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.