bumpy and slow on a trike. But I am definitely amazed by what a beating HD takes every day. His tires and frame hold up well-- better than I do, that’s for sure!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Plans took a turn, though, as detours and bridge closures forced a southward deviation. I was routed down to the coast again, so I was given the opportunity to “ooh” and “ahh” over Perdido Key, Florida, and on into Orange and Gulf Shores, Alabama. Skyscraping condominiums blocked the view of ocean. Miles of condos. The streets were practically empty and I continued to wonder how such places in the country survive. The condos were pricey and were mostly inhabited by comfortable retirees. But I didn’t see a lot of cars in the parking lots. There were some restaurants and a few hotels, but not even a lot of general shopping. Until I turned north on hwy 59 towards Foley. Then the shopping centers appeared. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Aha---they live on the coast and shop inland.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Hwy 59 to Foley: It was 10 miles of "yucky" road. There is no better word to describe the way I felt about it! The tiny shoulder was interrupted with ribs, so it was a bumpy, bone rattling ride to Foley. The 35 mile day had become 50 miles with the detours, but it was all made better when I checked in to the Key West Inn in Foley, Alabama. This is a simple motel which I welcomed like an oasis. After exercise, a shower, and a delicious vegetarian pizza from Mellow Mushroom, all was right with the world. Or at least, MY world. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sunday, October 20, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This morning, after perhaps one more mile on the dratted hwy 59, I turned west on hwy 98 and the angels sang again. The rest of the day, up until the Bay Bridge at Mobile, Alabama, I rode hwy 98/90 and the road was ever so sweet. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The sun was shining, the road was wide, the grade was mild, and there was a mild headwind for part of the day. In all, it was a day in heaven.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On the westward road towards Mobile Bay, I stopped at a convenience store near Magnolia Springs. I met a young man and we chatted about the area. He is from Ohio but his mother lives down here in Alabama, so he moved here to help her out. He says that tourism is the industry that keeps the area alive. He said that in the tourist season, Hwy 59 to Gulf Shores is bumper to bumper traffic every day, moving incredibly slow. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The local residents with whom I have had brief conversations over the last several days tell me the same thing. It is the tourism that keeps the towns afloat. The lodging located directly on the coast is fairly pricey, so families on a budget tend to choose motels a few miles inland, like I have been doing. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">One gentleman I met in the area works in Michigan about 6 months a year in a union construction type job. He is almost ready for retirement. He lives down here with his wife, who works in a hospital. He said that housing used to be very inexpensive along the Gulf Coast. While it is advertised as “The Emerald Coast”, and rightly so, due to the vivid turquoise waters on a sunny day, the locals refer to the area as “Redneck Riviera”. I had to laugh at that one. Anyway, after Hurricane Katrina decimated much of the coast, the houses that were still solid and standing, a bit inland, started selling for inflated prices. Seven hundred thousand people were homeless after that terrible storm! So the prices went up 3 times what they were worth. Construction moved in, building bigger and nicer homes, and these prices skyrocketed too. While one part of the population suffered, the rest of the population prospered. People from out of state moved into the coastal regions as the housing bubble expanded. Now, this man says, the bubble has burst and the prices are coming back down. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It made me wonder again about those condominiums right next to the Gulf waters--waters that are known to get whipped up every year by tropical storms and hurricanes. How many of them were empty? Would they stand up to another hurricane as severe as Katrina? What are these building standing on, in the way of secure foundations? One local resident told me that the whole area is basically at sea level and if you dig down 18 inches you will hit saltwater. It is all sand. I can verify that. I have been looking for rocks on the beach and there aren’t any. Only this gorgeous, soft, white sand. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">How do these buildings stay erect? How deep do the foundations dive into the sand? How deep is the bedrock? I always wonder about bridges over the bays as well. They are such architectural masterpieces. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I have been so lucky, or blessed (!), to pass over hundreds of bridges in good weather. No hurricanes, storms, or high winds!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Once I reached Spanish Fort, which is directly east of Mobile, on the other side of Mobile Bay, I caught hwy 90/16 and crossed the marshes, bayous, and waterways. If you check the map really close, you will see that the interstate crosses the bay on a very long bridge. The highway, however, crawls on a land mass that is basically at the same level as the water, plus maybe 5 feet! I cycled next to reeds through which you could see the water of Justins Bay, Chacaloochee Bay, and Polecat Bay. Great names, huh? This watery landmass was dotted with seafood shacks and boat docks. It was a Sunday today and you could tell which restaurants were the most popular by the number of cars pulling in and out. Some of the restaurants were on stilts or on the top floor of a two story building. Others were basically one level only. I wondered about flood insurance... </span></div>
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There were no gas stations, convenience stores, or any other businesses---just the little seafood shacks and boatdocks.</div>
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I think that is wise...</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then I reached the decision point. Do I cycle the tunnel to Mobile or go out of my way to cross the Tensaw River via the Bay Bridge? The Government Street Tunnel dives under the Tensaw, but cycles were prohibited. I had read about it earlier in the day when I stopped for coffee and asked google about it. “Crazy Guy On A Bike” has a website of the same name and cycles all over the country and keeps a blog. He had cycled the tunnel and mentioned that cars had to go around him to pass him while inside the tunnel. Since HD’s back end is much bigger than a standard bicycle, I figured I should obey the law and avoid ticking off a number of drivers, who would be stuck in a line of cars behind a recumbent trike moving along at 7 mph. So, I turned north to catch the bridge, which was about 3 miles north of the tunnel. I passed the industrial side of Mobile--it was actually good to see that industry was alive here. (Although I wish that these large corporations would paint these factory buildings some really vivid colors. Think of how much prettier that would be than the drab, gray buildings spouting smoke and steam?) </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Finally, I approached the Bay Bridge. The bridge is long and rather majestic looking as it starts in a northward direction and then curves west over the river. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The bridge dropped me off in the north end of Mobile, or Pritchard. I turned south and saw a good cross section of Mobile, covering quite a span of housing. It was Sunday and the traffic was manageable and people were friendly, waving and calling out. It was just like any other big city throughout the country. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">In the downtown area, I stopped at a corner to look up local lodging on my iPhone. A large man, down on his luck, came up and asked me for a dollar, which I gave him. It was touching, really. He told me he was hungry and he only wanted a dollar because he could buy a burger down the street for that amount. As I passed him the dollar and then looked back at my phone, he asked me to look at him. I looked into his beautiful hazel eyes, a bit bloodshot around the rims, and he told me he would pray that God would bless me. I told him thank you and he said he was raised Catholic and he would light a candle for me. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Here is what I took from this exchange. It is so important to look people in the eyes and let them know they matter. More important than the dollar is the sharing of eye contact between one human and another, accompanied by a blessing. I was touched to the core by this man, likely an alcoholic, who insisted I really look at him. Whatever our issues and challenges, we all need to be seen. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Do you ever feel as if no one sees you? Sometimes we need a reminder...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I eventually made my way across town to the Baymont Inn, which was surprisingly inexpensive. After eating an apple and peanut butter and chocolate (hey, it’s what I had left!), and doing my exercise routine, I sat to write. Day is done. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Monday, October 21st, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This morning, after eating Raisin Bran and yoghurt in the lobby, I headed out of Mobile and hit the frontage roads off and on, paralleling hwy 90 out of Alabama and into Mississippi. I was cycling south, parallel to Mobile Bay, but far enough inland that I could no longer see the ocean. But I did see creeks, lakes, marshes, and bayous. Along the side of the highway, for several miles, the roadside ditch had filled with water and brave little water lilies had taken root in the runoff. I had to stop and take a photo of one of the flowers. It reminded me of the intrepid dandelions that insist on sprouting through the concrete in the desert, and the grass that insists on breaking through the cement in any industrialized big city. These little plants are hardy and brave and it reminds me that Nature is an indomitable force. If humans perished, the flora and fauna would quickly multiply and the world would be a jungle again. Except in the desert. There it just might be greener though, not exactly a “jungle”...or maybe the brown grasses would just be thicker!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A note about the fauna of the south. Roadkill is the physical evidence of the prevalence of critters that are bigger than a breadbox. All through the country, I have seen raccoon and possum. In fact, the two are relatively equal in the roadkill department. In the northern and midwestern states, there were an awful lot of deer on the sides of the road, especially in Montana. Poor little kitties are laid out in the towns. Once HD and I reached North Carolina, I saw a new one: armadillo. So far, in the Florida panhandle and into Alabama, armadillos on the road outnumber possum and raccoon. I wish I saw live ones instead of car- flattened ones. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The plethora of roadkill throughout the country continues to remind me that we drive killing machines. It is so easy to take a life with a motorized moving vehicle, including our own. Really, do we need to rush everywhere? It would be better to be late than to be dead. It would be better to yield than to crash.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was a delightful day with patchy sun, clouds, and light sprinkling in the mid afternoon. Altogether, it was a perfect day for cycling: not to hot, not too cold, with flat or gently rolling hills, and no wind worth mentioning. I passed into Mississippi and on to Pascagoula, turning west again. It was a short cycling day, so I only went about 42 miles to Gautier, MS, about 7 miles east of Pascagoula. I checked into a reasonable motel, the Suburban Extended Stay, arranging for a 2 night stay so I could write, check emails, do laundry, etc. I contacted family members, made arrangements with my daughter Shannon to join me, did my workout as well as my laundry, and ate a veggie burger at Burger King! They also have low fat fries. The lady who served me, Precious, was exceptionally generous with the low fat fries. I sucked up those salty babies dipped in ketchup like it was the Last Supper. I had been eating fruit and crackers for a few days, other than the ridiculous waffle a few days ago. And that pizza in Foley, Alabama! No more waffles!! But I will pay the price of a bloated belly the day after eating pizza. I don't mind eating light for a few days after that type of feast. After a talk with Peter on the phone, I returned to this little MacBook to write again. And here I sit. Tomorrow morning I will edit and maybe even post this latest blog.</span></div>
Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-47155134637192402552013-10-22T09:51:00.000-07:002013-10-22T09:51:28.168-07:00West Across The Panhandle<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Friday, October 11th, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Today, I began the serious quest for the west. First goal: the Florida Panhandle...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After the late night in Baldwin, I slept in, ate too much for breakfast in the motel lobby, and headed out about 9 am. The roads remained wonderful and the sun continued to shine brightly. But, no problem, this time I was prepared, with a tad bit of sunscreen on my face and shoulders. Ergo, my facial color remained the same all day.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I did appear to have an alternating headwind/crosswind for a good part of the day, so I was as tired at 46 miles as I usually am at 55-60 miles. In Lake City, Florida, my day’s destination, the men were feeling their Friday oats, cashing checks at the grocery store, buying beer, driving the streets, and making wolf whistles at the women. It was Friday fun in Lake City! I went on to the Lake City Campground, about 5 miles north of town. It is a sweet spot with little ponds with fountains in the center of the pools, which effectively kept the water moving and fairly fresh. After doing my standing exercises, I showered and ate apples and cheese and crackers for dinner. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It seems a bit funny but fresh, crisp apples and warm, sharp cheddar cheese while camping beats any fancy dinner in a nice restaurant. I don’t know if it’s the fresh air, the knowledge that it was a very inexpensive meal, or hunger that makes it so doggone good.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Well, enough for now. I’m having a hard time connecting to the internet here, so I guess it will be a book reading night!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Saturday, Oct 12, 2013. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was a fitful night---I’ve been going to bed way too late so I was looking forward to an early night in my tent. After writing a bit on the blog notes and then reading a novel for about 30 minutes, I shut off the battery light and tucked myself into the sleeping bag. I awakened every hour thereafter and got up when it was just barely turning light outside, around 6:20 am. HD and I headed back for Lake City to catch hwy 90 and head west again. This town turned out to be a lot larger than I had imagined and it actually sprawled for several miles.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was a beautiful day for riding. I am still seeing these incredibly tall trees, similar to traveling through the Carolinas and Georgia. I have seen more clearcut forests here, but many are replanted with seedling pine trees. Logging trucks are in heavy supply around here. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A met a local gent yesterday who pulled his pickup over on the highway to find out what the heck I was doing on a lonely Florida road, by myself, all packed up and looking like I had been traveling a distance. He scowled when I mentioned seeing the clearcut forests. But I followed it by saying I was glad to see they were replanting in efforts at good forest management. This was a man from Sanderson who worked 40 years for the railroad. Now, he is retired but still gets up at 4 am every day. He didn’t want his name mentioned but I told him I just had to share this next little tidbit. Every morning when he gets up he goes outside. If it is still and quiet, he pulls out his boat and goes fishing. If it is “blowin’”, then he grabs his rifle, goes into the forests, and goes hunting---or deer scouting, when it isn’t deer season yet. The town of Sanderson is a depressed town with little industry and most people are unemployed. So, this railroad retiree gives almost all of his fish and game away. He says he feeds about 10 families who tell him that they would be hungry if it weren’t for his sharing his fish and game. Then I understood why he didn’t like the clearcutting---perhaps it affected the local game population, thus making it harder for him to provide food for his town. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It’s all a life cycle. A disturbed ecosystem can cause changes we humans often don’t consider.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We chatted about his life and his hunting and he had a great sense of humor. He pushed his hat back on his head when I answered questions about my “little adventure”. He replied, “Well, Gol-durn, I think I’ve seen about everything! And yer doin’ this all by yerself? Are you one of them lez-beans?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I answered, no, I had been married and had 3 children. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Well, are ye married now?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“No, but I do have a boyfriend.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Well, what does he think of this trip yer on?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“He is in full support of it.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Well, Gol-durn, I think I’ve seen everything now!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We wished each other safety and good days and made our separate ways.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">These last few days have been days of contemplation and thought. Because we are all made of the same thing, from the rat to the human to the mountain to the star, we are all connected energetically. Our thoughts are a potent source of energy and through them, we can create. Or destroy. Sages from all religions and throughout the millenia have repeatedly tried to teach us less enlightened ones that we only need to believe and we can move mountains or create anything, including heaven on earth, or inside us. That is an awful lot of power, don’t you think?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, why are we so afraid to create our best realities?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">HD and I made it to the Super 8 on the southern edge of Madison by around 5:30. I don’t know about HD, but I sure was tired. I hauled my gear to the 2nd floor room and then proceeded to do my exercises. That revived the legs a little but they are aching again while I sit here eating dinner and typing this blog. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Maybe it’s time for a walk...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sunday, October 14th, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After a light breakfast in the lobby, I packed up HD and away we went toward Tallahassee. The road and weather conditions continued to be perfect--and no wind to speak of. However, the way was hilly, so we had our work cut out for us. HD hummed along but fatigue paid me a visit around 2 pm and hung around till arrival at the Seminole Best Western around 5 pm. I checked into the motel at the east end of Tallahassee, did my core workout, talked to my friend Truth on the phone, picked up groceries, showered, and started the laundry.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then I listened to the digitized version of a violin concerto, fresh off the press and the wonderful composition software, from one Dr. Peter Fischer. It was incredible: melodic, inspiring, moving. I almost cried, and I don’t often do that with music without words. Lyrics can make me cry, but music alone tends to transport me elsewhere, where wonder may lie, but tears remain behind. The beauty can be almost painful, but then I allow my heart to be transported. Like opening a door and sailing through it, rather than sitting there crying...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Is that what Wonderland is like: a place of inspiration and imagination and joy and challenge, but where tears have no real place?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Here in Florida, I’ve had the wonderful opportunity to see the swamps. In the Carolinas, Georgia, and parts of Florida, I’ve seen the marshes--brackish water made of salt water and fresh water. In the swamp, it is standing, fresh water, very “still”. It is as if the water table is just under the surface and wherever the land dips just a few feet, the water bubbles up and covers the ground. I thought the swamps were next to the ocean, but this area is “inland”, in the panhandle. It seems so odd to see huge oak and cypress trees, standing in a few feet of water and appearing to grow just fine. I would’ve expected them to rot, but they don’t. The surface of the water may be clear or may be covered in an algae-like growth, or even water plants. It is all so fascinating. I keep hoping to see another alligator, but no luck so far. Or maybe that IS lucky!!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Monday, October 14th, 2013. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Today is a writing day. And maybe talk to family day. I met the housekeeper who may be the housekeeping manager. Her name is Tiesha. She is a beautiful woman in her mid twenties with 3 kids. I tend to keep the room door open when I am in a motel room during daylight hours. I told her I didn’t need the room cleaned but she did her job magnificently by talking me into taking coffee refills for the coffee maker. She then asked me questions about HD and the trip and that started a sweet conversation. Tiesha’s dream is to become an RN. She plans to start classes at the community college this January, get her associate’s degree, and then transfer to a major university. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I asked her about her choice of careers. She was partially raised by her grandmother, as she and her mom lived in her grandmother’s home. She grew up, learning about the physical challenges of the aging population and basically fell in love with helping the elderly. She enjoys her job at the motel because she likes doing little, and big, things to help others. She has a huge heart and a winning smile. But becoming a nurse would give her a career that could provide for her family while filling her need to help others live a longer, healthier life. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I spent most of the day writing the blogs about Hilton Head and then traveling south to the 4th corner. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tuesday, October 15th, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Today the goal was Blountstown. It took over an hour to cross through Tallahassee, primarily on the sidewalks, until I rounded the corner of the Florida State University and the bike lanes began. Tallahassee was quite hilly and really quite a lovely city. It has done a good job of maintaining its natural beauty in the midst of urban sprawl. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Today we had some clouds and some sprinkles from the sky. To get to Blountstown, I cycled on hwy-----on a very long “bridge”. This bridge crosses the -----river. But the actual river is fairly narrow. Most of the bridge, about 4 miles of it, crosses the ------</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was a little harrowing, as it was a fairly narrow bridge, but the traffic was light.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There were only 2 lodging places in the Blountstown areas, both locally owned and in a bit of rundown conditions. I chose the “Airport Motel”, although there was not an airport of which I was aware. The motel was about 1.5 miles from town.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A little Indian lady ran the desk operations and we chatted for a bit. She recently had double knee joint replacements and takes a few walks each day. She is at the motel almost all of the time, but does not have a car, otherwise, she said, she would drive me the mile into town to the grocery store! I said that HD could handle the job to town, no worries there! She was very solicitous, hoping to ensure I was ok with the room and felt safe. She came to my room and turned on the AC and warned me to close the bathroom window at night to keep out the gnats. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What the room lacked in paint and cleanliness, the lady running the joint made up for in kindness and friendliness. She deserves a raise. And a helper.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I cycled into town to grab some groceries. I noticed a few banners spanning the main street, advertising “Goat Day”, which was fast approaching.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I was tickled. Too much time on my own, perhaps, but I see funny things all day long. Or at least, they are funny to me. A few towns back, I saw a sign at a middle school advertising $1 to kiss a pig. And now, Goat Day. I thought, “Wow, the people in this area don’t just like their animals, they LOVE their animals”. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Take it where you will...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After getting back to the motel and eating chips, hummus, and carrots, I settled in for the night.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wednesday, October 16th, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Exiting Blountstown took a bit longer than expected. I had to get some morning coffee at McDonalds. Then, I kept seeing little things to photograph--such as a lovely little park. And a sign in front of the pawn shop, which read:</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“We buy Guns, Gold, and Apple Products”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That made me smile so big I had to stop and get up close to get a picture. This summed up the mentality of most of America, I thought. In descending order, what so many people value: </span></div>
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<li style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> apple products---technological stuff worth its weight in gold and which we may want to use a gun to protect!</span></li>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, I pulled around and took a photo. All of a sudden, a tall, blue-eyed man appeared about 6 ft away and said, “Wait, I want to take a picture of you taking a picture of my sign!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This was Walter, the owner of the pawn shop. He was the highlight of the day, maybe even the week. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Walter is a tall, good looking man from Switzerland. When he around 20, he and some friends came to the USA to vacation and travel. That’s when he met and fell in love with Becky, while partying along the Florida coast. I found myself swept away in the love story, imagining this handsome blue-eyed manly man falling madly in love with this petite American with wide-set hazel green eyes and the prettiest smile you have ever seen. What a pair. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Because he was traveling with friends, they had to part after just a few days of meeting. But, they wrote each other and eventually he returned and the rest is history.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">They are now in their late 50’s, have 2 grown children, and run the pawn shop that Becky’s dad used to own. They lived in Switzerland for 10 years and then moved to Blountstown, Becky’s hometown, where Becky’s father needed help with the shop. Her dad was not exactly thrilled with her daughter’s choice and apparently there was some friction over the years. But Walter was not going anywhere---he had made his choice with Becky and no meanspirited man was going to push him out. In fact, the townspeople also gave this “foreigner” a hard time and didn’t trust him for several years. Eventually, they allowed themselves the opportunity to get to know him and have accepted him as a friend. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Over the years, the pawn shop outlasted other pawnbrokers in the area and now it is about the only one standing for several miles. It does quite a bit of business and they have been able to do a good deal of traveling as well as put their kids through college. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Walter’s passions are travel and food. He loves to travel all over the world and taste foods and wines from each area. He and his son took a recent trip together to Sonoma, to wine country. He and his wife will be taking a cruise next month. He has maintained a good weight, so I told him he didn’t look like food was his passion. He laughed and said it takes quite a bit of work: he exercises regularly and watches his intake so he can indulge when he travels. He and Becky like to go out to dinner on the weekends, usually traveling out of town.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We talked about gun issues. It was a fascinating conversation. In Switzerland, the populace is armed and ready for self-defense of their country at a moment’s notice. All young people serve for 2-3 years; men are trained in military arts and each young man is provided with a machine gun, which they take home. All men, between 18 and 50, have a machine gun, issued by the Swiss government. Every year, they return to training centers for a 3 week refresher course, so to speak, where they go through their paces and learn new military tactics. The country has a very organized plan for self-defence and can mobilize the entire country within minutes. While they do not play offense, in other words, they do not attack any other sovereign nation, they are ready to protect themselves. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Walter said, imagine attacking an apartment complex with 20 families and 2 men per family. That is 40 machine guns. Therefore, other countries leave them alone. And keep their money in Swiss banks, he said, with a twinkle in his eyes. In fact, Walter said, Hitler left Switzerland alone and the Nazis had a rhyming ditty they sang about the country. Roughly translated, the ditty said that they would leave Switzerland alone until they were heading back home. In other words, Switzerland would be the last to be attacked and then, only if they had taken all the other countries first. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It is small. And mighty.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, Walter has about 100 guns. He and his wife and his two young adult children all carry concealed weapons. He laughed and said, “So, when we go on vacation all together, we have 4 guns with us. We are pretty safe, I think!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">One of the things that earned him respect, as well as a reputation in Blountstown occurred early on. He and Becky were in bed at night and Becky heard someone at the door and became frightened. Walter grabbed a magnum 44 and went to the door, opened it, and put it in the face of one very scared customer from earlier that day. The astounded customer stuttered and asked a question, which Walter answered with a “you can come back to the shop during working hours tomorrow and ask me that question”. The customer went home rather quickly, following instructions to come back to the shop the next day. The word went out about town like wildfire: “if you want to talk business with Walter or Becky, do NOT go to their house---go to the shop ONLY, and ONLY during working hours”.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He has never shot anyone.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The Swiss philosophy is really quite interesting. Train the entire country in self-defense. Call all the men in the country back to training centers for 3 weeks every year. Keep all guns in working order. Devise and update a good self-defense activation plan. Men over 50 return their guns to the government and no longer need to go to the annual training. Most importantly: do not attack other countries. But be ready if they attack you. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This may only work for a small country. As for the USA, we are so busy playing offense and calling it defense that this model wouldn’t work for us. A pity...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">At the tail end of our conversation, Becky drove up and I had the pleasure of meeting this vital woman. What a beauty, and with her soft southern drawl, she was a potent mixture of the feisty, yet classy southern belle.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Walter and Becky---a force to reckon with in this little town called Blountstown.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After the goodbyes were expressed, I continued on the trek to Panama City. I had Gulf Coast on my agenda. I turned south on hwy---- and zipped through a few towns to get to the ocean again. I loved cycling through all the trees, but I missed the ocean and smell of saltwater and fish! I had never been to the Gulf, and that was another draw. on the northeast edge of Panama City, I pulled out the iPhone, found a good deal on a room, and made it to the west end of town, about 1/3 mile from the bridge that crosses ----to Panama City Beach. After hauling my gear up the stairs and locking HD outside, I took a walk to the bridge and halfway up it, shooting photos of my first glimpse of the Gulf of Mexico. I passed by the college with young people filtering out, by the park with people jogging the sidewalks, and up the bridge with walkers, joggers, and cyclists. I returned to my room just after dark and settled in. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was a great day--a great week! I had made it to the Gulf!</span></div>
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Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-89097799260518334932013-10-14T12:50:00.000-07:002013-10-14T12:50:01.571-07:00Run For The Corner<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Monday and Tuesday, September 7th and 8th, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It rained in the early morning hours, as threats of Tropical Storm Karen were dissipating. It was warm and sultry, with a light wind. After coffee and packing up Henry David, I hugged Jack and Mary and set out for the road again. The next two days were patched with rain but were actually pretty mild with weather. Roads were favorable and the Georgia police kept their eyes on me. I had never seen so many police officers in my life. But I got waves and one policeman even took photos while I cycled by. I spent Monday night in Richmond Hill and Tuesday at the Microtel motel in north Brunswick, Georgia. Tired and aching, I was in a fast track to the 4th corner of my trip--on to Jacksonville, Florida.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wednesday, Oct 9th, 2013.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After a small continental breakfast at Microtel, where all secrets are miniscule and of no consequence, I headed out on hwy 25 in Brunswick, Georgia. Once HD and I connected to the combined highway of 17 and 25, we rode on for a few more miles and then crossed the Brunswick River. When the road turned west after crossing the river, it was rough riding for about 5-7 miles. Small road signs listed this as a double bike approved highway--10 west and 95 south. This must be some sort of numbering system for the bike roads. So, there was a nice little shoulder, just the right size for HD. He would have been very happy, but the DOT laid those nasty ribs all the way across the entire shoulder section. Therefore, when the traffic approached from behind, HD and I braved the brain rattling shoulder. When the traffic passed, we went into the road, while I kept my eyes peeled onto the rearview mirror. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After turning south at Waverly, it was a pretty nice road for the rest of the day. The weather was cloudy and cool most of the day until the mid afternoon, when patchy clouds allowed the sun to peek through, warming up the air. After Brunswick, the largest town was Woodbine, with a whopping population of 1300. I stopped at the post office in that venerable town, hoping to pick up postcard stamps. I was out of luck, as the service desk was closed. When I exited the post office door, I was greeted with a hug by Joe Jackson, longterm resident of Woodbine. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Joe had just driven up to the PO to post a letter and saw Henry David parked under the eaves at the same time as I came out of the door. He put trike and rider together and that warranted a warm hello and a hug from this sweet, friendly man. He then told me bits and pieces of his own special story.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Joe’s dad owned both the local grocery store and theater in town and Joe, himself, ran the movie projector at the theater from age 9 to 18. Dad also serviced a paper route and a milk route. The work ethic was very strong in the family and Joe helped his dad in all the various jobs until he graduated from high school and was sent off to Viet Nam. He spent a few decades in the military, got a bachelors degree in a field similar to political science, and returned home to Woodbine. He has been married twice and has a few kids. He spent 5 years in Jerusalem teaching the 6th grade to Palestinian Muslims at “The Jerusalem School”. This school was owned and managed by the Assemblies of God Missions. Joe said that, when he agreed to take the job, he was given 3 rules by which he must abide, or he would be in danger and, basically, on his own.</span></div>
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<li style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Never say anything about Mohammed.</span></li>
<li style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Never proseletyze any student about Christianity.</span></li>
<li style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Never tell a student he or she must accept Jesus as their Saviour or they would go to hell.</span></li>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Joe said he followed the rules and had a meaningful time in Jerusalem. He said that he would go to west Jerusalem to post his mail and for some of his personal shopping needs. He said the Israelis could spot an American a mile away, so he was often questioned why he was there. When he told them he taught at “the Jerusalem School”, they knew that meant he was on the east side working with the Muslim children. The Israelis would warn him “to be careful, don’t you know they will kill you?” The Palestinians would warm him the same thing about the Jewish Israelis, “be careful, don’t you know they will kill you?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Needless to say, he remained a peaceful teacher and no one killed him.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Joe told me about his senior year in high school. I had asked him about his support of the local football team as he was wearing a baseball cap with an embroidered football and emblazoned with “Camden Wildcats” across the front. Yes, indeed, Joe had played football when there were only 500 students in the school and it was located right there in Woodbine. In his senior year, their team, a B team, went to the state finals---the first time ever. They won the regional championship on November 15, 1963. Later that week, they played their first state playoff game and lost. Then, a few days later, that terrible bloody day came when President John Fitzgerald Kennedy was assasinated, November 22, 1963. Joe said that, as a high school senior, this was a tragic event for him. Joe says he believes that JFK was assassinated, in part, because the President wanted to get out of Viet Nam. Well, Joe was sent there after graduation, within a year of the assassination.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Now Joe lives back in Woodbine. He appears to know everyone in town and his hugs are well known to the locals. He cares deeply for his neighbors and has enough love to spare for the cyclists that pass through his town. May God bless him.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Although Joe invited me to stop by his house for a rest and a cool drink, I thanked him and proceeded to Kingsland. The day was waning and I still had about 12 miles to go and a place to find. The campground was 10 miles east of Kingsland and I figured I had cycled enough for the day. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When HD and I approached Kingsland, where you will be greeted with “royal hospitality” (so says the welcome sign), I saw warning signs that the hwy 17 bridge was under repair and traffic would be detoured to the I-95 bridge. I stopped just past the main intersection in the downtown area and pulled over to look at my lodging options on the iPhone. The study would include comparing available motel rooms with the hotel coupon book that I had picked up at a store the day before. As soon as I pulled over, the owner of a little, downtown antique shop came outside to talk to me. This was Eberhart, who goes by “Ebbie”. He warned me about the bridge and said the next highway crossing was about 25 miles away. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Bummer.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We discussed my dilemma. I would call the Florida DOT in the morning to see if the bridge was fully out or if they would let me pass. If not, the only other viable option would be to cross the interstate bridge. Or drive the 25 miles out of the way--that was not an option in my mind. Ebbie offered to drive me over the river on the interstate bridge around 10 am, when he opens his shop. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then he invited me into his store.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Ebbie is an avid cyclist. He is from Germany but moved here about 45 years ago, when he was a young man. He came to visit his sister (was she in Tennessee?) and planned to stay one year. He came with a green card, quickly got a job, and decided to stick around, eventually landing in Kingsland. He used to compete in cycling races and showed me about 2 dozen cycles in his shop, which were all leaning against each other in various little rooms of his labyrinthine shop. He has not parted with any of them and I have no idea if they are even for sale.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This little store was like an oddity shop. There were prices on some things, but there were so many things in this shop that he collected over the years that I had no idea if he was really trying to sell any of it. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">His hobby is building furniture. There were benches and chairs and tables that he had made, shoved next to antique furniture of all kinds. There were thingamajigs and thingamabobs and doohickies and bric-a-brac under layers of dust. This was his personal haven. He had so much stuff in his home that the city managers asked him if he wanted to open up a shop downtown in one of the many empty storefronts. So, he did. And he is now the official character in town.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I loved Ebbie. We talked economy, world issues, politics, history, and America. He showed me all around his shop. He uses a hand lathe and carving tools to make his furniture. He and his wife and daughter all paint. His own paintings were often quite humorous. He copies pictures in books and magazines and sometimes struggles with proportions. For example, he tried to paint a baby face. Instead, it looked like a pig lady and he has named it “The Schweinn”. Hahaha! There was a face of a lady with a shocked expression on her face and her hair sticking out in all directions. He said the name of that painting was “Oh Shit!”. I pointed to another painting of a man’s face and he said that was “The Shit Meister”, the husband of the shocked lady.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then he showed me old humorous political buttons. He had me laughing, this one did. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I pulled myself away after several halfhearted attempts to leave Ebbie and his little curiosity shop. He kept saying, “Oh, but you need to see this first”. He was so engaging that I happily complied. But then, it was getting later and I still didn’t have a place to stay for the night, so I thanked him for his helpful offer and took my leave. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">HD and I headed east on hwy 40, toward the interstate, where all the lodging was located. There were a good half dozen or more motels at the Kinglsland intersection of hwy 40 and I-95. I had a coupon for a room for $39 for a sweet little motel. It was the Magnolia Inn---I scored a clean motel room with a big tv, internet, and located close to Dunkin Donuts coffee and several restaurants. After a hot shower and a few texts to family, I walked across the street to Ruby Tuesdays and got the salad bar at 10% off---another perk of staying at the Magnolia Inn.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This is a town that I think may have seen some better days but is holding on valiantly, hoping the business will pick up. However, it is only about 35 miles from Jacksonville, FL. I suppose tourists may choose the lower rates here instead of staying in Jacksonville. But how will they know how inexpensive it is here? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Oh yeah. The internet. Dumb question.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tomorrow, HD and I cross into Florida. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Georgia: beautiful trees, rivers, marshes, lakes, peaches. Friendly people. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I think this country is full of them!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Thursday, October 10th.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I called the Flordia DOT at 8 am and got sent here and there on the phone without resolution. Therefore, I packed up Henry David and we hit the interstate as close to St Mary’s River as we could get. We crossed the river and into Florida without an issue, even though we passed several police cars parked at the truck weighing and inspection stations. We took the first turnoff to hwy 17 and then sailed happily along the wide Florida version of this highway. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The Florida sun was out in good form, having chased away Karen’s clouds and leaving a sapphire blue sky. I even got a little sunburned today! I was a bit surprised because my tan is fairly dark and I thought I was passed the burning stage. It was very mild, but I pulled out the sunscreen for tomorrow.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I stopped at the Minit Mart near Yulee for a little break. I met the friendly owner who was working the cash register and cheerfully reminding his regular customers that the fresh sandwiches were just displayed and were hot and ready. He and his wife moved to this rural area from Brunswick about 10 years ago to open this little store. There wasn’t any other nearby competition so he had the local business on this lonely stretch of hwy 17. He had seen me pull up on HD and he told me that, 2 years ago, he met a family on a long cycling trek. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This is where it gets interesting. This family consisted of husband and wife and 3 daughters, between the ages of 6 and 10. They were riding a single bicycle---with 5 seats! They cycled from Florida to Baja California to Alaska and it took a full year. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Can you imagine the memories this trip must have created for this family? Talk about adventure---going camping for a weekend with the kiddies is an adventure. Trekking several thousand miles on a single bicycle with THREE kids--now that is EPIC!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Well, after sharing my amazement at this fantastic feat, I got back on the road on my trike. This seemed like an easy ride compared to what this family must have faced! Shut up aching thighs and get on with it!!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I cycled into Jacksonville in the afternoon and stopped at the intersection of hwy 17 and hwy 90. This was my “tag” corner. Hwy 90 meant I would be turning west---this was the fourth corner of this trip. Now I would be heading toward “home”.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">TAG!!!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">While I stood there and picked up my iphone to see if I wanted to travel further or find a place in jacksonville, a thin young man came literally bouncing around the corner, waving two blackened wood drumsticks in his hands and singing about how lucky he was to find these two drumsticks in perfect condition. He saw me as he bounded around the palm trees and I smiled at him, commenting that yes, indeed, he had found a treasure. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He waved the sticks in the air and did a bit of fancy twirling before sliding them into his pockets. I asked him if he knew how to play the drums. He answered that he certainly could. So, of course, I then requested a demonstration. He looked around at the half dozen palm trees gracing the corner spot, with a brick wall backdrop. So, he danced around the trees, tapping fun rhythms on the trees and then on the brick wall and then reaching behind his back to continue his artful percussions, like an acrobatic musician. I laughed and clapped and then he asked a few questions about where I was headed. He has been homeless for a few weeks and wanders the streets till about 4 am, where he finds a spot near the Wells Fargo Bank downtown to crash in a quiet corner. The security guard lets him stay there. The young man told me he knows every hole in Jacksonhole, including the dark holes where you don’t want to go. I was welcome to join him for the night and a quick rest under the eaves of the bank. I thanked him and wished him well and told him I needed to keep traveling.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After cycling to the west part of Jacksonville, I pulled into a Burger King for a drink and serious consideration of my next move. I decided to go ahead and go to Baldwin, adding another 20 miles to the day. I pulled into the motel close to 6 pm and had a quiet evening in a clean room. After doing my exercises and eating bananas with peanut butter and trail mix for dinner, I watched a single episode of the new series Once Upon A Time in Wonderland. I’ve been watching Netflix reruns of the series Once Upon A Time. Apparently, it was such a big success, they added a series based on Alice in Wonderland. It was ok---I liked the original series better.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After communicating with loved ones, I crashed around midnight.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I had tagged my corner. Now it was time to go home...</span></div>
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Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-46490256104109927872013-10-14T12:48:00.000-07:002013-10-14T12:48:21.520-07:00Magical Land<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Saturday and Sunday, September 28th-29th, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Today, HD and I arrived at the Point South KOA in Point South, SC in the mid afternoon. I stopped at the McDonalds for coffee and directions and met an interested and delightful group of young people working at the land of the golden arches. They were full of questions about Henry David and one of the staff, a young lady named Teonai, came out to talk to me personally. Petite and lovely, Teonai shyly asked if she could ask a few more questions about the trek itself. After sharing my dream come true, she told me that her own dream is to go to college and study criminal justice. She is hoping to start this December/January and would like to go into forensic detective work. There is absolutely no reason why she could not follow her dreams. She is registered to begin.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She only needs to do it.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Just Do It. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Nike had that one right, anyway.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She gave me the greatest blessing I can imagine by telling me that she was glad she had taken the time to overcome her fears to come to talk to me because she felt encouraged to follow her dreams and make them happen. If there is anything that I could give any one I meet on this trip, it is just that. If you have a dream, make it happen. Don’t give up, if that is what you REALLY want. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sometimes, we have a treasure chest full of dreams that remain locked up in that bejeweled little box: never released, never considered a possibility. If one is happy with the life they have created and have decided that their current situation is much better than the dreams they imagined in their youth, then that is a wealth beyond value. But, if on the other hand, they look at the little box and wish they could take out a dream and breathe it into existence, then maybe some deep breathing exercises are in order. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I enjoyed my stay at Point South KOA. I took a day to write, take walks, and look for alligators! About a mile from the campground is The Frampton Plantation, the remnants of an old plantation. The home has been converted to a museum of sorts. I must admit, I am having to rethink my idea of a plantation. This home was actually fairly small inside, with small sized rooms. Although it WAS light and airy, which I did imagine. Most of the home was closed off, so it may have been bigger than it looked from the inside. The grounds outside were nicely kept and a gazebo on the lawn held information posters about the civil war. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Here in the Carolinas, the civil war is still a hot topic. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On the grounds of the KOA campground, there is a small alligator preserve. It has a small still lake with a bit of forest surrounding it. Around the circumference of the lake is a grassy walking path. So, I donned my toe shoes (Vibram FiveFingers) and walked slowly and stealthily around the lake, looking for signs of alligator. Patience paid off about 45 minutes later when I saw two big eyes in the water, watching me on the shore. I looked through my camera lens but you couldn’t see it with my low res camera. After a minute or so, the gator’s head dipped down into the water in a “dive”, while his large scaly back skimmed above the surface of the water, confirming my suspicion that this was, indeed, my first live alligator seen in the wild. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Awesome!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The Point South KOA has wine tasting on Saturday nights, but I skipped the wine tasting and went for the pizza instead. It fed me for two days. During the day, the campground office has a decent coffee shop. I worked on some writing while drinking coffee on Sunday. It was a gorgeous day, very relaxing, with good internet and alligator safari and Frampton Plantation visit. Very, very nice. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Now. On to Hilton Head! Wahoo.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Monday, September 30th, 2013.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What a lovely day. I was sad to leave Point South KOA, but excited to go to Hilton Head Island. I cycled the frontage road of I-95 to Ridgeland. That was very nice. Fast and easy and the traffic was light enough that the narrow road served just fine. In Ridgeland, I took local highway shortcuts, again with narrow roads and some increasing traffic, but still perfectly lovely. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When I hit 278 east of Bluffton and turned toward the Atlantic, the traffic got heavier but several miles of road construction actually provided me a lane all to myself. That’s the funny thing about construction zones. Sometimes, the crews have blocked off several miles of road but are actually only working on about 1/4 mile at a time. This gives a cyclist space to move outside of the traffic lane. It doesn’t always work like that, but today it did and I was quite pleased with the speed of travel. When I was spit back on the highway, the road was difficult in many places, forcing me to cycle on the grass. OK---so I had an easy time for a good chunk of the day, so I was willing to travel through some heavy resistance in sand and grass. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When I approached the first bridge that starts the cross toward Hilton Head, I had to travel on a grassy ridge for maybe 1/2 mile, but the bridge itself had a nice wide bike/shoulder lane. I could see it up ahead. A man pulled over in a pickup truck, onto the grass ahead of me. He wanted to load up HD and drive me across. While I do accept rides when I need to cross a bridge or to get to a bike shop for repairs, this was a challenge I was willing, in fact, happily anticipating, to meet. So I thanked him profusely for his kindness, pointed out the wide bridge lanes ahead, and declined. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Needless to say, I made it over the three major HH bridges and then the sky opened and the designated, beautifully paved, bike lanes began. Hilton Head Island is EXTREMELY bike friendly. Bike paths meander amongst the trees and greenery, circling and traversing the island. You can get just about anywhere on the Island and never leave the bike path except to enter the driveways of your desired destination. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Hilton Head Island is like a leisure cyclist’s heaven: flat roads, bike paths, ocean, trees, flowers, gardens, parks, cool little stores and restaurants. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Because it is “off season”, the room at Park Lane Inn was dirt cheap for the value. I paid the same as for a cheap Super 8, but 3 times the quality. My room had a kitchenette, two huge beds, a large flat screen tv, a couch, breakfast bar, and desk. A sliding glass door opened in the back of the room and I parked HD right in front of it, under the eaves on a little porch. There was a pool, fitness facility, and jacuzzi---I utilized the latter two! I even read a little bit by the pool, lying on my stomach and allowing the sun’s warmth to warm my bones and ease my hamstrings. The continental breakfast was extensive and they served complimentary Starbucks coffee around the clock. I could’ve moved in and stayed forever. But, even at the low rates, I wouldn’t have been able to actually afford living there. Unless I landed a fantastic PT job right there on the island. Sigh...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On my first night, I walked in the dark to the nearest grocery store, which was a health food market laid out with an eye for color and design. The prices were also a bit high. OK, a LOT high!! So, I picked up what I would need for that night and most of the next day, with a goal to find a cheaper store later. I stayed 4 nights there. So, on to a recap.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tuesday, October 1st, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Another lovely day in paradise. I walked to the beach, about 2.2 miles away, wandered through the Coligny Square shopping area, bought a great cup of joe at Java Joes, yearned to try out the french pastry at a french cafe (I was able to resist), and read by the pool. I did my exercises, used the eliptical at the fitness center, and watched a few episodes of Once Upon A Time on Netflix. This kind of full relaxation day has been few and far between in my life---as they are a bit rare in most people’s lives. I’m no different. Our lives are filled with industry and work. Even this cycling trip is no vacation. I get tired and worn and weak and yearn for time to just be. Even on my day off cycling every week, I spend it writing and taking care of business---about 12 hours of it every day, with just a few hours to take or walk and exercise while I watch a program or talk to family and friends. So, this Tuesday, October 1st, was an absolute treat. I labeled some photos for about 3 hours, but most of the day was to breathe and relax and allow my muscles some true recovery time.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Can I have more days like this?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wednesday, October 2nd. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Red letter day, red letter day! I went to the Piggly Wiggly grocery store, exercised, labeled photos, and tried to erase some of the signs of weather damage from my skin and hair. Then Peter arrived, around 7 pm.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Thursday, October 3rd. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wow, another day in Paradise. We spent the morning together, taking a long walk on the beach. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There, we met Rodger, who often goes by “Rodge”. He had two fishing poles and was casting one into the shallow waters to see what he might catch. Rodge comes with his wife to the island 4 months of the year. They stay in the same condo every year in October, and then again in December, January, and February, avoiding the northern winters. Rodge spends many of the Hilton Head Island days fishing. He doesn’t keep the fish, but practices catch and release. Usually, he snags rays and skates. While we chatted, a stingray took his bait and he pulled the little guy in. His wingspan was about 24 to 30 inches wide. Sleek and gray, with his stinger located about midway down his tail, he was carefully flipped over while Rodge removed the hook and tossed the critter back into the water. Rodge showed us his gaping mouth and assured us that the ray was unharmed by the hook. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When we walked back along the beach, Rodge’s little protoge had arrived. This is a local boy who spends his time on the beach as was apparent from his deep tan, thin little surfer-to-be body, and long, straight, sunbleached hair. Rodge has become like a surrogate grandpa to this young boy, who meets up with him every day to “help” him fish. He was a shy youngster, but apparently loves Rodger like family. He caught a skate when we arrived, reeling him in with some skill. This boy was proud to identify this as a skate, different from the ray in his spotty colorations and patterns, although the size was quite similar to the ray we saw earlier. The stinger is up near the base of the tail. I would think it would be almost harder for the skate to use it effectively, but maybe it would be more stable located there. They practiced their catch and release technique and the pretty skate was back in the water in a flash. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After our lovely walk on the beach with the low tide and expansive hard packed sand, we drove to Moss Creek, just on the other side of the HH bridge, where there is a gated community hidden amongst the marshes and trees, and bordering the river which separates the mainland from Hilton Head. There, we visited Peter’s sister and brother-in-law, Mary and Jack Walsh. More on these wonderful people shortly...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After a tour through their lovely home and walking around their property, with a small lagoon which extends into their back yard, we went to Bluffton to hook up with Peter’s parents, George and Virginia Fischer. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">George and Virginia live in “Sun City”. This is a retirement community, part of a chain of them, really. But this is no assisted living facility. It is a resort community where residents, ages 55 and up, live in style. The homes are actually priced fairly reasonably and are constructed with aging in mind. The sizes of the homes and rooms are manageable and they are handicapped accessible. Sun City Hilton Head has a community club house, a few golf courses, tennis and other game courts, fitness facilities, a restaurant and theater---just about everything one needs to retire and have FUN. Just outside the gated community is a medical complex, shopping, and retaurants. So, the residents of Sun City Hilton Head never have to drive far to experience all the modern conveniences of living in a large city but in a neighborhood which feels almost rural, like a small town.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After visiting a few hours, Mary and Jack went home while Peter and I went to dinner with George and Virginia to Mi Tierrita. This was a pleasant Mexican food restaurant and I enjoyed their Mexican vegetarian fare. I even had them bring me the “real” salsa. I am a New Mexican, after all. The salsas here in the east have been quite tame. It had a little kick, but not like the jalapeno, chipotle, or habanero kick I get in the southwest. This was definitely southeast coast salsa, flavorful and tasty. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, a little bit about George and Virginia.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">George worked over 40 years, mostly for the same company, as a technical design engineer. He designed hitches and connectors for trucks and trains. This required a solid knowledge of math and physics and the physical properties of materials. Some of his designs can still be seen today. I asked him if he ever worked on his designs at home with a drafting table. The answer: No. But he did have a drafting table at home for awhile, more for the cool look of a drafting table than for another place to work. George did a great job separating work from his family life. He enjoyed playing in the ocean with his kids, taking the family on little vacations, and being the solid strength of the family. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">George is a quiet man with a kicking sense of humor. He generally allows the conversation to flow around him, but when he opens his mouth, great things come out. He reminds me of my stepdad, Russ, in that fashion. He has a sweet smile and he is like the Rock of Gibraltar. In his 80’s, George has some orthopedic challenges which have left him with a significant limp, but he doesn’t let it stop him from doing what he seems to love most: taking care of his wife, Virginia. He is such a kind man and it was a joy to watch his proprietary care of his One-and-Only. He does the cooking and most of the driving now, and helps Virginia to get around. While Jack and Peter were at the ready to assist with Virginia’s mobility, it was clear that George was the one who had things under control. In fact, it helped Peter to help his mother more than it helped to relieve George of his favorite responsibility. It was a gift to his son to allow him to help Virginia get up a curb or walk the sidewalk or go into a restaurant. George hovered and really, this job as family caretaker has been his love for about 60 years, so it has helped define and shape him.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I absolutely love George. That is what Peter will be like in his 80’s. I am a very lucky woman.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Virginia is a joyous, generous woman who has a soul full of passion. What is not to love about that?? She is passionate about her children, politics, people, swimming, and, of course, George. She can talk about a number of subjects with knowledge. This little lady keeps the news on the telly and she can let you know what is happening in our country and I bet in most parts of the world. She adores her family and she smiled so brightly the entire time we spent together that I thought the sun might get a bit jealous. If she didn’t have osteoporosis, I would’ve wanted to squeeze her tightly! Her passions are primarily her family and her daily swimming. She gets up every morning and goes to the community pool and walks in the water for close to an hour. With 3 hip joint replacements and severe scoliosis and issues with lower extremity edema, this little woman has her challenges but she meets them with grace and a smile. She cut salt out of her diet many years ago in order to help control her blood pressure. Her diet is simple and healthy and she keeps on moving. She has more spunk than she has bone density, and this slows her down but she has the confidence that she can conquer the world. She has that indomitable spirit that I so admire. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What a truly lovely couple. Together, helping each other throughout each day. One providing physical support, and the other providing emotional sustenance. Sigh...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Friday, October 4th, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Today, we checked out of Park Lane and I was a bit saddened to leave this haven near the beach. Happy and lovely memories...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Peter drove to Mary and Jack’s house and I cycled HD back to the mainland and parked in their garage. After receiving an appropriate amount of attention and adulation, Henry David settled into his new home for few days, while Peter and I continued to play vacation. We drove around Moss Creek for a great tour and it was clear that Mary and Jack are quite happy with their home choice. They moved to the area about 10 years ago, living in a condo on Hilton Head Island while they looked for a more permanent residence. They purchased this home in Moss Creek, sold their condo, and settled into a vacation life. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Well, not exactly. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jack works at home, 40-70 hours a week. Not exactly retirement hours. He sells technology to corporations. He is not the computer or software designer, but has such a solid base of knowledge about how it works that he can make the software that he sells do things it is not intended to do! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jack reminded me a bit of the sheriff in the scyfy series “Eureka”. This sheriff, conveniently named “Jack” Carter, lives in a community of brainiacs and solves crimes which are caused by science gone awry. For any comedy/science geek lover, this is a fun, fun show. I wish they still filmed it. Anyway, although Jack (Sheriff Jack Carter) is surrounded by all of these scientists with IQ scores off the damn chart, it is Jack who can figure out the pieces of the science that went wrong, causing mayhem.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jack Walsh does not design the computer software, but he figures out what it can actually do and regularly amazes, and stresses out, the software geeks who couldn’t see the potential in their own creation. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I love it!!!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, the real Jack is a top seller. He would like to retire next year, but I think the company may offer him a part time deal so they don’t lose this irreplaceable man. Whether he decides it is time to just play at retirement or to combine work and play is the mystery to be solved. Judging by the travel schedule Mary has planned, he may have no choice but to play with family and the joys of Moss Creek and Hilton Head. Will he crave the mental challenge of work? I don’t know him enough to say, but I would guess that a full retirement may last a year. On the other hand, there is so much to do in this area, that he may be able to fill every minute, and love each one. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jack’s passion, besides Mary, is photography. He took a course in photography while living in Chicago, where he and Mary raised their family. He has a great camera with all the bells and rings and fancy lenses. He showed me photographs on his computer and he definitely has an eye for design and context. He has plenty of subject material in this part of the country. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">If he takes glamour photos, he might want to use his wife as his muse.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mary is a beautiful woman who is a retired 5th grade teacher. Intelligent and generous, this incredible lady keeps herself busy every minute of her retirement. Mary exercises daily, takes classes, sews, tells Jack where to dig holes in the yard, makes all the travel plans, and then, she volunteers for the Sea Turtle Conservation Program on Hilton Head Island a few days each week. This program is devoted to protecting and monitoring the Loggerhead Sea Turtle population and Mary became quite animated as she described seeing the new hatchlings scurry to the ocean. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On Hilton Head Island, several months of the year during Loggerhead egg laying and hatching season, all beach residents have to turn off their outside lights at night. The baby turtles tear out of their soft shells, and crawl toward the light. You see, at night, the moon and starlight flickers on the ocean, and the hatchlings have the instinct to go toward the light, where the ocean is. I thought that it would be the smell of saltwater, but no, it is the visual display of light on the water. Outside lights on a patio can confuse the lil guys, so no porch or veranda lights allowed. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So Mary helps keep count of the turtles and has been picking up knowledge about these water loving reptiles by listening to docents and scientists. She may go to “Docent College” in the future, so she can lead parties of interested visitors in observing the turtles. There is a turtle hospital where you can see adult loggerheads up close. The best chance to see them in the wild is from May through October. The adults lay about 120 eggs per nest. Generally, only one turtle of this clutch survives to adulthood, the rest being lost to preditors within the first three days. A Loggerhead generally doesn’t lay eggs til age 25. They are gorgeous, spotted turtles and a fascinating reptile to study.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, what are Mary’s passions, besides sea-loving turtles and their 3 grown children? Learning. She spent her working years as a teacher and took pride and pleasure in working with the children and seeing the lights in their eyes when they learned a new concept. She is an educator through and through and I could’ve talked to her for hours about the things this petite woman can converse about with authority. She is a generous teacher, methinks. So, now, after the next planned year of traveling to visit her 3 children and their new families, she will take advantage of OLLI. This is the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute. Mary says she can take classes for $85 per semester and learn just about anything she wants: local history, civil war history, current issues, art, philosphy, music, etc. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">For an artistic outlet, Mary sews. She is learning to do some quilting, but she has spent some years making machine embroidered gifts for family and friends. She has a sewing machine that will get up and play fetch for her, if she requests it. She programs in a pattern on the sewing machine software, and then changes thread colors as needed, while the machine whirrs along, spinning it’s textile magic. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mary keeps up on technology and uses an iPad for communications, learning, photos, etc. She took an OLLI class on iPads so she can more fully utilize this fascinating tool. Between Mary and Jack, they are keeping up with the fast paced world of electronic communications. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That Friday night, Peter and I went on a date to The Old Oyster Factory, located on Hilton Head and overlooking the marshes and water. It was a beautiful night: we ate outside on the patio and enjoyed our moments together.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Saturday, October 5th, 2013.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This is my mother’s birthday. I was glad to spend it with Peter’s family. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mary and Jack enjoy friends and family coming to visit. They are rightfully proud of their beautiful home at Moss Creek and are generous with their hospitality. They drove Peter and I into “Old Bluffton”, which consists of a few blocks of artistic businesses and homes converted to shops and cafes. We visited a pottery shop where Mary had previously commissioned a coffee table top of glazed tiles. This is a gorgeous custom-made, glazed tile representation of a map of the Hilton Head Island area. Apparently, this artist, who works on commission and partners with the shop owner, specializes in custom pottery maps---and they are hot sellers. You can tell her what map you want, where you live, and she will recreate it in clay. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mary and Jack introduced us to the beloved owner of the shop, Jake. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jake is a tall, talented craftsman who has run his shop for several decades. He is so busy that he is thinking of making an exit and retiring. He not only sculpts and makes pottery from his own ideas, but also makes sinks and functional items by order. His bakeware can go into the oven or microwave and his sinks are sturdy enough to withstand a glass falling and breaking against the sides. The ocean motif was apparent in most of the work and dolphins and turtles artfully graced his sinks and pots. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jake and his wife love to travel. He told the story of how he and a friend manned a sailing skiff to the Azores, crossing the Atlantic toward Portugal. The wives flew in, meeting them on the islands. They had battled some exciting storms out on the ocean and faced the high wind and waves, wondering if they would survive. They sailed the vessel in to England, where it rests. He still loves sailing and hopes for future adventures on the high seas. In the meantime, he and his wife keep fit by riding their bicycles almost daily. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After the drive into Old Bluffton, we enjoyed a trip in the surrounding countryside as Jack gave us a tour of several miles on the road I would likely travel on Monday. It assuaged our curiosity just to know what I would be facing. That night, we all went to dinner at The Boathouse. This was another restaurant overlooking the water. We arrived close to sunset and enjoyed watching the sun glisten on the water. The “no-see-ems” and mosquitoes had a heyday on Virginia’s legs and the first 20 minutes of sitting inside were a bit miserable for her. But icewater and white vinegar reduced the itch and she was able to eat in peace. I had a delectable dish of vegetarian “sushi”, one of my favorite meals. This is basically shredded vegetables and cream cheese wrapped in seaweed. Yummmm!!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Once back at Mary and Jack’s house, we all enjoyed a glass of wine from their well stocked bar. Well, most of us did, anyway. Peter took the opportunity to practice his bartending skills and made a martini for he and his sister. This was living the life. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sunday, October 6th, 2013.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This predicted a sad day, but everyone contrived to make it a wonderful one, nevertheless. The family met at the restaurant at Moss Creek for an incredible brunch. Then, Peter and I took one last walk together along the marsh. Later, Peter packed his bags and we all headed for Savannah, so Peter could catch his flight back to Lubbock.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This was an example of Jack and Mary’s generosity. Again.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I hadn’t planned on going to the airport, because Peter had a rental car and I assumed he would drive off by himself. But Jack and Mary said, “No”. I would ride with Peter to the airport, where he would return the car. We would all meet inside the building, chat for a few more minutes as a family, then he would go through security and board the plane. After that, Jack and Mary had plans for me. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, no one let me cry.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After big hugs, Peter went through security to catch his westward flights. Mary and Jack swept me into their car and took me for a tour in historic Savannah. It is one of the cities I have wanted to visit for a long time but I wasn’t going to see it on this cycling trip. What a gift they had given me. Since Savannah is only about 30 miles from their home, they have visited this incredible city several times. Every out-of-state visitor who has come to visit them has wanted to see it, so Mary and Jack have become quite familiar with its charms. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Savannah was originally designed on a city layout of 24 squares---these are like grassy parks surrounded by neighborhoods. Originally, these miniature parks were utilized for family fun, games, courtship, and local town meetings. Now, each one of these parks has a statue or fountain or piece of artwork that depicts some historical or memorable fact about the area. The homes are generally Victorian in style. They are simply gorgeous. Some are fantastically maintained, but they all retain their charm, regardless of condition. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mary and Jack pointed out numerous homes with double staircases leading to the front doors. In the Victorian era, it was a bit improper to see a lady’s ankles, so the men and women climbed a separate set of stairs, facing each other, for the sake of propriety. Of course, all those who are familiar with the Victorian era know that, for all the outward signs of propriety and “decency”, it was really quite a wild time. Kind of like Prohibition. It seems to me that the man, who could climb stairs faster than the lady in her big, heavy skirts and slippery shoes, would be at the top of the stairs waiting for the lady to catch up. Of course, she would be lifting the front of her skirt to keep from tripping over it. So, the gent, in the guise of being proper and gentlemanly, would actually see a good bit of calf, knee, and petticoat! It makes me laugh!! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Going against nature is an exercise in futility. Trying to prevent a man from looking at a woman is a prime example. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">St John’s Basilica in Savannah was magnificent from the outside, This famous church was undergoing renovation and repair, so it was locked tight and we couldn’t go inside. Luckily, Jack had several photographs from their many trips there, so I was able to see the incredible design, paintings, and stained glass wonders--- in pictorial form. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After driving through the streets and a short walk through a few neighborhoods, we went to the area along the Savannah River. This tourist favorite consists of the old brick and stone river district that has been converted to a haven of cool shops and restaurants. Tourists walk along cobblestone and brick streets and enjoy the fresh seafood and delicacies along the path. There are steep staircases for the pedestrians to get from the Savannah city streets down to the river district. It is another delightful, quaint area of Savannah.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I could scratch the trip to Savannah off my bucket list now. But maybe I would like to come back for 3-4 days and really immerse myself in Savannah. Maybe Peter would like to go...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That last night in the Hilton Head area, at Moss Creek with Jack and Mary, consisted of eating trailmix, perusing photos, doing laundry, and receding into cycling mode. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What a truly magical land. </span></div>
Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-9236585018000277152013-09-27T17:18:00.005-07:002013-09-27T17:18:51.045-07:00Carolina On My Mind<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Monday, September 23rd, 2013.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">HD and I hit the road shortly after 7 am, attempting to miss some of the Wilmington traffic but still late enough to have good morning light. Traffic was thick in the midst of Wilmington, but sidewalks made it manageable. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We arrived at the Fort Fisher ferry shortly after 10 and had a 45 minute wait for the next one on the schedule. There was a single vehicle in line, so I pulled up beside her on the grass. Shortly thereafter, the driver got out of the car to say hello. This was Angie, a beautiful self-proclaimed “hobo”. She is 46 years old, but looks a good 10 years younger, with her fresh face and long wavy blonde hair. She said she had been on the road, off and on, for over a year. She had traversed the country, even to Alaska and back, stopping at her home territory to visit her daughters in Kansas between trips. WIth Kansas as a home base, she had traveled in all directions, like the spokes of a wheel. To finance her trip by car, she worked for brief periods in Alaska and Florida, picking up a few days here and there between those 2 states. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Angie started her family young, raised them, and then decided to do what she always wanted to do---travel and just see what’s out there. I understood entirely. After all, I’m doing pretty much the same thing, but by cycle rather than by car. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Angie tries not to overplan things. That is probably where we differ. I spend quite a bit of time on maps and making decisions. Part of this is due to necessity. I can’t ride on just any road I might choose, but have to travel those roads that are legal, somewhat legal, and safest. I always have a place to sleep---whether it be in a motel room or in my tent in an established campground or with a family, friend, or good samaritan. Angie sleeps in her vehicle, a Sienna, with the back seats down and tricked out like a little bedroom. Often this is in a Walmart parking lot or in a quiet neighborhood. She finds various places to shower---a park, truck stop, or campground. However, it is not in her budget to stay in motels or campgrounds. She cooks her food on a single burner propane campstove, often purchasing 1 to 3 days worth of food at roadside stands, farmers’ markets, or the occasional grocery store. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When not driving to a new location, Angie rides her bike around town, does yoga, and plays hula hoop for exercise. She is redefining what “play” means to her and she says she has learned to live in the moment. Before leaving home and hearth, she raised her children and, once they were established, and her mother passed away (sound familiar so far?), she sold her house and most of her worldly possessions, and took off on the road. She is single and beautiful and kindhearted and not sure if she is ready for another romantic relationship. She has been divorced 6 years, as have I. We laughed at the similarities in our journeys. I talked to her about meeting people through POF--Plenty of Fish, or maybe Match.com. That way, she can take her time and just talk to people. She is a bit afraid of the dating scene, but the internet dating thing might help her take it slowly. Many of these sites allow you to specify if you just want friendship, a penpal, dating, or a serious relationship. In the meantime, she travels alone.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Once the cars drove onto the ferry, the cyclists were instructed to board. I was parked by a husband and wife cycling couple, Rich and Gwen. This was a very attractive pair: healthy, active, and friendly. Rich is “semi-retired”, having worked for several years in communication technology and software development. Now, he works part time, choosing jobs that interest him. This keeps him busy but perhaps busier than he wants sometimes. He is very athletic and would love nothing better than to actively play every day. As it is, he cycles and runs and swims. He and a friend get together once a week for “boot camp”, which is a very serious exercise program that lasts 60-90 minutes. He and his buddy plan out the evening’s bootcamp, which generally consists of a combination of several strenuous exercise regimens, sequenced without rest. So, a session might include 15 minutes of stair running, crawling several hundred feet, jumping over hurdles or even with a jumprope, push ups, running, and calisthenics. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Gwen has worked with her husband for several years, which is easier some days than others. Both Rich and Gwen are passionate for outside exercise, cycling, and water sports. Gwen thoroughly enjoys travel.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As we were discussing these things, the captain of the ferry, MaryBeth, came to chat with us. She is a confident woman with a beautiful smile, bright eyes, and thick brown hair, which she had tied back in a pony tail. She has been running this ferry over 15 years. She also recently opened her own watersport business. She rents out boats, kayaks, and paddle surfboards. She teaches lessons on their use and leads water expeditions for individuals and groups. She gave out her business cards upon our request. I imagine that Rich and Gwen may visit her shop! I know I certainly would if I lived here. I absolutely love to get out on the water in a kayak and would really enjoy learning how to do that paddle surfing. Her business is called Southport Paddle & Sail. Owner Captain MaryBeth Ray.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After deboarding the ferry, I cycled across the parking lot to the information center to consult my maps and figure out where I was going. I met up with Angie and invited her to my campsite for the night as she did not have a planned spot to stay and I wanted to get to know her a little better. She agreed to the plan, offering to make me dinner in return. I couldn’t beat that for a good deal so we parted for the day and she went on to play on the beach while I made my way, cycling with Henry David.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I had to cycle on hwy 17 for about 8-9 miles and North Carolina had the bright idea of giving about 24 inches of shoulder and then putting the ribs on 18 inches of that. This meant either riding in the traffic or in the grass and sand. The traffic suggested I stick to the grass and sand, so the speed of travel slowed down markedly at that point. Once off the 17, it was bliss once again, and I met Angie at the SeaMist Campground, about 35 miles from the ferry landing in Southport. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This campground is on the intracoastal waterway and its lovely marshes. We were sent to the far corner of the campground and it appeared as if at least 90% of the campers there were semi-permanent to permanent residents, living in their large RVs. We were camped at the edge of the marsh with water birds walking ginergly through the shallow waters and mud. All night, we could hear the bubbling of the air and water through the mud. It was a really cool experience. Angie and I took a walk to the water’s edge and meandered along the short strip of beach, returned to camp, and she made a stir fried veggie dish and pasta. Marvelous! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Angie and I talked about past loves and heartbreaks, our children, travel, work, and parts of the country we particularly enjoyed. Like me, she loves warm weather and the ocean. While on her travels, she goes to the beach as often as she can, and “plays”. Sometimes people stare but she tries not to let that stop her from simply enjoying each moment. She says she has enjoyed the solitude but, like me, she texts her family often in the evening. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Here are a few of her traveling experiences.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She worked for 2-3 months in Florida, painting interior walls in a mansion. She even was able to hire a few workers, whom she paid with her own earnings. Living simply, this money then funded the next several months of travel. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She worked for some summer months last year in Alaska. Even though it was the warm season, she found it somewhat depressing because it was often cloudy and rainy and she loves the sunshine. She really loved Oregon, but again, the coastal areas she prefers tend to be too cloudy and grey for too many days of the year. So, she continues to search for a possible landing place.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She sleeps in her car, often in a Walmart parking lot. Recently, she stayed there for 4 days. There was, of course, no cost to parking there overnight, and she found a place she could shower for free. She could have stayed longer, but felt she would just take root and she felt she needed to move on. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Once, in a Walmart parking lot, in the middle of the night when she was asleep, a man tried to break into her car. She heard him checking out the doors and she sat up, very frightened and alarmed, and yelled out, “Hey, what are you doing?” Thankfully, he ran off. But, since then, she tends to ensure she is in her vehicle with all the doors locked and the windows open minimally. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I’m grateful for the campgrounds. Now more than ever. I am grateful for those people who have helped me along the way.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tuesday, September 24, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I left the next morning around 7:20 am and cycled into South Carolina. Shortly after crossing into South Carolina, I was back on Hwy 17, again with those nasty ribs. I learned that Carolinians, North AND South, don’t like to move out of their lanes on the highway, even when there is plenty of room. Maybe it is because the road is flat and fast and they get into a groove and really aren’t used to seeing cyclists on the highways. Luckily, it was “only” about 10 miles of that nasty road before I could get off and use city roads, as the Myrtle Beach area and surrounding burgs welcomed me. In Myrtle Beach itself, right along Ocean or Beach Blvd, the closest street to the ocean, there were bike lanes and the traffic was light and slow. It was so wonderful to be near the ocean again.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Myrtle Beach was just fun. If I were a college gal of 18-24, this would be a really enjoyable place to come for spring and summer break. It is also a perfect place for families. There were so many inexpensive miniature golf parks ($5/day!!!), arcades, restaurants, and carney rides, that it could keep kids entertained for days. I passed through the hotel district with the several story high hotels for the more financially endowed, and then through the adorable beachy motel areas too. I figured the prices would be well over $100 for the beach cottages, which looked like they were in great shape. The Hilton type hotels must run $200-300 per night, I figured. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, I made my way to the Myrtle Beach KOA, where I got my campsite at 35% off (10% because I’m a member, with another 25% off because the “off season” started this week). Still, at 35% off, my rate was $39, higher for a KOA campsite than any other KOA I had visited. Later that evening, while on the lookout for vittles, I saw that the </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px; text-decoration: underline;">motels</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> right along the oceanfront had dropped prices to $39 for a side view room and $49 for ocean view. Some of the bigger hotels weren’t much higher!! I had spent the same amount on a campsite! LOL!!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, if you want to visit Myrtle Beach for low, low cost, take a trip right after the first day of fall. The hotels are cheap and every price drops, but the weather is still fantastic. In fact, it won’t be as hot and humid as during the high volume midsummer. I passed so many stores that had sales for “$5 for Everything” or “Everything is 7 dollars!” All the entertainment businesses were competing for business, so I bet that even in the middle of the summer, you could enjoy a week there for a reasonable cost. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The KOA spot was really nice, even if it was pricey. All the sites are spacious and under tall trees. The tent was smoothly laid over a bed of soft pine needles. I texted Angie; she was still in the area and joined me for another night camping. I spent the afternoon doing my exercises, showering, and then doing laundry. I traded out my predictable novel for a different one at the KOA game room. Maybe this one would capture my attention better. Even under the trees, far from the office, the internet signal was good and strong, so Angie and I listened to music on Pandora. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Angie demonstrated her hula hoop skills. She was really good! She could do the typical waist and hip hula twirls, but also could get it rolling around arm, elbow, shoulder, and hand and could switch it from one arm to the other without missing a beat, even behind her back! I really liked it when she stood on one foot and whirled that hoop around her knee, while she grasped the foot of the other leg behind her, arching her back and still hula-ing that hoop around her knee. I snapped a few photos, but they didn’t really catch what I was seeing.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We went out that night for pizza and bought the one topping pizza on sale, leaving enough leftovers for the next day for both of us. We went to our beds, after having a wonderful day. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wednesday, September 25th, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Another early morning when it was light enough for safe travel, and HD and I were on our way, seeking out MacDonalds coffee on Highway 17. Today was a relatively short day to Georgetown, but I wasn’t feeling that great anyway, so I was glad to stop. While the mileage was only about 40 miles, most of them were on that contrary road, although the bridges over the Waccamaw and Sampit Rivers were great. I was feeling a little headachey, which was quite rare, so I checked into the Baymont Inn for a great off season price, with the assistant manager giving me additional discounts for coming in on Henry David. He has been able to get me a few good deals, lemme tell ya! For the challenges he provides via width and weight, he has more than made up for it by helping me make a few friends and he has given me thousands of smiles from strangers. I hope that he has inspired a few folks to follow their dreams.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Ain’t nothing like it. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I sat in the motel and did a lot of writing. In the evening, it rained for quite awhile, so I was glad to have the nice room in which I stayed dry. Even HD was inside. Right behind my room, right outside the window, was another marsh, connecting to the rivers I had crossed earlier that day. I watched an episode or two of “Once Upon A Time” on my MacBook via Netflix, and settled into a big bed with really fluffy pillows. My headache passed.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Thursday, September 26th, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The next morning, I was up and HD was packed by 7. I took advantage of the continental breakfast, and set out on the road. It was over 65 miles to the KOA in Ladson. This was a very rural day, with small towns spread far apart as I traveled through wooded areas. I did have a few miles of a protected bike path outside of Georgetown through the marsh areas. I was beginning to see more Spanish moss and the weather was more humid here. I liked it!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">About 8 miles from Jamestown, near the Francis Marion National Forest, I popped the chain off the front derailleur, and it jammed betweed the sprocket and the derailleur bar. It took a few minutes of greasy work to get it back on, but then my front derailleur would no longer shift gears. It would run on the smallest front sprocket and so I used the rear gears to make the trike “rideable”. Still, I knew I needed to find a bike shop. I looked at the derailleur but couldn’t see anything very clearly. Better find someone with better eyesight and a lot more know-how! All the towns---all two of them, that is---between my location and Ladson, my destination, were pretty small. Even Ladson was a relatively rural town. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, I cycled on to the nearest town on my route, Jamestown, and stood up with iPhone in hand to see if I should go to Charleston instead. While I peered at the iPhone screen, a young man stopped and asked where I was traveling. When I told him briefly about the trip, he asked what were a few of the remarkable experiences. I told him about the deer and how curious they are and how I come upon them before they move away. I told him I had met some of the most hospitable people in the world. He asked where I was heading and I explained that I was heading for Ladson but maybe I should go to Charleston, because of the gear shift issue. He advised Charleston for sure, and hey, did I want a ride? He would be driving right next to a bike shop. He had an SUV and was pulling a metal trailer. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This was almost too funny. I had talked to Peter the night before (I believe I have mentioned him once or twice), and told him that I sometimes feels as if I travel in a bubble of protection. The weather has been great, people have been friendly, deals fall into my lap, and, when I need help, people just show up. They just show up. I haven’t had to flag anyone down. They just show up and offer. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This kind young man, Barclay, said he was on his way home with this trailer, which belonged to his parents-in-law, and he would be passing right by the bike shop where he bought his own road bike. I said, “Sure!” I purchased rope at the convenient store and Barclay tied HD down and off we went to Mount Pleasant, which is just north of Charleston. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When riding down that road, I was so grateful for the assistance. The road was busy, narrow, and had those dag-gum ribs! Barclay called it a death trap, for cars too! I’m hoping to reach better highways soon. Riding those ribs shakes my brain in its cage.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, Barclay. He has a degree in business, I believe, and, with a former college friend, they recently purchased a medical software business. He had spent that very morning at a hospital in Charleston, consulting with them on how to better manage their medical and business information. Barclay is a father of 3 small children: ages 4, 2, and 2 months. His wife takes care of the little ones during the day, but it is very taxing and he tries to help as much as he can while still running this new business. His stress level is high, but he feels that he is young and able to handle it for now. He loves to ride his own road bike and tries to get in at least a few hours each week. He was full of questions and he impressed me as a very bright young man. His wife called, wondering what was taking him so long to get home. He sent her a message back, explaining his morning events and the additional act of coming to the rescue of a lady on a trike. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Thank you, Barclay, for taking the time to help me out!!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">John, at the Bike Shoppe in Mt Pleasant, took care of HD right away. He checked the twist shifter and its cable and then the cable wires at the derailleur. With his keen eyesight, he found that the thin cable wire had slipped off its housing and he was able to slide it back on. Even with my reading glasses, I had a hard time seeing it, but I eventually focused and saw what needed to be done the next time this happens. I sure am learning a lot. I am very grateful for so many things---to HD and the shop folks who made him, for the fact that every snag has brought more blessings than hardships, for Barclay who got me through a tough spot, and John for seeing the cable and setting it to rights. He wouldn’t even let me pay him. He even advised I leave the trike there while I went next door to MacDonalds for coffee and to plan my spot to land for the night. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I took him up on that suggestion and, after about an hour of searching and checking distances, costs, etc, I made a choice of Motel 6 on the southwest side of Charleston. It was about 15 more miles and I had 2 bridges to cross. It was a good decision. The Charleston bridges were wonderful. The largest, northeastern bridge, had a huge, separate walk/bikeway. It was peopled with runners, walkers, and cyclists, who apparently enjoy the bridge for the exercise it provides in such a cool setting, overlooking the Charleston Bay.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Going through Charleston itself, a bit northwest of the downtown center, was great. Some of the streets were a bit rough, but I also had the great opportunity to cycle through a part of the college district. Young and beautiful and bright college students were out and about, heading home from class, on foot and cycle. The energy was contagious. Charleston is steeped in history and I was told of several Must See places to visit. Alas, not on this trip. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After the second bridge, I followed my google bike map suggestions to find a bike path to the motel. But it was in terrible shape and then, after 1/4 mile on the rutted, dirt and sand path, it was closed for repair. That’s good---it needs some work. I made it to the Motel 6 around 5 pm. I chatted with the 2 folks behind the desk, both of whom were gorgeous and looked younger than their years. What is it about Charleston??? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The parking lot and walkways of the Motel 6 were filled primarily with working men. In fact, I didn’t see a woman until the following morning, leaving with her husband. This left me fair game, or not so fair, for any man walking across the parking lot at the same time as I. Some curious, some drunk and flirtatious, but all very nice. I demurely extricated my arm from the amiable drunk young man who does some pretty good impressions of famous people, and kept me entertained for several minutes. Still, I didn’t want “that much” company. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The motel is very inexpensive and offers no frills, except 2 HBO channels on the small telly. But I needed cheap and I didn’t need the frills. Location and price were far more important. The motel is next to a MacDonalds (great coffee) and a Piggly Wiggly grocery store. About 1/2 mile away is the Citadel Mall. It is also just about the closest motel to the south end of Charleston, making my exit just a little quicker. Perfect.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Thursday, September 27th, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After a quiet night in my room with good HBO and even better telephone conversations, I awakened and couldn’t sleep past 6:30. Positioned right next to the junction of a freeway and hwy 17, the motel walls could not hold back the sound of the morning traffic. I’m used to getting up and packing HD by this time anyway. So, I got some coffee, did my exercises, communicated with all my children, wrote lists, updated my contact information, addressed postcards, organized my mess, and took a shower. After that, I took the short hike to the mall and spent the afternoon wandering around the stores, ate an incredible meal of stir fried veggies and fried rice at the mall food court (only $3.75 for a full plate!), and wrote more on this blog. Now, I’m back in my room, having doused my brain with more coffee from MacDonalds, and on the computer to write some more. Really, I have been writing, rewriting, and editing the blogs for the last 2 weeks. Tonight will be tidying up the blogs, posting them, and then getting ready for my exodus tomorrow. Will head out of Chucktown (local nickname for Charleston) and head for the KOA in Yemassee. I will stay there a few days and then: Hilton Head Island, Ho!!!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Have a good night, all you family and friends. I love each and every one of you. My horoscope from the Chucktown Coffee News said I feel most beautiful when bringing joy to those I love. I hope I can give back the joy that all of you have given me. My wrinkles could use a lift...</span></div>
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Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-57537502208402869652013-09-27T17:15:00.002-07:002013-09-27T17:15:36.818-07:00North Carolina Lovely<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">September 17th, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">An early exit from the Virginia Beach KOA was executed---attempting to beat the work and school traffic. Getting out of VB was a challenge as there was no room for HD’s back end, which meant a lot of work on sidewalks, dirt, grass, and gravel. Once out of the city, I took country roads almost all the way to Elizabeth City. I crossed the Virginia/North Carolina border at 11 am and stopped at a border store to buy coffee and send iPhone photos to a few family members and friends to commemorate the crossing. It was truly a beautiful day and I enjoyed the country roads. A few wrong turns were suggested from the iPhone maps--”wrong” because they were dirt roads. I had to do some rerouting, but still made good time. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">No significant conversations occurred this day, which is sometimes a pleasant change in which I can just be quiet and enjoy the air. However, I did meet a retired gent about 10 miles from Elizabeth City on a recumbent trike. He was riding a “tadpole”, while mine is a “delta”. The tadpole has 2 wheels in front and the delta has the double wheels at the rear. He was out getting his mail from the PO down the street. He loves to cycle his recumbent and sometimes drives to Elizabeth City, with his trike loaded in the truck. Then he rides the pretty streets of that larger, picturesque town. He loves the outdoors and used to ride a bicycle. Now, he uses the recumbent trike and balance is no longer a concern.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I stayed at the Days Inn in a modest room. It was a quiet, lovely day, once out of the Virginia Beach traffic.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">September 18th, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Google maps for cycling and for walking both suggested I travel almost exclusively on Hwy 17. However, the traffic was thick and it wasn’t always a tricycle friendly road through North Carolina, so I mapped my own route through neighborhoods and country roads. This turned out to be a great ride, even if I did have to consult the iPhone GPS regularly. I found alternate routes for this and that river crossing and, when I made it to Hertford, I called the NC-DOT about the Chowan River vs Albemarle Sound crossing. The lady from the NC-DOT referred me to the local police of the Plymouth, NC area. So, I called the police and spoke to Sargeant Forbes, who sounded like a helpful young man, proud of his official position. He told me he would find a way to help me. It was illegal for me to cross the Chowan River on Hwy 17, as it was a 70 mph zone at that point. However, it was legal to cross the 4 mile bridge over the Albemarle Sound. Yet, it was not considered safe. I had spent a restless evening the previous night, knowing that crossing this large waterway was on the agenda for today. I had looked up satellite pics of both crossings. The hwy 17 crossing was shorter but considered “controlled access”. Technically, that means no bikes. However, let it be known that, when no other option is open, it is legal to use these roads. Perhaps not advisable, however! Well, the long bridge over the Albemarle Sound, a few miles south of the hwy 17 bridge, was an old bridge with short cement walls and no shoulders and basically just a 2 lane road with traffic going in opposite directions. I had watched a YouTube video of a group of cyclists who rode that bridge, taking up both lanes. I knew it was “bike approved”. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, Sargeant Forbes told me to phone him back when I was at the Albemarle Sound bridge, which is also called the Haughton Rd bridge and includes local hwys 32 and 94. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When I reached the mouth of the bridge, I saw that, midway across the sound, the bridge held a steep grade. A cyclist sign by the bridge warned of low walls and high crosswinds.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Yikes!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I called Sargeant Forbes and he said he would see if any of his men were available and he would call me back. If they were unavailable, I said I would just go ahead and cross it. This was ok with him as far as legality was concerned, but I think he was maybe a bit concerned. Right after we closed our conversation, a state trooper showed up, getting ready to close my lane of the bridge road so that a few slow moving truck-trailers with wide, heavy loads could cross. Perfect timing! He advised that I wait a few minutes so he could contact the truck drivers and then he would come back to close the lane. While the road was closed to other vehicles, I could cross at the same time! He took off across the bridge and, within a few minutes, Sargeant Forbes called me back to tell me there was a State Trooper getting ready to block traffic anyway. I laughed and told him I had met the trooper already and we were all on the same page. So, I was able to cross that low, narrow, long bridge over the Albemarle Sound in perfect peace. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Timing is everything. So is a well placed blessing. I understand a few folks are out there praying. Thank you. Sometimes I feel as if I’m in a protected bubble, surrounded by a thin, invisible force field. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After crossing the Haughton Rd Bridge, I cycled several more miles through quiet country highways and roads to Plymouth, NC. I used back roads in Plymouth itself but had to circle round to Hwy 64, as all the motels were along that major byway. I found a reasonably priced room at the Port O Plymouth Inn, which was next to a MacDonalds and the Piggly Wiggly. Perfect location.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The best part? Meeting Anna at the front desk of the Port O Plymouth Inn. A lively, vivacious lady with the coolest braided hair, which included a spiraled braid at the right forehead and balanced with a corresponding spiral in the back. She saw Henry David and had many questions. Her mother was sitting next to her and within seconds we were laughing and swapping stories. Anna and her mom have lived here all their lives. Anna’s mom said that her passion is her family and doing good things for others. Anna loves her children and meeting people on the job. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Anna is connected in that town. She asked when I planned to leave in the morning as she knew the staff at the local newspaper. I told her 8 am, although I’ve actually been getting out a bit earlier than that, now that the days are getting shorter. I checked into my room, which was spacious and comfy and clean. Anna called my room within 15 minutes, asking if I would be willing to stay just a few extra minutes in the morning because the newspaper editor/reporter was coming to interview me. Anna had also called the mayor (!) who sent his greetings and expressed regret that he had commitments and could not come meet me. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Basically, Anna rolled out the red carpet. What a lady!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I walked to the Piggly Wiggly and picked up food to make dinner in my room, and settled in for a quiet night. In the morning, I went to the breakfast nook at the inn and met Jimmy, the morning clerk. The reporter, Bethany, had just called to see if I was around. Jimmy called her back and we did a phone interview. Apparently, she enjoyed the interview so much that she showed up about 15 minutes later to take pictures! Anna and her mom came by as well and we got a photo opp with everyone.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Before I left, Jimmy got on the trike and had his photo taken. He was a real sweetheart. He is 70 years old and says he never wants to fully retire. He enjoys meeting people when he is working at the motel and this gets him up out of the house, which helps keep him physically and emotionally healthy. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We shared hugs and warm good byes and I left the Port O Plymouth Inn, feeling as if my heart had been touched by these wonderful people.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Thursday, September 19, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">HD and I cycled off from Plymouth around 8:30, going through city streets to avoid Hwy 64 where we could, and making it out of Plymouth about 9 am. We followed mostly quiet roads the rest of the day, with intermittent mileage on major highways. The farms have been harvesting the corn now. Here in this part of North Carolina, I saw a lot of cotton and peanut fields. I started seeing signs for boiled peanuts, which is a local southern favorite. I saw fields of a plant that looks like corn, with the long blades like corn stalks. But the plant is shorter and the grainhead was thicker, not like a corn tassle. This is grain sorghum, which grows in tropical and subtropical climates. I guess I’m not in the north anymore!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On this day, Henry David and I cycled to Kinston. This is a fairly large city with an exuberant population. I received catcalls, whistles, waves, shoutings of good cheer and blessings, and smiles throughout the city. As vibrant and friendly as the people may be, the town looks somewhat ragged and poverty striken. I found a room at the Super 8. Well, it really wasn’t the Super 8, although the sign was still up. Apparently, it changed hands a few years ago, and the lady at the desk told me the motel was closing in 3 weeks. Not even a buyer. Right on the highway, but conveniently located to the grocery store and basic chain fast food joints, this little motel had definitely seen better days. But it did offer a pauper’s continental breakfast in the morning. Since I am traveling cheap, this was fine with me!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But, there was one issue that really saddened me about this Super 8 that wasn’t really a Super 8. I don’t even know its real name. That’s not the sad part.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There were over a dozen feral kitties in the parking lot in different stages of poor health. Quiet, hungy cats, limping, moving slowly, looking hopefully up to passersby. Kittens with oozing eyes and noses. Some too weak to even move out of the driveway. My heart absolutely broke. They would be incredibly easy to catch, neuter, and disperse to homes. But, in this poor town, apparently there were no takers for the dozens of homeless cats in the streets. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I was advised to put the trike in my room or I would have a feline hitchhiker in the morning. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was enough to make me cry. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">In the morning, I cycled away from that sad motel with the sadder cats, who watched me leave as they remained behind, sick and hungry.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Friday, September 20, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">For lack of options, I cycled to Jacksonville, NC on all highways, primarily on US-258/NC-24. These were actually fine roads, perhaps because they were quiet highways with enough of a shoulder that I could listen to my iPod and groove along. I went to the Cabin Creek Campground a bit to the south of Jacksonville, NC. It was along the highway and next to a good convenient store. The tent area was located way at the far, back corner of the campground. I was the only tenter there, which was really pleasant. I was surrounded by tall pines and deciduous trees--perhaps elms? Each two sites shared a covered pavilion with 2 picnic benches. In the middle of the tent area, next to the two tiny latrines, was another pavilion with electricity available. I wrote a bit on my computer while hooked to the electricity. The poor cell phone signal and lack of internet that far from the campground office limited my ability to listen to Pandora or check maps or contact family. But it was peaceful and even nice to be so isolated for an evening. It meant curling up in the tent to read. And an early morning. It was a big day tomorrow, as I had plans to meet my longtime friend Carola in Wilmington. I could hardly sleep! Well, some rain in the middle of the night meant moving my tent under the pavilion closest to my tent, so that was a bit of an interruption. That, and the fact that all that afternoon and way into the night I could hear the wargames from the nearby training center: rapid-fire artillery like machine gun fire, explosions, and pops. I had learned that the coast from Virginia to South Carolina were thick with military installations. It was becoming familiar to see fighter jets zoom overhead in tandem. It was a bit unsettling--these signs of military prowess. I’m proud of our military, yet saddened by the fact that we humans are so uncivilized. Ah well. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I still enjoyed the Cabin Creek Campground, with its tall trees and shade, explosions notwithstanding.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Saturday, September 21st, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">HD and I got on the road at first light, zipping first to the convenient store next door for coffee. It was a misty morning that turned into rain, so it was a wet ride all the way to Wilmington. However, nothing could dampen my mood because I was going to meet Carola! I met Carola around 1991. We worked together at Alamogordo Physical Therapy, rapidly developing a strong friendship. Because I had moved around so much as a child, I had not made any strong female friendships since I left a few best friends behind in my youth as we moved. While the transcience of my youth made it difficult to create strong friendships, it made me very adaptable as well as comfortable in my own company. These are two necessary qualities for a long term solitary journey such as this one that I am on. I am grateful for my history.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But, for today, I was seeing Carola! I had not seen her for years and, since about 1992 when she moved away, I had seen her only three times. But, she is a true friend and will always be so. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, rain and wind only spurring me on, I zoomed into Wilmington and checked into the Comfort Inn by about 2:30 pm. I did my exercises and showered well before she arrived at 4:30. From then on, bliss. Simple bliss.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sometimes it is not what you do together, but just that you ARE together. Does that make any sense?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Carola said that a sign of a true friend is that, after many years apart, once together again, you can pick up where you left off as if time stood still. The depth remains. The love is as strong as ever. This is our friendship.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Carola works with seniors and specializes in dementia. She has her own business, providing personal care for the elderly. It is called CarolaCares. That’s about right! While she has several clients, she spends Monday through Friday taking care of a lovely woman with end stage Alzheimers. We have talked extensively about what she has learned about treating people with this horrible affliction. She has learned how to make their last months and days comfortable, peaceful, and free of fear. She is a patient woman, full of empathy and generosity. Carola grew up in post-WWII Germany and her experiences have shaped her into a woman who appreciates the value of life and how important it is to live a life with dignity. Having lived without the daily comforts you and I may take for granted, she lives very simply but appreciates beauty and the richness of life. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Carola brought a picnic basket and a cooler full of homemade salad, cheese, crackers, hummus, and fruit. She even brought a bottle of champagne to celebrate our friendship. When she arrived in the late afternoon, we chatted like a couple of cackling hens until we crashed around 10 pm. The next day, she drove me to see the Fort Fisher ferry I would be taking to exit Wilmington. Then we went to the beach and walked in the sand and continued our conversations. There was a lot of family happenings to discuss and we also talked “shop”; she never ceases to show me something new and precious. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Carola left in the late afternoon so she could return to work the next morning. What a gift to see her on this incredible journey. </span></div>
Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-24508840068286783902013-09-27T17:13:00.003-07:002013-09-27T17:13:47.350-07:00Their Own Chapter<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">September 14, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Red letter day, red letter day. One of my favorite experiences started today. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was a lovely night at the Tall Pines Harbor Campground the night before and I awakened early to pack up and head out. My camping neighbors in an RV came by while I was saddling up and we had a nice chat about travel. They live nearby but love to go camping, even if it’s only a 10 minute drive from their home. They had come to this campground with their good friends and had availed themselves of the opportunity to enjoy their friends’ deluxe camping vehicle. The woman loves horses and travel. (Was her name Marilyn?) It is now one week later that I am writing this journal entry and my memory is failing me. Anyway, this lovely lady brought me coffee!! This was quite welcome as there would be no caffeine opps for several miles. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was a lovely morning on the side roads for a few miles before reaching local hwy 316, which eventually joined that beautiful Hwy 13. The trees were thick and luscious and the local farmers waved as I cycled by. I went through the small town of Bloxom, I believe, and stopped at a little store that appeared to be a local favorite of the good ole boys club. This little club has members across the entire country, although they don’t know each other. They continue to solve the problems of the world while griping about the current issues at hand. I love these guys, while I usually disagree with the feasibility of their proferred solutions! I drank the great coffee and met Diane and Duck. Diane manages the store and Duck advises all his neighbors. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Diane loves to meet people, so she enjoys her job. She also takes care of Duck’s brother, who recently had a stroke. I was unsure if Duck’s brother was Diane’s husband or if maybe Duck himself was married to Diane. Inquiring minds want to know.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Duck received his nickname because he is a master woodcarver of duck and goose decoys. Some of the wooden fowl are used for hunting purposes and some of them are entered into local artshows. He enjoys finding ways to make his carvings look more realistic and explained how he paints the backs of the glass eyes on his geese decoys. This turns the eyes black, while preserving the reflective, glassy shine of actual goose orbs. These two folks are well liked by their neighbors, as the people popping into the humble shop gave them happy and teasing greetings.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My plan for the day was to go to Cherrystone Family Campground, which I heard was quite nice. I was almost to Exmore, VA (yes, now in Virginia!!), when I saw a little roadside stand and wheeled over. I purchased the last 3, very ripe peaches, with plans to eat them for dinner. They were soft and just right for “now”. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">About 1/4 mile further, I was approaching an empty corner lot off Hwy 13 where two ladies in a car had pulled over. A pretty, vivacious blonde with long, lean coltish legs, who was close to my own age, leapt out of the car and waved exuberantly. She called out, asking me to pull over. So I did.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This was Brenda, traveling with her good friend Sandy (whom Brenda affectionately calls Pinky). They had been on the road to pick up bug sprays and had passed me earlier. Brenda pointed me out to Sandy and asked if she should stop and see what I was doing if I were still on the road when they were heading back home. Sandy agreed to the plan and it was a a done deal.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Brenda was friendly, assertive, and open. I liked her immediately. She explained that they had seen me earlier and she wanted to know where I was going. I asked, Do you want to know where I am going today, or in general?” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She wanted to know where I started and where I was going to finish. She had noted the loaded down trike and my dark tan and knew that this was no “day ride”. I explained the rectangular route of the trip around the U.S. and she then asked me to come stay the night at her house. Her husband, Russ, was a long distance cyclist and hiker and they had a habit of snagging cyclists off the road to stay with them and share stories. This was an offer I could not refuse---except for the fact that I needed to get on the road early in the morning to get to the Chesapeake Bay Bridge/Tunnel Authority. I had called the tunnel offices earlier this week and the lady on the phone said they would find someone to drive me across. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Brenda responded, “No problem! We have a pickup and we will drive you across the bridge ourselves, if you like!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Did I like? Hella yeah, I liked!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, I went on to Exmore, stopped at a MacDonalds to make phone calls to ensure the bike shop was ready for me on Monday morning, and then headed for Eastville, Virginia to connect with my new friends.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Once in the tiny town of Eastville, I found a lone market, hoping to find fresh produce to offer my hosts. No luck, but I did pick up a bottle of white wine. This is clam and crustacean country and I figured white wine would be a good accompaniment. There were only 2 types, so I picked the “better” one, as if I know anything about wine. I assume the price tells you which one is best. Either way, we weren’t talking wine for connoisseurs in this little shop. Then I followed Brenda’s written directions to Smith’s Beach, which is a long street of neighbors whose homes hug the Chesapeake Bay and connecting coves. Russ later explained that their home is considered in “the Gulf”. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When I turned the last curve of Smith’s Beach Road, Sandy and her friends saw me first, called out, and I pulled in, about 2 houses from Brenda and Russ’ home. These friends were sitting out behind the house, watching the water in the Gulf, drinking wine and beer, and telling big stories. Sandy brought me a glass of red wine and I had the opportunity to meet the neighbors.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sandy is married to Patrick, or Pat. The next door neighbors are Mary and Jack, or Jackie. I also met Jimmy, the lone wolf of the group. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">These neighbors are trying to race toward retirement to enjoy the good life at Smith’s Beach. Sandy is a full time CPA and husband Pat works for TransAm. Mary is an educator and has taught high school history for several years although now enjoys being the very active high school librarian. Her husband Jackie is a retired shop teacher and now makes money renovating houses. Jimmy runs an events company--renting out equipment for big events like tents, chairs, etc. They all traipse back to Virginia or North Carolina on Sunday evening so that Mary, Patrick, and Sandy can go back to work. (Ooops. I am not supposed to use that word; they refer to it as “that nasty W word”.) Mary, Sandy, and Patrick hope to reach full retirement soon, so that they can stay in their vacation homes all year round. They head back to Smith’s Beach for most weekends and share a “mi casa es su casa” philosophy. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This end of the neighborhood family includes Brenda and Russ, Mary and Jackie, Sandy and Patrick, and Jimmy. Assorted dogs are included in the melee as well. Kitties do what kitties do---generally stay with their families in their own houses. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Every Saturday night that the gang is at Smith’s Beach means potluck time: each person brings whatever they have in the kitchen, usually to Mary’s house, and they share a meal. This often concludes with alchohol and a pit fire in the back yard while they watch the sun set over the water. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mary and Jackie renovate homes in their spare time and Mary has a passion for thrift stores and auctions. She had us all laughing as she described her antics at local estate auctions. At some point, the auctioneer decided she was a good asset to any sale, as Mary knows what is valuable and thus drives up the price of items that may have sold for next to nothing. She told of a pocketbook she was bidding on, and the “heinous ---” who had the audacity to bid against her. Mary stopped bidding at $600 and her opponent picked it up for $625. Mary said she could turn around and sell it for $10,000. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Now, that is SOME pocketbook! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There is an entire base of knowledge and research among collectors of art and valuables. Mary keeps her smartphone with her and checks resale value of the items she wants ahead of time, so she knows what she really wants to buy. Mary wins some and loses some, but, according to Sandy, it is very fun to attend any kind of sale or auction with her. The local auctioneer likes her so much that every once in a while, he throws her a good deal, shouting “sold” on her first bid, before anyone gets a chance to big against her. I asked if he could actually do that, wasn’t it against some sort of auctioneer’s code or rulebook? Mary said, “He’s the auctioneer. He can do whatever the ---- he wants!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jimmy has had a variety of jobs and had me laughing about his taxi driver days in the Bronx. (So THAT’S where his accent is from, I thought!). He said he drove in the days before the separating grille between front and back seats and he feared for his life or his innocence a few times. Due to the lack of separation from the driver and the customer, he heard arguments, lover’s tiffs, and heartwarming conversations as well. He is a crackerjack driver, anyway! Sandy insisted that the Smith’s Beach “family” deserves their own chapter in this journal. Here it is, Sandy!!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Their stories kept me laughing through 2 glasses of wine. Sandy kept me supplied from her well stocked outdoor bar she designed. I stood up, determined to go find Brenda. Sandy joined me and in 20 seconds, we were 2 doors down and here came Brenda up the drive, looking for me and wondering why I was taking so long to get to her house from Exmore. Sandy delivered me to Brenda and headed back to the party.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After sharing warm hello hugs, Brenda showed me around her place. It was simply wonderful. Brenda is an artist, and good lord, what an artist. She said she completes a painting in 1 to 3 hours. If it takes more than 3 hours, it is taking too much time, she said. Paintings were stacked all over the front room, with a current painting of a crane on the easel. Frames and frame parts leaned against walls, in preparation for final mounting of her artwork. She has an almost romantic impressionist style with long and soft brush strokes yet enough detail to make the painting quite realistic. She definitely has an artist’s eye and her work is so “ALIVE”! She does animal or pet portraits as a side commission job, but I truly enjoyed seeing what comes out of her own head. If she paints a woman from her own imagination, she always gives her a name, which makes her seem like a real woman. I felt myself warming up to these paintings as if they represented lovely, almost mysterious friends. Kind of like Brenda herself. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">If she is commissioned to do a portrait of a person, she gets to know them a little first, to get a feel for personality. Then it comes out in the painting itself. She has never taken any art lessons and is 100% self taught. She is what I consider an artist in her very soul. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She showed me the narrow, long room that holds her framing equipment. She was particularly pleased with this purchase, as it allows her to provide a complete painting, framed and all, at low cost and high speed. She paints in acrylics. When she is bored, she paints murals on walls. This was evidenced in Mary and Jackie’s home, whose walls were decorated with ocean and beach scenes of water, birds, and trees. Brenda often sells in galleries and works part time at the Red Queen Gallery in Onancock, VA, on the mainland, selling her artwork there as well. Her work sells almost as soon as it hits the market, as her prices are reasonable and her art is exceptional. Look for the work of BB Clark, if you go there. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Her home is covered in windows facing the water and a lovely wooden deck with a small pier or landing reaches lovingly over the water in their quiet little cove. She has 3 kayaks and goes out in the coves and inlets almost every day. She introduced me to Jessie, her lovely black lab mix. This is a lovely canine who is Brenda’s very shadow. What a smart dog, too. Every toy has a name and Brenda demonstrated Jessie’s intelligence with several commands and orders and even conversations, to which Jessie responded with perfection.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then I met Russ Sturgis, Brenda’s husband. A slender man with a history of ultra cycling and hiking trips, Russ was soft spoken but very friendly. The two of them made me feel immediately at home in their presence. I had the choice of the guest room (the cover was even turned down invitingly!) or the “screen house”. This is a screened porch, perched over the water in a small, quiet water inlet. A couch/settee with big cushions, a few end tables, adventure magazines, and a small fridge stocked with beer were the welcoming furnishings in this delightful room. Russ described how the guys all got together and built the house one weekend, with Russ’ designs and Jackie’s building experience. In fact, the men in this neighborhood family appear to truly enjoy building and doing projects together. Then they drink beer, congratulate each other, and relax in the evenings. It was all a very heartwarming picture. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Brenda and Russ had an outdoor shower added to their home so that they could wash off or shower after playing in the ocean water for the day. This little shower, outfitted with both solar and gas heated water options, was so popular that Sandy had one added to her beach home as well. I availed myself of the shower with the door at neck height, so I could shower and watch the sunset at the same time. It was a sensual experience.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We all got together at Mary’s house for the Saturday night potluck and it was truly wonderful. Mary showed me the murals Brenda had painted and I had the opportunity to meet more of their other neighbors, ArolAnn and Cary Gibson. They are from Illinois, my own birth place, but they come to Smith’s Beach for the summers.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After dinner, we went out to the fire pit as the sun set. Patrick figured it was time for a boat ride, so we went out into the Chesapeake Bay for a little spin in his Cutty’s Ark as the sky turned orange and lavender. It was dark when we returned and in minutes, here came Brenda with her kayak, ready to show us a special surprise.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She hopped on the little pier and told us to touch the water. I laid prone on the deck and trailed my fingers in the water. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The ripples sparkled blue lights. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mary and I gasped and Mary knelt down, grabbing a reed and trailing its frayed end in the water. It looked like a wand sprinkling blue lights through the water. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I always wanted to be a fairy princess!” Mary exclaimed.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Brenda, Mary, and I played with the water lights, ooh-ing and ahh-ing, until Sandy came up to investigate. She was so taken aback that for the rest of the night she kept saying, “I don’t understand. What IS this?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What we were observing is the bioluminescence of the plankton; this is caused by a chemical reaction of a series of oxidation reactions affecting luciferins within the plankton bodies. It is not necessarily a common scene and Brenda said she has lived her 10 years before observing it for the first time the night before. She had been awakened by Jessie, her dog, and had decided to go out for a kayak ride, with Jessie paddling along beside her in the water. The blue lights were everywhere and the plankton were apparently so thick that the water turned blue. Tiny fish jumped in the water all around, turning into blue lights from the bioluminescence affecting the water. After our sunset boat road on the “Ark”, Brenda had checked the water for the phenomenon as the daylight disappeared. While not as thick as the night before, the bioluminescence was present, so she invited us out for kayak rides to play in the blue light. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Man oh man, was I excited! I ran over to Brenda’s house with the other ladies and we hopped into the kayaks and paddled around the cove, gently disturbing the surface of the water with the oars to watch the fairy lights sparkle. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was a magical evening.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As we turned the kayaks back to Brenda’s house, she asked me to stay the next day with her and Russ. I was not scheduled to drop off HD until Monday morning, so tomorrow’s Sunday ride was going to involve getting a ride across the bridge and going to the KOA Kampground in Virginia Beach, then taking HD to the shop the next morning. Brenda, who said that one of her bosses once declared that she could sell ice to an Eskimo, worked on me to convince me to stay an extra day. After the magic of the evening, I longed for the opportunity to spend a bit more time with these wonderful folks. I agreed and I couldn’t tell who was happier, myself or Brenda.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After the kayak rides, we all went “home” and I cuddled up with Brenda’s fleece comforter in the screen house. While it was very comfortable, I hardly slept at all as I was so excited. I listened to the frogs call to each other, the fish jumping in the quiet cove, and the herons’ teradactyl-like screeches throughout the night. Every now and then I sat up to look through the screen walls to see if the blue lights were visible. But they were not, and in the early morning hours I slept, awakening around 7 am as the sun rose over the bay. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The morning started with Brenda bringing me coffee like an honored guest. We watched the sunlight play over the water, played fetch with Jessie, then took that wonderful canine out to “the meadow” for more exercise. A few neighbors came through the meadow, including “Suzy Q” (Brenda has a nickname for everyone. I am now “Little Jo”!).</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Suzy Q is a nurse by occupation and grew up in this very neighborhood. Her dad taught her how to fish and go clamming and how to set out crab pots when she was little. She had just started her vacation that weekend and she was very excited for the chance to relax from her daily stresses. She asked Brenda if she would have any time that week to show her how to get around the coves and inlets as Suzy Q had just purchased a small boat with a motor. Here was the amazing thing---Suzy grew up here on the beach and had spent hundreds of hours on the water in boats. But she never piloted one herself as her dad was always captain and she never took the helm.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Brenda immediately responded, “Sure! In fact, let’s go kayaking today!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Suzy Q looked apprehensive and started to give reasons why she couldn’t, but Brenda, in her insistent but convincing way, talked her into it and a few hours later, Suzy showed up at Brenda’s house. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The three of us launched into the kayaks, with Brenda giving instructions and Suzy Q picking up the oar skills rapidly. All through the next few hours on the water, Suzy kept exclaming, “Wow! Look at me! I’m in a kayak!” It was so endearing and wonderful and delightful. We all took pleasure in this “native” of the bay learning how to paddle a kayak for the first time.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Brenda showed us where to paddle to avoid sandbars just below the water surface. We meandered around the cove into little inlets, stopped and shared snacks and laughter. Brenda showed us one narrow bar where she was “trapped” by a daddy sea otter, who kept circling her boat and barking or growling at her, as she had come too close to his little family. She was frightened by the angry papa, but finally managed to exit the protected area. She pointed out several species of herons, cranes, egrets, and other sea birds. Suzy Q gained confidence and planned to return with her own boat and a fishing pole. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When we returned from the boat ride, Sandy and the neighbors were busy cleaning out a mobile home and its garage. Apparently, Sandy’s sister had just purchased the home a few days earlier, with plans to retire there in a few years. The house was ridden with fleas and the ladies had placed flea bombs in the home the day before. The bombs did damage to the fleas, but had not killed them all. So, risking life and limb from nasty flea bites, Sandy and Mary had been cleaning out the house, while the guys (Patrick, Jackie, Jimmy, and Russ) had worked on the garage. More flea bombs were to be set off later that day. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was another example of how these neighbors work together. Brenda and I offered assistance, but by that time, they were done and ready to clean up and head back to the mainland for that dreaded “W” word, scheduled for Monday morning. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After Russ finished helping the guys, he and Brenda and I sat around and drank wine and ate clams. Brenda helps an elderly neighbor lady take care of clam beds, located right next to Brenda’s house, and in return, can take a 100 clam bag when she likes. Suzy Q reappeared with fresh shrimp and Brenda added pasta with a light cheese sauce to round out the meal. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Russ warmed up to his stories of hiking the Appalachian Trail and the Pacific Crest Trail. He shared stories of his cycling tours around the country, usually with a friend. On a few of his later hiking and cycling adventures, Brenda joined him at some point in the truck, ensuring that Russ ate something and remained healthy. He is a bit on the slender side! Of course, Brenda is a slim athlete in her own right, so perhaps the two of them need to remind each other to eat from time to time!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Russ loved the hiking treks best, as he said it was really all about meeting people on the trails. These avid hikers become family in seconds, helping and sharing and advising. On the Appalachian Trail, there are small towns which generally have a single bar or pub, frequented by groups of hikers, where the hilarity increases as the beer and wine flows. The Pacific Crest Trail is a bit more rugged and lonely. Russ was hiking alone for awhile on the Pacific Crest Trail. He said it had been a few days since he had food and he came upon a lone ranch. He stumbled into the yard as the elderly owners drove up in their truck. Russ asked if they had anything he could eat. Seeing the thin, lone hiker, they immediately offered him a meal, then asked him if he knew anything about turbines, as their water pump with a turbine engine, had serious problems and they couldn’t figure out how to fix it.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Well, as it turns out, Russ had retired from the navy after 25-30 years working with...turbine engines! In 15 minutes, he fixed the problem and they were so delighted, they kept him busy, and fed, for the next 3 days, as he earned his keep fixing and repairing this and that around the ranch. Finally, he had to get back to the trail to finish his journey, but agreed to return the next year. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Thus began a several year returning job for both Russ and Brenda. This ranch was actually like a “dude ranch”. People would pay to stay at the ranch for a few weeks, experiencing the ranching life and taking long horse rides up into the higher elevation for camping experiences. Russ helped around the ranch, keeping machinery working and doing serious maintenance and repair. Brenda helped lead horse expeditions and cooking meals for 25 people, 3 times a day. Russ and Brenda became very close to their employers until these senior ranchers could no longer keep the ranch going, due to their advancing age. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After several hours of conversation, eating clams and pasta and drinking wine, we then looked through photo albums of Russ’ journeys. His eyes sparkled as he reminisced, and one could see he longed for another long hiking trip. However, he had undergone a serious cardiac surgery about 8 months ago and had 2 hip operations. The day before, he had ridden into Salisbury with his son on their Harleys and now had plans to ride the motorcycles on a 1500 mile round trip into the midwest. Traveling was in his blood and he simply had to keep going.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As for Brenda, she can’t keep still either. When she isn’t painting, working at the gallery, playing fetch with Jessie, or out on the water in her kayak, she finds time to help a friend of hers who runs a catering business. Her friend does the cooking and Brenda usually serves the food, keeping conversation lively and making everyone feel pampered. She does that well; I can vouch for that!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I settled back into the screen house for the night, with the alarm set for 5:45 as we needed to be on the road by 7 am. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Monday morning, September 16th, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I was up and ready to pack HD into the pickup by 6:30. Brenda brought coffee once again and Russ and I loaded HD into the truck. We were on the road shortly after 7 am. We crossed the Chesapeake Bay via the Chesapeake Bay Bridge/Tunnel. Here are some excerpts about the bridge from its own website:</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Crossing over and under open waters where the Chesapeake Bay meets the Atlantic Ocean, the Bridge-Tunnel provides a direct link between Southeastern Virginia and the Delmarva Peninsula (Delaware plus the Eastern Shore counties in Maryland and Virginia), and cuts 95 miles from the journey between Virginia Beach and points north of Wilmington, Delaware.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The bridge opened in 1964 and was named one of the 7 engineering wonders of the modern world. In 1995, a parallel bridge was constructed, allowing 4 lanes of traffic to cross. Part of the bridge becomes a tunnel, diving underwater, which allows boats and ships to pass overhead. Buses cross the bridge and have bicycle racks so the cyclists can cross the bridge. There are private driving services where you can hire someone for $25 to drive your vehicle across, if you have “bridge anxiety”. The driving services are now a booming business. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Once across the bridge to the mainland, we went to Fat Frogs Bike Shop in Virginia Beach. I had been instructed to be there at 9 am when they open, but we were there by 8:30. Doug, the mechanic with whom I had been making arrangements, was there and opened the door. After discussing HD’s needs, I left my trusted cycle in Doug’s capable hands and left with Russ. We drove to the home of his good friend “Al”, who lived 1 block from the Virginia Beach boardwalk. We walked to their favorite cafe, where Al was mercilessly teased by the staff who know him quite well.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Al did have some great stories to tell! He is a massage therapist and an undeclared hypnotist. He has taught several women how to rollerblade and often keeps every women’s size of rollerblades in his house or vehicle so he can be ready at a moment’s notice to teach an interested person of the female persuasion. He teaches men too. But bring your own skates!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He is like The Handyman, or maybe The FixIt Man---he can fix your bike, your house, your tense shoulders, or your psyche. He works part time for a massage therapy business and employs a variety of techniques to help ease your muscle tension. We talked about disease and healing and agree that the mental and emotional health of the client are the key factors to recovery. With willing clients, he uses a combination of trigger points and hypnotism to cure migraine headaches. He told a fascinating story of a lady that finds so much benefit from the hypnotism that she sometimes calls him on the phone for a “quickie” hypnotism session. Then, under the suggestion of hypnosis, she diagnoses </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px; text-decoration: underline;">other</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> people’s illnesses and gives them accurate and effective advice---suggesting they also check with their medical provider for confirmation. It is as if the hypnosis opens you to skills you never knew you had. Al said that, under hypnosis, you will never do anything you “can’t” or “wouldn’t” do. It just removes your lack of confidence or your fears so you can move forward. Some people are more open to suggestion and these will find the most benefit from hypnosis. I love these stories!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The brunch finished all too soon and Al had to leave to go help a friend. Russ and I walked back to his pickup truck and he dropped me off at the Virginia Beach KOA. I did my exercises and my laundry and then walked to the bike shop around 5 pm to pick up HD. He was working in fine order after Doug’s ministrations at the Fat Frogs Bike Shop. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">All in all, it was a wonderful few days and I met some incredible people with hearts as big as the All Outdoors. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I will never forget them.</span></div>
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Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-49340679966150670952013-09-27T17:12:00.001-07:002013-09-27T17:12:10.566-07:00Delmarva, Ho!<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tuesday, Sept 10, 2013.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Henry David and I headed southeast from Philadelphia and entered Delaware. We traveled south on S Dupont Hwy 13. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Ahhhh: Highway 13 through that entire landmass that includes Delaware, Maryland, and Virginia---now that is what I’m talkin’ about! Man oh man, what a great road. Flat, smooth, and with a shoulder the entire way, except through the little towns dotting the road. The towns in Delaware were nicely planted every 5-20 miles, keeping me comfortable and energized. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">At one of these little towns, I stopped at a Family Dollar store and purchased a few paperbacks and some grooming articles. About an hour or two later, I noted HD’s pace slowed markedly and I looked down at the left chain. The plastic bag from the store was caught in the chain. This happens from time to time---a bag or shirt that I think is tucked away in the cargo area starts to slip out and catches on the chain. Then it wraps around the chain multiple times until the chain is not seated nicely on the sprocket and the whole operation stops. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">In this case, all the contents of the bag had apparently been lost on the road quite some time ago, leaving only the paperbacks perched on the edge of HD’s frame. But that was not the bad part. I worked at unwinding the bag from the chain and the jackshaft. The plastic had wrapped around the shaft so many times and was strung so tight that it had sheared off the jackshaft bolt. Uh oh. Who knew a plastic bag could withstand that kind of stress and beat up a metal bolt? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I was pulled over on the side of the road at the north edge of New Castle. I saw that I was at a corner, where I needed to turn anyway, and I pulled into the parking lot of an auto repair business and an ice cream shop. I searched my phone internet for bike shops and called the two that were within 8 miles. Neither one had a service department or bike mechanics.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, I walked over to the auto shop and met Eric, the owner of the auto repair shop. I told him my problem and he instructed me to bring HD into the bay. He removed the remains of the bolt head and found a replacement and attached it soundly. I asked him what was my charge and he waved me off, saying, “Have a nice day”. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, I said, “At least let me get you an ice cream, then!” He said, “OK--I would love a water ice!” We walked next door and he ordered a bubble gum flavored water ice and I got myself a soft serve cone. I had the opportunity to talk briefly with Eric. While he enjoys working on cars and owning his own business, his passion is music. Almost any kind of music. He plays the guitar and was trained by a professional jazz musician. His personal style veers towards bluesy jazz. He has played with a successful band and did some serious traveling for gigs. Now, he plays for his own enjoyment but is seriously considering getting another band going. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I wish Eric all the success he desires.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After the jackshaft bolt shearing business, HD and I went on our way to Lums Pond Campground. We spent a quiet night in the trees. I ate cheese and jalapeno chips and apples. Of course, there was a nice, big brownie for desert. Heaven in Delaware.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wednesday, September 11th, 2013. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I started the day on Hwy 71 till it met Hwy 13 again. It was another lovely day in September with great roads and friendly faces. Flags were flying today in commemoration of 9-11 and some of the convenience stores I visited had their televisions on with news reports reviewing the heroic efforts of the people who tried to help the twin tower victims 12 years ago. Interviews of family members were being conducted to see how people have learned to emotionally survive their personal tragedies and the loss of loved ones. It reminded me how we humans are capable of the most heinous crimes against each other as well as the most heroic, self-sacrificing deeds to save each other. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I had plans to go to Killens Pond State Campground so I stopped in Dover at a Burger King to grab a drink and check the maps. The camp was another 10 miles away but I wanted to make sure all my ducks were in a row and they had space for me. The state campgrounds are often somewhat spartan and I was not guaranteed access to electricity. I grabbed a drink and an ice cream cone, in honor of Norman, who had told me to “got get a milkshake”. This was close, I figured. I searched out a booth with an electrical outlet and there was only one in the dining area, so I made a beeline for the corner table and sat down to plug in my phone for a good charging session. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Next to the table sat Steve and Bill. Steve struck up a conversation, stating he saw me earlier when he had driven on highway 13 to pick up his friend Bill. Steve posed several questions and the three of us enjoyed a nice conversation. Steve asked how I decide where I am going to stay each night and I explained that I usually plan ahead a few days to use campground--if they are en route. If there are no campgrounds, I usually go through Priceline or Expedia, although sometimes I can pick up a cheap motel by just driving into a town. That was more successful on the west coast than the east coast, however. I had plans to go to the state park that night, but Steve suggested I stay with him and his wife. He called her on the phone right then and there and she graciously agreed to provide a patch of lawn or the guest room. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">YAY! This allowed me some extra time to do more travel planning and even to go to Walmart to pick up a few things that I had lost on the bike the day before. I pulled into Steve and Diane’s yard shortly after 5 pm; they were standing in the driveway, waving me in with a most wonderful welcome. They suggested I use the guest room and I gratefully moved in for the night. They even offered their washing machine, so I did a small load---now I could make it over the Chesapeake Bay without needing any clothes washed. Diane put together a delightful vegetarian meal with some leftover zucchini & black bean casserole that was simply out of this world. She served it with salsa and guacamole and a plate of fresh fruit and veggies. I had 2 servings of the casserole and I thought they would need to carry me away from the table. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Steve and Diane were both in the airforce for several years. Diane worked in supplies and Steve worked in jet fuel inspection. He was sent overseas several times to inspect fuels supplied by local vendors in the Middle East. On one of his trips back to base, he asked the lovely Diane for a date. About a year later, the knot was tied and is still in great form, holding strong and steady. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Steve has had 5 cardiac stents and yet he is still pretty young. So, he now works on small engine repairs and this keeps him out of trouble. Some times. He enjoys repair work, gardening, his older buddy Bill, socializing and meeting people, and his Harley Davidson.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Diane now works as a civilian for the Airforce Base in Dover. She connects service personnel and their families with the supplies and services they need to live comfortable, productive lives. It is interesting that this job requires quite a bit of daily research as there are military contracts for everything. Thus, needing a lightbulb becomes a politically involved service. OK---that may be an exaggeration, but Diane jumps through hoops all day long to connect request with response---using the approved businesses and services.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Diane enjoys working and she also enjoys relaxing at night, slowing down and just enjoying a quiet evening. This might be watching TV or talking to her grown sons or---maybe even going dancing!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Steve and Diane have been great parents. They have 2 sons and the eldest is engaged to be married in one month. He works in management at Panera and so does his bride-to-be. Panera is a chain of restaurants that serve sandwiches primarily---but they are most known for their bread--- “Panera”. Those of you with some foreign language skills will have recognized the root word “pan”, meaning bread in Spanish and I imagine in most latin languages. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The younger son is still in college and is studying forensic psychology. He is an NCIS and Crime Scene fan---these are 2 television series shows that focus on crimes and how forensic science is used to catch the perps.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I headed upstairs around 9 pm, talked a bit on the phone, read a bit of a new novel I picked up, and fell soundly asleep on that wonderful bed with the perfect pillows. I awakened minutes before my iPhone alarm went off, turned the thing off, and eventually got my stuff together. After goodbye hugs, I was cycling down the street by 7:30 am. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Delaware was a delightful, short, sweet state. Steve says it is the best kept secret in the USA. According to him, when people refer to his state, they say “Dela-where?” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Apparently, Delawarians have a good sense of humor. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Thursday, Sept 12th, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was a beautiful day riding hwy 13 to Salisbury, Maryland. I was passed by dozens of groups of motorcycle riders. The mystery was solved around midday when I passed through Seaford, Delaware. This is the weekend of the 12th Annual Delmarva Bike Rally. All the towns for 30 miles in every direction were filling up with bikers. I really enjoy bikers, aka motorcyle riders, as they often nod their head or wave hello. HD and I are slow and we have no motor, but HD cuts a nice figure and many bikers claim solidarity with HD and I. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Henry David really does cut a fine figure.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Several hours later, I figured out what “Delmarva” meant. I thought it was just a town or something. But I saw numerous billboards along the highway with this word combined with businesses and events. Delmarva Rally, Delmarva Orthodontics, Delmarva Center, Delmarva Eye Care. AHA!! Delmarva stood for Delaware--Maryland--Virginia. I guess it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that one out. Those three states constitute this land mass which is about 230 miles long. The entire “Delmarva” section of the USA was one of my favorite cycling experiences, with consistently wonderful roads and friendly people. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It took quite awhile, all day actually, to get to Salisbury, Maryland. There was a headwind most of the day and this seriously slowed down the cycling progress. I won’t complain about the extra effort. I just found out that those very winds swept a fire along the boardwalk in Seaside, New Jersey. This town hadn’t recovered yet from Hurricane Sandy last year. The businesses on the boardwalk were still in repair. Luckily, no one was hurt, as far as I know. But there may be a few businesses on the boardwalk that may seriously suffer. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Friday the 13th: My mom swore this day always brought her good luck. So, I’m going with it!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It stormed last night and I was very glad to be in a motel. Because I snacked on my cargo of fruit, granola bars, and some leftover potato chips, I was able to refrain from spending the money and gorging at the Golden Corral, which was strategically planted about 1/2 block away. Whew! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This morning, I did avail myself of the continental breakfast at the Days Inn--which was only bread products--no fruit or yogurt. But the coffee was good and I ate a bagel with cream cheese. Bagels are like bricks--they stay with you much longer than you really want them to, but at least I didn’t get hungry for several hours of cycling after eating the bagel brickbar.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Today’s ride was truly delightful. It was 90% on back roads through Maryland. These roads are well maintained and very quiet and meandered primarily through farmland and woods. I have noticed an increasing number of pine trees as I move near the coast. It reminded me of the coastal redwoods in central and northern California. However, these pines are very tall but not as thick or lush as the pacific redwoods. Perhaps they are younger--logging having cleared the land a few times over. Nevertheless, the heady scent of pine filled the air today and I really was in heaven. Interestingly, I also passed by several fields of honeysuckle. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Imagine---pine and honeysuckle and the light scent of ocean air. My senses were whirling!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I went through very few actual towns: Fruitland followed right on the tail of Salisbury, so it wasn’t even like going from one town to the next. About 20 miles after that was Pocomoke City, MD. Cute name, I thought. Then, no more towns or villages all the way to the campground---which is not far past the border into Virginia. Because I traveled back roads, I was not greeted by a state welcome sign. That has happened a few times on this trip and I am always just a little sad when I don’t see the “Welcome To...”.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I camped at Tall Pine Harbor Campground in Virginia along the Pocomoke Sound by the Chesapeake Bay. Yay! I enjoyed camping by the water again. My tent was pitched right under those tall pines. Lovely. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I washed my tent in the single machine laundry room here, did my exercises, showered, and walked back and forth to the beach. I took photos, laid on my back on the pier and listened to the water, and even put my feet in the water. The Pacific Ocean is cold in North America and I thought the Atlantic would be even colder. But a few months ago, I was told that it is actually warmer, due to the effects of the Gulf jet stream. Really? Hmmmm. So, I tried it out and whaddyknow? It was warm!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I’m falling in love with the Atlantic.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And the romance continued...</span></div>
Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-51341324963522359402013-09-27T17:10:00.002-07:002013-09-27T17:10:56.930-07:00Newark to Philly<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Highlights Sunday Sept 8th and 9th, 2013.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Well, the next leg of the journey was pretty, um, adventurous. Or crazy. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I had no idea how in the heck I was going to get out to Hwy 1 on the far side of the Newark Airport, as it was basically only the interstate between the motel and the airport--or my only way out of Newark. I needed to escape the madness.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I got up early, packed up HD, and went to the front desk of the Howard Johnson Motel. The gentleman said there was no way out of the motel grounds on my trike as I was surrounded by ONLY interstate! I asked if any of the hotel shuttle buses could drop down any of the back seats and fit in my trike. He said, no, they didn’t have any drop down seats. So, I asked if there was a bus or van taxi service he could call that could get me out of there. He said, no, they had no taxis that could do what I needed. I looked at him with, well, surprise! This was definitely not the Hilton Inn!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, I said, “Alright then. I will have to get on the interstate and risk death at worst--or maybe only a ticket”. I went out to the parking lot, asked a shuttle bus driver if the seats in his van dropped down at all and he said no. So, I started to cycle out of the lot and made eye contact with Anthony, a friendly-appearing shuttle driver. I pulled aside his bus and told him my situation. He said that the empty, parked shuttle bus behind him had rear drop down seats and that particular van could handle the job. I told him I would be happy to give a driver $25 to get me to the other side of the airport. He said that he was assigned to his current bus, but to give him just a minute. He flagged down a fellow driver coming off duty. Melvin, the other driver, said that, sure, he would be happy to help me. In minutes, the seats were dropped, HD was loaded, and we were on our way. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Thank God. And thank Melvin and Anthony!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">While helping me execute my escape from Newark, Melvin entertained me with cheerful conversation about his family and beloved young grandchildren. He has grown up in the Newark area and knows each and every road, intersection, alley, and byway. Melvin has never missed getting a person to the airport in time for their flight, no matter what the traffic may be. He loves to drive: shuttle, car, truck---it doesn’t matter. He is a Driving Man! He makes his customers feel welcome and people that go to and from the Newark airport often choose the HJ motel just so they can see Melvin again and ask for his driving services. Melvin was my highway savior of the day. He dropped me off at the McDonalds south of the airport and there I had morning coffee and a chance to find my next destination.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I tried Highway 1 but it was a nightmare of traffic and no shoulders, so I took side roads and country highways, fairly paralleling Hwy 1, all the way to Princeton Junction. It was a nice ride through Elizabeth, Edison, and New Brunswick, before reaching Princeton---old, quaint New Jersey towns and cities. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I fully enjoyed driving through Princeton, NJ on a Sunday in early September. It was beautiful, with stately old homes, a fantastic downtown section, and people out everywhere. Princeton students were out in great numbers and the bicycles were in grand evidence. The scents wafting from the bistros and cool little restaurants assailed my senses. Sometimes, that is all I need---just the scent of really good food. Then I eat my fruit and nuts and chips or trail mix and am just fine. A good cup of coffee from a decent gas station is also enough. I have found some chain convenience stores that serve really good coffee with real half and half. Mellow, creamy coffee. Yes!!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After Princeton and Princeton Junction, I cycled through a shopping mall parking lot and had to re-enter Hwy 1 to get to the motel. Yikes. It was only 1/4 mile, but it was terrible on the hwy so I drug or cycled Henry David through grass, dirt, and rocks, till my faithful trike and I reached the Red Roof Inn. Wow---twice in New Jersey, I had, perhaps mistakenly, chosen motels that I could only reach on the restricted highway--no side roads or frontage roads to get me there. All along Hwy 1 from Newark to Trenton is a cement barrier separating one side of the hwy from another. You could not cross the highway, even in a car, unless you hit an offramp or a traffic light. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I checked into the motel and discussed road options with a few employees in front of the motel. They shook their head, not knowing how in the heck I was going to get across the highway to the next side street. I could see the street light from the road in front of the motel--maybe 1/4 mile away. Perhaps not even that far. But I had to cross the confluence of the interstate and the restricted highway. And the traffic was fast and busy. No shoulder or space for HD and I. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Hmmmmm.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I moved HD into my room and walked in the grass and bushes back to the shopping center and purchased groceries. That night, I went to bed early and set my alarm for 5 am. But I couldn’t sleep, listening to the traffic outside. It seemed to slow down around 1 am and I thought, “Great! I will be fine!” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But, around 3:30 am, the sound of traffic started to increase again. So, I got up and packed the trike and went to the motel office. The office was open and there were 2 men behind the desk. Fantastic! I asked if one of them could follow me in their car to the light for $10---it would take only about 5-10 minutes of their time. The security guard was getting off duty around 5 am, so he agreed to do it. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">While I waited, I chatted with the two men. The night manager was a young man, still in college, studying accounting. He was from Egypt but likes it here and plans to stay in the states. He goes back to Egypt to visit aunts, uncles, and cousins from time to time. The security guard was from the Dominican Republic. He lived several years in the Bronx, but his accent was more Caribbean in tone. He has a girlfriend who keeps him in line. When I arrived in the motel lobby, he had been talking to the young Egyptian about the balance of being faithful to your girlfriend while being surrounded by beautiful women. Apparently, that takes some resolve and dedication. And love.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, the guard followed me down the street to the light. I hung out in front of Michael’s Diner until 6 am, when it opened. It was too dark to ride the roads. So, I drank coffee and ate a bran muffin in the diner while I waited for the morning light to increase. At 6:30 am, HD and I started our cycling trip for the day.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">First, I crossed the highway at a light to reach the Delaware and Raritan Canal State Park Trail, as instructed by Google bike maps. This was a very nice trail-- for about 1/4 mile. Then, the smooth path turned into ruts, dirt, grass, bushes, and tree roots for the next 2 miles! I left the trail at the next opening and switched to iPhone map walking instructions to get thru Philly, hoping to reach Chester, south of Philadelphia. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I cycled through Trenton, HD’s wheels bouncing through ruts and dips and cracks on the road. When you follow walking maps on the iPhone, you usually travel through the cities through side roads and neighborhoods. This was the stuff of TV land. Brick homes right up to the street without grass, lawn, or trees. Poverty and hunger and clothes hanging loosely on hungry residents. Inner city youth with heads held down. The older folks were more confident, waving and teasing and wishing me well, as they have done throughout the country. There was a poster scattered throughout Trenton whose plea had become the city mantra, I imagined, because I saw about 10 of them, every 5 or so streets I traveled. It was garish and grabbed my attention. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Bloodshed, Tears, Death. Trenton, help stop the Violence”. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wow. I looked up Trenton on the Internet that night and saw that the gangs here are in strong force, with the Trenton mayor struggling to find ways to reduce the crime rate. Parents and families had started movements asking for justice and for crimes to be solved. The stressed police were much more businesslike here: not smiling or waving as they had done in other cities. Yet, the individuals I passed on the street waved or smiled or answered my hellos. Except for some of the young men--teens or college age by guess. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My heart broke for Trenton.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When I first passed into Pennsylvania, back on Hwy 1 and Bristol Pike, the road widened. I met Dierdre on a street corner, a lovely lady about my age. She was out taking a walk, as she does every morning. She was very excited to see HD and had many questions as she was interested in cycling but wanted something perhaps more stable than a typical bicycle. Dierdre was diagnosed with Hodgkins Lymphoma a year ago or so. She was a home health nurse and a massage therapist. She underwent medical treatment of her inguinal lymph nodes, lost 40 lbs, and is now trying to work her way back to health by exercise and a raw vegan diet. She was slender and wearing baggy clothes, but her face was so lovely and vibrant, one would not suspect she was dealing with a major illness. Dierdre is no longer working as a nurse, but still gives massage a few days a week to handicapped children and adults. This blessed gift she gives to others is helping her own road back to recovery. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As I approached Philadelphia, the streets narrowed and my maps again sent me through the neighborhoods. Just as in Trenton, the roads deteriorated and the inner city streets and buildings were drab and decaying. The trash in the streets and curbs increased and it became so thick that there was no way to avoid cycling over broken glass, metal, and rubbish of all kinds. In some of the open fields, where the dry soil was packed against chain link fence, the trash stood several inches thick, embedded in the dirt for years. Yet, people continued to wave, smile, and give me “shout outs”. Some employees and business owners did their best to clean their space, by sweeping in front of their curbside and sidewalk frontage businesses. I could imagine how this could become discouraging as it would need to be done daily---partly due to the sheer numbers of people living in the Philly area, and partly due to the fact that wind blows and moves rubbish around, despite our best efforts.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Philadelphia itself was big and beautiful and typical of most large cities in its magnitude and the services it offers. Like most large, very old cities, it has its area of decay and decline. I love the opportunity to see it all from the seat on my cycle. I get to see more, in some ways, than the typical visitors renting a car and zipping from the airport to their motel and then to the downtown nightlife or convention centers. That being said, sometimes I only see the ragged parts of towns as I try to stay out of the busiest downtown sections of large cities. However, I also see the beautiful estates and manicured lawns on the edge of town. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I was faced with another bridge to get to the south side of Philadelphia. I decided to cross over the Schuyler River on Industrial Hwy/Penrose Avenue. It took quite some time to even get to the base of the bridge, due to the heavy traffic. As I started upward toward the bridge, I saw that the ongoing construction was narrowing the traffic to a single lane, obliterating the walking/cycling lane. Hmmmmm. The bridge was rather long and I knew I would be seriously blocking traffic. I have learned that city drivers stuck in traffic on roads that are supposed to move rapidly can often be a tad impatient with a slow recumbent. So, I turned around, went back to the traffic light and turned left---because that was the side I was on when I had turned around. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My, this was nice. Two lanes, one way, wide road, with at least some hint of shoulder. I saw billboards advertising the wonders and pleasures of Philadelphia--museums, zoo, theatre, things for the kiddies. I saw a huge billboard stating that Philly is “bike friendly”. Great! I must be on the right road! So, I cycled on merrily, for quite a distance without an intersection or side road interrupting the pleasure. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then a tow truck pulled behind me; the driver tooted his horn, and then stopped. I stopped as well in response to his waving me to come back to talk to him. He said he worked with the police department (by the way, I think it’s a smart idea to have a tow truck company that works directly with the police). The PPD had received a call that I was headed for the interstate and they called him to check it out. He asked if I knew I was on a road with no outlet that was heading for the interstate. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Oops! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I asked what should I do: “Turn around and hug the edge of the road and go back to that intersection close to a mile back?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> He said, “No”, but then pointed out a cement barrier up ahead. <br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Do you see that cement barrier up ahead?” he asked, pointing to the block of cement.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“If you look, you will see that there is a dirt path to the right of it. Just go to the dirt path, follow it, and it will take you to Passyunk Avenue, which crosses the river.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He decided to follow me to the barrier to give me space from any traffic. When I reached the barrier, I could see a small “lake”, right next to the barrier, about 15 feet wide and 50 feet long. I threw a large brick into the puddle and it disappeared entirely. It looked pretty deep. I couldn’t go around it because it had the cement barrier on one side and an embankment on the other. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then I saw a rocky path leading up the embankment before the “lake”. I pointed that out to the tow truck driver, asking where it leads? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I have no idea”, he answered. He said he didn’t care what road I took, either through the water or up the embankment, as long as I stayed off the road I had been riding. He then left me to my decision-making process, which often leaves something to be desired.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I decided to hedge my bets and try the embankment. So, I got off my trusty steed and pushed and pulled and coerced Henry David up the rocky and branch strewn path. It took several minutes of grunting and groaning and even a little cussing. When I got him to the top, I realized that it was a railroad path. An old railroad was perched atop the hill and went through Philadelphia. You would never know it was there as the mesa was covered in brush and trees, shielding any residents from actually seeing the old rails. I noticed a small bulldozer parked at an angle in the brush. This was apparently a service road for the rails and the dozer was there to clear brush that was trying to encroach into the rails. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">First, I got back on HD and rode over rocky paths, getting off a few times to pull him through brambles and gravel and over tree roots. The path petered out, leaving me looking at forest. I could see that the interstate and fast paced highway roads were at the bottom of the railroad mesa---a good 50 feet straight down. I turned around, went back to the starting point at the top of the embankment that brought us here. Then, I got off Henry David and walked the other way---there was no end in sight.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">HD and I went back down the embankment on the “lake” side. Once at the bottom of the embankment, back on the dirt path, I grabbed a plastic pipe section that was lying on the ground and walked on the narrow ledge connected to the cement barrier. Using the pipe to gauge the water depth directly adjacent to the ledge, I ascertained that it wasn’t too deep if I kept 2 wheels on the ledge and allowed the right rear wheel to go into the water. Back on HD, I entered the ditch as planned, holding onto the right tiller bar for steering with one hand and holding onto the cement barrier with the other. Perched at a precarious angle, and almost tipping a few times, we inched our way across the miniature lake and made it safely to the other side.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I definitely should have done that first!! Ah well, live and learn. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I made it across the Schuykill River on the Passyunk Avenue bridge and gradually made my way to the Quality Inn past the Philadelphia Airport. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What a day. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Please, let the next leg of travel be a little easier, I prayed. But, for now, relax, and eat whatever was rolling around in Henry David’s cargo area. </span></div>
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Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-6921778979537057842013-09-07T14:07:00.004-07:002013-09-07T14:07:54.337-07:00I Heart New York<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Friday, September 6th. I had to force myself away from those cushy pillows on the bed at the Hyatt Regency. But, I had a big day ahead, so I got up and out the door. The young bellman who helped me get Henry David out of the service closet was very interested in the cycle and we talked a bit before I headed out. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This was Levin from Jamaica. Another gorgeous Jamaican! Tall and thin and handsome with that lovely lilting accent. His passion is his 12 year old daughter. And fishing. And Jamaica. He goes “home” two to three times a year and plans to return there to live when his daughter is grown. He moved with his parents to the States when he was young, but he misses Jamaica. I asked him about his homeland and a wistful smile appeared on his face. It made me homesick for a home I know nothing about. “Jamaica”, he said, “is warm and beautiful. The people are my people, my family. They are healthy and strong and friendly and outgoing. They are full of life and laughter”. Their diet contains minimal red meat and consists mostly of vegetables, fruits, and fish. When he was in Jamaica, he was very active and athletic. He still maintains a slim body, but doesn’t do much exercise anymore, as he has been busy with work and caring for his daughter. However, he explained that he gets his exercise now by lifting luggage and simply working on the job. Blessings to you, Levin. May all your dreams come true.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As for today, this was my own little dream come true. Everyone warned me to stay out of New York City. “The drivers are crazy!” “It is so dangerous!” “Oh, you want to go AROUND New York City; don’t even think of going through it!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Which are just the kinds of statements that make me WANT to go through NYC! My Adventure Cycling maps have been directing me through the hills of the Appalachians and skirting around or away from the big cities. I have seen a lot of hills, mountains, and small towns. Now, here I was, near the Atlantic Coast, yet avoiding the actual coast! It didn’t make sense. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I had to miss Boston because it was Labor Day weekend and there was no lodging available, so I was forced to head west of the city a few days earlier. I had really wanted to stay a night in Salem and wander through the lovely streets, steeped in history. I had wished to walk to the harbor at night and light some candles for the poor women so long ago, who were different and earthy and burned for their sensuality with the label of “witch”. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Here is another reason why I decided to go through the city rather than the Appalachian hills. These Appalachian roads are extremely steep and winding, with blind curves and blind hills. Traffic is not as heavy, but no one slows down, zipping around the curves and the hills as if they did not exist. They move way too far around me, into the other lane, on these blind hills. I cringe every time they do it and have to say that, on numerous occasions, a vehicle came from the other direction, being forced to put one or two tires in the dirt to avoid the car or truck that had entered their rightful lane. How can the city be much more dangerous than this?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, I headed south on hwy 1. All through city life into NYC. Some areas had a little shoulder, some not. Once I reached the more heavily populated areas of New Rochelle, I was given more space and bike lanes started to appear in the northern part of the Bronx. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I fell in love with the Bronx. This is my kind of town. Color everywhere. While the buildings were old and businesses garish, I felt a huge “WELCOME” from every corner. People were walking everywhere: families walking their children home from school, going shopping, hanging out with friends in front of stores and businesses. The few ladies standing on the street corner in one section wished me warm wishes of safety and affection. The police chatted with the locals. The men in the auto shops called out, asking to hitch a ride. People rolled down their car windows at the stoplights asking about HD and telling me I had a nice ride. Elders asked questions about HD as they wanted to cycle again but their balance was now preventing their wheels from getting used. I passed hundreds of people on the streets and sidewalks; young and old and every one in between either saying things to me directly or to the people with them “Look at that bike! That is so cool!” Some even pointed, waved, and laughed aloud.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It is a noisy, wild, family. I felt very much at home. I could be kickin’ it in the Latino section, buying embroidered blouses and dancing salsa. Or hangin’ in the African American section buying scarves and hoodies and jammin’ to hiphop. Or sitting in a Jewish deli drinking coffee and eating sandwiches and shooting the breeze with the local residents. The music was everywhere: blaring from businesses or from cars at the street intersections. I found myself cycle dancing: shaking head and shoulders and tapping my feet whenever stopped at a light.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">People can be totally cool. Sure, you don’t do stupid things like cuss at people, show anger, etc. Emotions are right there on the surface in a city, so make sure your emotions are strong and full of love. Show fear and you may have something to fear. Look people in the eye, with a smile on your face, and a friendly “Hello!” in your speech, and you will be embraced. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I pulled up on a wide sidewalk just north of the New York Botanical Gardens and The Bronx Zoo, as I planned to turn west to the bike paths along the Hudson River shoreline and needed to check my google cycling directions. A bus rolled up and some people poured out. There I met Hyacinth. She is a petite senior who lives here in the Bronx. She came up to me very excited, saying she saw me several blocks back and was curious about who I was and where I was going. Then, the bus dropped her right there where I had stopped. Hyacinth loves people and helping others---those are her primary passions. She has lived here all her life and raised a family. She has sold Mary Kay cosmetics for 15 years. She loves the Mary Kay company and philosophy and feels that this has added another wonderful layer to her life. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Hyacinth asked if I was afraid to be out there alone. Well, I looked at this tiny woman, living in the midst of the city, hopping on and off buses and walking the streets alone. I explained that this wasn’t any different than what I was doing, I was just going farther on the cycle. “See, Hyacinth, a lone woman CAN do it!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Hyacinth got very excited. She said, “Yes! ONE woman CAN!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This is the Mary Kay Company’s 50th year anniversary. It was started by one woman: Mary Kay Ash. Fifty years later, 3 million women sell her products in 35 countries. “One Woman CAN!” is the MK motto, inspiring woman to have faith in themselves and to reach out to other women to help them with their self-image. When you feel good about yourself, it is easier to help others feel good as well. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, Hyacinth bubbles with love and enthusiasm. I found her quite an inspiration. Another of her passions “is the Man Upstairs” she said, eyes looking upward and index finger pointing to the heavens. She showered me with verbal blessings and we shared several hugs. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I love this town. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After the Bronx, I headed a few miles west to the Hudson River and then south through Upper Manhattan. This was cycled along the Henry Hudson Parkway, which is a beautiful and well kept paved path for cyclist, joggers, and walkers, who were all in heavy numbers that Friday afternoon. I missed Central Park and the heavy business section of Manhattan, where you would see the Empire State Building and all the modern skyscrapers. My best view of those were from the Jersey shore. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Before I got to the bike path, however, I traveled several miles on the Grand Concourse. What a fascinating “street”. This is several lanes wide and has a section separated from the main street, called the “service road”. This road borders the hundreds of Bronx and Upper Manhattan businesses. There is a space, or lane, for service vehicles to stop to deliver and pick up goods, then a bike lane, then a lane for the vehicles. Then there is the barrier---plants, concrete, etc. Then, to the left of the barrier, are the lanes for the faster moving traffic. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, I cycled along the “bike path”. But here is reality. People park in the service vehicle parking lane. Service vehicles park in the bike lane, and cyclists and drivers of cars and trucks share the remaining lane. This is the way it is done. By necessity. There really is nowhere else for customers to park but in the service vehicle lane. So, we all respect each other and drivers gave me easement to pull into their traffic lane because my bike lane was so often blocked. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That was my driving experience in NY, NY. Everyone giving easement when insisted. If you don’t insist, you don’t move forward. There are little toots on the horn all day long as people alert others to things. Most of the honking I heard was from cars telling the car in front of them that the light was green and to get a move on. These were brief short honks, not the “hanging on horn blasting”. Sometimes a truck gives a quick toot as a warning that he is pulling in lane. The honks and toots are communications.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I got a kick out of the fact that a lot of the tooting horns today were because people got distracted looking at HD and forgot to watch the light turn green! I pulled forward and they just watched me, forgetting to think about the fact that if I was moving, then maybe they should too! So, the vehicle behind them would pop their horn briefly, alert the distracted driver, and get the trafffic moving forward again. I can’t count the times I made it across the street before the cars at the light even started to move! It was part of my entertainment of the day.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I did not hear the angry hanging on horns and people shouting obscenities that you see on TV. It was a lively, busy, crazy, but respectful driving town. But don’t be shy or you will lose your place. Take it and run! And smile and wave and all is forgiven. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I think New York drivers may be the best in the world. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">At pier 78, I purchased ferry tickets for both HD and I to cross the river to Paulus Hook, New Jersey, which is essentially the financial district of Jersey City. That little boat, smaller than the other ferries, flew across the water, creating quite a wake. As it slowed to pull into dock, HD went flying backward toward the water. I leapt from my seat to grab my beloved trike while the boatswain leapt up and grabbed me! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“You can’t go out there; you might fall in the water!!” he yelled. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I cannot let my trike go overboard!” I replied, refusing to let go of the trike until the boat steadied at the dock. I held onto Henry David and the boatswain held onto me! LOL!!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He was glad when HD and I got off the boat!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The view from Paulus Hook over to Manhattan was spectacular. Wow. New York, New York. Incredible.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I love New York!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I was prepared to love New Jersey. I stopped in a Starbucks for a blonde roast and to figure out lodging. No campgrounds around here, of course. The hotels in the financial district were too high, so I looked to find the closest affordable place around. Howard Johnson Motel near the Newark Airport, another 10 miles away, was the best I could find. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, I headed west to Newark, through Jersey City. Jersey City was similar to Upper Manhattan, with narrow streets and tall apartment/tenement buildings. Surprisingly, it was not as clean as Upper Manhattan. I saw more trash in the streets, but that is what happens with a lot of people living in a small space.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I found myself thinking of trash. You might notice it more in these hugely populated old cities. But here is what I have seen across the country:<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There is human source trash EVERYWHERE. I see it hiking in the mountains. I see it in the desert, stuck in cacti and bushes. I’ve seen it along river banks, even in somewhat remote areas. And I see people throwing trash out their car windows or just dropping it, on purpose, while walking down the street, in </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px; text-decoration: underline;">small towns</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">. What is up with that, people?? I have not seen people dropping their trash on the ground in the big cities. I’m sure it happens, but I bet the per capita is less. With the population density, can you imagine how much trash there would be if everyone just dropped their crap on the ground in New York, LA, Chicago, Paris, or London? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It is really about respecting our home and our planet. I can never understand why I see so many beer cans on the ground next to a beautiful river. Obviously, people wanted to be near the river---maybe for its beauty or its peace. So why in the world would you want to pollute the very thing you love? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wow. That question opens up a whole new area to explore. So, before I go socio-political on you, let’s just move on to the next topic. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This was a nightmare. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Traveling on the only bridge I could use as either a pedestrian or cyclist, I had to use hwy 1. Up to now, this hwy has been fairly good. I had to go over several overpasses and rivers to get from Jersey City to Newark. Only one bridge had a walking lane--but too narrow for HD! So, with no hint of a shoulder and with the cars, trucks, and semis speeding over the bridges and overpasses, I cycled as fast as I could, right in the middle of the traffic. It was truly dangerous and one of the few times that I was actually scared. </span></div>
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Scared as hell.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The trucks moved over when they could, but the traffic was so heavy that they often could not change or veer to the side, but skirted by me with just a foot or two to spare from my elbow. I got a few angry honks, but there was nothing I could do---I was not allowed on the interstate bridge and I couldn’t fit on the walking path, when there was one. There was no other choice. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jersey lost a “Jo Favor Point” on the lack of highway safety to Newark. There were no connecting side roads once in Newark itself to get to the motel. To get to the Howard Johnsons, I head to cycle what was an “approved highway”, but it was narrow and busy and dangerous and looped in a spiral to get to the frontage road, with cars and trucks whizzing by and wondering what the heck I was doing there. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I wondered myself. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Once I checked in, with hands shaking, I went to my room and looked on my iphone maps to see how I was going to get back out of this area. For a bicycle, there is not an approved exit plan from the motel to the streets, unless I want to cycle the wrong way on the highway for about 1/2 mile. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I’m in the Howard Johnsons Newark. I have checked in. I can check out. But I can never leave.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tomorrow, I have to figure out my exit strategy. I am hoping no violence will be required but simple negotiations and a few green bills will be all that’s necessary to keep the peace. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">New Jersey: impress me for the rest of my time in your beautiful coastal state. But get me out of Newark. Please.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And did I mention?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I LOVE NEW YORK!!!!</span></div>
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Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-87580523992612036532013-09-07T14:06:00.001-07:002013-09-07T14:06:18.868-07:00Maine to Connecticut<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It is now way past time to write this blog. That’s what happens when you are on a mission to get through cities, find places to stay, and figure out what the heck you are doing and where you should go. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, let’s see if I can hit the main points over the last several days.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I stayed at the Days Inn in Kittery, Maine, situated on the Hwy 1 bypass road, on Thursday night and Friday, August 28th and 29th. There was an Irving gas station and convenience store about 1 city block away. This station had a laundromat and shower and was frequented by truck drivers and construction/road workers. The motels across the street were filled with the working crowds, 5-6 men to a room. The Irving station had a little Italian restaurant in it. It also had almost everything a convenience store could offer, although their bananas were pricey. But they put out fresh muffins every day and had several packaged sandwiches and salads, etc. I visited this shop a few times in just one day and 2 nights. I even had to use the Irivng Store laundromat as the Days Inn laundromat was out of service. I spent Friday writing and posting online. I am perpetually behind on the photos, but the writing comes first, and seems to be rather time consuming. I know I write an awful lot of stuff and it is way too much for most people to read, but to tell you the truth, I need it to remind myself of the wonder of this journey. When I don’t write, I forget how magical it all is, and think more about how tired I am or how sore my thighs are, etc. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">While at the Days Inn, I met Patrick McKinney. This gent is in his late 50’s and told me a bit of his story. He was adopted and said he grew up in a very abusive situation, so he left home at age 14. Since this was against the law, technically, he agreed to talk to the judge in a closed session if he would be allowed to walk out of the judge’s office a free man. The judge agreed. So Patrick traveled incognito back to town, told the judge the secrets of his life, and walked out and never looked back.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He spent his youth living a crazy life. He checked himself into a high school for few years, living in the woods and working wherever he could to support himself. He purchased a violin and a harmonica at a pawn shop and taught himself to play with books and by hanging out in coffee shops and bars where skilled people practiced their art. At one point, he jammed with Wille Nelson and smoked some weed with him. In the 70’s while a teenager, he played in the same bar as Bob Dylan, playing between Dylan’s sets and sharing an impromptu jam session with him. These two musicians, Patrick says, “were the real deal”. They were “real people, humble even though famous. You could just sit and talk to them”. I think it was also the language of music drawing them together. And maybe sharing weed. Just saying.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Patrick said he had a hard time in school due to dyslexia, but can follow things in pictures and schematics better than letters. I found that fascinating. So, for some years now, he has worked putting in phone systems for big business chain stores like WalMart. He has enjoyed that type of job because he gets to continue to travel. He is now a married man---a newlywed of about 2 years now. He was traveling through Maine traveling after visiting his wife’s family. Most of the time, I saw Patrick hanging outside the motel room. He had spent his life outside and on the road and didn’t like to be inside the small motel rooms for long. Patrick is not doing well healthwise; he is waiting for a liver transplant. He has had several surgeries for liver tumor resection, but the tumors still keep returning. He was a slender man but showed the signs of ascites, with yellowed, darkened skin and a protruding abdomen from his suffering liver. But, he smiled and laughed and shared stories and did not dwell on his illness. He did make it clear, though, that he continues to have traveling in his blood and finds it difficult to stay still. His passions are music and the road. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We shared contact info and laughed at our very similar email addresses.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On Friday, August 30th, I left Maine and zipped into New Hampshire again through the hilly, busy town of Portsmouth. Then, a few hours later, I passed into Massachusetts. I had found a campground near Gloucester, Massachusetts on the net. I spent the morning traveling the 1A along the Atlantic coast in NH and MA. I had several glimpses of the beautiful ocean, but most of the time a rock seawall blocked my view. Still, the atmosphere of the last great weekend of the summer was in the air. There was the beautiful young college crowd, dressed in bathing suits with slim, toned bodies, grabbing boogie boards and surfboards to run to the beach. There were families with children and beach umbrellas and blankets. There were the sights and scents of coast town bistros, shops, and restaurants. It was holiday along the coast and I felt a part of it. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The day went along beautifully with a pleasant ride, fresh sea air, and started out quite sunny. As the day progressed, the clouds rolled in. The last 5 miles getting to Cape Ann were crazy hard, with steep hills through neighborhoods with signs forbidding truck travel and warning against size and weight limits. The last difficult hill was in the campground itself, getting to the office on top of the hill, with HD’s front end lifting up and making it almost impossible to navigate. I had to get off and pull him part of the way, because I could not get any traction.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Just as I arrived, my phone died. I had been using the google cycling maps, which had been very helpful with his voice commands, but uses a tremendous amount of battery power to run. My campsite did not have any electricity, so I went back down to the office to recharge and write texts and check maps for the next day, while the phone recharged. The nice staff in the office agreed to keep an eye on my phone and MacBook while I took a walk to work out the stiffness in my legs. The campground was near an ocean inlet. You could not see the ocean but many little “rivers”. To get to the ocean by foot, car, or cycle, you would need to travel another 5 miles around these crazy corners and hills. So. I remained satisfied with my ocean views of the morning.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After partially recharging the phone, I went to camp and stood there looking at Henry David. I had been having to use more bungee cords to pull in the wheel guards as they were rubbing the left rear tire. The whole guard was off kilter and I was getting more aggravated. So, I pulled out a pocket knife and took a guess as to where the tire would be, then went several inches below that to cut into the plastic wheelguard to pull it out.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Oops. Misjudgment there. Big time. PSSSSSTTT. I heard the air immediately escaping the tire as soon as my little knife went through the plastic and hit the tire behind it. Damn. So, I pulled off the tire and worked for the longest time, with flashlights, to get the doggone tire off one side of the rim so I could pull out the innertube. Once I got it changed and aired up, it was pitch dark. I decided I would need to wait til the following morning to put the tire back on the trike. It was the left rear tire, on the chain side, and I would need daylight to thread this particular needle. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The next morning, in the rain, I wriggled and wrestled with that tire and finally got it on the frame, locked it down, packed HD up and headed out. Interestingly, from perhaps lying on its side all night with a bungee cord pulling it inward, the wheelgaurd no longer rubbed the wheel. So, that problem was fixed. Yay! But, after about an hour, the rear chain started slipping a bit. I got off the bike and could see nothing that would cause a problem and wondered if the chain and rear sprocket were worn. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I cycled into Salem, Mass, and stopped right downtown at the Salem Cyclery. There, Dave, the owner, came out and found that my wheel just needed a little tightening down. Problem fixed and yet another lesson learned. I purchased a replacement innertube and cycled 3 blocks down the street to a Dunkin Donuts with an electrical outlet to figure out what in the heck I was going to do about lodging. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was seriously now Labor Day weekend. Salem and Boston and all the surrounding towns were packed with holiday travelers. All motels and campgrounds were filled. I finally found a place another 30 miles, west northwest. Well, ok. So, I booked it and headed for Chelmsford and the Radisson Inn on a Priceline deal that was worth the trouble. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Thirty hard miles back into the hills. Doggone it. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Once at the Radisson, I met a young man from Jamaica working at the counter. He was very excited about the cycling trip. I talked to him about why he left Jamaica. “It was love” he said.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That says it all. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Oh no, it doesnt. I wanted the scoop!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He had loved a certain young Jamaican woman for several years. She didn’t give him the time of day. She left Jamaica to come to the USA to join the military. She came back a few years later to get her sister and help her through the immigration process to the USA. At that time, he found out she was in town and he went to find her.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“How did you get her to pay attention to you, then?” I asked with anticipation of a good story.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I said one thing, and that was all it took”, he replied with mischeivous mysteriousness. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Oh my god!! What did you say? What did you say?” I asked several times. When he didn’t answer right away and the other staff member arrived to help me store HD, I left my interesting conversant, wondering what the words were that changed the lady’s mind. Once HD was safe and I moved my things, I returned to the counter to ask him about his cryptic remark.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He replied, “It only took one thing”.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“What? What? You’re killing me here!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">With a big grin and his beautifully accented voice drawn out to give the words romance and meaning, he stated, “I have waited for you a long, long time”.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sigh.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“That was all it took” he said, smiling. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The rest of the story is left to our imagination. Suffice it to say he is a happily married man and they are still together after several years. She is a little firecracker and he loves her like that.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On Sunday, August 31st, I headed for Uxbridge, MA under rainy skies. I wound through the Appalachian hills and through quaint towns and state forests. All the way, there are homes in the hills. Exhausted and weak, but in a good mood, I checked into the Quaker Inn and Conference Center, a place which had seen some good days about 20-30 years ago. Now it was a bit rundown and the room smelled like dogs but it was spacious. And the manager was wonderful. She and I had a nice long natter the following morning before I left “camp”.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Nancy is a woman who may be in her 60’s. She is thin and tiny and a little ball of fire. Her college years were spent changing her mind on what to study. She started with an idea to be a social worker but her brother, who is a respected neurosurgeon, helped her seek a different avenue. Nancy has a big heart and loves animals and children. Once she realized the challenges facing a typical social worker, she changed her major to wildlife management with a minor in English. She has worked various jobs, one of her favorites was working on an aviary program in Colorado with the forestry department. When funds were cut, she worked for ASPCA with animal rehab. She was bitten by a pitbull, requiring a number of stitches to replace the back of her scalp. She has worked for a newspaper writing articles and reviews on a number of topics.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Nancy was in an MVA several years ago, sustaining a serious brain injury which has left her with epilepsy. She has a Saint Bernard/Great Pyrenees mix breed dog who works as her service dog and alerts her if she is heading for a seizure, so she can find a safe place to lie down and rest. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She is such a quick little thing, I bet she doesn’t rest much.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She has been married and has a few children, most of them grown. She does have a son with her, who may be a teenager or possibly college age, and he helps her with the motel management. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She got her job there when she planned to move to the area to look at job opportunities. She was raised in Connecticut and this is hometown area. She was staying for a few weeks at the motel and found that the current manager was using people’s credit card info and making illegal charges. She brought this to the owner’s attention and he fired the manager and put her in his place at head of the motel. Because she does not have to pay for lodging, as she lives there at the motel, she is working hard at saving her money.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What does she want to do with her savings? She wants to go to London. Ever since she saw a movie as a young lass about Jack the Ripper and saw the cobblestoned streets and decaying buildings shrouded in fog, she yearned to go there to visit. She has a macabre taste in stories and wants to feel the mystery of her idea of a foggy London: cold, damp, dark, decaying, mysterious, scary. Because my daughter Shannon has the same predilections, I understood her desires. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She did have a tragic story to share. Her niece, her sister’s daughter, was engaged to be married in NYC. Nancy had purchased airfare from Colorado to the coast to go to the wedding. A week before the wedding, her beloved niece was in the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. Two floors above the impact. She was likely incinerated immediately. But Nancy’s sister did not get a death certificate from the government for about 10 years, during which time she would not give up hope. This mother of the young lady, who was one of so many tragic victims, suffers from PTSD and will be on medication for the rest of her life.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So many families affected. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Weird thing: the night before I heard Nancy’s story, I watched a movie on Netflix on my MacBook, “Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close”, about a young boy who suffers after the untimely death of his father in the same horrible incident. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Deja vu. If you haven’t seen it---it is amazing. Stars Thomas Horn, Tom Cruise, and Sandra Bullock. The kid is amazing.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After the long chat with Nancy, HD and I hit the road again, now on Tuesday, September 2nd, winding again through the hills to get to Chaplin, CT. The hills got crazier, or I was getting more tired. I was facing yet another long, steep grade when a man jumped out of his truck in the farmyard next to the road. He called out, “You aren’t going to cycle up that crazy hill, are you?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I laughed in response and said, “Yes, I am!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Well, God bless and good luck!” he shouted out.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I found that was very helpful. I had been facing these hills all day, struggling up the 9% grades and feeling like a big baby, because I was traveling so darn slowly. To have someone acknowledge that this was “a crazy ass hill” made me feel better. He thought it was amazing to go up this one, single hill. I had been facing these grades all day, and had more to go. It gave me courage, somehow. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">These hills are fascinating. There are homes everywhere, even in the state park regions. They are nestled in the trees, with copses of trees between the homes. If they didn’t manage the property, the homeowners would be engulfed by the trees. At the top of some of the hills, I would look out at a vista of millions of trees. I began to understand what I had heard of the psychosis of the people who had settled this area from Europe. They were used to more populated areas and miles of open fields. The trees had a way of enveloping you, cloaking you, hiding you. There could be comfort there for some people. But, for many settlers, this was frightening. In the woods were wolves and bears and people who could come out of the trees and attack you. There was fear living in those woods. So, clearing of large areas of wooded land ensued. But, when the clearing stops, if not too much damage has been done, the trees return. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">These trees were not the thick trunked trees of the redwoods, but the deciduous maples and elms of New England, with thinner trunks. Perhaps they were not as old either. Maybe these trees are young, having grown since the area was first cleared and settled in the 16-and 1700’s. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Another thing: it is reallyt fun to go through New Hampshire and see the town signs with the dates of settlement in the 17--and 1800’s. But in Massachusetts and Connecticut, towns were born in the 1600’s! This was really cool. Some of the buildings looked pretty old too!! Fascinating, but the oldest preserved homes were often more modest, which seems appropriate. If you are a settler, you have some funds, but not always the time and craftsmen to build a fancy home with pillars and gables. A more basic home will do to start. The fancier homes were constructed 100 years later, when the settlements were now established, successful, bursting towns and cities and commerce was established and the population was growing. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">HD and I cycled through Thompson, CT and, while passing the Thompson Speedway, a senior in his 80’s, parked under the speedway sign, asked if I could stop a few minutes. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This was Norman. What an interesting man. He was an air force veteran and fought in Korea. He worked with artillery and stated that he did extensive traveling while in the military, including throughout the USA. For a short time, while in the military as a young man, he was staioned hear Jackson Hole, Wyoming. He called his girlfriend, who is now his wife, asking if she would be willing to move to Wyoming. No go. So, he went back to Connecticut, married his love, and he and his wife have lived here ever since. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When he got out of the air force, he went into the construction trade, learning skills quickly and working on bridges and skyscrapers---serious building. He loved the challenge of the bridge and massive building engineering and took his job quite seriously. He was making good money and he and his wife were doing well financially.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then, one day, an old friend who was a high school administrator, showed up while he was working on a skyscraper job, and asked him to chuck it all to become an industrial arts teacher, at a 65% cut in pay. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Norman said, “Forget it!” but did agree to at least go to the school. He walked into the industrial arts room and saw a young boy cutting a board the wrong way. That was it. He showed the child the right way to use the saw, noted the look of appreciation on the child’s face, and felt the immediate glow of pleasure one feels as a dedicated teacher. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He talked to his wife, who was horrified at the financial cut, but who also agreed that Norman should follow his passion.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, Norman “quit his high paying job on the skyscrapers and taught children how to make birdhouses for the next 30 years”. He said, “I spent 30 years on vacation!” While the pay was not great, the retirement benefits were good and the stress was low and the job satisfaction high. He said he did not have the stress of most academic teachers because he did not have to grade papers and homework and his tests were only about 5 questions long. Grading was primarily based on what he observed of each student and the completed projects. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Norman loves to fish now. He also has a bit of passion for history and told me a bit about the Thompson Speedway where we were parked. Of course, I had to look up a little about this racetrack, which is adding a mile track even as I write. Here is the beginning of its history, cropped from their website. If you are a racing fan, you may find this of interest, just enough to whet your interest. Check it out yourself to read more: </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b><i>“Born in a hurricane</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Our story begins on a quiet September afternoon in the farming community of Thompson, Connecticut. The year was 1938 and the chores of the day had been completed. Heavy rains had pelted the area a few days earlier, but on this September 21st, the day had been sunny and dry. To the people in this beautiful, yet quiet section of the state, it was time to relax after a hard day’s work. Little did they know that the landscape and their lives were about to change forever.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">With no advance warning, the skies turned black as huge storm clouds raced over the area. The “Long Island Express” was ready to bear down on New England. The affects were devastating as the famous 1938 hurricane roared through this quiet farming town. When the skies cleared, buildings, trees and just about anything in the storm’s path had been destroyed. Included was the farm of John Hoenig and his family.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">In the aftermath of the storm called the “Long Island Express” and The Great New England Hurricane, many chose to rebuild. Some chose to pull up stakes and move elsewhere. However, John Hoenig had a dream. If ever that dream were to become reality, now was the time.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He began to remove the downed trees and clear the land. He brought in a rock crusher, built a sawmill, and moved thousands of cubic yards of gravel. All of these items were needed to create his dream. Before long, the nation’s first asphalt racetrack was beginning to take shape and John Hoenig’s dream was coming true.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Check out the Thompson Speedway if you want to know the rest of the story. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When I left Norman, he passed me a 20 dollar bill and told me to go get a milkshake. That gift feeds me for 2 days: I thanked him profusely and cycled on, ever richer--on many levels- for having met him. Thank you, Norman. Your gift is remembered.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That night, I checked into the Passport Inn, right on highway 6, a few miles from Willimantic. The next morning, I zipped back 1/4 mile on the highway to go to the Irving station for morning coffee and a muffin. A met the good ole boys club. Every small town has one. Some bigger towns have several. These are the middle aged to retired guys who are good buddies and hang out together in the morning for coffee and gossip. These gents at the Irving station were dog lovers and worked with “Jim”, who trains retrievers to become hunting dogs. Half of the guys just wanted to work with the animals and don’t even go hunting. Either way, these boys were fun and silly and full of jokes and started my day out with a smile.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then it was cycling west northwest again, this time to East Hartford, where a cheap motel awaited me yet again. The iPhone map misdirected me about 5 miles north, to Windsor. Yet, because of this cyber mapping mistake, a wonderful thing happened.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Eva. Eva was one of those adventurous lady athletes I had met on the Erie Canalway Trail, with the group of women who were cycling the full length of the trail. Eva is also a runner and spends her free time cycling with Shari (one of the Appalachian trail hikers) or running, as she is training for her first half marathon. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Apparently, when Eva returned to work, right there in Windsor, CT, after her cycling expedition on the Erie Canalway, she told her boss about her experiences on the trail. She mentioned meeting me and even posted a photo of us on her FB page. So, her boss had an idea of what I looked like.</span></div>
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So, there I was, cycling on the wrong road to the motel. The boss sees me, runs into the office and tells Eva to get in her car and find me. So, she did! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What a delightful surprise to see her pretty, smiling face when her vehicle sidled up beside me and honked! She moved ahead and pulled over and we shared hugs and laughter! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Eva has continued cycling with Shari for day long rides. She runs after work and then drives 35 minutes home every day. Eva is slim and pretty and looks like a runner. What a great lady. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I like her boss too! Thank you for sending Eva on the wild goose chase!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I made it to the little room in East Hartford, hiked to the closest Subway, and brought back a salad. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The days since mid August had been extremely humid, with sweat dripping off my forearms and elbows while I cycled through hills and valleys. The rain had been on and off through most of the Labor Day weekend and into mid week. The hills had been demoralizing and depressing because of the slow pace and the hard work. My daily mileage was dropping and the days were getting shorter. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I was getting very tired. I longed for the coast. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wednesday, September 4th. That’s enough, I gotta go back to the coastal cities. So, back to the coast, through New Haven, and to Milford, CT. It was so fun hitting the cities in Connecticut. I had gone through Harvard and met a cycling group from MIT. I passed by exclusive high schools and private and state universities. I cycled right through Hartford, but didn’t seen any bull elk(!). But I did meet friendly workers on the streets and saw incredibly beautiful buildings. As I neared the coast, the population density increased. Then, New Haven. Home of Yale University. I cycled through the Yale district and absorbed the energy from this town like a sponge. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I adore college towns. New Haven did not disappoint me. Theatres, concerts, art galleries, technical institutes, medical facilities promising serious results, coffee shops and bistros, restaurants with foods from all over the world: the sights and sounds were engulfing. I shot some iphone photos of some of the buildings and sent one at a time to my son, who did an internship at Yale one summer. He had to guess my location. He did that by the second photo, before any truly identifying buildings were sent. Good job, Deois!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I cycled on to Milford, CT, where lodging was more affordable. The day was sunny and I was back on the coast. Relief. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Yes, the traffic can be thick, resulting in stop and go travel all day long. But there are people waving, calling out, asking questions, laughing, sharing their lives. And I can find a Dunkin Donuts and their great coffee in every town. Caffeine Power!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Thursday, September 5th. I found a steal of a deal on Priceline for cheaper than any Super 8 in the state. The Hyatt Regency in Stamford---well, technically, Old Greenwich. I cycled on hwy 1, also known as Boston Post Road, all day. Mostly, I traveled through cities, with some strips of gardens and parks and trees between. At a 7-11 convenience store, I chatted with several people while drinking coffee by Henry David. A regional 7-11 manager told me his passion is fishing and gardening; his assistant or friend (not sure which) said that gardening was his passion. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then, I met Chris---a retired military vet who spent 42 years in the service. He said he has been to every port. He was whipcord tough, driving a four wheel truck, and was living a semi-hermit life. He has been married 5 times and said he has learned his lesson. When I asked him about his passion, he said, “You”, meaning women, then he said, “but no longer that. I’m too old. Now it is racecar driving. And riding my motorcycle.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Chris described a life always living on the edge--an adrenaline junkie, so to speak. He now builds and drives racecars. He likes to ride his motorcycle in the hills and is thinking of slowing down and maybe buying a mountain bike. Bicycle, that is. I kind of doubt he will go from racing cars and motorcycles to riding a mountain bike. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Chris comes from a long line of Republicans. He shared his political views with me. We discussed the decency of President Eisenhower. He told me that his dad was one of the organizers of the Republican Party and helped Eisenhower’s election. When he was too young to really remember it clearly, Chris said he was bounced on Ike’s knees as the famous general and belove president was a family friend. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When I pulled into the Hyatt Regency on the evening of September 5th, I was amazed to see this very fancy, even regal, hotel. Inside, there was an open bar in the middle of a garden setting with a fountain and inside “brook” with the water rolling over rocks and forming little pools. The bellmen were dressed snappily and all employees wore black suits. But, with a pricey hotel, “ain’t nothing free”. No coffee maker in the room. No free continental breakfast. Internet in the room had a price tag with it; if you wanted free internet, you had to sit in the bar area by the fountain. And I’m sure you’d buy an overpriced drink. No laundromat for guests, but you could pay for your laundry to be done for you.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jeez. Rich people have to spend a lot of money to stay in a place like that. As for me: I took my laundry to the laundromat at the bottom of the hill and bought my coffee at Dunkin Donuts. Then, I had a flat on the way. Luckily, this tire was much easier to manage and was changed in 10 minutes. When I got back up the hill, in the dark, I realized I left my phone at the grocery store. The bellman called the store and the phone was at the service desk. So, after unpacking the bike and storing HD in the service closet, I literally ran down the hill to the store to get my phone back.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">By the time I got back to the room, I was tired and hungry and did not have the time, money, or interest to go to the bar to get on the net. So, I used my phone to figure out my plan. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The question? Go up to the campground or go through New York City. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Hmmmm. Hills? Or traffic? I called the campground. There was no electricity there and no stores for 7 miles--of hills. If I chose to cycle through NYC and stay somewhat near the coast, and out of the Appalachians, I would cut off several miles. I would have to deal with traffic and stay in motels for a few more days. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But I would see New York City. I would go right through the Bronx. I would cross the Hudson River by Manhattan. No question.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">New York, New York, here I come!</span></div>
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Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-13272185941658866702013-08-29T10:21:00.005-07:002013-08-29T10:21:53.358-07:00Crossing the North Appalachians<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On Friday at about 4:30 pm, I rolled into Bennington, Vermont. HD and I are now in New England, as I can tell from all the town welcome signs. All these small towns are steeped in history and were settled or chartered in the 1700’s. The architecture is New England. The towns are proud of their heritage.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I just had to check out this town! After yammering to my family and loved ones via text and taking a shower, I headed downtown and brought the camera. I figured I would see some cool, old buildings. Yes indeed! Starting with the Catholic cathedral right next door! Bennington is an artsy town. The population is about 15,000, including Old Bennington right next door to the west. There are galleries, museums, folk art stores, antique and vintage stores, dance studios, and a few Italian restaurants.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">With only 15,000 people, Bennington is the 3rd largest city in the state. It was chartered in 1749 and settled in 1761. Bennington was named after Colonial Governor Benning Wentworth and is best known for the Battle of Bennington in 1777. General John Stark’s New Hampshire Militia defeated German Lt. Col. Friedrich Baum’s troops of Germans, local Loyalists, Canadians, and Indians. The German troops were battering the colonial troops until Seth Warner’s Green Mountain Boys arrived and turned the outcome of the battle. Ethan Allen is the famous colonial who founded the Green Mountain Boys. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Now I understand why Bennington artwork featured Ethan Allen in so many pieces.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The catamount is another name for the beautiful mountain lion, or cougar, who used to populate the Vermont wilderness. Long thought to be extinct in the area, there have been numerous sightings, even photos and videos, over the last few years. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">While strolling the downtown area of Bennington, I saw about a dozen fiberglass catamount statues, all painted and decorated by different artists and representing different themes. This is part of The Catamount Prowl, a festival here in Bennington. The statues were unveiled in May and the party culminates in October with a gala event and catamount statue auction. Apparently, in 2005 and 2009, there was a similar festival, called the MooseFest, here in Bennington. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That explains why I have seen about 8 or so painted moose statues in Vermont so far. In New Mexico, we had a similar event with Painted Ponies. These statues, all painted by approved artists, brought significan attention to New Mexico. Many towns even coughed up funds to purchase or sponsor a pony to stand in the downtown “Main Street” areas. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I love when a state’s celebration has a heavy emphasis on artwork. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, Bennington streets were decorated with life-sized fiberglass catamounts and a few moose. Meese? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Silliness abounds.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">In front of an antique and curiosity shop, on that fine evening, were two young people trading off time to play their guitars and showcase their original works. They were raising money for St Judes but also had a separate tip jar. They announced they would like to buy pizza after the free concert, so tips were certainly acceptable and appreciated. I thought they were very courageous to play for the public. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Don’t you love it when people take a chance?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I purchased pizza and salad at The Bennington Pizza House and took it “home” to my motel when it was dark. For a “small” town (not by VT’s standards), I was amazed at the number of people out and about, of all ages. It was a beautiful summer night and the weather will soon be turning cooler. But the happy families were strolling, going out for dinner, going to who-knows-what local event. What a hopping little town.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I ate my salad and most of the pizza in the comfort and quiet of my little room, saving two pieces of veggie pizza for breakfast. They were a little soggy on the tips the next morning, but I am not particularly picky, so I ate them with relish and set to packing up. As I headed out of town, I was hoping to score some coffee, but did not see anything open on that early Sunday morning on August 25th. That is, until I reached the east end of town. Then I came across Bakkerij Krijnen-, a local bakery which advertised pastries, donuts, and...coffee.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I pulled in and parked HD by the door. The entrance to the shop is interesting because you go through a storage and supply room to get to the shop. But, my oh my, it was heaven. I got a cup of coffee and chatted with the owner, Jen.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jen and her husband Hans have owned the shop about 3 years. They are turning a small profit but not a huge one, considering the amount of work it requires. I had not noticed any signage in town advertising its existence, which might be a worthy investment, as I didn’t know it was there and, if it hadn’t mentioned coffee on the window, I probably would have kept cycling. Their business comes mostly from locals, but they do pick up vacationers going to or from Green Mountain, which was where I was headed that morning. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Hans always wanted to own a bakery. His father and grandfather were bakers in Holland, so he grew up with the business. When he was a little boy, he told his family he wanted to be a baker too. His father and grandfather were horrified and forbade it, telling him there was no money in it. But there are more important things than being rich, so Hans became an accomplished, lettered chef as an adult, and now he spends the wee early morning hours, and into most of the day, baking the most delectable treats you can imagine. I saw some of the most gorgeous, appetizing pastries imaginable, but settled on a few cookies, which are easiest to carry on the trike for travel. They also serve limited vegan lunch time faire. For lunch today, a sweet potato soup was advertised. Now you’re talking.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jen’s passion is “food”. While she doesn’t do the baking, she loves to have a garden, eat her husband’s cooking, and she even started a farmers’ market here in Bennington some years back, so that fresh, local food would be available for everyone. Her husband’s passion is preparing the food. He was a tall, thin man, moving quickly and efficiently in the kitchen, so I don’t think his passion is eating everything he makes! What self control this husband-wife team have!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After the conversation, I mounted HD and we rode up the mountain. The Green Mountains are Vermont’s portion of the Northern Appalachians. Vermont calls itself “The Green Mountain State”. “Vermont” actually comes from the French “Verts Monts”, which literally means Green Mountains. The name was suggested in 1977 by Dr. Thomas Young, an American revolutionary and Boston Tea Party participant. So, Vermont it is.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The ride up the slope began easy enough and I found myself grinning at the mild work for many miles. Yep, riding the Lagunas, Cascades, and Rockies and then the foothils of New York’s Alleghenies and Vermont’s Green Mountain foothills had prepared me. Then, in the last few miles up to the peaks, the road took a definite leap upward and I found myself REALLY working! I later found that the incline had increased from the 6% I was used to in the Lagunas to the 8-9% of this portion of the Appalachians. Luckily for me, throughout that day and the days to follow, the 7-9% road slopes were generally only 1-2 miles in length. So, I got a chance to sweat and breathe hard and get a worthy workout. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">At the top of the eastern side of the mountain range, I came across a little store at Woodford. This store caters to campers and local outdoorsmen. I purchased some locally made chocolates and talked to the young people managing the store. They were very helpful and shared their knowledge of the road to follow. From there, it was primarily steep but relatively short slopes all the way to Wilmington. HD and I cycled through some of the most incredible scenery, seeing both deciduous and evergreen forests, lakes, and streams. Going into Wilmington from the east, you pass Lake Raponda or Lake Whitingham. Being Sunday, families were out to enjoy boating and fishing and the town itself had a festival quality to it. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wilmington is a New England mountain town, in all its glory. Old, picturesque buildings, lovingly maintained; baskets of red geraniums hanging everywhere, even decorating the bridge that spans the Deerfield Rver right in town; art shops; bakeries; bed and breakfast inns in Vermont style; restaurants---I could definitely come back and stay in a bed and breakfast here in the summer and stroll the sloped streets and shoot the breeze with the locals and buy Vermont art. I stopped at a grocery store at the edge of town to purchase fruit and cheese for the evening. I finally scored some Vermont cheese on sale.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">HD and I pulled into the Molly Stark State Park Campground in the mid afternoon. It was a relatively short riding day, as I knew it would be a strenuous cycling experience. But the day was young, so I did my calisthenics, took a hike, and climbed a radio tower, just to face my fear of heights. And also to take some nice long view photos of the hills of the Green Mountains. For dinner, I ate sliced apples and Vermont cheese and a brownie I had purchased earlier in the day.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I really must quit eating bakery goods. But it is like experiencing local flavors when you stop in these little bakeries and shops. I tell myself I owe it to the owners to try out their goods. It is about circulating funds through the country. A dollar here and a dollar there is like paying it forward. I reap the blessings of tasty treats, work it off, and get to help keep hardworking shop owners and bakers doing what they love. See how selfless that is? Hahahaha!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I read a bit in my tent that night and had a peaceful sleep. Well, almost. It started raining and continued to maintain a light shower for several hours. I did have some leakage into the tent, but it was relatively minimal, as I was parked on a hard packed gravel space which allowed the water to drain off. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The next morning, HD and I were off and running over the mountain range. The goal was to get to Keene, New Hampshire. It was another relatively short day of cycling, to allow muscle fatigue from mountainous riding. As I cycled around the sharp turns, I almost passed a local store on a farm. I hadn’t had coffee yet and “The Sugarhouse” had a sign advertising coffee on the window. So, I made a quick U-turn on the highway, after checking for traffic, and pulled into the personal property of the lady who runs the store. She told me to be careful on the country roads and went inside to the back. A friend of hers, who works the counter, went inside to take my purchases. This little country shop featured maple syrup and maple products as number one; home baked goods as number two; and really good coffee as number three. I chatted with the employee/friend of the owner, the latter having gone into hiding. I learned that the woman who owns the place bakes all the goodies and also taps the trees and makes the syrup herself. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Apparently, you tap the maple trees in February and March when the sap starts running upward. The difference in the amber and dark colored syrups is generally related to when the sap was collected, with the lighter colored, more delicate syrup from the earlier harvested sap. You can no longer collect the sap when the trees start to bud, as it becomes unpalatable, so the harvest season generally lasts only about 7 weeks. Canada provides 80% of the world’s maple syrup. In the US, Vermont is the number one producer. I have been wanting to get some amber maple syrup, right here in Vermont, but have no effective way to transport it. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Another trip. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">With a car and luggage in possession. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Vermont had been lovely; I had enjoyed mountains, trees, fresh air, challenging beautiful roads, and I felt as if I had stepped back into Early American history. Most of the towns I had passed through were over 200 years old and proud of their heritage. Arts and crafts are a big deal here, as is the ever popular Vermont maple syrup. I thought I would see more dairy farms and cheese being advertised, but apparently not in the mountainous area I traveled. Vermont is sturdy and strong and independent, as are its residents.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Same day. Tuesday, August 26th, 2013, HD and I passed into New Hampshire. The Welcome to New Hampshire signs also have the following quote written at the bottom: “Live Free Or Die”. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This says it all for New Hampshire. It was the first colony to break away from Great Britain and was the first US state to have its own state constitution. There is no state income tax on W2 wages, but they do tax interest income. It’s like saying: we won’t tax you if you work for your money. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There is not even a state sales tax. Local municipalities may charge sales tax to cover some local services. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Within the first 5 miles of cycling in New Hampshire, I saw road signs which reinforced their fierce independence. Apparently, the law demands seat belts only if you are under 18. You can talk on your cell phone and drive. There are signs saying “Use Common Sense!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">While wearing a seat belt as well as driving with your cell phone untouched are wise actions, you are not bound by law to do so. I like that. Some people drive defensively. Some people can drive and talk at the same time. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I have seen the worst motor vehicle accidents occurred when the driver was trying to unwrap his fast food meal or spilled hot coffee on his lap while driving at the same time. But I have never seen a law saying you can’t smoke or drink coffee or eat while you drive.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Use Common Sense.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This is a common sense state. They don’t regulate your every move, but do expect you to act responsibly and follow what laws do exist. In return, they protect your freedoms to choose. They protect the right for same sex marriage as well as woman’s rights over their bodies in all but partial birth abortions. Imagine not being told every thing you can or can’t do, but the state protecting your rights to common sense. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I was treated with consistent respect and curiosity. It is another fiercely independent-minded state. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And, like Vermont, it is breathtakingly beautiful. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My good friend Esteban was in the area that week, as he travels to New York twice a year to manage his home of many years, spring and early fall. He arrived in New York a few days ago and then went to New Hampshire for a few days to visit friends. He texted me, and offered to take me out to dinner. I was game for that, so he met me in Keene and we wandered the streets of this great college town and then went out for Mexican food. I enjoyed the company, the friendship, the conversation, and the great food. I met him the next morning for breakfast while he prepared to see his friends, with plans to spend the remainder of the week with his family and his new grandson. I took a few photos of him to post on a dating website as he would be a fine catch for some lucky lady. He is smart, witty, funny as all get out, very good looking, and talented. He buried his wife 5 years ago and he thinks he is ready now to start looking, but maybe wants to wait another 5 years when he retires from work. He is such a dear friend; I pray he is happy and successful and has a great time back in the dating scene. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We discussed my own romantic situation. For any curious readers, tune in to the last chapter. Or wait for the book...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Esteban appeared once more that day, while on the road. He “passed me a baton” while I was riding along, not saying a word, just handing it to me and speeding off in his souped-up car with the V8 engine. The baton is a stick with little leather strips streaming from one end and a braided handle secured on the other end---my new “dog whisperer”, as he called it. I had lost the first one on the road and had bemoaned its loss. Being half survivalist, he thought I should not be without personal protection. So, now I have a stick. I never had to “use” the first one for self defense, but must admit that simply lifting the stick when chased by a dog made them effectively stop chasing. Immediately. If I meet an aggressive raccoon while out camping, I know I can encourage the critter, however cute, to maybe consider another tent to raid. A little poke might do the trick. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was about 55 miles to Manchaster, NH, my goal for the day. I stayed on hwy 9 all day, until I arrived in town. Then I looked for a cheap place to stay and the Econo Lodge in an old industrial part of town fit the bill. I rode up to the building and saw the sign at the front of the huge, mostly empty parking lot. But the building itself sported no signage and it took me a few minutes to find the front door. The “lodge” looked actually like a huge, old, brick apartment/tenement building with hundreds of rooms over several floors. Some windows in the upper floors looked like there were signs of permanent habitation, such as house plants, fans, and the like. Some of the people going to and from the building did not look like travelers but relaxed residents. There is a certain look we travelers have. Maybe it is the look of restlessness or fatigue from a days’ travels. Maybe it is a look of uncertainty. When you “live” somewhere, you move like you belong there; you sport a look of ownership; you move confidently through the halls; you dress in clothing you would wear to either clean the bathroom or run to the convenience store down the street. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The manager of the motel gave me a good price for the room and told me to make sure I brought my bike into the room with me as I should not leave it outside for the night. I wondered if I could get HD through the doors. I found my room and then went out the back door, which appeared wide enough. When the back door shut, you couldn’t get back in, so I planned to ride HD to the back door and then walk back to the front door, make my way through the building to the back door, and pull HD in, while propping the heavy springloaded hinged door with a foot. Well, I rode HD to the back and who was there holding the door open but the manager himself, who had been watching from his desk and wanted to ensure I got HD inside. I was grateful for his warm hospitality and generosity, but maybe a bit concerned about the area. I wasn’t nervous, but I guess I needed to use Common Sense in this part of town.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wednesday, August 28th, 2013. The goal was to make it to Maine and tag the 3rd corner of this trip. I knew there was a hiker/biker trail called the Rockingham Recreational Trail. It purported to run for 25 miles east from Manchester. Perfect. These old rails to trail roads were usually surfaced with fine rock or hard packed gravel, mowed and maintained throughout the summer months, and have very little incline to them. Perfect again.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So I thought.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I found the “trailhead” and it was no more than a walking path, fit for a single hiker. I tried block after block through Manchester, thinking that the path would surely improve. It took about 1 1/2 hrs to get out of Manchester, with the sad realization that the Rockingham Recreational Trail was not an adequate biking trail, and in many places would be a challenge even for a walker. It was certainly not maintained. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, I rerouted my iPhone map for walking to Kittery or York Harbor, Maine. But, these maps were off too. Strongly outlined roads were not the highways seen in maps from other states, but were often rough dirt roads or even entirely nonexistent. I came to several spots where the map clearly showed a road. Instead, I would see a new home. No road. Maybe there used to be another dirt road there!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, I found my way around various lakes by trial and error, until I could get back to the highways. I learned to stay on the highways today in New Hampshire. The highways really did exist.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I cannot complain as this was a marvelous day filled with the scent of clean air in the trees, evergreens, moving fresh water, and, near the end of the day, the unmistakable scent of ocean air. YES!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I enjoyed cycling through the town of Newfields, NH, and met some locals there. It was the first day of school and there was an excitement in the air. I was riding through Newfields around 3 pm as school was letting out. The school speed limits lights were flashing. Up ahead, there were also the lights flashing on the Suburban police vehicle. The policeman had pulled over a man speeding through the school zone. By the time HD and I got to the site, the policeman had returned to his vehicle, did a U-turn in the middle of the highway and had pulled over at the school. Shortly before I caught up to him, he had leapt out of the car and donned a crossing guard vest and stopped the country traffic while a group of children crossed the street next to the elementary. They called out to him like their best friend, exclaiming that there was no home work today, nor for the whole week. He laughed and teased them.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Small town love. God, I loved this! I pulled over and asked him if he really was both a police officer AND a crossing guard? He laughed and said it was one of the parts of his job he likes best. He made a face as he looked off, reminiscing about having to apprehend lawbreakers (those not using Common Sense!), then smiling again as he thought of the children. He proudly stated that he was the police chief in the area as well. He has lived in NH for all of his life, but has not always worked right here in Newfields. But he does enjoy it here and sees retirement in some years. “Art” is 53 years old and is handsome and healthy and full of vitality. His passion is fly fishing. That alone I find impressive as fly fishing is a poetic, skilled sport which takes years of practice to master. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Art gave me some road tips and talked a bit about the naval yards and interesting sights in Portsmouth and Kittery. He advised me to be very careful on the highways and country roads and goodnaturedly suggested I check out the the Newfields downtown and its country store.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">HD and I cycled not a mile further when we hit the “downtown” section of Newfields, and found the small country store. It was about the only thing that suggested it was “downtown”. The owners sold some coffee and more home baked goodies. This must be a New England thing. The friendly lady at the counter said that the baked goods were made personally, every day, by the owner and a friend of hers. As school was now out, families were coming in to get ice cream and goodies while they chattered away with mom or dad, telling of the excitement of the first day back in class.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">They had the best coffee ever. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, I made it to highway 1 and then took the 1 bypass over the bridge into Kittery, Maine. About 10 miles earlier, I had begun to smell the ocean air and the traffic had increased. Also, I could see the marine layer up ahead and I cycled into a foggy late afternoon. The bridge on the #1 bypass had construction going through the walkway, so I had to travel with the traffic, which is not my favorite thing to do on narrow bridges, as cars are in a hurry and I can’t quite comply. I understand. I’m a car driver too. So, I did my best to hurry over the fog enshrouded bridge and made it to Maine. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">TAG!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Third corner of this USA trip has been accomplished. Boo yeah!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I cycled to the shopping district of the north end of Kittery and found a Starbucks on my side of the busy highway. Wow! I hadn’t seen a Starbucks in either Vermont or New Hamphshire. Of course, I was mostly in the wooded areas of these two states. But most of the area is wooded, anyway, with primarily small towns and burgs and a few larger cities. In New York, there are Starbucks in most big towns, but where there is a Starbucks, there is a competing Tim Hortons nearby. And then there are Dunkin Donuts in NY, VT, and VH. Starbucks has stiff competition here in the east. Dunkin Donuts coffee is mild--quite to my liking. Tim Hortons’ coffee is a bit stiffer, but still quite good. Starbucks coffee tends to be more bitter, which most coffee afficionados really love. Since I was a late bloomer to the coffee world, my tastes prefer the milder flavors.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And I really don’t care for flavored coffees. Just half and half and sweetener. I rarely buy cappuccinos as their calorie count tends to be high and they often leave a sticky sweet aftertaste. Blended/frozen coffees, like frappuccinos, are yummy, but they can have as many calories as a Dairy Queen blizzard with ice cream and candy! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, I tend to drink my coffee and eat my ice cream. I have seen so many locally owned ice cream shops and I always want to stop in and get an ice cream cone, but rarely succumb. I’ve had about 4 ice cream cones over the last 5 months. I had fewer than that when I wasn’t cycling 6-10 hours a day. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It’s hell to get old and have your belly show the evidence of each cookie and ice cream cone. I think I better go do some exercises, come to think of it...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Later. Gotta finish this blog first!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So. I got a blonde roast coffee from Starbucks and did a search on the availability of local lodging and campgrounds. One campground in York Harbor, up ahead, for RVs at, get this: 92 dollars a night!!! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Scratch camping, then.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I found a Days Inn a mile back in Kittery, so I turned around and checked in. It wasn’t on the ocean, as I had hoped. But oceanfront lodging in New England tends to run a price tag of $150 to $350 per night. Not in my budget. Haha! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The Days Inn worked out well. I have a large enough room and free breakfast and a convenience store down the street and a kickin’ internet connection. All needs met. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, I won’t really see much of Maine. Mostly the Hwy 1 bypass road, a few stores, and fog. I will head down the eastern states on Friday, August 30th for the race to South Carolina. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I have a date! A real one!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Boo yeah! Twice!</span></div>
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Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-39502062598296195352013-08-29T10:16:00.002-07:002013-08-29T10:16:58.094-07:00East Across New York<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On Saturday, August 17th, I got a late start, having slept peacefully and deeply at the Niagara County Campground near Lockport, NY. I noted that Henry David’s back tires had worn through to the inner green rubber reinforcements. Time to change my tires already! These were definitely not the quality of tires that were originally installed on the trike. They only had about 800 miles on them, while the originals had lasted 5000 miles and did not show the serious loss of rubber that these newer tires exhibited. So, I took photos, send them to Russ so he could show them to the bike shop in Normal. Then I headed east, hoping to make it to Rochester that day. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I got on the Erie Canalway Trail about 4-5 miles from the campground. This is a 365 mile trail that travels from Buffalo to Albany next to the Erie Canal. Well, almost. It is 75% complete--give it a few years and it will be finished. It is generally “paved” with crushed stone and stone dust, although some cities and towns have paved it with actual asphalt or cement, making it a popular hiking and biking trail for families in bigger towns, like Rochester. Serious cyclists ride the trail every summer. The trail follows the Erie Canal and there are various kiosks along the way, describing the history of the canals, the locks, and the development of towns along the way. It is fairly level, with few serious hills. There are some areas where the trail is not maintained, so it appears that locals may be partially responsible for keeping it cleaned and the road or trail in good riding or walking condition. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The history of the canal itself it quite fascintating. In the 1700‘s and early 1800’s. getting goods across New York was time-consuming and difficult on pack animals, which required cutting across boglands, forests, and hills. Shipping goods via waterways was much more efficient. DeWitt Clinton, mayor of New York City, proposed the Erie Canal project to President Thomas Jefferson in 1807. The Prez called it “the big ditch” and said it was a good idea... in 100 years. When the next president, Madison, also vetoed funds for the project, Mayor Clinton got the fine state of New York, and its supportive citizens, to do it alone, as a state owned canal, and ground was broken at Utica, NY on July 4th,1817. The project had now begun. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Clinton became governor of the state, was voted out, and then voted back in. Funds for the project rose and fell with Clinton’s own fortunes and political influence. In 1825, the project was complete, while Clinton was governor the 2nd time. The celebration of the canal completion lasted 10 days, while governor Clinton waved from the Seneca Chief, the boat that carried him down the canal, with every town port participating in the party.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The Erie Canal became a symbol of the ambition, the industriousness, and the resolve of the American people. It brought extensive business and income to New York, establishing it as The Empire State. And here I thought it was because of the building by that name. The building came second. The canal came first. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Baby boomers will remember singing the Low Bridge song, otherwise known as “Fifteen Years on the Erie Canal”. This folk song was written in 1905 by Thomas Allen, commemorating the period from 1825 to 1880 when mules pulled barges down the canal. After 1880, engine power replaced mule power. The song was about reminding people to duck under the bridges when they rode on the top of the boats. I don’t remember learning this part of history. Only the song. It had a catchy tune, so at 6 or 7 years old, I just sang the words. I had heard about the Erie Canal, but not much of interest to a child, just when it was built and that it was used for shipping goods. Where are the exciting depictions in the children’s history books about the mules pulling these boats? About President Jefferson calling it “a big ditch”? How it made New York rich and became known as The Empire State? How about a science display showing how a lock actually works? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I never knew.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">If nothing else, this adventure has been worth the effort of learning about my own country. What a history! It is coming alive! To see it and touch it and experience it have been gifts beyond measure.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The Erie Canal now is used for recreational purposes, primarily boating, with the Trail acting as a proud connection to the canal for the entire state of New York. Some of the tiny towns along the canal still benefit from the people hiking and biking the trail, who come into town to sample the local fare and take advantage of the lodging options.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After a few hours of cycling on the Trail that first day, I popped into Medina to see if there was a bike shop. No go. I realized that, being Saturday, it wouldn’t do any good to make it to Rochester that night, because the bike shops would be closed on Sunday. So, I used the iPhone to find the closest shop on the way---Bicycle Outfitters was the closest one off the trail--in Brockport. I called the shop at about 1:30 pm and the owner, Russell, answered, saying that he had some standard tires and if I could make it by 5 pm he would install them. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, I pushed onward but it took 90 minutes to only go 10 miles. So, at the next available bridge, I crossed, jumped onto hwy 31, which is a designated bike approved hwy in New York (thank you, New York!) and picked up a little speed, making it to the shop by 4:30. He was busy with customers till almost 6 pm, but he installed the tires in just a few minutes. He told me that I needed special tires for the recumbent because standard tires were not meant to carry the load and the wheel angle on the trike was also likely to cause rapid wear. I really will need to contact Rod Miner, from Lightfoot Cycles, and ask him to mail the ultra recumbent trike tires to the next planned bike shop visit.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Now to find a place to stay. I checked every motel and B&B in town---all filled, except the last room at the Hampton Inn. I have never stayed at the Hampton during this cycling trip because it is a bit too pricey for me, but I was desperate, so I took it. It was the king suite, handicapped accessible, which means it was roomy. So, I lived like a queen for the night: did my exercises, soaked in the jacuzzi downstairs, drank their heavenly coffee, watched a movie, and spent an extraordinary amount of time on the internet mapping out the journey to Maine. I drank so much of their damn good coffee that I couldn’t sleep in that big comfy bed. I was tempted to throw my sleeping bag on the floor to see if that would work better!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">In the morning, I partook of their continental breakfast, drinking more of the blasted fantastic coffee, and set out for Macedon. I stopped in Greece, NY, about 15 miles shy of Rochester, to sit at a Tim Hortons Cafe and see if I couldn’t perhaps travel farther than Macedon. But there really aren’t any motels or campgrounds after Macedon until you are right up on Syracuse. In Macedon, at lock 30 along the canal, there is a primitive campground for bikers and hikers. I called the lockmaster for confirmation that I could camp there, and away I went, hopping back on the Erie Canalway Trail.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When I reached Rochester, the pathway split and I ended up alongside the Genesee River. Ooops. I was thinking that things didn’t look quite right when a cyclist pulled alongside and asked if I meant to be traveling next to the canal. It was apparent from my gear that I was traveling a distance and not just out for a Sunday ride. This cyclist was Dave, a Trail Ambassador, and he has traveled the Erie Canalway hundreds of times for well over 7000 miles. He said he would take me back to the canal trail, but asked if I would first be interested in seeing downtown Rochester. I answered “Sure!” as here was a ready and willing guide. So, Dave took me along the river, stopping several times to point out a building or bridge or area of note. So, I got a little history lesson on Rochester as well. What a cool town. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There is a museum that is a “play museum”: floor after floor and room after room filled with things and activities for children to enjoy. He pointed at all the skyscrapers and said that, 50 years ago, when he moved here, there were only two tall buildings. Now there must be a dozen or more.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The pathway along the river not only went downtown, but it also had areas that were secluded and wooded. At one point, a little white-tailed fawn came bounding up to us within about 8-10 feet. We stopped and the fawn stopped and we shot photos while we spoke to the wild wee one. Deeper in the brush was a young buck keeping an eye on us, mayber 3-4 years old judging by the small rack of antlers. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Eventually, we made our way back to the canal pathway and Dave wished me happy trails.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Dave. He is 74 but I thought he was maybe 58. His passions are photography, cycling, and red wine. He has traveled the world and now he chooses picturesque places to visit, photograph, and sample the offerings of the local vineyards. He usually brings a bicycle with him to enjoy cycling the area as well. He is a wine connisseur and is quite knowledgeable on the topic. I always have to call one of my children if I want to serve wine to guests, as I really know nothing about wine. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Dave has taught photography classes in 5 countries, including the USA. During our little visit, he took numerous photographs of the scenery, although he did not have his “serious” camera with him today. He has won close to 100 photography awards. You can see some of his work at: <a href="http://www.davevalvo.com/"><span style="color: #021eaa; letter-spacing: 0px;">www.DaveValvo.com</span></a>. When you go to this site, a slideshow of photographic work begins. The photos are INCREDIBLE!!! This man has been all over the world. Just to be in the right place and time to even take these photos suggests a very full and beautiful life. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After Rochester, I continued on the Erie Canalway and went through several small towns and burgs. It felt like Sunday at the park. There were cyclists, walkers, families, and boaters all enjoying the canal. In the classy little town of Pittsford, there was about a city block or two length of boardwalk next to the canal. I popped into a little shop that specialized in gelato and purchased some iced coffee. Along this boardwalk area of the Erie Canalway, you cannot ride your bike, but must walk it. I met an older couple on a tandem cycle who live near Lake Ontario and take their double seated bike with them on little day trips. In a few weeks, they will be driving to the Adirondacks and will cycle some of the hills each day. It’s a nice retirement!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Continuing on the path, I was joined by a young man who runs a communications firm for Fortune 500 companies. He had not been cycling for quite some time but he had taken the bike out of the garage, cleaned it up and filled the tires, and here he was. It was nice having some riding company--twice today!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After the detour in Rochester, it took longer than expected to reach Macedon. I arrived between 6 and 6:30 pm, met a few teenagers fishing in the canal, and they gave me advice about the local convenience store for snacks and drinks. I pitched camp on the grass at the Erie Canal Park at Lock 30 and walked to the Expressway Station to pick up some snacks for the evening. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When I arrived back at the tent, the sky was turning orange and pink and lavender as the sun was dropping in the horizon. Another biker, Eric, arrived and pitched tent about 40 ft from mine. We chatted for a bit. He is from the Oregon coast and is heading for Kennebunk, Maine. Eric is a director for a successful software company, but took a leave of absence to do this trip. He said it was the best thing he has done in years and he is loving every minute of it. When I asked him about his passion, about what he loves, he said that he didn’t have a passion. He had been too busy working, working, working. But what he is doing right now is certainly his passion today.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We talked a bit about managing on the road. He rides about 80 miles a day and pulls a small, single-wheeled trailer. He is carrying very little equipment and I am again reminded that I am probably bringing way too much stuff. Guys who cycle across country tend to wear the same clothes for 3 days in a row. I change every day. They often don’t wear underwear. I wear plenty of underclothes. Maybe I should look at my gear and rethink. But, then again, here I am in my tent and it is 9:15 pm and I have on the clothes, and underclothes, I wore all day. I really don’t want to wear them for 2 days in a row, but maybe I should try it. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Monday, August 19th, 2013. I set my phone alarm and packed up the dew-moistened tent and hit the road by about 6:30, going as far as about 0.10 miles to the ExpressMart for coffee. Short start! At 6:45, after Jo had her Joe, HD and I were heading east on hwy 5, which we traveled almost all day. I was heading for Syracuse but noted that the motels in my price range were located on the far east side. Well, I would deal with that later.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wow. Hills and hills on these old highways! That lovely nearby interstate was much more level but verbotten for HD and I. So I spent the day working on serious strengthening as I battled up those hills. Knowing I would be crossing the Northern Appalachians, my final mountain range on this trip (that I know of, at least!), I tried to console myself and my tired knees, saying I needed some hard days to rebuild the mountain muscles!! By the time I reached Syracuse, I was absolutely exhausted, having cycled 70 miles of mostly hills. I got off the trike at a McDonalds to get a drink and to find a room to stay. My legs were shaking from fatigue and pain. I found a reasonable room another 10 miles away, in East Syracuse, or DeWitt---same address. I called and booked a room for two nights, as it was time for the cycling day off and to start writing, editing, rewriting, and posting blogs. The last blog I had posted was the Illinois blog and I had come through Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, a piece of New York, into Ontario at Niagara Falls, and back into the US. There was a lot to write. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As I turned out of the McDonalds parking lot, my knees started screaming in pain. I felt like a big, old weakling. I thought of Eric and how he had zoomed past me earlier today with his lightweight bike and his minimal gear. I thought I must be crazy or stupid to do this trip on a heavy trike (I’m so sorry, Henry David, for my wayward thoughts!) and loaded down with so much stuff. I mentally went through my inventory of “Stuff” and could think of only a few things I would be willing to leave behind, adding up to maybe 2 or 3 pounds. If that. I had some cold weather clothing, but I knew that cooler temps were heading my way. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then, while the knees were still screaming, I thought of the two disabled athletes of whom I had read while waiting for my tires in Brockport. These intrepid trekkers had cycled the </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px; text-decoration: underline;">Himalayas</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> on recumbent trikes: a man with one side partially paralyzed and a woman with severe arthritis in her hips! Jeez Louise! If these two could cycle their trikes up the Himalayas, I could certainly push another 10 miles through Syracuse! Get it together, woman!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The pain eased as the road leveled through Syracuse. The day was ending and darkness was falling. I kept hitting the red lights through town, which slowed me down; so I turned on my lights. Doggone it. Two of the three rear red lights were dead. Yes, the days were certainly getting shorter as it was pretty dark by 8 pm. As I approached East Syracuse, the road narrowed and I was losing visibility. The last 10 minutes or so of this cycling day were spent on the uneven sidewalks to avoid being hit by a car zooming past, or being the cause of someone else’s accident. The auto drivers were getting a little nervous. So was I. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">HD and I made it to the Econo Lodge intact. I was exhausted and dirty and grimy and salty and sore. HD was just dirty. He seems to take these days in better stride than I do.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I checked into my room, talked on the phone to family, took a well needed hot shower, and popped into the Denny’s next door. I ate the meal I vowed to avoid---a veggie burger with fries. But, this time, I was so hungry that it went down very easy and I felt great. I went back to my room to crawl into bed and watched the 2nd half of an old comedy starring Cary Grant. He was a handsome leading man but he really did have a gift for doing comedy. He could pop those big dark eyes in the funniest expressions and then stumble over the language with perfection. Just what I needed to ease the day’s aches and pains--a little laughter and a lot of smiling.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Today, August 20th, I spent the day as planned. Writing. Mapping. Replacing light batteries. Talking or texting loved ones. And here I am back at Denny’s, having finished a fried-grilled cheese sandwich. Hey, it’s the closest restaurant to the motel! Vegetarian pickings here at Denny’s are limited! There is a KFC directly next door to the motel. But I don’t do chicken. Poor little hormone-fed foul living miserable lives in those chicken barns with no room even to walk. I just won’t support that. Nope. So, on the way out of town tomorrow, I will replenish my fruit and nut supply and head for Utica.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wednesday, August 21st. I was sad that day. Missed loved ones; one in particular and wondered what is worth what. So. I spent the morning in semi-meditation on the road, singing to the music on my iPod. Mostly, I have folk music on my device--in which lyrics are the important component of the music. However, I do have some acoustic musicians as well: Don Ross and Doug Smith. Oh yes, and Joannie Madden on the Irish whistle. Ne’ertheless, I sang my way through the hills to the delightful songs of Peter Mayer, Dougie MacLean, and Keb Mo. The weather was hot and still and humid and the sweat was running down my arms and hands and dripping off the forearms and elbows. My legs looked like I was in the midst of a shower or rainstorm!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But, the hills were pleasantly challenging and, while I had to cycle at a slow pace, I arrived at the northeastern end of Utica around 6ish. This is Schuyler, incorporated about 1796. I went to the Passport Inn and got a bare bones room. No fridge or microwave, unless I would take a smoking room. No dice! I had picked up a sweet potato, mushrooms, hummus, a ripe avocado, bananas, peanuts, raisins, Jalapeno chips, and a quart of Boathouse Farms vanilla chai protein drink. Oh yeah, and York Peppermint Patties and some Hot Tamales---you know, the gel candy that is good when watching movies! (No, I didn’t eat all of it that night!! LOL!) Earlier in the day, I had stopped at one of the dozens of roadside stands I had seen and purchased a small bag of locally grown applies. Most of the best food I had purchased needed refrigeration, but, no go here at the Passport Inn. But the electricity and the water were working. Well, almost. The shower plumbing was not giving me any hot water, but the bathroom sink had plenty. So, I did a wash down from the sink. Not as fun as standing under the shower, and a whole lot messier, but I felt cleaned up afterward.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">By the way, in case you were wondering if I had decided to follow the example set by the male cyclists whom I have met on this trip: I did NOT follow their advice. I am still changing my sweaty underclothes every day. I’m still a person of the female persuasion, after all. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">For dinner at the Passport Inn, I sliced part of the sweet potato into discs and dipped the raw sweet potato and raw mushrooms into the hummus, with slices of ripe avocado mixed in. Yumm!! Better than french fries! Sorry Denny’s! You just can’t compare with raw, real food.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I used to eat only raw foods for about 6-9 months, and primarily raw for about 1-2 years, when living in Carlsbad. But refrigeration and packaging and a dehydrator and good knives are essential and so my diet on the road has definitely gone downhill! I have heard of cyclists and marathon runners who eat only fruit! Imagine, only fruit! I think I could just about do that, if someone would carry it for me! LOL! It would take a lot of fruit to motor across the country, but it also takes place of some of the water I carry. So, maybe I should give it a try for a week or two. Maybe I could manage raw fruit, smoothies, juices, and....ice cream!! Yeah, that’s the ticket! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I read about this fructarian---eats only fruit---who is an ultra marathon runner. That is someone who does these 100 mile running races. Imagine. He eats only fruit. He says he eats 6000-7000 calories a day. That’s a lot of bananas: 60-70! Reminds me of Gilligan. All of you baby-boomers will know what I’m talking about!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Emotional healing last night after talking on the phone. Sigh...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, today is Thursday, August 22nd. Really? Thursday? Jeez, the time is slipping by quickly. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I checked for campgrounds on my proposed route for the day through east New York to St. Johnsville, and found one about 5 miles north of town, which is not bad. When I talked to the owner/manager on the phone, however, I discovered that those 5 miles were all uphill. But, hey, ok, I wanted to camp.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, through the undulating hills of New York, HD and I rolled along. Slowly. The humidity was again quite high and the sweat was flinging off my arms and legs and sliding from my eyebrows into my eyes. LOL! This is humidity! Nothing new, so, going downhill was especially delightful as it effectively cooled me off.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">While on hwy 5, another cyclist caught up to me and rode alongside for about 8-10 miles. His name is Paul and he was cycling across the grand state of New York, taking just a few days to do it, as he planned on riding 100 miles a day.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">However, a friend of his from Rochester wanted to join him on this particular trip. The friend cycled for 2 days, having a half miserable time, and then took a bus back. Paul’s friend doesn’t ride a bicycle very often, except to toodle around town a bit. But, he thought that a cross-state trek would be easy. But the hills of New York ain’t easy, honey!! He found that out within the first 5 miles. Paul told me that he spent the time teasing his friend and cracking silly jokes, partially to give him a hard time and partially to get his buddy to smile and laugh. It’s the Bro Thang comin’ down.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Now Paul is riding solo and enjoying his personal pace and the solitary time on the road. He works for hire as a consultant for software companies, usually providing his technical expertise for a few weeks and often up to 6 months at a time, and then he is on his way. He says he likes it that way because he believes he would get bored if he worked at the same place all the time. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I understand that sentiment, to some extent. If I am not creating something or building something, I get a bit antsy. As long as I am learning new things, I am good to go. As long as I am building a new program or advancing a new skill, I am a happy therapist. I’m not particularly satisfied if I have to count how many straight leg raises or squats my client is doing. They didn’t teach counting at OSU, but I seem to do a lot of it. I would rather take the client that has gone through all the standard stuff but wants, and needs, something different. Make me think. Make me work hard. Make me reach higher.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So. Paul. He is a slender, athletic man; quite good looking. He loves to eat and his Italian heritage gives him the background to enjoy a good meal and to experiment a bit with flavors. He also loves music and, living in Rochester, he said he goes to live music venues 3-4 times a week. Last night in Rome, NY, he and his buddy went to an Italian restaurant and listened to a local live band. He was impressed with the band, especially the lead singer, and said he was surprised by the quality of the music. Apparently, he has a taste not only for good food but for good music as well.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He also loves the cycling, but he did not go on about his experiences as many do. Rather, he mentioned a few of the cyclists he has already met on this journey and how they have inspired him. I find it fascinating that some of the most interesting people need quite a bit of prompting to tell you their own stories!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He accompanied me into St Johnsville, where I stopped to get a drink and planned to turn north. Uphill. While I was catching up on text communique with family, Paul came back to the store to tell me that there was a campground right here in town, just in case I didn’t feel like going up the mountains until I have to, just a few blocks away. So, I checked it out and he was right. The St Johnsville Marina Campground was perfect. Right on the canal/river, with a shower (even has hot water!!), a washer/drier, electricity at the pavillion in the tent area, and about 1/4 mile from town. Yay!! And only 10 dollars!! Double yay!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, I pitched tent; did most of my exercises in the sultry heat, thus moistening my clothing further; took a shower; and now I am in the laundry room tending my clothing. Two loads this time--yikes!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After I put away the clothes, etc, I plan to walk into town and check out the street faire the local firemen are putting on tonite!! Reminds me of Canistota, SD. I wonder what fun activities will be planned. I bet there is not a cow plop contest! Or mud races! Ah, memories of Canistota. Did you know there is also a Canistota, New York?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Well, off I go. I am LOVING New York. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">August 23rd. It rained in the early evening last night. I couldn’t find the street faire. Maybe it was canceled. But I moved my tent and contents under the pavilion---AFTER the rainshower! Then I took a walk downtown in the dusk, just for fun. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The morning air was fresh and clean from the previous night. Before heading out of town, I went back into town to grab some coffee. The “good ole boys” were hanging out at the Stewart’s Convenience Store. We had a great little natter. The group of guys, ranging from say 40 to 85 yrs old, gather every morning to shoot the breeze and solve the problems of the world. They say they do a good job of the latter! After answering the typical questions about HD, I went inside, grabbed my coffee, and hit the road. Today, I chose to get back on the Erie Canalway Trail, thinking that I would then avoid the crazy hills of the highway, not to mention the traffic. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The bikeway was absolutely delightful. I had lost my iPod late yesterday afternoon on the highway, so it was nice to be in the quiet of the woods, hearing the birds and bugs and streams. On the highway, it is nice to have music part of the day. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The bikeway wound through some picturesque little towns, such as Fort Plain, Canajoharie, and Fultonville</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Shortly after stopping in Fort Plain, I got back on the trail and was passed by a few ladies about my age on bicycles. They weren’t carrying packs, so I figured they were locals taking a day ride. About a mile later, I passed them while they were taking a break, and then they passed me again. One of the ladies, Shari, rode beside me for a few minutes and we shared stories. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Oh my god!! This woman, with her friend Laurie, are REAL adventurers! While Laurie is retired, Shari still works, but the two women have been on some incredible travels together. Thirteen years ago, they took a year off and took their savings and, first, hiked the Appalachian trail, stem to stern, which is 2170 miles. Then, they took the next 6 months and traveled the world, flying to Hong Kong, Europe, Africa, and some other places I can’t recall. In Florida, they hopped in a car and drove to Costa Rica. During this time of globe trotting, they hiked, biked, boated, and saw the sights. While they kept an online journal, it is no longer up and running. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I would have loved to read it!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, right now, these intrepid travelers grabbed 3 other girlfriends and are cycling the entire Erie Canalway Trail. Since it is not complete, they have to ride some highways and city streets part of the time, but they have maps that show how to get back on the trails. They stay in mid-level motels, like Days Inn. They have a few cars with them and they take turns driving the cars to each pre-determined destination. So, the ladies who are driving for the day, first cycle 15 miles out on the trail and then turn around and cycle back. Then they pick up the vehicles and drive to the designated town and check into the motels and wait for the other women. That way, even the drivers get a good workout every day. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When Shari and Laurie were hiking the Appalachian trail, they carried backpacks and did a lot of camping and some motelling. They shipped winter and summer clothes to themselves (likely through pre-determined post offices) so that they weren’t carrying all the gear needed for the entire 6 months but changed out seasonal items. They asked how much I was carrying and I responded “at least 70 lbs”. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I have cold and warm weather gear with me and I also carry quite a bit of water and food from time to time. Now that I am in the east, I don’t have to carry as much food and water because the population density is higher and there are more stores. Yay for that! But there may be fewer places to camp along the major highways. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Even though HD is very heavy and slow, and even though I’m carrying everything I want, I still get from point A to point B. I’m traveling usuallly 40-60 miles a day, 50 is about perfect. Fewer miles if it involves cycling uphill a mountain. I’m comfortable, clean, and healthy. I have no rules, other than I must do this trip on the cycle. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I compare myself to the tortoise, slow moving, carrying her home on her back. But she gets the job done.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">In fact, this analogy was apropos for the day. The ladies on the bicylces were heading for Schenectady, as was I. They passed me up. Then, an hour later, they would pass me again. I called out, “Hey, how did you do that? I didn’t pass you, how could you pass me again?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Well, they were taking more breaks than I. Just like the tortoise and the hare. And, about 10 miles from Schenectady, shortly after the bike trail ended and we were spit out onto the highway, I passed Shari and one of her cycling buddies. Her friend had a flat and they had repaired it, but could not pump the tire back up because they didn’t have a hand pump, only a CO2 pump. But the CO2 pump had the wrong valve on it. So, we used my hand pump and pumped that sucker up and then all three of us got the tire back on the bike.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After the tire was secured, I went on my way, all the way through Schenectady and then turned south to check into a Super 8. I didn’t see them again; we may have taken different routes to Schenectady. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I’m glad I have tools. And clothes. And my MacBook Air. And batteries. And spare innertubes. And a solar charger. And my girly stuff for my sun battered skin. I’m glad I have Henry David, who has taught me about patience and living the moment and going slowly enough to finally pay attention to what is going on around me. Like Life!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Henry David is just like his namesake in that regard. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The Super 8 in south Schenectady (actually a burg called Schuyler) is a bare bones motel. But it did have hot water in the shower and breakfast in the morning.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, on Saturday, August 24th, I had yogurt, a banana, and a toaster waffle for breakfast and then hit the road for the Green Mountain foothills in Vermont. After working through the streets of Schenectady, HD and I headed out on hwy 7. We had to get off the hwy and work the city streets again in Latham and Troy, catching the 7 on the way out of each town. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The town of Troy was extremely hilly and I mean STEEP hills! I was definitely getting a workout and HD was definitely getting his gears worked. The left wheelguard has shifted and I am now using bungee cords to pull it inward so that the plastic guard does not rub on the wheel. Funny how much easier it is to pedal when nothing is rubbing on the tire! I may decide to remove the wheelguards entirely. Next bike shop stop. Not yet. For now, I will just use the bungee cord. It’s like going to a car mechanic. You spend money evey time you walk in the door. So, I will wait until I get new tires and get all HD’s aches and pains addressed at once.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">About 3-5 miles from the Vermont border, while still riding the 7 in New York, I came upon “Big Moose”. This is a crazy, wonderful tourist joint which advertises genuine Vermont merchandise. It’s Vermont everything. You are not even in Vermont yet!! Every aisle is packed with candy, drinks, jerky, and stuff, stuff, stuff from VT. And pricey too! I availed myself of their outhouse and their coffee, but did not succumb to adding stuff to my gear. I have what I need! However, I did take some photos on my iPhone of some of the plaques and a few items so that I could share them with my children. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I took a photo of 3 huge gnomes for Shannon. I took a photo of a funny dog saying for Heather, of a dad saying for Deois, and a photo of peanut butter and jelly flavored soda for all three of them. I took a photo of life sized Blue Brothers mannequins, hugging moose, and a funny saying about chocolate to Peter. OK. Enough! Now, back on the road to actually get to Vermont.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The shoulder on the NY hwy 7 deteriorated the closer I got to hwy 9, the Molly Stark Highway, in VT. But, thanks to the VDOT, the shoulder was fairly restored on the 9. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The ride today was about 50 miles. It was hilly and beautiful and surprisingly easy. I am not sure why I found it easy. I rode into Bennington, VT, my day’s destination, in the afternoon around 4:30 . I checked into the Kirkside Motor Lodge because of their fantastic website. While the bedspread and the wallpaper were country, the motel really couldn’t be compared to the Hampton Inn or the Best Western, as the website claimed. It was another very appreciated but simple motel. The staff in the tiny office were quite nice and the fellow travelers were friendly and welcoming. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Henry David and I enjoyed the upstate New York experience. New York is incredibly varied and beautiful; the roads are cycle friendly; and the people are friendly. It has a history of ambition and hard work. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">New York IS America.</span></div>
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Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-21792379730279443562013-08-20T12:11:00.002-07:002013-08-20T12:11:11.320-07:00Back In The USA<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Why does it take just a few minutes to cross the Peace Bridge and arrive in Canada, even on a trike, but it takes an hour or more, in bumper to bumper traffic, to cross back into the USA on the #265 bridge, the northernmost crossing?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On Friday, August 16th, I went around in circles, trying to figure out how to get to the bridge to go back to the US, around Queenston, Ontario, until I came across a little brown sign of a picture of a bicyle and the words “Bridge to USA” and an arrow. I followed the signs and got to the toll booth, where the friendly lady pointed me to the traffic lanes. I wormed my way in, where a man in a humongous RV generously allowed me in front of him. Then, bumper to bumper for the next hour on the bridge. I was grateful that it was only about 80 degrees, because it got a bit warm up on that bridge, with 4 lanes of stopped cars and a truck lane. The cars coming in to Canada were moving along nicely, whereas the vehicles going to the USA were at a virtual standstill! What’s up with that? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But I have to admit, I felt like we should have had a bridge-parking-lot-party up there. I was a bit exposed on the trike, but HD brought lots of waves and well wishes from my neighbors, who were stuck up there with me. A little girl of about 9 or 10 ran up to me with an orange ice pop and gave it to me, wishing me safe travels, and then running back to her vehicle. I sucked on that ice pop with grateful relish, turning around to wave at the family in the RV. Was it the same family that let me enter the traffic lanes? I guess I will never know, but within a few minutes, they had moved up and were level with me. This family of vacationers were full of well wishes and questions and it was very warm up there, and not just because of the weather! Wherever you are, little family, I wish you happiness and long life!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When I reached the border/customs officer on the US side, I almost expected to be inspected, but he just asked if I had purchased anything to bring back to the USA, plus the usual questions of where I was going and if I were a US citizen and checking ID. All I had to “claim” was the light cotton hoodie, so he let me pass through. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then it was on to hwy 104 east. I stopped in Lewiston at a Tops grocery store and replenished my groceries. While in the store, I met Rick. He approached me in the produce department, sitting on the grocery scooter, asking me about the travels, as he had seen me pull into the grocery store parking lot. Rick was a muscular machinist, until he noted increasing weakness and received a diagnosis of myasthenia gravis. This is an autoimmune neuromuscular disease that results in weakness and fatigue. Rick seemed like a very cheerful man and I had questions for him as well, related to how he has handled his life change.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">For the first year after correct diagnosis of the increasing weakness, it was very difficult, says Rick. He was in and out of the hospital as the disease was affecting his diaphragm, making it impossible to breathe, until the doctors found the most effective medication regimen. He is now doing fairly well. He is able to walk but it is very tiring, so he does the grocery shopping with the electric carts. Rick says he wakes up “on the greener side of the grass” every morning. I like how he put that---the greener side of the grass. We talked about attitude and being grateful for life--a skill that Rick has honed well.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">His passion? Cooking. He has always enjoyed cooking, but when he worked full time, he didn’t have as much time to get creative. Now, with his full disability, he has the time to prepare healthy, delicious meals. This is his favorite time of year, as he buys most of his produce from local veggie gardeners, except for those items that are still out of season. His wife continues to work full time, so he is now the full time cook and bottle washer. As long as he paces himself, he can get the job done. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As I was getting ready to leave the store, I met another gent with questions about HD, how many gears he had, how many miles had I gone, etc. He is a retired PE teacher and now follows his passion: growing the trees on his Christmas tree farm.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I cycled about 20 miles on hwy 104 east, with nice, wide shoulders and pretty countryside of small forests between farming communities. I continue to find it funny how reality is just a matter of perspective. I was warned that 104 might be a bit dangerous because it was very thick with truck traffic and it wasn’t very scenic. My personal reality? It was a pleasant country highway in excellent condition with a very wide shoulder that could easily fit 2 people cycling side by side. The countryside was picturesque and the traffic was light enough that I didn’t even notice it. And really, very few big trucks.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">At the hwy 78 jct, there is a little strip mall with a Tim Hortons coffee shop and a Subway, two places I needed at that very moment. I bought a medium coffee and was preparing to go to Subway to pick up a salad for dinner when I met Larry. He was waiting at Tim Hortons for his biking buddies, as there was a bike rally at a small town just north of there. It would be a small, but fun event, with bikers from the area riding down the main street of town and then convening for an evening of live music and laughter. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Larry is retired, with grown children and 6 grandchildren. I didn’t see any wrinkles, so I wondered what he was doing retiring!! He said he is helping his son do some renovations on his home and his son was likewise helping him on his own home. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I don’t know how we got to this conversation, but we talked about his Italian heritage. Maybe when I asked him his last name, I don’t know. Anyway, his last name now is Scofil. But it used to be Scofetti, well, before he was born, anyway. And even that is an alias from Prohibition days. He is 2nd generation American; his grandparents immigrated here from Italy. During Prohibition, his grandpa was killed in his store by the mafia in Chicago---gunned down with machine gun fire. His grandmother hid the kids and herself in shelves, whiskey barrels, and pickle barrels. Larry never was told how Grandpa was involved with the mafia, but I think he has his suspicions. He said his uncle kidnapped his aunt when she was 14. “That’s the way it was done back then. And no one said a word.” When I asked if his uncle married her and did she stay with him, he said, “Sure. He married her and she stayed with him her entire life. The same thing happened with another aunt and uncle. Women stayed with their families.” I found myself thinking that it would have been very dangerous for said women to actually leave! And if you couldn’t take your kids, you wouldn’t want to try to leave! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I believe there are some places on the planet that still face similar issues...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The conversation with Larry was delightful. He is an approachable man who was, even then, gathering his friends together for a fun evening of togetherness. Many blessings to you, Larry. And yes, “I’m talkin’ ta YOU!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I checked in to the Niagara County Campground Resort at about 6:30 pm. The owner/manager was a very helpful lady who provided me with maps of New York and of the Erie Canal Bikeways, and then showed me how I could easily connect to the Bikeway from the campground in only about 4 miles. Or maybe less. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I pitched tent, did my exercises, wandered all over the park in the dark trying to find the shower house, took my eventual shower, and returned to the tent to eat my Subway salad. The temperature is dropping and I’m getting chilled, but knew I needed to take advantage of some quiet time to do this writing. I still have to finish the Indiana, Ohio, Lake Erie, and Niagara Falls blogs. But I need the internet to do some fact checking. I don’t know when that wll be--another big question mark. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But I love all you readers. And my friends and family. You know who you are! </span></div>
Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-979308821692617832013-08-20T11:56:00.003-07:002013-08-20T11:56:44.097-07:00Canada and Experiencing Niagara Falls<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Here it is Tuesday, August 20th, and I’m going to write a bit about the Niagara Falls experience from last week. You know, what can you say beside all the appropriate adjectives and adverbs, such as “beautiful”, “powerful”, “majestic”, “a lot of water”, etc.?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But there are a few things to mention about the experience.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We will start with the first night, Wednesday, August 14th. After surrendering my self-protection equipment to the Queen at the Canadian border (she really doesn’t need it, she has plenty of personal guards), I cycled onto Center Street, to Bertie Street, and then to the Niagara Parkway. I pulled over and consulted the iPhone but didn’t dare make a phone call with the cost of international rates, etc. But I found that there were motels nearby so I went to the Howard Johnson motel in Fort Erie, near the border. Now this was not your typical HJ but more of the cheap kind of motel I have been utilizing. In fact, there was no hot water in the shower! I was so dirty after camping and then traveling in the city and my hair needed a desperate washing. So, while I took that cold shower, I cussed and laughed and laughed and cussed. After all, it was at least summertime. I wouldn’t have been able to bear the cold water if it had been January!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The single serving coffee pot power button was broken, but if I kept pressure on it, the little stinker would spit out the hot water to make the single 6-8 oz serving of rather awful coffee. But, aha! There was a Tim Horton’s next door, so I went over and purchased a very large serving of it, which would provide a good 3-4 cups of coffee. I thought I would reheat it in the microwave. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Oops! Silly me, no microwave. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The next morning, the manager mentioned that there was no hot water because the plumbers had not fixed the line the day before. It was a little late. When I checked out an hour later, he asked if the hot water was working. I answered, “Yes” and he cheered. I bet it had been a stress to him, as well as to his customers!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But, hey, I was in Canada! So it’s good!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But wait a minute. Down the street was a Wendy’s, Tim Hortons, and WalMart, in addition to all the other stores you know. Was I really still in the USA? What’s the difference? I have had Canadian friends tease me about American materialism.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But, I will admit. I loved the Horton’s coffee and I bought a small salad and a baked potato from Wendy’s. All is well.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The next morning, I slept in a bit because the Niagara River really isn’t that long and I would be at the falls within 15 miles. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, began a lovely, leisurely day. I cycled along the river on Niagara Parkway, stopping at a little marina coffee shop for an oatmeal cookie and fresh coffee. I took bike paths that meandered next to the Parkway, in front of gorgeous lake homes with perfectly manicured lawns and gardens.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Many are for sale, by the way. While at Niagara Falls, I saw a tv clip that said that the housing market is going well and it’s a great time to buy. That’s for all you materialistic Americans (and Canadians!!) who want to own a home. My son wanted me to buy as soon as I texted him this information. But, hey, I don’t even have a job right now!! So house shopping is not on my list. Grapes, bananas, muffins, and a cheap place for the night, however, are definitely on my mind. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Anyway, back to the day of amazing views. I pulled HD over several times to look at the river as it began to pick up speed toward the falls. Very cool indeed. Eventually, I arrived at the Niagara Falls themselves, parking HD so I could walk, gawk, and take photographs. There are two main falls--the Horseshoe Falls, or Canadian Falls, which are shaped in a U, and the American Falls, which are more straight across and land in jagged rocks below, creating quite an uproar of churning water and mist. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I returned that evening to see the falls again, because they are lighted at night in hues of green, pink, lavender, and blue. Really quite lovely. My camera locked up but only after several shots.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">However, that meant I could not take the night time photos of the tourist section of Niagara Falls. This area is neon and bright and a tourist family’s dream, as many of the businesses are like arcades and miniature amusement parks for kids. I walked through the area in the afternoon and again at night. It was definitely summertime fun for the vacationer. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But also comes with a price tag. I went way over budget with a salad and a soda at Ruby Tuesday. I was a bit shocked. OK--so back to grocery stores!! Pass the raisins, please!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I purchased a few postcards and a small hoodie as I knew I would be heading into cooler weather soon. It is nearing the end of August and I haven’t started to head south yet. In Pennsylvania, I had seen signs of approaching autumn with some orange and crimson leaves on some of the underbrush. And through New York, I was beginning to see that duller green that suggests color changes are on the way. So, a hoodie that says </span><span style="font-family: 'Noteworthy Light'; letter-spacing: 0px;">Niagara Falls </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">seemed to make sense.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On Friday, August 18th, I reluctantly packed up my gear and HD and I left the Fallsview Lodge, a cheap little motel within an easy walk of the falls. We cycled back to the Niagara Parkway and viewed the Niagara Whirlpool, which didn’t look as scary as the name. This is where the Niagara River, well away from the falls, but definitely fast moving white water, flows into an open area at a sharp turn, thus causing a churning of the water. Hydroelectric plants take advantage of the power of the water. Not only here, but near the falls as well. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I found it a challenge to find my way to the bridge that crosses back to the USA--the 405 in Canada and the 265 in the USA. It was bumper to bumper traffic and no lanes for cyclists or walkers here on this bridge. You were instructed to get behind a lane of cars and to just follow the traffic. More on the bridge experience in the next blog!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My brief sojourn in Canada had been delightful. I had not delved into any deep conversations with other folks as this was a tourist area, with people from all over the world visiting to see those majestic falls. I always enjoy hearing all the different languages of my brothers and sisters. We humans do so enjoy beauty and the Niagara Falls are one of the Natural Wonders of the world. I am so glad I came here. </span></div>
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Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-66796886090206900992013-08-20T11:00:00.004-07:002013-08-20T11:00:36.252-07:00Skirting The Southeastern Shore of Lake Erie<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Monday, August 12, 2013, Henry David and I left the Evergreen Lake Campground in Conneaut, Ohio, cycling into town to get coffee at the McDonalds on the edge of town. A few McDonald’s customers came by for the usual questions and well wishes. One gent said that he also loved to travel and he was in town to pick up his son-in-law to drive him to an appointment out of town. Shortly after I crossed the border into Pennsylvania, a few miles out of town, he passed by, son and buddy in the truck, and called out, asking if I needed a push. He noted I hadn’t cycled very far. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Not very encouraging to mention my slow pace.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Well, he was right. I kept getting off the trike to take photos. AND I took a wrong turn--but only lost about 10-15 minutes on that one. The scenery changed markedly in Pennsylvania. Corn and beans gave way to vineyards and small farms and gardens. The trees are so thick that they run to the edges of everyone’s lawn or garden. If the human residents didn’t continue to manage their property, the trees would take over. Mother Nature in her vigor. I am reminded of the shows that suggest how a city would look in 10, 25, 50, 100, and 500 years if humans became extinct. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I saw Amish men building a home: a vision of brown pants, suspenders, shade providing hats, beards--healthy and strong and hardworking men--and using electric saws. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I stopped at a roadside stand and bought peaches. I would have filled my car if I had been driving. This little stand was fantastic. Most of the fruits and veggies were grown by the owner, some of the produce was grown by neighbors, and a small section of produce came from farther away, with the final result being every color and taste you could imagine in a fruit or vegetable was there for sale. I took more photos of the unbelievable colors. Little did I know, then, that roadside stands would become a common sight this time of year throughout the east. Short growing season but when things grow, they GROW!!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The big excitement today was the storm that hit when I reached the east edge of Erie, Pennsylvania. It had been drizzling for at least 30-45 minutes and I had stopped cycling to don my raingear. The rain increased a bit and I reached the edge of Erie and a Country Faire convenience center just as the rain really let loose. I drank a cup of coffee outside, under the eaves with HD, and watched the rain. Then contacted my resources to see what the weather was going to do for the rest of the day so I could refigure where I was going to go. After some research, I called the Colonial Inn in North East, PN (Yes, the town is called North East, and I bet you can’t guess what part of Pennsylvania this creatively named town is located...). We discussed a tentative hold on a room.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After a bit, the rain dissipated and I set out again. There were no more downpours, just a drizzle here and a sprinkle there. It took awhile to get through the center of Erie, which appears to be an old industrial and shipping town. In fact, many towns along the great lakes started as port towns which thrived on the shipping industry. Due to the plentiful supply of water, industries and factories also sprouted. So it is odd to go into some of these large, old cities by the lakes and see the crumbling remains of old factories just a few miles from some of the prime property in the states. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I stayed on hwy 5, or Lake Rd, which is primarily quite rural, with few to no gas stations or grocery stores or coffee shops, and just dotted with homes and an occasional farming or trucking equipment business. I really enjoyed seeing the honor system stands of homegrown produce through the eastern part of Illinois and extending through Pennsylvania and New York. These are small, wood-constructed, shaded stands of 3-5 shelves of produce with a can, box, or jar in which to deposit your money should you take any of the veggies or fruits. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I pulled into the Colonial Inn around 5 pm and the kind owner gave me a good price as well as a bottle of water and a bottle of Sprite to cheer my evening. The closest store was about 2 miles uphill into town and I had some granola bars, the peaches from the roadside stand, and a chocolate bar, so I stayed in the room and contacted family members, talking way into the night and crawling under the covers about 2:30 am.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This morning, Tuesday, August 13th, I was so tired. I awakened at 6:30 a.m. and it took til 9 a.m. to get it all together and get out the door of the Colonial Inn. I kept lying back down to nurse a headache borne of lack of sleep. It had stormed during the night and the air was cool and the sky cloudy. I felt a bit grumpy as I took to the road, but soon my spirits lifted with the pleasantly cool air, a mild tailwind, and the trees. The trees and their underbrush in Pennsylvania and New York remind you that Mother Nature is ready to reclaim the land at any time.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Within an hour of departure from North East, I passed into New York. I wasn’t sure if it was really the terrain or the road building practices between the two states, but the roads were not as steep along the lake as they had been in Pennsylvania. Just as in Ohio and Pennsylvania, the lake view was hindered by homes and small farms. However, in New York, there seemed to be more state and county parks, allowing the “regular guy” to get up close and personal with the lake. I like that. I got coffee and water in Barcelona and again in Dunkirk. Then, I stopped in Silver Creek at a grocery store and replenished my groceries. It was going to be party time: grapes, bananas, new york sharp white cheddar cheese, carrots, Doritos, and jalapeno dip. For the special treat: Seagram’s wine coolers: one pina colada and one strawberry daquiri flavored. They are pretty light weight; it was light drinking flavored mineral water!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The road was great along hwy 5 with a nice shoulder and smooth surfaces. HD and I pulled into the Evangola State Park around 5 pm after a pleasant, uneventful day. I had spent the day cycling, singing, thinking of my children and loved ones, and how wonderful it is to be out on the road amidst all this beauty. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This was also my first night to actually be “next” to Lake Erie. Even now, after a beautiful sunset, I hear the surf. It was a breezy evening, with whitecaps on the water. This is the way to sleep well---with the sound of water, a LOT of water! Not the drip drip of a faucet or the tinkle of a fountain, but the constant, steady sound of moving water as it hits the shore. It’s not the ocean and it is not stormy tonight, so I can’t exactly say that the “surf is pounding”, but it is certainly giving the shore “what for” as the wind picks up.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wednesday, August 14th. The big day. Leaving the USA. I admit I was anxious about crossing the border bridge on my trike. I had the cycling maps but they proved to be more confusing than helpful. I had to revert to my iPhone map and the street signs.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I packed up HD and was on the road by 8:30. Nothing extraordinary on the way to Buffalo. Once I hit Buffalo, I followed the cycling maps along the shoreline and then followed street signs and the iPhone to get to the bridge. Cyclists and walkers have a special walkway/path across the bridge. I was loving it! The Peace Bridge crosses the Niagara River close to the mouth of the river where it opens to Lake Erie. It spans the river from Buffalo, New York to Fort Erie, Ontario. It is actually not a huge bridge in length, but it does well in width, sending traffic to and from Canada at a reasonable pace. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It took most of the day just to get there, after losing myself in Buffalo a few times. When I crossed into Canada, I walked over to the Customs/Border agent and answered the typical questions. Where was I going? How much money did I have? How was I going to pay for things? Where was I staying? How long was I going to be here? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Do you have any personal protection equipment? Gun? Pepper spray?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Damn! I did. I sadly surrendered my pepper sprays. They had given me a sense of protection, more from wild animals or aggressive dogs than from human perpetrators. People had been kind and generous and helpful, but it had still been nice to have the sprays next to my sleeping bag at night in campgrounds. Especially in those county park primitive sites. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It made me nervous to see the agent take out the neurotoxin spray and examine the bottle. I was so afraid he would inadvertently spray himself and go limp for 30 minutes. I warned him that it was strong stuff and also had a paint in it, so be very careful. That brought on his first grin. Up to then, he was all business. Well, he stayed business like and gave me a receipt that “acknowledged that I had surrendered my sprays to the Queen for due destruction”. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Damn. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Introduction to Canada. The Peace Bridge---with special provisions for the cyclist and the walker. Fantastic!!! The border agent was helpful and kind, though business like and quite serious. He wasn’t hard to look at, either. And it wasn’t the uniform. Or maybe it was. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Welcome to Canada!</span></div>
Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-19763122469458792682013-08-20T09:56:00.002-07:002013-08-20T09:56:31.886-07:00Ohio Travels<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On Monday, August 4th, 2013, HD and I crossed into Ohio on hwy 24, the beloved hwy that took us through Indiana with such delight. The goal for the day was Independence Dam State Park, just east of Defiance, Ohio. The highway traffic was picking up and the road was not as nice as in Indiana. Sorry, Ohio. But, I understood: the further east we traveled, the heavier the traffic was bound to become. So, I got off the highway and traveled next to the river on county road 424, which became Baltimore Rd as it approached Defiance. The southwest end of Defiance was “old industrial”, giving the impression that the town would be rather unattractive. But, lo, and behold, as you get into the city itself, you see old brick homes, parks, joggers, people walking their dogs and a quaint downtown area. I continued east until I reached the newer shopping and restaurant district, with all the names you know: Walmart, Walgreens, CVS, McDonalds, Wendys, etc. We had left the old midwestern feel and now we could be in any city in the USA. I stopped at a McDonalds for a drink and to make phone calls. Good thing. The campground had closed and there wasn’t anywhere to camp in 20 miles. So, I settled for a Super 8, which meant I had to backtrack through town and cross the junction of hwys 24 and 15. It was an uneventful night, but I had my Subway salad, so I was a happy camper. Well, I guess I wasn’t camping. But that’s just mincing words.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As I traveled through Ohio, I regularly sent iPhone photos of the sky to my daughter Heather. We had lived here when the kids were little and the sky was usually colored white to a very pale blue. Deep blue skies in Ohio were reserved for the 2 weeks of Indian summer in late September. When we lived in the Columbus area, I found myself waiting for those 2 weeks every year. I thought, “Hey, this is CRAZY!! I’m waiting all year just to have 2 weeks of weather I actually LIKE!” This said from a southern California girl. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That is one of many reasons we moved to New Mexico when I graduated from OSU: for the deep blue skies. Heather said she didn’t know what I meant when I had described “deep blue skies”, until we moved to New Mexico. Now, she and her husband and daughter live in Rio Rancho, in central New Mexico. This area is at a higher elevation, with clear seasons, including plenty of snow in the winter. But the skies, oh, the skies. The clouds roll in, shedding rain or snow, and then they blow away, exposing those sapphire skies once again. So, while in Ohio, Heather and I shared sky photos. I sent her Ohio photos and she sent me New Mexico pics. I must admit, it made me homesick for New Mexico. And for Heather.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On Tuesday, August 6th, HD and I pointed ourselves toward the KOA near Genoa. It was a bit out of the way, taking me farther north than I intended, and there were no stores nearby. But, we made it and I needed to skip a big meal anyway!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On Wednesday, August 7th, I was sent on detours due to road construction and eventually made it to Elmore. From there, I cycled the North Coast Inland Trail to Fremont. While on that trail, the skies opened and lightning and thunder accompanied the deluge of rain. I was thoroughly soaked but hid under trees as best I could until at least the lightning stopped. I donned my Frogtog jacket but my cycling skorts were so doggone wet I just couldn’t stand the idea of putting on the rain pants on top of them! When I cycled into Fremont, the rain was dissipating and I went into a McDonalds to get a coffee to warm up. Everyone was staring and I must’ve been a sight, leaving a puddle wherever I stood. LOL!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, I grabbed the coffee, went into the bathroom and into a stall and removed panties and skorts, wringing them out and then putting them back on. Then, I went to the rather weak hand driers and partially dried my skorts, while wearing them, for about 3 minutes, rotating, lifting skirt to get the bottoms, etc. If anyone had walked in, they probably would have been embarassed. Or I guess that would have been me. At least I wasn’t dripping anymore and no one stared, much, when I went back into the restaurant to drink my coffee!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then, it was on to Sandusky via county roads. HD and I rolled into Jean Nyman’s neighborhood about 6:15 pm. She was outside, camera in hand, with her bichon frise dog Lacey leaping at her feet. Jean took welcome photos of HD and I coming down her street and onto her driveway. This gracious, generous woman rolled out the red carpet. She put a welcome basket of goodies on the guest room bed in a big bowl: green grapes, dark red cherries (my favorite!!), granola bars, an apple, and a container of oatmeal. Jean has followed this blog from the beginning and has sent encouraging words on a regular basis. People like Jean are one in a million.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We talked for awhile and then she took me on a driving trip around Sandusky, including to the Erie shore, and then treated me to dinner. This was an interesting day, full of surprises along the way.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I spent the next day in Sandusky, writing in the afternoon in a nearby Starbucks. Jean picked me up in the late afternoon and we went to her son and daughter-in-law’s home in the early evening for a vegan dinner. There I met Timothy, her son, and Josiah, her grandson. Annessia had to work that night, but Josiah showed me photos of his gorgeous mother. The next best thing to meeting her.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jean’ story. You know, you can’t do justice to someone’s life in a few paragraphs. By necessity, you leave out many little stories and vignette’s that are precious and memorable. But, each of these blogs is already like a small book. I ask forgiveness and tolerance from those of whom I write. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, Jean was married once, for about 8 years. It was a rocky marriage and she never wanted to repeat it. The marriage thing. Well, almost never. She was engaged briefly until she “regained her senses” and changed her mind. It has to be the right one, you know. Not just marriage for marriage’s sake. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jean has had her share of traumas and tragedies. I guess we all have. She gave her first daughter up for adoption. Her daughter is now grown and looked up her biological mother, Jean, and now they are great friends. Happy ending there. In fact, her daughter is true sister to Jean’s other 2 children--Michelle and Timothy. Triple happy ending. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A few years ago, Jean’s father passed away. Her mother had died some time before then. Her dad had worked for the railroad all his life, so Jean grew up near trains. She travels by train to Minnesota to see her daughter Michelle every Christmas. In fact, for almost all of her long distance traveling, she goes by train. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She told a story about one of her Christmas trips on the train. She was walking through the “Observation” car, where you can sit and hang out and watch the world go by. She saw a young man playing the guitar with a lady friend singing some folk songs. She asked if he could play some Christmas carols. He agreed and pretty soon, the car filled with people who wanted to join in singing beloved Christmas favorites. There were some fellow Amish train customers who passed out hymnal sheets of old gospel favorites and soon everyone switched gears and sang gospel tunes. Jean laughs when telling the story as the guitarrist didn’t know all of the tunes but tried to follow the singing crowd as best he could. When he couldn’t follow, the group just sang acapella. It was a good time.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jean says her passion is helping others. When her died died, she inherited a good sum of money. She bought her home in Sandusky, moving from New Mexico, so she could be near her grandson Josiah. Jean helped her children with their bills with most of the rest of the money and lost the remainder when the market crashed and her investments went under. She has some physical ailments, making work a bit difficult, but she is considering getting some part time work to help ends meet. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jean loves to connect with people and make friends. She gets on Facebook a lot and keeps track of her circle of friends. She is a friendly neighbor and said it took a few years to get to know the people on her block. She had a pickup truck and offered it to all the neighbors should they need to use it for hauling, etc. They were very surprised by the offer. Jean said that the locals go out in the summer but in the winter months, no one is seen outside in their neighborhoods---they go into hiding, snow or no snow. This was a change for Jean, who loves to talk to people and make friends. It took 6 months of steady patience to develop a friendship with her neighbor, Kathy, who is now her best friend in Sandusky. But Jean wouldn’t give up. She offers herself and her resources to friend and stranger alike. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I can attest to that. I “met” Jean through this cycling trip as she is a friend of a former patient who lives in Carlsbad. Jean heard about me and starting following my blog and then sending me some emails. What a precious person. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Jean misses New Mexico, especially Ruidoso. Her “bestest friend” in the world lives there---Michelle(?). When Jean lived in Ruidoso, she worked 3 jobs. She says she speaks up if she sees unfairness in the work place and this has cost her a few jobs. I guess you could say she is a whistleblower of sorts.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I slept for about 9 hours that first night at Jean’s house, as I had been feeling a bit “off” for a few days. It was a healing rest and I awakened refreshed---good enough to do my regular exercises. In the early afternoon, Jean dropped me off at Starbucks to drink coffee, write, and take care of “stuff”. That night, we went to her son Timothy’s house for a home cooked vegan meal. It was so doggone good, I ate two servings of taco salad and then could barely move. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Timothy and his wife Annessia teach ballroom dance at The Black Tie Dance Studio. After dinner, Timothy showed us photos and a few dance videos of competition dances with students. So fascinating. He moves with the grace of a cat---light on his feet and with such agility! Tim’s passion is dance. He did not take lessons as a child but came to this profession as an adult. He was trying to figure out what to do with his life when someone invited him to a dance class. After that first class, he was hooked. He said he did nothing but dance for 5 weeks straight and became a certified instructor! I didn’t think it was possible to accomplish something like that so fast, but he was passionate about it. And still is. Jean used to dance several times a week, so perhaps dancing is in the blood. Timothy has been teaching for several years and he and his students have won several competition awards. He met his lovely wife on the dance floor. And they are still dancing, years later. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And Josiah! Their son. What a handsome boy. At 13, he has delicate features and big hazel eyes. He is friendly, articulate, enthusiastic, and well-adjusted. He loves to dance (go figure!), and I was treated to a video of one of his first dances at about age 4. Josiah loves dance, art, swimming, and his dad’s cooking. Like most kids his age, he also likes movies and video games. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Josiah is the apple of Jean’s eye. He has his own room at her house and Jean says that she usually has the joy of his company every other weekend. They watch movies and play games and laugh together. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On Friday, August 8th, HD and I bade Jean a fond farewell and we headed toward Cleveland. At Huron, I was able to reconnect with the Adventure Cycling Northern Tier maps. The majority of the day’s ride was on hwy 6 along the Ohio Coastal Route, next to Lake Erie. Private homes occupy most of the shoreline, but occasional parks as well as breaks between the houses provided glimpses of this great lake. It is so cool to see any of the Great Lakes and see no shoreline on the opposite side---it feels like you are standing at the seaside, with only ripple waves at the shore. I kept wanting to see dolphins and whales, but no go. Fresh water lakes. Astounding size.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">At a park in Avon Lake, I met 4 lady cyclists, all about my age or a few years younger. They cycle regularly together and have done a few “century rides” together. A century ride is an organized 100 mile ride. It is often for a fundraiser and gives passionate riders a safe and fun venue to push themselves for a long, serious ride, usually done in one day. Some of these ladies were inspired to perhaps do some longer distance rides over several days and they talked about cycling around the entire lake next year. This is close to 600 miles! Wahooo! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The passions of these accomplished, bright ladies?</span></div>
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<li style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> Travel and teaching. This little blonde woman used to take folks on European trips. The economy and the internet cut into that business. Now she teaches. She loves both directions---teaching others and traveling. Nice when you can combine them.</span></li>
<li style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> Writing. One talented woman has written several published essays that she wrote about the journey she took with her adopted daughter to meet her birth mother. She is now working on a blog which is really another series of essays chronicling her life and thoughts. This is her passion.</span></li>
<li style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> Sara: Cycling, travel, and being a lawyer. This tiny woman was a little dynamo and a force to be reckoned with! </span></li>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> (Sorry, Dad, about the preposition rule. It just sounds better!)</span></div>
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<li style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> Life and everything about it. Cycling. Adventure. This effervescent petite woman was credited with being the heart of the group. When things are tough, she finds the good things. If it’s raining and the road is hard, she says, “Wow! Look at the beautiful red barn! Isn’t that something?”</span></li>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After sharing high 5’s for ladies on bikes, we parted. They took off at a great speed while I mosied out of the parking lot, adjusting my packs as they occasionally shift just enough to rub a back tire.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As I approached Cleveland, I saw no nearby campground offerings so looked up nearby motels on the ole iPhone and found a Super 8. So, here I write.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Well, I left the Super 8 this morning at 9:15, a later start than I had planned. I didn’t get through Cleveland til about 1 pm. But what a city. Cleveland was extablished in 1796---that’s pretty old, for US city standards! The roads I followed, via the Adventure Cycling maps, meandered through old sections of town with those gorgeous ornate brick buildings, which are now in the historic district. I think that they might be quite reasonably priced, as the area around looked in need of some funding. There is a bikeway skirting the lake for several miles, although the roads, including the bikeway, definitely need repair. The parks at the lake in Cleveland were phenomenal---museums, art, music, the whole shebang. The people were friendly---waving, making fun comments, and wishing me well. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I stopped at a small farmers’ market near a quaint, old section of town and met Victoria Carter. This vibrant woman practically scooped me up in a big hug. She was selling fair trade items from all over the world and I purchased a small woven scarf which was similar to a doo-rag but used elastic under the hair, like a headband. Victoria is disabled but she does own a bike that she tries to use from time to time. She invites cyclists to her own home for a meal and a bed, and she offered that to me as well. She has been to several countries and speaks English, Spanish, and Dutch. The farmers’ market was held in the Presbyterian Church parking lot---services are in Spanish. Victoria’s passions are God first, then people. She adores traveling, singing, meeting people, and helping others. She gave me a tiny “worry doll”, but I told her it will be my “gratitude doll” and I named it Victoria. Whenever I see my little Victoria doll, I will be grateful for all the blessings in my life and I will think of her. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The cycling has now become quite urban and I only made about 40-45 miles today through stop and go traffic, potholed roads, and frequent map checks. I cycled next to Lake Erie but there are homes all along the lake, so you only get glimpses of the lake from time to time. I did not make it as far as Geneva, where the campground was located, but checked into a Studio 6 in Mentor, Ohio. I had so hoped to be camping tonight! I thought it was a Motel 6 offshoot because the “6” is the same shape and design as for the Motel “6”. The first room I was given was devoid of sheets, pillows, and linen of any kind. While I stood in the room, a flea jumped on my arm. I decided to sit on the floor to see if there might be a bug problem---it smelled like the floor had just been shampooed and I had my suspicions as to why it not only smelled like shampoo covering smells of other sorts but also why there were absolutely no linen anywhere. Within a few minutes, I had another jumpy visitor on my leg, so I called the front desk and I got a different room. I think this one is ok. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I think it must be terribly hard to run a motel or a restaurant. You can make more money with a motel I bet, but each room offers its own disaster potential. And making money in a restaurant would be very hard, unless it is cheap “fast food”. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What a night. I also deleted iCloud from my iPhone and with it went my contacts! Yikes! The iCloud had been using up all my storage so I had spent the last several days deleting text messages and iPhone apps. Tonight I said to myself, “This is ridiculous!” So, I deleted the iCloud so I could have some of my apps back and so the phone camera would work again. (Yes, I moved photos to my computer). Now, it feels like I have an empty phone. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But it is all ok! I have friends and family whom I love and adore. I meet the most wonderful people on the road and I ride along the road with some of the silliest grins on my face as I look in awe at some of the crazy beautiful things out there. What’s a few fleas and the mechanics of adding phone numbers and addresses back to my electronics? And wet clothes from rainshowers? It is nothing but a speck. Tinier than a speck. Humans get aggravated too easily. Imagine being a dog and having a hundred little fleas running through your fur. Getting itchy yet? Hahaha!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On Sunday, August 11th, I headed out from Studio 6, on highway 20. It was no longer a big, country highway, but more like a city road with stop lights, traffic, etc. I was definitely moving east into a more populated part of the country. Still, the road between actual towns was front street to home after home. Along the highway, the homes are sprawling and the yards are much larger than in town. The lure of the stores in the towns called to me and I stopped and picked up groceries and another tank top in the Painesville, Ohio Target.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Stopping at a McDonalds along the way to Conneaut, I met Jay, a retired gent who was filled with questions about HD. He loves to travel and read and spends a good amount of time doing just that. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That day, I also met a lady at a CVS in Mentor. She was a very thin woman with big eyes and a welcoming smile. She showed me how to use the CVS card for savings and deals, going out of her way to take me to an electronic machine to pull out coupons by scanning my card. I wish I knew this woman’s name. She had a cancerous tumor in her vocal chords one year ago. It was surgically removed, successfully. But the surgeon did not think she would be able to speak with enough volume to really be understood. This is a shame, because this lady’s passion is singing and she is a member in a folk country band. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Not only did she determine to speak again, but also to sing. She is an active part of the band again. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">During the time of her recovery from surgery, she took care of her mother, who died later of cancer. She used to work in a medical facility in management but had to quit to take care of her mother as well as recover from her own surgery. Now, after only 6 months at CVS, she is a supervisor. She is indomitable. And an inspiration.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When I get tired on the road and my legs are aching and I get shooting pain in my kneecaps and I am uncertain of where I will spend the night, I start to feel a bit “whiney”. Then, I remember the people whom I have met: their stories of courage and hope and how they have overcome some of the most difficult obstacles and even tragedies. It reminds me to be grateful and that my little complaints are nothing. It is so much more glorious to even be alive. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I had a wonderful moment on hwy 20 not far from Ashtabula, Ohio. I was singing along with my iPod, passing homes with lovely manicured lawns, when I saw a man kneeling on the ground, hovering over something near his front door. What is that? I wondered. I slowed down and I saw that he was kneeling over a person, who was lying on the ground. I yelled to him, “Are you ok? Do you need help?” He looked up and worriedly answered, “She fell down!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So HD did a quick turn and I leapt off the cycle and ran up to them. His wife (?) was lying face-up on the ground, quite alert and awake. She and her husband had been moving a piece of furniture out of the house and she tripped down the step and went sailing, landing on her right side and hurting the shoulder. I told her I was a physical therapist and asked if she minded if I took a look. I checked out the shoulder---no open wounds or open fracture. Active movement was sharply painful but the shoulder was intact in the socket and she did not have pain with tapping the humeral head. She refused to call an ambulance, stating she just wanted to get up and go in their car. Steady, strong heart rate and her temperature normal to the touch. I asked the man to bring me a towel and I fashioned a sling while we tied it tight over the shoulder with a ribbon. I helped her to stand with the assistance of a kitchen chair. She was smiling, though quite sore from the fall, and agreed to go to the hospital for x-rays. That made me a happy camper. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">You never know what surprises lie around the next corner.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">HD and I pulled in to the Evergreen Lake Park Campground and RV sales in the evening. I camped in my tent in the primitive tent area, which is a huge grassy aread surrounded on 3 sides by trees. I showered with warm water, partially charged the phone, did my exercises, and ate some of the groceries I had picked up at the Target store. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This was my last night in Ohio. The next morning, I cycled back into Conneaut and stopped at the McDonalds for coffee, checked the maps, and headed out of town and out of Ohio.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Something I think is funny about Americans. We try to make everything “our own”. This includes land, resources, and language. I guess that is no different than any other people in any other country. Ohioans have a very interesting way to make language their own. They do this by giving names of towns their very own pronunciation. This tends to be by shortening the word and putting the emphasis on the first syllable. </span></div>
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In Texas, they talk slower and draw out the words, making a one syllable word into two. Like "back" becomes "Bay-ack". Or get lazy and take 3 words to make one. "Jeet?" means "Did you eat?" That's an old redneck joke popularized by comedians like Jeff Foxworthy. </div>
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So, in Ohio:</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Lancaster” is pronounced “Lankster”. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Newark” is pronounced “Nerk”. In fact, when I lived near Newark, Ohio, I met a young man wearing a t-shirt poking fun at this very fact--the t-shirt was emblazoned with, “Hi! I’m from Nerk, Ahia”. Now, if you say the long “i” in “Hi” and “I” as a melding of the long “i” sound with the short “a” sound (remember phonics?), then you will say it like an Ohioan.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Conneaut” should be pronounced “Kono” but, in Ohio, it is pronounced “Connie-ott”. That one kills me! LOL!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Huron” is “Hyearn” when said fast--one syllable. It is “Hurine” when pronounced slower, like “Urine” with an h in front. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And if you live in Ohio, you really live in “Ahia”.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Just so you know. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Everywhere I went, I asked people how to pronounce the name of their their town, if it was not Cleveland or Sandusky, that is. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But, it is a beautiful green state with Lake Erie as a border. It has the rich heritage of Cleveland, Cedar Point Amusement Park, woods, hills, agriculture, and a rich heritage. Hey, I went to college in Columbus! I was even highly employable after that! You gotta love it! And Indian Summer really is spectacular.</span></div>
Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8634540198639753390.post-47865663382832996752013-08-20T07:43:00.001-07:002013-08-20T09:57:53.484-07:00Indiana Hospitality<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">For me, Indiana was all about the people. Well, wait a minute. The scenery was lovely too----more trees than Iowa for sure, and certainly on par with Illinois. There were plenty of corn and bean fields, of course. The roads? FANTASTIC! My entire route was on hwy 24. Granted, part of that was on the old hwy 24, which was quiet and peaceful, but at least half of the trip was on the new hwy, with its large luxurious expansive shoulders! Lovely. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">HD and I entered Indiana on August 2nd, 2013. The weather suggested storms and I was tired anyway, so instead of adding another 10 miles to get to Indiana Beach, a huge amusement park with a campground next to it, I stopped in Monticello and booked a room at the Monticello Inn, on the west end of town. I spent the evening with Maggie and Vince O’Neal and their two youngest children, Kathleen and Carolyn. Maggie is Peter’s sister and it was a golden opportunity to meet them, as they live only 15 miles or so from Monticello.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I think I mentioned Peter before.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Anyway, Kathleen, an exuberant teenager, was quite thrilled with HD and she asked to take a spin around the parking lot. So, Vince and I brought HD back outside from the motel room and Kathleen cycled around and around---I think she liked him! Then, she insisted that the rest of the family take a turn. So, HD got to share his special skills and received ample compliments. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We went to The Scoreboard for pizza and man, oh, man, was it good! Being teenagers, Kathleen and Carolyn had their particular “flavahs”---Kathleen wanted pepperoni and Carolyn wanted only cheese. So, 20 minutes later, 2 steaming hot pizzas were served and I must admit I ate my share of pizza smothered in gooey, hot cheese. Yum!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A little about the romance of Maggie and Vince. Maggie was married once before and she had 3 children. She had been a single mom for awhile and her friends were bugging her to date. A girlfriend set her up on a blind date with Vince. They went to dinner and, Voila!-- the romance began. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He was an avid cyclist, so, instead of an engagement ring, he gave her a bicycle! The kids call it “the engagement bike”. He is from a big family, so the fact that she had 3 children was not a problem. In fact, after they got married, they started the enjoyable task of adding to the family and Vince and Maggie had 3 more children. Vince is “Dad” to all six of them. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Maggie is a home health nurse and I enjoyed talking shop with her for a few minutes. She appears to be a woman in charge. I like that. She enjoys her works, enjoys her patients, loves her children, and loves to read. She has a sweet, bright smile and that reminds me of Peter. Perfect.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Vince says he loves “to run”. He used to cycle quite a bit but, once the babies came, he became a bit busy to go on long cycling treks. Now he coaches cross country at Carolyn’s middle school. So, he really does love running.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Kathleen loves music and plays the piano and guitar. She says she can spend hours at a time just listening to her favorite music. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Carolyn says she loves music, friends, going to summer camp, and giving to others. She showed me her necklace: it has a key pendant with the word “Faith” engraved in the center. When she meets a person who needs faith, she will give him or her that necklace. Carolyn is bright and energetic and is comfortable with adults and kids alike.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Kathleen says that her grandmother gave her some colorful scarves and she has also given them away when someone expressed appreciation for them. In fact, Kathleen gave me a “good luck penny” to help keep me safe. Whatever these parents are doing, they are doing a good job to raise such generous and conscientious daughters. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I met Johnny and Rob at a little convenience store on the first day. They were on their way to Sturgis for the annual bike gathering. These 2 buddies were riding their motorcycles and had reserved 3 weeks for the trip. Their girlfriends were flying into Rapid City (memories!) and were going to join them for the festivities. Johnny and Rob have enjoyed the Sturgis event numerous times but they don’t do it every year. They both work in construction and they were very interested in Henry David and how he is designed. They both have a passion for the open road and travel. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On the 2nd day, I rode old hwy 24 to Wabash, Indiana. The road was quiet, winding, and lined with trees. It was a long but relaxing day of cycling. I believe it was in Logansport (maybe in Peru?) that I pulled over to check out the local Farmer’s Market. There, I met Al and Sue Buttice of “Buttice Vegetables”. They were very excited about the cycling trip and plied me with fresh baked zuccini bread for the road. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Al’s passion is growing things. He started gardening when he was a little boy. He said that, at age 6, he was given the job of harvesting the peas from the garden. Dad was not pleased, telling him he had picked them incorrectly. I didn’t ask him, then, how to pick peas correctly, so I looked it up online and watched a short video. The gardener uses a small knife to cut the pea stem, saying you must leave the calyx intact. Anyway, little Al probably pulled the pea pod off the calyx. That’s my guess. Or picked some at the wrong stage of ripening? Don’t know for sure. Regardless, Al was taught a lesson he has never forgotten. Dad sent him to the shed where he had to eat the whole bucketful of peas. So, he has never forgotten how to harvest correctly. The gardening has been his passion. And he still likes peas!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">For those of you who hate peas (sister Shannon!), recognize that if you eat the peas within a few hours of harvest, they will be sweet and tasty. After only 4 hours, they turn starchy. So, you might consider trying peas that you grow yourself and eat them right there in the garden! When I was a young woman, I had a big garden and I was showing my sister around the veggies. I pulled off some peas from the vine and opened the pod, popping out the sweetest, most succulent peas imaginable. I tried to talk her into tasting them, but she refused. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Shannon hates peas. Point blank. It’s not negotiable. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sue Buttice works in the garden as well. She also bakes some mighty fine zuccini bread---I can attest to that! Her personal passion is traveling and meeting people. She enjoys the farmers’ market as she certainly gets to meet people. But, and here she elbows her husband, she doesn’t do much travel because they can’t leave the garden! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I understand the dilemma, Sue. Sometimes I yearn for an agrarian life. I want a big old farmhouse, 2 paint horses, chickens, goats, dogs, cats, orchards, a small lake, and a huge garden. But then, I couldn’t leave because the animals can’t be left alone---who would feed them? Who would take care of the garden? And, since I love to travel, I guess that I can’t have it all. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But, I </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px; text-decoration: underline;">want</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> it all!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">HD and I arrived in Wabash in the early evenining. I checked into the Knights Inn and then walked a few blocks to Point Penguin. This is a fast food joint I have seen in various spots along the way in Indiana. At the Wabash Point Penguin, I met Carla, the manager, and Hayden, her protege.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Carla has worked for Point Penguin for about 17 years. She has been sent to 2 or 3 different spots to get the joints working efficiently as she is a knowledgeable, hard working, tireless woman with an attention to detail. She lives in Wabash and now has the pleasure of working close to home. She knows most of the locals and, while I was visiting with her, folks popped in through the drive-thru, calling out her name to say hello. Carla has taught many young people the Point Penguin trade. In fact, her first son married the girl whose job Carla replaced so they could get married. Her 2nd son worked at the popular restaurant as well. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Carla is a single woman, divorced after her 2 sons were born. She had a serious romance some years ago, but her boyfriend wanted marriage and kids and she had had her tubes tied by then. So Carla says they had an amicable split. Her former boyfriend then fell in love and married and had 3 kids. Now she has been working with his youngest, Hayden, for the last 2 1/2 years at the restaurant! He wants to follow in her shoes. Isn’t life so funny? She couldn’t have more children, but the son of her former boyfriend is like her own! We are all connected!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Carla is a vey slim, energetic ball of fire who loves people. Passions: people, giving good service, organized work flow, seeing things move smoothly. She likes to train the new ones coming in. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Hayden is a handsome young man with an open, friendly, and talkative manner. He is heading for college and wants to major in restaurant and food management. He would like to work again for Carla during one of his internships. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On Sunday morning, August 4th, I cycled to the McDonalds to meet some old friends, who live in Michigan. Elina Simonen is a former colleague---I worked with her at Alamogordo Physical Therapy in the 1990’s. Later, when I moved to Carlsbad, after a 2 year period in Santa Barbara, California. Lo and behold, Elina and her family were my virtual neighbors, as they had moved to Artesia, 35 miles from Carlsbad. We both worked for sister companies, with the mother ship in Alamogordo. So, Elina and I go back a ways.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So...Elina, Heikki, and Riikka Simonen met me at the Wabash McDonald’s at 9 am. Elina hasn’t changed a bit. She is now about 51 but looks like she did 20 years ago: very pretty woman who is whipcord slender and with well defined muscles, Elina still has the figure of a young athlete. I can’t believe her children are in their 20’s. How does time pass by so fast? Riikka, Elina and Heikki’s daughter, is a gorgeous young blonde with a peaches and cream complexion and eyes that turn up at the ends, like a mysterious feline. Riikka is a delightful young lady, effervescent, talkative, and open. Heikki is Elina’s wonderful husband. He has been a trucker for decades and knows the USA roads as if he has a photographic memory. He may have just that! He gave us advice on the roads to consider on the trip to Fort Wayne. We decided on following the primary highway 24, with an occasional detour onto the business routes if we should want to go into a town. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Suffice it to say that I thoroughly enjoyed having Elina and Riikka cycle with me. It was fun catching up on news with Elina and getting to know Riikka for the first time. I had met Riikka as a child, but she is now an accomplished young woman. She was always friendly, but now she has the grace and intelligence of a world traveler. She really has been all over---did she say 18 countries so far? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Riikka enjoys travel and art. She was born in Finland but went to school in the USA, primarily in New Mexico and Michigan, with a few years back in Finland. She has done a number of exchange programs all over Europe. She has a degree in fine arts and teaches art to both children and adults in Michigan, where she lives. She does not plan to stay there; this little woman wants to go, go, go. She has a passion for visiting other countries and makes friends in 2 seconds flat. Riikka is fascinated with studying cultures and how they express their art. She is a good teacher and I really enjoyed our time together, talking about art, culture, history, language, and travel.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Riikka gets some of her artisitic talent from her mom, although Elina credits aunts, uncles, and grandparents more than she credits herself. One of Elina’s passions is scrapbooking. Part of this is due to her utter devotion to family and friends and her attention to recording the memorable and precious moments of life. The other part is due to her natural eye for balance and theme. Elina says she does not sit and carefully think out the patterning and positioning of the photos and design, as if this means she is not “artistic”. Seeing her work in the past, I think this means that she is naturally gifted. She doesn’t have to struggle and stress over it, but immediately sees the potential patterns and the complementary colors and brings them together for an attractive, cohesive theme. I am personally impressed by gifted scrapbookers. It is now a true art form.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Elina is open and direct and has a fantastic sense of humor. She is quite brilliant and is one of the most balanced people I know. She loves her work as a physical therapist, but recognizes the need for family time and she has always been able to draw the line between career needs and the more important family needs. She is not only a devoted mother, but she is a true friend. She keeps track of coworkers and draws us together. She is like the glue, holding friends together. She cares enough to maintain contact and to reach out to others. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Heikki, Elina’s husband, is also open and friendly. He maintains his close friendships but also relishes his solitary time in the truck, traveling across the country. He misses home and enjoys the local runs most, so he can be with his family. He and Elina hope that, some day, if Elina should “retire”, she could join him in the truck and they could travel together. Eventually, they may move back to Finland, but it will depend on where their children live. Riikka will likely continue to travel. But their son, Iirro, appears to prefer the USA---so far. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On our cycling day to Fort Wayne, Heikki kept an eye on us in the car, traveling ahead and sending messages to Elina about the road, Fort Wayne, and the campground where we were headed. At the end of our trip, Heikki was there to greet us with a big smile and words of congratulations. He then treated us to dinner at Olive Garden where I stuffed myself with salad and bread. Then he painstakingly loaded up the bicycles of the two women in his life and cheerfully took the driver’s seat for the 3 hour drive home. He is a very special man. He is consistently friendly and helpful and supportive and I really like that man.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As they drove off, I settled into my tent at the Johnny Appleseed Campground in Fort Wayne. It had been a wonderful day and the company of these friends made this one of my favorite cycling days. It does get a little lonely out there, but not this day. No, not this day. It meant so much to have their loving company.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On the morning of August 5th, I packed up HD and we headed first for the Starbucks in a little shopping center on the corner of State and Coliseum. I ordered blonde roast and settled in to pull up maps on the internet on my MacBook Air. Over the next 2 1/2 hours, I talked to several of the delightful staff members, other customers, and the Little Caesar’s manager from the store next door who had come in for coffee. You want to know about Indiana hospitality? The staff at Starbucks are always the most friendly---that is a hallmark quality of Starbucks. But these young folks were exceptional. They saw Henry David as I cycled up to the store and pretty soon the questions were flying. Staff came by to offer pieces of pumpkin bread, white mocha coffee, and smiles. I took the bread samples but declined the sweet coffee, although “TJ”, one of the barristas, covered my blonde roast refill. Here are a few of the conversations that were shared this special morning.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Lisa is a petite brunette with the biggest, bluest eyes you ever saw. She has a quiet manner but she is friendly and her eyes whisper “hope”. She has an inner strength and courage that could be overlooked by the unobservant, but you see it and hear it as soon as she speaks. She came up to my table and offered me her yard to camp. As I was heading out of town, I didn’t need a place for that night in Fort Wayne, but the offer was touching and generous. She told me about a book called The Last American Man by Elizabeth Gilbert. It is a true story about a man who left the city and went out to the Appalachian wilderness to live “naturally”. One of the things in the book that meant a lot to Lisa was that this young man said we live in a box, work in a box, think in a box, and are stuck in that box. Perhaps as a way to break free from the “boxed life” herself, Lisa and her husband are taking a driving vacation to California. They don’t have an exact plan in mind, they just want to GO. She is a passionate artist and believes that art is perceived differently by everyone, but the important thing is that the artist puts a bit of his or her soul into it. This makes art worthwhile to view and experience. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Methinks that Lisa is jumping onto, over, and around the box but is not stuck inside it. She has vision. Some people think that having “vision” means having a life planned out and then working diligently for it to come true. That may be the case for some visions. But a person can be a visionary who wakes up in the morning and sees the beauty in the sunrise; feels the crisp air filling the lungs; savours the taste of the butter stuck in the holes in a bagel; relishes the burst of flavor from a bite of a sweet, vine ripened strawberry; luxuriates in the soft feel of an old t-shirt, and dances through the day to the music in her head---whether she be working at a computer in an office, concocting delights in a Starbucks, teaching children how to read or paint, building roads, and even working in a factory or an assembly line. It is really all about ATTITUDE. It is lovely to travel and to be out in nature. I think every one would benefit from a regular sojourn to the trees or the ocean or the mountains or the desert or to another country. But, in the day to day meandering of our lives, we can step out of the box by simply looking IN and seeing the miracle of just being alive. We let our daily concerns consume us. Being consumed---that, to me, is being stuck in a box. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Getting out of the box is a vision or goal that each individual can only discover on a deeply personal level. And we need to do it every day. Climb out of the box every day, just like you get out of bed. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Barbara Nord is a pretty grandma who sat next to me. I say “grandma” but she is actually “mom” to several grandchildren. She had her own set of children and now has actually adopted several of her grandchildren. A few of the children are considered “special needs” kids, whether the diagnosis be Down’s Syndrome or some other medical label. Barb’s passion is the children. She has spent her entire adult life raising kids and said that she did not think she would still be doing it now that she is retirement age, but that is ok and she loves it. She goes to Starbucks for a brief break from time to time, and then befriends the people she meets. She is one of those who DOES relish the quiet moment, the taste of coffee on her tongue, the fresh air. She has become a master gardener and this is something else she does for herself. This is another of her passions. Digging in the dirt and bringing forth color. Sounds like another artist!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I met Lisa when I went outside to pack up and make my Fort Wayne exodus. She is a an effervescent blonde with bright hazel eyes, about my age, who learned to ride a bike only 3 years ago. Well, this lady has taken on cycling with a passion. She rode about 7000 miles last year!! And she doesn’t toodle around town. She cycles FAST! She said she must have an angel on her shoulder because she is amazed she is still alive. A few weeks ago, she was speeding, and I mean SPEEDING, down the highway on her cycle. She came up on a dump truck near a corner and said she did not slow down and look to make sure there wasn’t anyone at the corner. She zipped around the blind side of the truck at 25 mph, which is pretty darn fast on a bicycle, and right in front of her there was a car--stopped at the highway intersection. Lisa pulled on the brakes, leaned over to the right to turn out of the way, and the right pedal hit the ground. The momentum caused her to flip completely over, tail over head, and she landed on the ground behind the car on both wheels, still pedaling. Like Evil Knievel! She didn’t stop to think but rode like the devil herself the last 6 miles to get home. Her heart didn’t stop pounding for the rest of the day. But, about an hour after she got home, the fear turned into euphoria and she said, “WOW! I wanna do that again!” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, her passion? Cycling. And anything that can bring the adrenaline rush like a great adventure, pushing herself, and succeeding. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then, there was Ken. He is the Little Caesar’s manager, I believe. He brought me a bag of fresh, hot, right-out-of-the-oven bread sticks, smothered in butter and that garlic parmesan stuff they use. I held the bag up to my face and sniffed deeply. Repeatedly. Sometimes the smell is enough!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After talking to Lisa (?), I went into the Little Caesar’s to tell Ken thank you and to take his photo. I asked him about his passions. He said his passion was helping teens to get through those tough years. He then told me the story. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Ken was an active, dedicated youth pastor for over a decade. He worked extensively with teenagers, both through the religious setting but also in secular settings as well. He said that his first message to young people is just that he cares about them and wants to listen to their own stories. He says he offers counsel, but not always religious counsel. First and foremost, he wants them to know that he just cares about them personally. If they want spiritual guidance, he is very happy and willing to do that. But that is not his push. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He had 4 children and thought things were going well in life, but his wife had an affair and wanted a divorce. It took a few years to go through, because he wanted to work it out, but she did not. They have joint custody and he adores the kids. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Now, after a few years divorced, he has met someone from his home town, Grand Rapids. “She thinks I’m the greatest!” he says, in amazement. “I am so in love with her!” He plans to make his way to Grand Rapids and begin a new life with the gal of his dreams. They want to do some sort of missions work. He took a phone photo of himself and I, and then texted it right away to his lady love. What a nice team.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This is an amazing thing: People from all walks of life, reaching out to touch one another. We are Connected.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Meeting the friendly folks at the Starbucks in Fort Wayne was a wonderful way to end my last day in Indiana. The roads had been wonderful and the people welcoming in every way. I have only good memories of this state. Good job, Indiana!</span></div>
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Travelin' Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00283128253697358246noreply@blogger.com1