The Superstitions, Goldfield, Tortilla Flats

The Superstitions

Superstition is a big word in Apache Junction. The cause is the mountains pictured here, named by the local Indians as the Superstition Mountains. They are visible from our campsite in Superstition Buttes 55+ park, which is just down the road from Superstition Boulevard.

Watching the mountains is a little like watching the lake, or watching the ocean. If you look at them over time, you can envision different moods and feelings that the mountain range will offer, from glowing in the late afternoon sun, hiding behind low clouds, or standing strong in midday. Forgive me, but growing up in nothing more than hills in Massachusetts, and living in the flatlands of Minnesota for 20 years, I am amused and inspired by seeing these geologic wonders.

One day last week, Bill and Pat said, "C'mon, we're going to ride out to Tortilla Flats." This was fine with us, since Consuelo had heard about the place, without really knowing what it was, but wanted to go check it out. So we planned to have lunch out there, and packed into Bill's SUV.

Our first stop was Goldfield, the first town outside Apache Junction. Goldfield had been a goldmine town, now was a tourist attraction with western flair. They have their collection of buildings dating from the 1880's, including a hotel, a bordello, and a collection of merchant shops.

Goldfield cowboys in town

To keep the tourists amused, they stage a gunfight in the streets every couple of hours. They also offer horse rides, train rides, and you can pan for gold.

We spent an hour of so looking in the shops, watching the gunfight and Pat checked out the Bordello She is an honorary deputy sheriff back in Massachusetts, and when the Madam in the bordello told her that they waived the $2.00 entrance fee for law enforcement, she whipped out her badge and got her $2.00 back. Seems unfair to me.

The 4 of us with the wooden Indian

After leaving Goldfield, we continued up a tortuous winding road, route 88, which eventually winds its way up to Roosevelt dam. The next attraction along the way, normally, is Canyon Lake. But the lake was virtually empty, as it had been drained to perform routine maintenance on the dam. Roosevelt, Canyon and Saguaro are 3 of the man-made lakes on the Salt River, providing fresh water and electric power to the Phoenix area.

Downtown Tortilla Flats

Our next and final stop was Tortilla Flats, a former stagecoach stop along the Apache Trail, that became a town of 125 when folks were travelling back and forth to build Roosevelt Dam, back in early part of the 20th century. The current resident population is 6, and there is a restaurant, a general store, and a small museum.

The restaurant has a small but inviting menu of burgers and Mexican fare, reasonably priced. They were doing a good business, as apparently lots of folks make the winding trip out to see a little town at the end of the hard road.

Paintings in the ladies room

Pat and Consuelo went to the ladies room and saw these great paintings on the walls and stall doors. Consuelo came back and got my camera and took a few pictures. Thy were quite hilarious.

After lunch we checked out the museum, then made our way back to AJ to catch a nap.

Arizona fishing (Updated)

Saguaro Lake boat ramp

My one and only brother Bill set up housekeeping in Apache Junction, Arizona, last year. He found a home in a 55+ park and, with his girlfriend Pat. duplicated many of the things they have in Massachusetts: two cars, a boat, a really nice organ, and comfortable living. Bill worked long and hard, and late in life. I'm glad for him that he's able to enjoy life in retirement.

The Arizona boat is a 20' Sea Ray with a 190 HP Chevy inboard/outboard which he found on Craig's List. It was designed for skiing and such, but he's made some good modifications to use it as a bass boat. He took out the front seats, and built a raised floor in the front with a fishing seat, and added a 24v trolling motor with a Garmin fish-depth finder.

We planned to do some fishing here, as Arizona has numerous lakes and reservoirs, and has one of the highest boats-per-capita numbers in the nation. The closest is Saguaro Lake, one of three reservoirs on the Salt River, about 18 miles from his house.

Bill with the boat

So far, the fishing has been obstructed by Murphy. Before we arrived, he had the boat parked in the street in front of his house, and a neighbor's friend backed into it and bumped it. No apparent damage, but an auspicious start nonetheless. After we arrived, we took the boat to Saguaro Lake, but the boat would not start. He had planned on taking it in for service, as it has sat since last spring untouched. So, we went from the boat ramp to the shop in Tempe. A few days later he got it back. Again, we took it to Saguaro late one afternoon, and it started and seemed to run OK. We checked out the trolling motor, and that all worked fine. We only had about an hour, and found no fish.

After bringing it home, he discovered that there was excessive side-to-side play in the I/O unit, and after checking with the shop, determined that the likely cause was that the accident did cause some damage. He got an estimate for repairs, negotiated with the perp, and got a settlement. The boat went back to the shop. A week later it was back.

We spent a morning getting the depth finder mounted, and went back to Saguaro to check it all out. This time, all worked perfectly, and we still caught no fish. But we talked with others who were successful and got some tips on what lures to use, so we took a trip to Bass Pro yesterday, and we're ready to go fishing in earnest soon. Of course, it's almost time to leave here, so we'd better get out there!

For me, fishing in Arizona is Epiphany (defined as: "A sudden revelation of truth inspired by a seemingly trivial incident." as used by James Joyce). The revelation here is that it might be possible to catch fish when surrounded by saguaro cactus in the middle of the desert. Being there just seems strange, given my Massachusetts/Minnesota/Maine background.

Possible. Possible. We'll keep trying. It beats the alternative.

Update (12/26)

Saguaro Lake shoreline

We got a long day back at Saguaro Lake, with new lures, live bait, everything as we thought it should be. While the day was cool, the wind was light and the sun was bright and warming. I made us some sandwiches for lunch, and we got to the lake around 12:00 noon. We've done this enough times now that the launch is more or less routine. I backed the boat into the water, and Bill tried to start it, but it wouldn't start. The engine battery was nearly drained in the process.

Not wanting to throw in the towel, we asked a few guys who were putting in or taking out their boats if they had any jumper cables. We finally found a guy who did, and Bill pulled one of the trolling motor batteries and jumped the engine battery. Much to our glee, the boat started.

We headed out into the lake and found some fish. Tried all our lures. Tried lots of spots. The depothfinder displayed lots of fish, at various depths, but they didn't care for what we were offering them. Other guys on the lake said they were only catching very small fish, 6-8 inches.

We ate our lunch, trolled alomg the shoreline.

Bill trying to land a bush

ow, don't think that just because we caught no fish that we didn't catch anything. We both caught stuff on the bottom severl times each, resulting in the loss of a couple lures and a couple hooks with worms or anchoves. And Bill casts his lures much farther than he thinks he can, catching stumps and bushes on the shore.

But, that's why they call it fishing, not catching. And, honest, the live bait died trying for us.

Thanksgiving

We enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner at North Ranch with 100 or so Escapees. I wrote this ditty to use at dinner, but didn't get a chance, so I'll share it with you.

Thanksgiving

What makes the day called Thanksgiving
A reflection on the joys of our living?

Do we remember the pain and the fear
To heighten the thoughts of the things that we cheer?

Is the food and the drink a symbol of thanks
A token of having good flesh on our flanks?

Do we honor our forbears good fortune and luck
That brought them together and kept them so stuck?

Do we think of the soldiers that gave us their lives
Of their bravery and honor, that our country survives?

Maybe we cherish the God in our dreams
That saves us from harm and does what He deems?

That we were the prize at the end of the line
And we share our good fortune, with a dinner so fine?

Whatever the reasons that calls forth this feast
We pray thet it be not the last, nor the least.

Be festive, enjoy, turkey squash spuds and peas,
You've a room full of friends, all your fellow Escapees

And when I die....

And when I die is the title and introduction to a song by Blood, Sweat and Tears. I pause to ponder my own death here as an adjunct to our traveling. The trigger for this was my visit to the Pioneer Cemetery in Congress, Arizona.

Finding the cemetery is, in itself a challenge. If you are lucky enough to take Ghost Town Road out of Congress, there are signs along the way that will guide you through the desert over an unimproved road which reminded me of the trail we traversed finding the mission in Baja California, Mexico. Once you get into the heart of the desert, there are no more signs, and you wonder if you're about to get lost. Only the few previous tire tracks suggest that you're on the right track. And I could not find a ghost town. I did find the old abandoned Congress gold mine, though.

The sign at the gate says that the cemetery dates from 1887. The gate itself, a wrought iron affair with a flat spring latch that is half broken, has pulled the gatepost so that the gate opens with difficulty.

Once inside, the graves are arranged in rows, marked by ovals of stone. A small few have markers of some sort, but most are just stone ovals over grave sites, no name, no date, just an implicit suggestion that they must have lived here, and died around the turn of the 20th century.

And as I ponder this, I also consider the storied we heard in Scotts Bluff about the hundreds of pioneers who died along the trails, were buried in hasty graves, unmarked, unknowable by us today. Many of those were desecrated by wild animals in search of food. The memory of those souls carried by their friends and kin, those who survived the rest of the trip, to their western destinations. As the memories faded, so did the remnants of the lives of the brave wagoneers struggling to reach a brave new world.

By contrast, my own genealogical research was greatly aided by visiting the tombstones of my ancestors to identify and note their birth and death dates, tying them into vital records and histories to mark the connections in my hereditary past. How lucky I was to find those stones and trails to illustrate my ancestral past.

No such markers survive to guide the descendants of most of those buried in Congress. And for those who trace lineage to many pioneers on the trail, there is most likely not even a place to look for a marker.

And now, I too am roving around the country much like the pioneers. Should I pass on while traveling, what would be the thing to mark my place on this earth. I've been a faithful friend and servant of numerous folks, less so to some others. My family carries on the name that I research so diligently, and for me, that is a sufficient indicator of my having been here. Perhaps for them, and my wife, or more lasting memorial would be appropriate. I don't care. They should do what they feel good doing. For me, an unmarked grave along the trail is as good as anything.

Settled nerves

Parked at North Ranch

No matter how long we travel, I always seem to approach hitting the road with some apprehension. Our 10 year old motorhome, now over 130,000 miles, is starting to show its age, as I am. We've never had much trouble finding help when things break, but it's not like living in a community that's familiar to you; you know who can help, where things are, and how to get around. Yet, after 3 years, I've found that stopping for a visit in an Escapees park, as we are now, provides a level of familiarity similar to being in our own neighborhood (whatever that is).

We're at North Ranch, one of the Rainbow Parks in Congress, Arizona. We'd heard about North Ranch from other Escapees in our travels. The word was, they were trying to be the friendliest park in the Escapee system, and they rang the bell to let everybody know you had arrived. I also expected to see some of our DOVE friends here, Scott and Karen Bonis, Red Cross instructors who we've spent many hours with in class. High expectations, but not accurate ones. They do have a bell, but I have not heard it in the week we've been here. Perhaps that tradition was lost in the interest of quiet. And Consuelo reminded me that Scott and Karen spend their winters in Belize, so they're not here, either.

Nonetheless, there is a calendar of things going on every day, some of which interest us. Consuelo has taken a craft class, met some ladies with those interests. I've been to computer discussion group, and Photoshop Elements class, learning some, contributing some. We both enjoyed the ice cream social, though perhaps we should not have. And we're signed up to participate in cooking for the craft fair on Saturday, and Thanksgiving dinner.

Besides the events, the people are always friendly and helpful here. When we struggled to get our awning up on arrival, Joe, parked in the site behind us, came over to work his magic with our dilemma. Everybody waves at us when we walk, and we feel welcome here, even if we don't know too many people.

I think our first Escapee park experience, at Sumter Oaks in Bushnell, Florida, was equally fulfilling, and we've come to expect it in all the Rainbow parks we've visited. It's kind of our home away from home.

And it makes me comfortable, my nerves settle, and I can begin looking around to see what there is to see, without worrying about breakdowns, where to stop, or the cost of fuel.

Preparing to Land

We're on our way to the Escapees Rainbow Park in Congress, Arizona. The trip from our summer house in Friendship, Maine, will encompass over 3300 miles, nearly 400 gallons of diesel fuel, and take us 43 days. We stopped in Rochester for 2 weeks, and had a few 2 and 3 night stops.

Today (11/9) we've stopped for our last overnight at a Flying J Travel Center in Winslow, Arizona. We've stopped in numerous Flying Js around the country, and despite the common brand name, they're all different. Many of them have an RV parking area out front, near the auto parking lot. This one has a few spaces, but none large enough for a 38' motorhome with a car in tow. So we schlumped around the back and found a spot in the middle of the truck parking lot, next to another RV.

We generally don't like to park in the truck area if we can avoid it. First and foremost, the commercial drivers are required to take rest stops, and we would rather not encumber a space that a trucker might need. Second, many truckers still let their engines idle overnight, to keep warm and have power. Some states are outlawing this practice, and stopping the engines could save millions of gallons of fuel every year. Some truck stops have developed alternatives to idling, such as systems that attach through a window in the cab with heat, AC, and electric hookups. Some truckers are installing generators in their cabs. But most have not, and so the truck lot is a noisy place at night. The upside of this for us is that nobody cares if we run our own generator, as the noise from it is hardly noticeable.

We stop here around 4:00 PM. I take Thumper for a walk around the parking lot twice, Consuelo continues her afghan knitting. At 6:00, we start dinner. Tonight we consume Brussels sprouts, parsnips, and a couple of Lean Cuisine paninis. Winslow has poor off-air TV reception, so we end up going to bed early, around 9:00.

We're both excited at the prospect of landing in the Escapee park later today. We still have 230 miles to travel, and some of it over an unknown mountainous route, causing a little apprehension. Before we depart here, we'll fill out fuel tank for the last time, pump up the tires, and get a good walk in to start the day.

We've also stayed in several of the Escapee parks around the country; Bushnell Florida, Summerdale Alabama, Heiskell Tennessee, Livingston Texas, Casa Grande and Yuma Arizona, Aguanga California. Like Flying Js, the Escapees parks are all different, too. We've had lots of fun with the snowbirds and fulltimers in the various parks. They're always friendly and thinking up things to do.

So, let's hit the road for the last ride before we land for a few weeks. We can't wait!

Santa Fe

When Consuelo was traveling with Up With People in the 1960's, she visited Santa Fe on a day trip. She wanted to come back, so we planned to overnight here, and ended up spending 3 nights. It's a town with lots to do.

We parked at the Santa Fe Elks. This is the driest of dry camping, not only no hookups, but a dusty gravel parking area. But it sits on the top of a little hill looking northwest, with beautiful views of sunsets and sunrises.

It's autumn in New Mexico. While the tress are now barren in New England, and even in Colorado, in New Mexico the last of the bright yellow and golden aspens are hanging on for a final show of color.

We decided to check out the museums on Museum Hill, technically withing walking distance, but we decided to drive and got lost. Glad we weren't on foot!

Art gallery on the plaza

Museum Hill now houses 4 museums which are part of the Museum of New Mexico. We took in 2 of them, the Museum of Spanish Colonial Culture and the International Museum of Folk Art.

The Spanish museum displays artifacts from the arrival of the Spaniards in the 1500's through the present. Many of the pieces are religious, as those objects were special and more likely to be preserved. Development of the New Mexican artistic style is demonstrated through bultos, the sacred statues made from bundles of sticks covered with clay. Paintings on leather, used by the traveling priests for convenience, were not sanctioned by the church. And tinware, often made from recycled cans and containers.

The Folk Art Museum had a wonderful exhibit on the textile crafts, from spinning through garment making. It compared the similar techniques employed around the world to produce cloth. Lace making, and exhibits of the tools used provided a comprehensive view. In another hall, a collection of dioramas depicting local traditions and dress, and dolls and toys from many countries. We entered this one from the back, and had great fun trying to guess the nationality of each scene, either from the activity of the dress and features of the figures. When we reached the front, we found the catalog, and went back through checking our guesses. Consuelo did much better than I.

Palace of the Governors

The next day, we did the two downtown museums accessible with our 4 day passes. The Museum of Fine Arts houses a variety of artifacts, many depicting the evolving Santa Fe art scene from the first half of the 20th century. Georgie O'Keefe had numerous works on display. The second museum was the Palace of the Governors, the oldest continuously used public building in the US, having been built in 1610. This explored the history of New Mexico, and displayed artifacts from various periods in the life of the building.

The Santa Fe Cathedral

After that, we walked around the Plaza and checked out the shops and stores in the area. This varied from beautiful art, silver and turquoise jewelry to t-shirts and souvenirs. We walked by the Santa Fe Cathedral.

Wednesday night, we joined the Elks for dinner. It is the best deal in town, steak, prime rib, of cod for $7.00. And it was delicious.

Through the Mountains

Kenosha Pass View

I love seeing the mountains. However, driving 15 tons of motorhome/car through them scares me a little. I've never tested a guard rail, and I have no plans to start, but I'm skeptical that that little steel fence would provide much of a barrier to our coach. And then there's the potential problems of overheating, and hot brakes failing, and who knows what else. It just spooks me a little.

But this is a powerful, modern RV. Our old but mostly reliable engine pulls us up through the hills to our first mountain pass, the Kenosha Pass. Passing the top at around 10,000 feet, we gain a beautiful view of the high plains to the south, and the mountain peaks all around. We stop on the descent for a couple pictures. Beautiful, just beautiful.

Our travels this day take us through 2 more mountain passes. In between the last 2, we stop in Ponch Springs, the "Crossroads of the Rockies", to walk the dog and ourselves. Seems that US 285 crosses US 50 here, thus the name.

Poncha Springs

But as we return from our walk, I notice that our car has a small coating of diesel fuel on it. This is not the first time we've had a diesel leak, it's the third. And it appears to be a tiny leak at the moment. So we press on to Alamosa, some 60 miles down the road.



Diesel droppings

In Alamosa, we stop for fuel. The small leak is now leaving a puddle of fuel under the engine, and our car is coated with diesel. I explore some, but can't determine the source. Time to get help.

I ask in the store about diesel mechanics, and get a couple names, but one is the husband of a friend of one of the ladies that works there. We call him, and discuss the problem. We expect to have to order parts from Denver, if the leak is a repeat of the former problem. He suggests a place for us to park for the night, and plans to come over in the morning to diagnose the problem.

Now, we usually don't travel on weekends just for this very reason. It's hard to find people who can fix things on the weekend, and twice as hard in the middle of nowhere in the high plains of Colorado. But we haven't had a breakdown in two years, and we've been feeling free and foolish. And here we are, Sunday afternoon in Alamosa, parking in a tiny truck stop behind a Loaf and Jug convenience store.

The one benefit from this unplanned stop is that I get to watch the New England Patriots beat the Indianapolis Colts in a very close game. As a Patriots fan, the game had me on the edge of my seat until the last 2 minutes. That was fun.

The next morning, John Demers from Southern Colorado Truck Repair arrives, and in ten minutes diagnoses our problem as a leaky rubber hose, He departs for 15 minutes, returns with a new hose, and we're on our way before noon. Thanks, John! We consider this a blessing.

That afternoon we make our way to Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Blown Away & Bailey

We depart Nebraska and head to Cheyenne, Wyoming for a night. It's a short trip, less that 100 miles. We're getting short on clean clothes, so we plan a stop in a campground in Cheyenne. We give them a call, get an answering machine that says, "Come on in", so we do. A. B. Camping is operating on a trial basis for their first winter, and technically, they have no sites with water, as only select sites have been winterized, and those are filled with work campers working on a pipeline nearby. But the manager puts us in a spot near a water hose that we can pull over. We do some shopping in town, do some laundry. Overnight lows are starting to hit 20. The next morning we're ready to depart, and since we're not expecting to see a campground again for a few days, I try to fill the water tank. I attach the hose, turn on the faucet, and go inside where it's warm. After 15 minutes, I check the water gauge, and nothing is happening. After fiddling a bit, I discover that the hose is frozen. By letting the water run, I finally get it thawed out, we fill the tank, and we're on our way.

Our plan is to get to southern Colorado, some 240 miles away. But we only get to the first exit on I25, and have to pull off. The west wind is blowing down out of the mountains at a fierce rate, gusting to 50 mph or more. Our awnings are taking a beating. Both the big one, and the one over our door have been secured with extra restraints, and even so they're straining to get out and banging against the coach. I pull off to check, and discover that 18 inches of the large awning has separated from the roller, though it's still rolled up. Smelling disaster, we return to a McDonald's truck parking lot in Cheyenne, The wind, now on our left side, and it blows open one of our window awnings, something I heard could not happen. (Update: When we park in Congress, AZ, and unroll the awning, it takes about an hour to get it back in place, but it survives the day)
We sit in the truck lot for 6 hours, watching TV, reading, taking little walks. Trucks come and go, and around 3:00 we feel that the wind has calmed enough to depart. NOW the big electric highway sign on I25 is reporting windy conditions ahead. Yeah, we've seen them.

So we roll through Denver, and begin our ascent into the mountains on US 285. We won't get to southern Colorado, as our initial climbing into the Rockies slows us to an average speed of about 30 mph. We traveled about 20 miles, then stopped for the night.

Bailey, Colorado
About 30 SW of Denver, we see a sign along the road pointing to "Town Park" in Bailey, Colorado. We pull into a parking lot on a tiny strip mall, and ask at the feed store if we can park overnight in the park. At first he says no, and when I ask about alternatives, he thinks for a minute and changes his answer to yes. This is Ron, the feed store owner. So we pull in for the night.

The Bailey town park is a small collection of buildings and a big steel bridge. The bridge crosses the North Fork South Platte River, a nice bubbling brook that runs along the park. There is a school house, a granary shed, and some other artifacts from Bailey's past. We settle in for the night.

The iron bridge in Bailey Park

About 8:30 PM, I decide to take Thumper out for a walk, As I go around the back of the rig, I encounter a teenage boy wandering around in the park. This turns out to be Stevie, a local high school dropout who's just out to play on the bridge, and we chat for a few minutes. I ask him about Bailey, and he asks me about the RV and our travels. He tells me about the shooting at the high school in 2006. I think about what mischief he might do, but our conversation is amicable, and I return inside, and he goes on his way.

I have no recollection about a school shooting in Bailey, but we find an open wifi, connect to the Internet, and I look it up. Sure enough, his story pans out. Creepy.

We depart the next morning, off to chug through the mountain passes.

The Joys of an RV

Wagon at Scotts Bluff National Monument

We've been moving along parts of the Oregon, Mormon, and Pony Express Trails. Scotts Bluff, named after a unfortunate fur trapper who died there, was a major landmark on those trails. It marked the end of the monotonous long, dusty trek over the Kansas and Nebraska plains. The emigrants left from a variety of locations along the Missouri river, and merged together like a braided rope along a more or less single trail near present day Omaha. Averaging about 15 miles per day, plagued by cholera, Indians, and broken wagons, the sight of Scott's Bluff, and Chimney Rock, 30 miles east, was a time to rest and rejoice. A blacksmith set up shop near Scoots Bluff, selling provisions and charging outrageous prices. Yet the emigrants had only accomplished 1/3 of their journey to Oregon, California, or Sallt Lake. They still had many arduous miles to travel in the Rocky Mountains. Folks started making these treks in the 1830's. The migration numbers zoomed after gold was discovered in California in 1849. The wagon trains ended when the railroad was up and running in the 1860's.

Trail Markers

Once the settlements were established in the West, it became necessary to communicate with the East. Regular mail was taken by boat to the Isthmus of Panama, across that strip of land, and then by boat to the east coast, taking up to 6 months. The Mormons provided mail service on contract with the government by horse and wagons. In 1860, the Pony Express was established. The Pony Express would handle a 1/2 ounce letter for the equivalend of $85 in today's cash. At this point, we're left with more intriguing stories about the Pony Express than fact, as the records have been lost. Buffalo Bill Cody had great success portraying the Express in his road show. The Pony Express died a debt laden death when the telegraph replaced it after less than 2 years of operation.

And here we are today, travelling some of those same trails at 60 miles per hour, some 80 times faster than the pioneers. We still have all our worldly possessions with us, but we're way less likely to lose them all crossing a stream by having our wagon sink in quicksand. Instead of buying a few provisions at outrageous prices, we swing over to Wal-Mart to pick up our needs. At night, in camp, we have lights, heat, and pictures from all over the world filling our TV screen. We can stray from the Platte River, as we carry our own water. And we don't need to drive our livestock west, we can buy it piecemeal in the grocery store. And the Indians will only get us if we go to the casinos.

Ah, the Joy's of an RV.

Brrrrrr. It's cold!

Lake Pepin on the Mississippi


We spent a couple weeks in Rochester, MN, our old home town. While there we stayed at Tilly's RV Park on US 52 in Oronoco, just north of Rochester. Tilly's is the newest park in the area, reasonably sized spaces and full hookups. The price was reasonable, and like many of our travels at this time of year, we had very few neighbors. Mostly drive-thru sites, clean. We recommend the place, though it's pretty close to the highway and traffic noise might be a problem in seasons when the windows would be open. And there's no trees, so an AC in midsummer would be necessary.

While in Rochester, we had our physicals, got some good and some bad news. The docs at Mayo expressed the common American mantra to us, "diet and exercise, diet and exercise". But that was the worst news we got, and we are taking the advice to heart. We both bought pedometers and are striving for the 10,000 step days that will support good health. And we're making a point of getting a couple miles aerobically, as measured by the pedometer. As an engineer, getting a numeric feedback helps me move forward, if somewhat against my will.

I played lots of golf with my old friends there, scoring very badly and losing a few dollars. Consuelo spend 5 days at sewing camp with her friends in Lake City, MN, on Lake Pepin, a widening in the Mississippi River.

Just before we left Rochester, the Red Cross notified us that volunteers were needed in southern California to help with the wildfire disaster recovery. We made ourselves available, but were not called in the first round, because we were too far away and they needed immediate volunteers. As we get closer, if the recovery continues, we may end up going there.

So we drove to Sioux Falls, SD for a night at a Flying J Travel Center, registered to vote, and as we started out we discovered that we had no air pressure, necessary for our air brakes and air suspension. We called several places who were too busy to help, but found one, the "Truck Center" in Sioux Falls who could look at it. We had just enough air pressure left from the previous day to drive the 2 miles there, and our low air beepers went off just as we parked. To conserve air, I downshifted and slowed carefully for every traffic light so I wouldn't have to stop. After about 15 minutes of inspection, the mechanic said he suspected a stuck air dryer, with little certainty. But the pressure returned and stayed while he inspected, and he thought it was a temporary problem, so we deferred the repair until we have a few days in one place, and so far it's been working fine.
The Corn Palace


We headed west, and stopped at the Corn Palace, a mildly interesting place in Mitchell, SD. Built as a tourist trap... ahhh, attraction, The novelty is that the outside is decorated with 250,000 ears of corn of different colors. Otherwise, it's an auditorium for basketball games and other civic events. Given the number of signs along I-90 in South Dakota, we expected more. But we took the opportunity to walk through main street, something we've done several times along the way, walk through downtown someplace. Get those step added up!

We kept moving after Mitchell, with a stop at Kadoka, SD. We filled our tank there, at a small dusty Conoco truck stop just off the highway. We spent much of the night listening to angry cows on their way to market, bellowing and banging around in their cattle truck parked next to us. It was so unnerving that Consuelo and I both wrote about it the next morning.

In the morning, we took that long walk along main street, and started south toward Nebraska. We took several state routes, and US 20, travelling through part of the Badlands and into the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, climbing to 4000 feet as we arrived in Mitchell, Nebraska.

Parked at a Golf Course!

Mitchell sported a golf course with RV parking. No, not an RV park with a golf course, the other way around. It's a city course, 9 holes, with 3 water/electric hookup sites. The reason to be here was so that Consuelo could visit Brown Sheep Yarn, an internationally known yarn operation based here in Mitchell. The golf course was an unexpected, pleasant find. The locals worked hard to get a course here, are very proud of it, and take great care of it. One of the nicest small town courses I've ever seen.

Scotts Bluff

Mitchell is across the valley from Scotts Bluff, NE, the edge of the Rocky Mountains, and a major landmark for the emigrants moving along the Platt River on toward the Oregon and Mormon trails in the 19th century.

And it's starting to be cold, really cold at night, down into the low twenties. Last night our hose froze, and probably won't thaw for several hours.

On the Road... Again

We've departed Maine, on September 28th. We spent a weekend in Ipswich, playing the grandparents. Due to a scarcity of dump stations in Maine, we carried a full black water tank to Ipswich, arriving at the sewage treatment plant at 4:30, only to find out that they closed at 3:00. We got it emptied on Monday, as we hit the road west on the Massachusetts Turnpike. I tried to stop for fuel there, but they had remodeled the Turnpike service area. In the past, non-commercial diesel had to be purchased at the auto island. No more. But I had entered the auto area, and couldn't get back to the truck area, so we went without it.

We spent 2 nights in Wilbraham, Massachusetts, visiting my aunt Flo. While there, our VW toad got it's 80,000 mile checkup in Northampton. We played several card games with Flo, always a pleasure. And shared a little romantic intrigue with her grandson, who's on the verge of a divorce, and looking forward.

From there we traveled west to Elkhart, Indiana, with overnight stops at Walmart in Seneca Falls, NY, and a Flying J near Ashtabula, Ohio. We spent the weekend in Elkhart cruising some of the surplus RV stores, and staying out of the unseasonable 90+ degree heat that had been cooking a region ready for some mild fall days. On Monday, we travelled to the Elkhart Red Cross office and found it nearly deserted, even though we had volunteered to work the day. We go directions to a Lowe's and picked up a few things, and while there, the Red Cross called to say that the person that had work ready for us arrived and wanted us to come back. So we spent about 5 hours cleaning up from a volunteer event, shredding old documents, and installing a printer that had been donated. And, we got our records up to date, and new ID cards.
Fuel Prices

Here's a picture from April, 2005:














And one from October, 2007, at the exact same fuel pump in Beloit, WI:














As you can see, diesel prices are up nearly $1.00 per gallon, an increase of almost 50% in 2-1/2 years. Who says the cost of living only increases at 4%?

From Elkhart, we moved on to Rochester, MN, with an overnight stop at a Flying J in Beloit, WI, right on the Wisconsin-Illinois border. Unfortunately, it seems that we stepped out of summer directly into winter, as we've gone from 90's to 50's, with overnight lows near freezing. Brrrrrrr.

In Rochester, our old home town, we have fun with our old friends. Mahlon plays golf with his old golf buddies 3 days in a row, Consuelo does some fabric shopping and gets together with some friends to do some beading on a bracelet. This as we prepare for our checkups at the Mayo Clinic.

Ocean Pontooning; Walking in the Woods

To better enjoy all that ocean near our new summer house, we bought a pontoon we found for sale in Friendship. It's a Beachcat, built by a small Florida operation. Unlike most pontoons, it's all fiberglass, and takes better to the salt water. It was owned by an older couple, thus validating my brother's calling these boats "wrinkle-craft". It had not been used for a couple years.

We washed it down, checked out the motor (a Honda 50 4 stroke) packed a lunch, and put it into the water in Friendship Harbor.

We then cruised around Morse's Island, Friendship Long Island, Cranberry Island then stopped and drifted for a while and we ate our lunch. Then back up the Medomak River, around Hatchet Cove, and back to the Harbor, taking about 3 hours.

The shakedown cruise was educational. We discovered that we need to take sweatshirts out on the ocean, though we didn't need them until the sun went in. We also found that the pontoon did quite well in the 2-3 foot swells that were rolling around that day. And that we enjoyed the experience very much.

I had brought along fishing gear, but we didn't take the time to fish. I get the feeling that it will troll nicely making it a good boat for fishing. It's a bit slow, compared to the Tracker, meaning that if the fishing is not nearby, it will take a while to get there.

The only downside to our trip occurred as we were maneuvering the boat back onto the trailer. The steering cable broke, weakened by corrosion and lack of use for two years. That is under repair as I write this, and we expect to get out on the water again this weekend.

Walking in the Maine Woods
When Paul, Liam and Amelia visited, we took a walk into the woods behind our house to see the work being done by loggers who have been working out there for most of the summer. The day was beautiful, and walking on the logging road was perfect.

This picture shows some of the logged area. They are leaving enough trees that the forest will be sunny and bright for a while. And they are chipping and removing all the brush, leaving the forest floor clean.

The Long Golf Trip

Karl, Pete, Wally, Ray, Curt, Mahlon

These guys are enough to make me drive 3300 miles to play golf. I drove back to Minnesota to play in the 5th annual (for us) Grand Slam Amateur Golf Tournament in Grand Rapids, MN. We play 3 days of golf on 3 different courses, as twosomes with about 394 other golfers. Our participation started in 2003 with Consuelo and I hosting at our cabin on Moose Lake. It was an event enjoyed by all. Since we sold the cabin last year, this year we made other arrangements for 2 cabins on the same lake.

The players are, L to R:
Karl Christainsen and Pete Hahn
Wally Schlink and Ray Clark
Curt Kraft and I

While 2 of these teams finished first in their flights last year, this year was less successful, with only Curt and I finishing in the money, at 7th place, with Ray and Wally one place behind us. In their flight, Karl and Pete were way down the list.

But golf is but one of the reasons to make this journey for all. The friendship and good spirits are the true value in the event. That and good food, wine, beer, a few cigars, campfires, more good food, more beer.

Kraft Hospitality

What made the trip possible for me was the generous hospitality shown me by Curt and Beth Kraft at their house for 5 days prior to the event. Curt and I played some practice rounds, and Beth prepared a wonderful party for Ray and Wally and their brides, and me. Some of Beth's great color artistry is pictured here, and of course, it was delicious, too.






Moose Lake

Having spent some part of 7 summers on Moose Lake, and having had really wonderful experiences there, I was a bit apprehensive at seeing our old cabin once again. However, the new owners have ruined it, from my point of view, and I was appalled by it's new look. They painted it beige, not at all a fit for a place called "Blue Haven" since the 1940's. And they removed the charm of the old windows, put the dock in the wrong place, etc., etc. They lied to us about their plans for the place, cancelled our reservation to use it without cause, and generally just pissed me off. It's unfortunate that we lost what we thought was a long friendship with the family, but that's the way it goes.

The Long Drive

I drove from Friendship to Rochester, leaving at 6:00 on a Thursday night, and staying 2 nights on the road. The weather and traffic conditions were excellent, even rolling through Chicago. We drove the 275 miles from Rochester to Grand Rapids on Thursday, and I left for home on Monday after the tournament, taking the northern route over the Great Lakes via the UP of Michigan, the Transcanadian Highway from Sault Ste Marie, stopping in Sudbury, then through Ottawa & Montreal, returning to the US in Canaan, Vermont. The picture is from the long straight roads in the UP, going forward, looking backward.

I told the guys that this is my last year to play in the tournament. They are considering their options on further play. I will do my best to lure them to Maine, for some golf, lobsters, whatever might get them here, as a group or individually. I will miss their company at the event.

An Omen, The Sloops, Lobster Collection

The Omen

Omens are what you make of them. Like the proverbial tree in the forest, if nobody notices, it really doesn't qualify to be an omen.

On this day, we had what I consider a beautiful omen arrive at our house to suggest the beauty that is possible for us in Friendship. Liam found this moth sitting by our back door, and brought it in to show it to us. It was about 4" across, and had a nice visit with us then went on it's way.

It was the beginning of a week long visit for Liam, and we had lots of fun while he was here. We cruised up the Meduncook River, aka the Friendship River, stopping at one of the small islands in the bay and another in the river. We went to the Friendship Scoop for ice cream and to play skee ball a couple times. We played soccer, wiffle ball, and blew bubbles in the back yard. We went to Rockland to have lunch at Burger King, and to the toy stores to buy a birthday present. And we went to Waldoboro so Liam could talk to his Mom and Dad on the phone. He did get homesick a few times, but overall had a great time.














The Sloops

The few remaining Friendship Sloops (about 180)that are still on the water are easy to sail and beautiful to look at. Even fewer of the owners (about 20) gathered in Rockland Harbor to share life and their experiences with these hardy boats at the annual Regatta held by the Friendship Sloop Society. We went to the breakwater on Saturday to watch the sloop parade and the beginning of the races.

The boats range in age from 1902 Gladiator to a fiberglass version built in the 1990's. The lengths range from 25 to 35 feet. All have minimal overnight accommodations.

Later in the day we tripped b ack to Rockland to view and visit the boats at the dock. We had a chance to talk with some of the skippers, and I donated a small collection of Regatta programs from 1961-1969 that I had found at a lawn sale in Friendship. I tried to wrangle a day trip on one of these fine boats, but we'll see if that turns out or not.







Lobster Collection

As we were watching the sloops, one of the many lobstermen was cruising around near the breakwater checking his traps and collecting his lobsters. In talking with on of these fine fellows, I discovered that most of the commercial lobstermen in Maine put out 800 traps, which cost about $25-50 each these days. All of the newer traps are made of coated wire, like the one here on the side of the boat. The largest expenses are fuel and bait.

The history is revealed

In my earlier life, I developed an interest in the history of my hometown, Wilbraham, Massachusetts. This interest carried over in later life, and has been an itch to be scratched as we traveled around the country. I find it fascinating to discover the ways that people found to make their living, and the relationships that developed in communities as a result. For example, my mom worked as a checkout clerk in a small grocery in Wilbraham, and as a result, met and knew a lot of people in the town.

We took possession of our house in Friendship on June 21, took a trip to Ipswich to visit Paul and his family, and to pick up our boat and some of our stuff in storage. We came back to Friendship and started peeling wallpaper, and unloading stuff. We realized that the house is very dirty, probably a result of the wood burning stove that supplemented the old furnace lurking in the basement, and we started cleaning. The electrician came on June 28th and started to replace the old wiring. To help control the cost, I am acting as the electricians assistant.

As we've been here for 10 days or so, we've met some of the neighbors. I've been asking questions about the history of our house, and it turns out that a new book was released on Saturday, 6/30, about the some of houses in Friendship. Nearly all the houses described in the book were written up by their residents. There is a certain pride that folks in New England, and perhaps everywhere have in property that has been in the family for a long time. Expressing the history of these old houses connects the rooted members of the community, by and large. Maine already has an open discrimination issue with people "from away", and written records of the old families and their homes tends to protect and preserve this discrimination. We are and will always be outsiders here.

But regardless of our past, our house and barn have a history of their own. The house and barn was built by Charles Morse, one of the families of prolific boatbuilding in Friendship. Charles brother, Wilbur, is the grand master of building the class of boats known as Friendship sloops, pretty and efficient single masted sailboats that found favor as work boats for the lobstermen along the Maine coast. They gained even more fame when one of them won an important sailboat race in Rockland, and hundreds were built in the late 1800s and early 1900s. Charles built some of these boats, in our barn.

Charles only lived in our house for 11 years, I'm told. What may be more interesting is that our barn was one of the early shops for building the Friendship sloops. There is a photo in the new history that shows a sloop laying in front of our barn, along with some of the builders including Charles himself. And, there are 2 long, round wooden poles in the barn, which I thought were flagpoles, but as the history is revealed, it's more likely that they were intended to be masts for the sloops.

Today we met someone who worked on the book, who thinks that the barn is an important historical artifact, and should be preserved. Our house inspector thought it was a lightly built structure that may give good service for maybe 10 years, and then perhaps shredded and dumped. Our neighbor across the street, a boatbuilder, says the structure will probably stand for a long time, given the way it is built. What do we do?

There is a Friendship sloop society that provides a connection for current owners of the remaining boats, and the few that have been built by folk who appreciate their lines and seaworthiness. I intend to write them to see what interest there may be in their membership in this bit of history.

Meanwhile, more electrical work and stripping of wallpaper continues tomorrow. And the next day, and the next...

Buying a house

After looking at about 25 houses, and considering hundreds more via the web, we decided to make an offer on this one. It's an 1896 farmhouse, or New Englander as they call them here. It is in good condition on the outside, and the interior work is something we think we can handle mostly ourselves . The barn is dilapidated, but still usable. It sits on 1/2 acre in Friendship, Maine, a community of 1200 people principally involved in lobstering. The ocean, and the public landing are about 1/3 mile away.

This is the front(east) and north side of the house. Behind the lilac is a fairly large garden plot.
This is the back side from the nw corner. The red shed is structurally sound, but the roof is shot.

This the view from the SE corner. The southern side of the barn needs serious work. The house is vinyl siding, and its roof is in good condition. There's lots of room beside the barn on either side to park our motorhome while we're there.

This is looking from the SW corner. We have not yet settled on the truck and the contents of the barn and house. There are but a few pieces of furniture left in the house, and the barn is full of old tools and junk, like 2 wringer washing machines. We doubt that the truck is usable. We offered to take everything, but the owners are deciding what they want to keep.

If all goes well, we will take possession at the end of June. Then the fun begins. We have a nominal amount of work to do before we can live in the place, and we have to move all our stuff out of our storage locker in Danvers, Mass.

Kudos to Lauren Armstrong with Coldwell Banker Soundvest Realty in Rockland for providing wonderful support as we searched both in-town and rural locations for property that we liked. She's even storing a few items in her barn for us that we picked up at auction until we have a place to put them. You can't ask for better service than that!