June 29

No pictures today.  This not because there were not interesting things to photograph, and not because I was unwilling, but because there was no place to safely pull over on the glorious, narrow little twisties that pass for roads in Vermont.

Because the rains come hardest in the afternoon, I left Albany at 7:30 in the a of m.  Drove near, but not to, the falls that may or may not be the biggest in the U.S. east of Niagara and there is some truth to this.  Drove through Troy, just up river from Albany, and the most northerly port on the Hudson, on my way east to the Vermont line.  68 degrees, which felt wonderful, with cloudy skies that held off on the rain, which felt wonderful.  On my way through eastern rural New York It occurred to me that I was leaving the home of the person who is in third place on my "People I Have Known the Longest" list and was on my way to the home of the surviving person I have known the longest, my cousin Michael.  He is two weeks older nor me.  Somewhere there is a picture of us lying side by side, not more than a few weeks old.  My sister, by the way, is second on the list.

This jaunt to the east confirmed my opinion that New York roads are often in bad shape.  Albany's roads, by the way, are terrible.  Still, an enjoyable ride.  When I crossed into Vermont, the roads improved a good bit.  Entered Vermont near Bennington in the south, headed north and hopped onto a scenic route on Vermont 30.  Narrow, twisty, up and down, lots of small towns.  Not a route to use if you want to cover ground but a great motorcycle road.  I had only 150 miles to cover so I took it.  Little   signs all along the route saying so and so born here, Ethan Allen did something here.  At a spot where there were large white, shiny rocks by the road one sign read "Oldest marble quarry in . . ." and then I was past the sign.  65.9 miles into the ride the sun came out.  I rejoiced, and praised The Lord.  Thirty seconds after it broke through, it disappeared behind a cloud, a cruel joke, leaving me with nothing but memories and broken dreams.

At one point, distinct vertical tendrils of vapor seemed to connect misty, almost unnaturally green forests and fields with the low clouds.  Nearly magical, but no place to stop, and very hard to get on camera anyway.  In another place, hundreds of water lilies on either side of the road.  Again, no place to stop and they would have been just white dots in the picture.

The sun began to make more frequent appearances.  White church steeples appeared springing from green fields to stand against blue skies and white clouds.  Dairy cows all over, mostly lying down on the job instead of up and about, eating grass and producing milk.  Bet Asian cows wouldn't be lying down.  They're probably better at math, too.

Passed through small neat towns one after the other until I crested a hill and looked out across Lake Champlain spread out in the sunlight with New York's cloud covered Adirondack Mountains rising on the far shore.  Actually pulled over and stopped to get a picture, but it wasn't safe so I decided against it.

Pulled into Burlington, Vermont's largest city, population under 50,000.  Drove from the south to the north part of town and found Mike's condo.  Mike was out finishing up a few errands, but Mike's delightful wife, Chez, greeted me and made me feel immediately at home.  Their condo is on the top floor with deck views of nearby Lake Champlain only partially obscured by large trees.

When Mike got home, we talked a bit, then drove about seeing some sights.  The area is gorgeous.  Stopped in a grocery store and bought two 2 1/2 pound lobsters.  It was girl's night out for Chez, so Mike and I had one each for dinner.  Mike is a fine cook and also has an excellent wine collection.  Finished the evening off by introducing Mike to "The Big Bang Theory."

Mike is my father's sister's oldest.  They lived in central Massachusetts.  We used to visit between duty assignments and when we were stationed at various Air Force bases in the northeast like Rome and Syracuse, New York.  If memory serves, we even went to school together for a short time in Northboro, Mass, when I was finishing up 6th grade between Air Force bases.  Or it may have just been part of the summer.  I'll ask him, but remember, he's even older than me, so whom to trust?

....

He didn't remember.  Good night.

June 28

Very good news.  After a difficult delivery, Robin Shura gave birth to a healthy baby girl, Helene Estelle.  Mom, dad and grandparents are exhausted, but doing well.  Everyone is head over heels with the Widget, Helene's prename name.  I will go out on a limb here and predict 'Widgette' as the nick name of choice.  Helen, of course, is very happy with the name Helene.

Albany is under water.  Ann says it has been raining since April.  Russ just nods and bobs his snorkel.  I send pictures of the Hudson just below where the Mohawk flows in from the west.  (I attended what used to be known as junior high on the banks of the Mohawk in Rome, New York.  George R. Staley Jr. High, if memory serves.  I also began kindergarten in Rome.  A condemned building known as the Garden Street Annex.  Only place my father had two separate assignments.)

Anyway, pictures.

This is an island in the Hudson, not the opposite shore.  A lot of water moving down this river.

Russ told Ann and me that these are the largest falls east of Niagara in the U.S.  When pressed, he allowed as how he wasn't absitively possolute but opined that there was at least an element of truth to his assertion.  For this he was ridiculed at some length.  Ann and I each gleefully pointed out that these either are or are not the largest falls in the U.S. east of Niagara.  There can't be "some truth" to the claim that they are.  (And I don't want to hear, "We'll, it depends on how you measure it."  Even Russ did not to sink to this.). Then we went out to dinner and ridiculed him some more.  It was a joyful time.  This took place when the main purpose of the car ride was to show me the best route out of the Albany area so it was all the more enjoyable to dump on him when he was doing me a favor.

Of course, Russ is kicking me out now.  Burlington, Vermont tomorrow.

June 26-27

So!  Pictures first!

Lush greenness with pool

Green lushness with pool

Emerald lushosity with fish pond

Another

Yes, this the back of Russ and Ann's house.  Note the eastern lushness of which I wrote.  Not visible are the mosquitoes of which there are hordes because it has been so wet.  Also not visible is the awful humidity because it has been so wet.  100% chance of rain tonight, 2 to 4 inches accumulation.  The east is just plain different.

Because there has been such a shortage of pictures, I offer another as partial amends.

These are Russ and Ann's barky, but sweet, little kinda-dogs, that is to say, pseudo-hounds.  They are soon to be shorn because of the heat.  Fortunately, I will not be here to witness the result.  These guys started out barking and running from me.  Now I am getting little licks and kisses and can pet, scritch and scratch them.

One more picture and I will feel I have mostly atoned.  This is an art venue in Albany.

In case it isn't obvious, I took this out the car window on the expressway.  Bet you guessed it is known as "the egg."

Forgot to mention a winner of a few days ago.  Anal Recon.  I'm thinking it was a mobile colonoscopy unit.

And speaking of games, I need Rhode Island, Delaware, Vermont, New Hampshire, Hawaii and South Dakota to round out the license plate game.  I am surprised I still need so many.  I will pick up Vermont on Sat. because I'm going there.  Should be able to get New Hampshire then, too.  Bet I can pick up South Dakota when I travel through Canada.  Might not get the others which, for this length of time and distance , is almost like getting skunked.

Russ and I go all the way back to the last two years of high school in Germany.  Then we  went on to Kenyon College together.  Took two motorcycle trips around the west.  He even visited Pat and me in our current house and helped Pat plant poplar trees she'd gotten on sale through the mail.  They were just sticks.  It wasn't even readily apparent which end was to go in the ground.  I refused to help on the ground that it was a giant waste of time as the pitiful little things couldn't possibly survive.  I did not help plant, water, weed or fertilize.  Every one of the damned things lived.   We still have them.  Russ and I kept in touch, more or less, over the years, but haven't seen one another since the mid 80s.

Russ taught English in prep schools and finally the public system for better than 40 years.  He retired one week ago.  Of course, for him it won't feel like retirement until August or  September.

I'd not met Ann before, she is a delight.  Still working, just like Patricia.  It does seem like the natural order of things, he said, in retaliation for Pat's last comment on this blog.

Good night.

June 25

So, my tech inclined friends tell me that the blog I posted yesterday with the underlining I couldn't get rid of is some connection to Fox News called a "hyperlink.". Now, most days I cruise the headlines on ABC, CBS, FOX, and NBC, but I never blog while doing it.  I don't "multitask."  Multitasking just means you do more than one thing badly at a time.  So how did this hyperlink thing happen?  God's will?  Historically, that has always been a favored explanation.  Or, as science is the new God, how about "quantum hyperlinking?"  Either choice superficially explains it away, and isn't that usually the goal?  Any explanation so long as it's an explanation.  Say!  Maybe it was swamp gas!

Did 300 miles today and it was easier than the 200 yesterday because I started at 7 a.m. when it was just 64 degrees.  Thoroughly pleasant, though I was pleased when it warmed to 68 as I wasn't wearing leathers.

It has been long and long since I've been in the east in late spring and early summer.  One forgets how lush it is, especially this very wet year.  A transplanted Idahoan can only marvel at how green is this part of the world.  And three dimensional green, too.  Not just green grass, but mile after mile of deciduous forest rising high.

Another thing about the east is how low it is.  Went over a hill at the crest of which was a sign giving the elevation - 2110 feet.  In Idaho this is known technically as a "depression."  Later, I actually saw a sign for a ski hill.  Sad, but true.  I guess you work with what you've got.  In Idaho, we work with little water.  Here, they work with little altitude.

I arrived at Russ and Ann's house.  More about them tomorrow.  For now, I will just post this short blog and promise pictures to come.

June24

I am now in Cuba.  Well, Cuba, New York.  And I have a new hypothesis.   Every motel in America is run by Indian immigrants.  I knew this is pretty much true on the South, but it's true in Cuba, too.

So, the Hungarian Presbyterian Church got me thinking about other church names I'd like to see.  Our Lady of Perpetual Agony is up there.  Also, Church of the Immaculate Molestation.  Probably won't see the second one, but there is a fighting chance for the first.

Carol was always checking local weather to find out what the dew point was.  Tad and I would go for walks without being aware of this critical information.  Consequently, we wouldn't know whether we had a pleasant jaunt or suffered terribly until we got back to the house and Carol could fill us in on the dew point.  If it was too high, Carol would say, "It just makes me SICK!"  This is about as close to strong language as Carol gets, and when she says that she has a twinkle in her eye.  I still don't even know what a dew point is.

I was planning on visiting another college friend in northwest Pennsylvania.  Unfortunately, I couldn't let him know exactly when I was coming because I didn't know when I'd be well enough to leave.  So when I finally was able to call him with a firm date, he had already made a commitment.  So I won't see Tony.  Tony was another math major.  He went on to get his PhD at Yale, I do believe, and teaches at Allegheny College.  Like Tad, a unique individual.  While in school, he decided he needed to read ALL of the important books in the western canon.  In the original languages when possible.  I think by the time we graduated he was up to Roman literature, but I can't remember for certain.  He showed up at Kenyon proficient in Latin.  At Kenyon, I think he took Hebrew and Greek.  Remember, he was a math guy.  Anyway, we had a nice chat on the phone, but seeing him will have to wait.  Right now, I am on my way to Albany to visit another friend.  Not only did I go to college with Russ, we went together through two years of high school in Germany.  Russ retired three days ago.  Why the hell is this all underlined?  How did I do that?  Why can't I deunderline it?  Damnrats!

The bike trip today was short, only 200 miles, but I feel good.  Took a few ibuprofen and strapped on a back support before I left.  All was fine.  I am taking I-86 through southern New York.  I've never taken this route before.  Pretty country.  All tamed - it's not country that might try to kill you - but pretty.

Albany tomorrow.  

June 20-23

 Tad suggests that politically he is a "radical moderate."  His hypothesis is that 10% of the population is far left and 10% far right and he's with the 80% in between.  "So what's radical about that?" you ask.  Well, he thinks the 80% ought to be able to hunt and shoot the 10% on each extreme.  Makes a guy think.

Because I am doing little but resting and have little to report in the way of grand adventure, how about a few political comments?  That always livens things up.  This will just be a potpourri of general thoughts.

Both Republicans and Democrats speak in barely concealed, but imprecise, code.  For example, "The rich should pay their fair share."   "The rich" is intended to mean people who earn more than the listener.  "Fair share" means "more."  Want to have fun?  Ask someone who argues the rich should pay their fair share to quantify " rich" and "fair."  Then suggest that since only 50% of adult citizens pay any income tax, those who argue for tax increases appear to being saying that they don't want the 50% who pay no income tax to be victimized by the other 50% who don't pay their fair share.

Switching to the other party, "family values" is code for a lot less tolerance than I'd like to see.  (As an aside, many, and I suspect most, "family values" supporters who have been divorced should have the sense to keep quiet.  And by "sense to keep quiet" I mean "decency to shut up.")  "Family values" does not mean, "Let's set aside one night week to all eat a nice meal together and grow closer and more understanding and those who did not cook will do the dishes."  It means at least "I'm anti-gay."  Well have the moral courage to just say it.  (I do not discuss that "family values" also usually means "pro-life" because that is a far more intricate problem.  And though I disagree with much of what the pro-life movement espouses, I point out that it is probably the least selfish political movement in America and should be given credit for being so.)

These examples of code-speak point to the basic deficiencies in our two parties.  Democrats tend to be fiscal illiterates who think the money will never run out.  This is harsh, but what else can you call a person who calls for more spending when forty cents of every dollar we spend now is borrowed?  The situation has gone well past simply cutting some programs so as to fund others.  The party reaction to any problem is first to assume that government can do something about it and second to assume that the solution is to spend money.  This despite example after example of government programs that are at best too costly for the results they achieve and at worst are counterproductive.  At its most cynical, the party attempts to create a huge group of people dependent on the government who will automatically vote for the Democrats to at least maintain their "entitlements."

So why aren't the Republicans eating the Democrat's lunch?   Especially when these "entitlements" mean that younger people are and will be footing the bills for older people?  It is partly because there is a deep streak of intolerance in the Republican Party that younger and minority voters just can't stomach.  And they shouldn't.

These somewhat superficial talking points bring up more basic issues such as the expansion of the Commerce Clause to give government ever increasing power to take from A to give to B; the nature of people who seek power to seek more power; the rise of a professional political class - I don't mean just office holders - devoted principally to gaining and holding power; ways to limit power.  And why isn't there a party for the fiscally conservative, but socially liberal?  But all this is more than a single blog entry can even touch upon.  It does, however, help me vent and not snack.

.....

Went into town with Tad.  Saw a fine old church the sign for which read, "Hungarian Presbyterian Church."  I don't know about you, but that is a sign I never expected to see.

The reason we went into town was to do some shopping for Helen and drop in and see her.  Tad bought her a watermelon, one of her favorites, and I cut it up for her.  And we made her laugh.  I will be leaving tomorrow.  It is very unlikely I will ever see her again.  She recognized this, too.  She said as much as I gave her a hug, blew her a kiss, and walked out the door.  But she smiled as she said it.

Life is loss.  What makes it bearable is that before one can lose, one must have.  Helen knows this.  That's why she smiled.

June 19

OK.  A few days ago I said the answer to the cosmic significance of US routes 422 and 224 running together was '42.'  "What the ..." I hear you cry.  Well, see, 422 and 224 together form a numerical palindrome, 422224, that begins with 42 both coming and going.  This much is obvious and is kind of cool all by itself.  Even more cool, is that in "A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy," Douglas Adams has a super computer (I think I have that right) disclose that the fundamental answer to everything is "42."  So, see, it is all cosmic and literary and participates to a high degree in the Platonic Form of Very Coolness.

Tad loaned me a short book I just finished entitled "The Buried Book."  It is about the rediscovery and translation of the Epic of Gilgamesh in the 19th century, 2500 years after it was lost.  Very good, if you at all like that sort of thing.  It also has fine analysis of the epic itself.  I'd never heard of the book until Tad loaned it to me.  I mention it on the theory it is not widely known, but should be.

I'm having trouble using my smart phone's mobile hotspot to access the vastness of the interwebs.  It turns on, but then immediately turns off again on its own.  I also had an e-mail to a friend in Canada rejected by her server.  And I am having a little trouble viewing my own blog on my IPad though I can access it on my smart phone perfectly well.  Technology is wonderful, but it is also a - how can I put this delicately? - pain in the ass.

Tad and Carol gave me permission to recount a few stories about an older relative, hitherto unidentified and who shall remain so.  He complained about having to go for his "prostrate" exam.  I imagine this is not uncommon.  Less common is the fact that the gentleman also had "double ammonia."  That's ammonia in both lungs.  He felt this was not nearly as bad as the poor woman who had breast cancer and who had to have a double vasectomy.  He had an irascible side, too.  Once, Carol took him someplace on a beautiful day, not too hot, certainly not cold, with blue sky and a few fleecy white clouds drifting through it.  She commented on how nice the day was as they exited the car.  But he was just irritated with all "those goddamn white clouds."  Sounds to me like a unique character.

One more story concerning a different person.  Tad hadn't seen this person for some years and took a trip to visit him.  Tad walks into the room, the object of his visit looks up and in an alcohol induced fog wheezes, "Tad.  Don't eat anything bigger than your head."  This was mighty unexpected but is fine advice when you stop to ponder it.

I write this at dawn, a multitude of birds singing away in the thick woods surrounding the house on three sides.  A woodpecker is hammering away, too.  Tad and Carol tell me there are five species of woodpecker around here.  Westerners forget just how lush, green and alive the eastern part of the country is.

Went to the Verizon store and they told me how to fix my wireless hotspot feature on the semi-smart phone.  Can read my own blog jes' fine now, too.

I begin to feel up to moving on and sparing Tad and Carol more of my convalescence.  Back is still tight though, and the food is still good.

June 17-18

Spent yesterday not doing much at all.  Tried to get out of bed without stretching first.  My back was quick to tell me this was a mistake.  Regressed in my recovery.  No mild exercises or walking as I was doing the previous few days.  Today, I stretched before I got up.  All the difference in the world. Exercised, walked, even rode the bike about 8 miles just to see how it felt.  Felt fine in a the-bike-did't-make-it-feel-worse way.

The fireflies are out.  What looks to us to be magic in the darkness is, as I recall, mating behavior.  Different species have different patterns.  This is how they locate one another.  Except that predators mimic the flashes of specific firefly species and gobble them up.  So we see beauty and wonder when it it is really nature, red in tooth and claw, and genes trying to pass themselves to the next generation.  I think it is this, the facility to see wonder in a violent, selfish world, that helps us survive.  I don't think we could make it on a diet of straight reality.  (There is an old and powerful argument here against the existence of a beneficent, omniscient, omnipotent Being, but we won't go into it.)

And speaking, as we were not, of religion I give you a Biblical Weirdness:

     If two men are fighting and the wife of one of them comes to rescue her husband from his assailant,   

     and she reaches out and seizes him by his genitals, you shall cut off her hand.  Show her no pity.

Deuteronomy 25:11

This is just freaking strange.  I'm betting the guy who got this into the law had his "secrets" (King James version) seized by some guy's wife when he was trying to beat the crap out of him.  I cannot come up with any other plausible explanation.  I'm pretty sure God wasn't personally getting into this level of detail.

Saw another bird to go with my previous list.  The catbird, so called because (a) it is a cat that looks like a bird, (b) it is a bird that looks like a cat, (c) it is a bird that sounds like a cat, or (d) none of the above.  If you answered (c) go buy yourself a scoop of homemade rum raisin ice cream on a waffle cone, which is what I did a few days ago.

Today, Robin, Tad, Carol, Carol's brother and his wife, and I were sitting at the table when I spotted a spotted fawn running toward the house.  Got quite close, then veered off.  We never saw the doe.  Catbirds, fawns, Deuteronomy - what a great place!

Speaking of great-with-child Robin, yesterday she made strawberry jam from freshly picked strawberries.  When I say fresh, I mean picked that day.  Then her back bothered her, and imagine that.  Who could have guessed?  But the main thing is, I scored a jar of this wondrousness and she is mailing it to me.  Did I mention the homemade rum raisin ice cream?  Hmmmm?  And the grilled to perfection boneless ribeye we had tonight?  Eat your gruel, children.  It's good for you.

Oh, Carl, you obnoxious fat bastard. 

June 16

Well, journeyed to far off Pennsylvania today to go shopping with Tad.  A bit of road weirdness:  as you travel east across the state line on US 422 the first establishment is on the left, a fireworks store.  A few hundred feet down, on the opposite side of the road, is a run down looking Italian restaurant, that may or may not have customers.  I haven't seen any.  Another short bit down the road, back on the left, is a run down looking adult book, and other stuff, store.  A bit farther is the turn for

 

There is a place, can't call it a town, because Frizzleburg isn't one, called Frizzleburg Heights.  Tad is acquainted with someone who lives in Frizzleburg Heights, a part of the Frizzleburg Greater Metropolitan Area.  I made up that last part about the FGMA, but who could make up the rest?  The story is that there was a little post office there and the postmistress had very frizzy hair.  If it's not true, it should be.

As you might tell from my description of the establishments along the highway, eastern Ohio and western Pennsylvania are economically depressed, but there is a great deal of fracking for gas taking place and that may turn the area around.

I mentioned US 422.  Now for something cosmic:

Wow!  422 and 224 run together for a way.  There has to be some deep significance here.  What is the answer?  Bet it's '42.'  (Those of you who get that, send me a comment.  Except Kat, I know she got it.) 

June 14-15

Back slowly improving, but now my hip is giving me problems.  I've probably been standing off kilter.

Tad had to visit Helen yesterday, so I went with.  Bought a few odds and ends on the way and visited for several hours, though for much of that Helen was getting ready for company, namely us, and Robin who came down from Hiram.  Robin and her grandmother have a very close and special relationship.  After seeing Helen, the three of us returned to Tad and Carol's where we talked Carol into going out to dinner.  There is an Italian restaurant right across the street from Mary's Syrian place.  Tad said it was reputed to be pretty good, though he'd never eaten there.  So I took the four of us to 2Tomato in Newcastle.  It was pretty good.  Had a martini and a glass of wine so my back was feeling OK again for awhile.  The antipasto was very nice.

Robin came back with us and stayed the night at her parent's house.  So this morning, she got up, 8 1/2 months plus pregnant and made Slavic crepes which I will not try to spell.  Very nice, though I had only two.  Then for lunch, I had only a bit of watermelon.  Odd that I still feel full.  Maybe not so odd.

Today I started a few exercises.  I did some planks and took two short walks.  I was afraid the planks might hurt so I was very careful with those, but they helped.  The walking hurt, but is no doubt something I need to be doing.  Walking upright is a treat, and I can do that now.

There are many, many birds around here.  I've seen the bluebird, blue jay, Baltimore oriole, flicker, red bellied woodpecker, blackbird and cardinal.  Also bunny rabbits all over their yard, and this afternoon a very well fed groundhog.

The weather yesterday afternoon and today has been dry with a lot of blue sky.  Have not seen this in awhile.  Rain again tomorrow, clouds the rest of the week.

Not much going on from my invalid point of view.  Hope to be more entertaining soon.

June 13

Carol visited Robin today and Tad had an appointment this morning so I just whimpered in the corner and held the cats until he got home.  Well, maybe I fixed myself a bowl of cereal instead.

We watched daytime trash TV which is even more awesome than evening trash TV.  There are some terrible, terrible movies on the SyFy and TCM channels.  We watched one Ancient Greek heroes and gods thing where the entire special effects budget couldn't have been more than $1.98.  Which, by the way, has to be more than they paid the actors.  At least, I hope so.  I have, however, discovered The Big Bang Theory which is hilarious.  And I introduced Tad to Phineas and Ferb.  We also discussed Wittgenstein - Tad's got it all wrong after the Tractatus, poor guy - and played geography games while watching trash TV.  I admit it took some time and he had to give me a few clues, but I got the 11 countries the names of which start with 'P.'  Laugh all you want, but you try it, smartass.  Just to forestall Tad's objection when he reads this, I will say that he thinks that I have Wittgenstein all wrong, am a sloppy thinker, and an imprecise moron.  

The reason we watch so much TV is because I don't move very well, if any, or at all.  I can stand up straight, but it takes awhile and hurts.  Still, this is an improvement, so I am hopeful.  Saints Tad and Carol say I can stay as long as I need to.  If you have to fall apart, do it when around good friends, like Pete and Linda, Carol and Tad.

Tad and I went over the border to Newcastle, PA for dinner.  A Syrian restaurant called "Mary's.". Seems there is a fairly large Syrian immigrant population in Newcastle.  I am told that Mary is Maronite Christian.  Nice clean place with good food.  We got right in, though it is crowded on weekends.  Tried a roasted eggplant paste with Syrian bread for an appetizer.  Very good, though maybe not quite as fine as the bacon wrapped shrimp we tried at the Mexican restaurant the night before.  Then we went shopping for a few items, including a back brace for me.  Figure it can't hurt to have one when I get back on the bike.

On the way to the store, we passed a bakery.  I really like the name.

O

It apparently does a good business.

It's late, I'm tired.  Good night.

June 12

Tad and Carol took me to see Helen.  She's doing very well for someone who will be 93 in October.  Doesn't hear as well as she used to and occasionally searches for words, but I do that.  Very affectionate hugs were the main thing.  When people are close, touching is very important.  It is comforting and communicates closeness better than language.  When people are not close, touching is minimal and even discouraged.  Nature or nurture?  A PhD thesis here.

While going to Helen's apartment - yes, she still lives on her own - I noticed a number of signs.  The economy in this area has been depressed since the steel mills all shut down years ago.  This means people watch their money.  There are three grocery stores with the word 'Dollar' in them:  Family Dollar, Top Dollar and Bottom Dollar.  The last is a super discount place.  I also saw the Budapest Inn with a sign that said "Try Our Famous Quesadillas."  Is America a melting pot or what?

After visiting Helen, we went to a very good Mexican restaurant where in addition to the seafood burritos, I had a large Margarita.  They came in small, medium and large.  It should have been small, medium and huge.  After I finished, my back felt considerably better because I could hardly feel it at all.  I was allowed to pay for dinner.  I hope this showed some of the gratitude I feel for Tad and Carol taking such good care of me, a pitiful invalid, otherwise homeless and alone.  Can you hear the sad trombone?

Tad and I again watched trash TV and cracked up.

June 11

A recuperation day.  Back improving a bit. Tad was gone for 5 hours taking his mother and aunt to a doctor appointment.  Carol and I had a good visit.  Another fine dinner with fresh pumpkin muffins for dessert. Weather report calls for strong chance of a derecho tomorrow.  Unless weather is really grim, we will probably visit Tad's mother, Helen, tomorrow.  

A little history.  While in college, Tad introduced me to his cousin, Ruth.  We'd sometimes travel together between school and northeast Ohio, he to visit Carol, me to see Ruth.  (Tad had a little broken down Fiat.  He once convinced a gas station attendant that the little tiny engine under the hood was just the starter motor for the 427 cubic inch V8 under the floor in the back.  The entire car couldn't carry a 427.  He fessed up before we drove away.)  The summer between junior and senior years, we got jobs in one of the steel mills in the Youngstown area.  (There are none left now, but Youngstown was a huge steel producer.)  I stayed with Tad and Helen and spent a lot of time at Ruth's house.  Her parents were Ann and John.  John was combat infantry in Italy during WW II which might give some insight into why he didn't want to attract no little songbirds to his feeder.  Ann was a little dynamo with a wicked, wicked acerbic sense of humor, which the two older daughters in particular inherited.  I got on very well with the whole family.  Tad had by now upgraded to a '57 Chevy with almost 70% of the body left.  (I later bought it from him for $19.60.  Shipping and handling brought the total to $75.  He gave me a bill of sale that reflected all this.)  Tad, Carol, Ruth and I would double date doing things like going to drive-ins showing five motorcycle movies, providing our own dialogue and critical commentary.  Our brains would start to drip out our ears by the end of the second movie and Tad would toss the speaker out of the car and peel out.

After graduation, I went back to Youngstown and got a job in the mill while waiting to be drafted.  I was told I'd probably go in July or August, but it was December before I was called up.  Stayed with Helen again, dated Ruth.  I knew Ruth would not be there when I got back, and she wasn't.  (She started dating someone else, married him, had kids and a happy life.  After many years, I met Pat, the love of my life, and we had one precious, extraordinary daughter.  So all turned out well.  But it was tough at the time.)

After Vietnam, I went back to Youngstown in July, got a job in the mill, stayed with Helen again.  By this time, Helen is like mom number 2 to me.  Tad was still in Vietnam.  I left Youngstown for Chicago and school in December.  I was, however, quite screwed up.  I think everyone who was in Vietnam came back worse than when they went.  I was considerably worse, though on the surface I seemed OK.  But Helen knew.  And when I finally couldn't stand it anymore and just had to get away, Helen loaned me $2000, a huge sum for her, and I was able to take my first motorcycle on a trip to Mexico and Central America.  I started to recover after that, though it still took years.

Helen is almost 93 now, one of the reasons for this trip, and I will see her tomorrow.

June 10

A fine day in many respects, a bad day in one.

Slept in at Robin's, got up, showered, tweaked my back putting on a pair of socks.  Visited a bit more with Momma Robin, packed, got into my rain gear and headed for Tad and Carol's home less than an hour away.  Of course, it stopped raining as I left Robin's driveway, but that was alright.  An overcast but nice drive, back did not bother me, had no trouble finding the house, all was good.  Had a little trouble getting off the bike, but I usually do because it is packed with so much gear there is little room. Had trouble standing straight, had to have help getting the rain gear off and by the time I made it from the garage to the living room I could barely walk.  Spent most of the rest of the day on my back, sometimes with ice.  It is one thing to hurt your back moving a big rock so the rescue workers can get access to a trapped infant, but it is humiliating to incapacitate yourself putting on socks.

Tad, who went to Kenyon on a full scholarship, has his PhD in mathematics.  He is co-author of quite a lengthy paper on Banach space.  Google it; be impressed.  He sent me a copy and I even made it through 8 more or less introductory pages before my head exploded.  Carol is an RN.  Pat thinks Carol has hospice training that will come in handy if my back gets any worse.  Tad is even worse because he just chortles when I spend two minutes getting up from the floor or a chair only to walk bent over with small, shuffling steps.  Carol is a compassionate human being who will not burn in hell like the other two.

Their house is very close to the Pennsylvania line.  So close that their's is the last street in Ohio before you hit PA.  It parallels the state line.  Right across the road from their home is a golf course, part of which is located in PA.  Yet Ohio is considered the mid-west and PA lies in the east.  Instruction in the limited usefulness of fixed lines rather than gradations.  This is true for most things, not just matters geographical.

Had grilled boneless ribeye from Amish raised, that is, grass fed, beef, salad, and Tad's recipe baked beans.  As a friend has noted, the YMCA will be there when I get back.  It's not just the food that is doing it.  Every time I go to the Y I burn an extra 550-600 calories and I'm not doing that now.  Also, I am getting an education in how fast you lose muscle tone when you're older.  So all you young'ns  enjoy it while you've got it.  By cracky. 

Tad has quite the sense of the absurd, coupled with an off-beat sense of humor.  This is a neutral description.  We spent much of the evening watching trash TV on cable.  I had never seen the Turtle Man before.  Watched other shows, too.  We were laughing so much, I hurt.

(I overheard Tad just now talking on the phone to Robin.  He told her he felt badly for me with my back and all.  This is a giant lie.)

Road weirdness:  On the way here passed by a gas station/C store.  About 10 pumps, so it was not a small thing.  The owner's name was emblazoned across its highest point.  Sheetz.  So I figure everywhere there is not one of these stations is No Sheetz.

Tad and Carol's house, which I name Back Rest, is below.  Very nice, very comfy and, as you can see, quite the yard, as they live in a semi-rural area.  Birds all over and they are somewhat birders.  Saw an Eastern bluebird, for which they built bird houses.  And speaking of birders, I need to tell you about John.  He was married to Tad's mother's sister, Ann.  Both John and Ann are dead now, but the last time I visited John he asked me if I wanted to see his bird feeder.  "Well, sure," said I looking out into his back yard and seeing only a flat wooden platform on a pole.  So John, who is in his upper 80s at this point, goes to his fridge, pulls out a bag and says, "Watch this."  He goes out to the wooden platform on a pole and proceeds to throw chicken parts up onto it.  He comes inside and sure enough a hawk swoops down, lands on the platform and commences to tear apart chicken pieces.  "Oh, yeah.  Look at that.  Sometimes I get vultures."  I love these people.

Back Rest

Part of Back Rest Back Yard

June 9

Great ride to Hiram.  Lots of back roads, temps in the 70s, only about 2 1/2 hours away from Mt. Vernon.  I went to Hiram to visit Robin Shura.  She is the daughter of Tad and Carol.  I went to Kenyon with Tad and met Carol not long after I met Tad.  Like Pete and Linda in Houston, Tad and Carol were high school sweethearts who figured out early on they wanted to be together for life.  Tad and Carol have two great kids.  Brian and his wife are in San Jose, California, and Robin is nearby, teaching at Hiram College.  Actually, it's Dr. Tad and Dr. Robin.  He taught college math and she teaches sociology.  Anyway, she is one of the young, highly intelligent people who like me, and I ask again, what's the matter with the rest of you?

Robin is also just a few weeks shy of being a momma.  This did not stop her from fixing me a great dinner, including an apple pie because she knows from her grandmother, Helen, about whom more in a later post, that I love apple pie.  And when John, the almost dad got home, he grilled chicken and we had that, pasta salad and Tad's recipe for baked beans.  Small wonder I worry about putting on weight.  Before dinner, though, we toured the campus. Very nice with well-integrated architecture for a small, liberal arts school of about 1100 students.  Then we went on a short sightseeing drive.  Robin showed me the small hill that separates the Ohio River drainage from the St. Lawrence drainage.  Very cool.  Follow the drainage on the south side of the hill and you end up at the mouth of the Mississippi.  To the north, flow into the Great Lakes and wind up entering the Atlantic.  The portage between two rivers in these drainages was quite short here.  In this same area, we went for a short walk in some very nice sedimentary rock formations full of trees and ferns and poison ivy.  So we got out of there.

On the way back to the house, which I hereby name Robin's Nest, we stopped off to see Raphael, a Spaniard, whose wife taught at the college, and who has taken over an old church and converted it into a bakery.  He saw Robin, came down a flight of stairs to greet her, brought us back upstairs where we visited while he prepared a dozen loaves of cinnamon bread.  After he popped them in the oven, we went back downstairs where he took a number of loaves out of another oven, and offered us the last remaining cinnamon bread loaf from his previous batch of four hours earlier, all the while complaining about taxes in a Spanish accent.  He was just going to give the bread to me, so I waited until he started back up the stairs, plunked some cash down next to some other loaves, and we left.  He keeps goats at his house, delivers baby goats, and has offered Robin his professional services should she want him to assist with her delivery.  He bakes only on weekends and sells loaves about as fast as he can take them out of the ovens.

In addition to knowing wonderfully crazy Spanish bakers, Robin's Nest has a dog, John's, and a cat, Robin's.  Both took to me.  In fact the dog, Max, figured he could pass as a lap dog - he ain't one - and spent a fair amount of time sitting on me.

I have not met John before - haven't seen Robin in 10 years - but I think Robin done good.

Robin's Nest.

Max the dog and Spud.

June 7-8

Had John and Jeannie's house to myself for a time today.  I looked for small, portable valuables but must have looked in all the wrong places.  Then their daughter Katie woke up and we hung out.  Watched a movie together and just had a good low key day.

John and Jeannie got home about 5-ish and we had another great meal.  Corn on the cob, grilled burgers and Italian sausage.  And salad because we're all health conscious.  Katie and Michelle joined us.  Then we chatted a bit on the patio and went down to watch another movie in the home theater.  We all concluded that it made no sense and turned in.  John and I have had particular fun talking business and politics.  Our views are very similar, that is to say, right.

This morning, the 8th, Jeannie and daughter Elizabeth headed for Hilton Head, S.C.  John and Katie headed for Cincinnati.  I had just a great time in Louisville.  Gained 128 pounds, but had a great time.

I, too, headed out today.  Through Cincinnati to the little town of Wilmington, Ohio.  This is where Gabe  and Tanya, the couple at whose wedding I officiated, live, but for just a short time longer.  Tanya leaves for Houston in 2 1/2 weeks.  In the meantime, she is working on her doctoral dissertation and is no doubt stressing out about that, though she disguised it well.  At any rate, I promised I would drop in for lunch and leave which is what I did.  The poor students treated me to lunch.  I almost felt badly about it.  While we waited for our healthful sandwiches and salads, Gabe found two books.  One was the Guinness book of world records, a very strange thing that seems to celebrate genetic imperfection and mental illness, and the other was a book of optical illusions.  One was to relax the eyes, hold the pictures right up to one's nose and slowly move it away from one's face.  Then wonders would appear, at least according to Gabe.  Tanya never got it to work.  I got one to work, but Gabe is carrying on as though the Word of God is appearing in every picture.  "Oh, you guys should see this!  This is great!  It's a 3D T. rex head and you can see right up his nostrils!"  OK, maybe not the Word of God, but he was kind of that excited.  Then Tanya would try it, and I'd be saying, "Trust your feelings, Luke," which likely wasn't helping much.  Finally, we began accusing Gabe of making it up.  Until we got to the last page that showed the hidden images.  Damn if he wasn't really getting them.  The Force was strong with Gabe.

I blasted out of Wilmington and headed for Mt. Vernon.  This is the town near the village where my alma mater is located, Kenyon College.  After I left the interstate, I had to use state and even county roads to get there.  Drove straight to Kenyon and walked about.  It is much different, yet much the same.  There are significant new academic buildings as well as dorms.  By and large they are well integrated in style and materials into what was always one of the most beautiful campuses in the country.  The center of the campus is not a building, but a graveled path, one mile long and straight as an arrow, around which the buildings, trees and lawns are laid out.  I did not, however, have any powerful emotions.  I find my nostalgia, if any or at all, is for the people, not the place.  I didn't even think to take any pictures.

Tomorrow, I go to Hiram, Ohio to visit the daughter of one of my best friends in college.  She now teaches at Hiram College.  Young, highly intelligent people like me.  I don't know what is wrong with the rest of you.  (Oooo Oooo Oooo!  Why didn't I think of this before!  Young, highly intelligent people like me.  Therefore, if you wish to be considered young and highly intelligent, you have to like me, too.   This doesn't actually follow, but it's close enough that most of the lawyers won't figure it out.)

Until next time.

June 6

This is the 69th anniversary of D-Day.  A moment of reflection, please.  Remember Juno, Gold, Sword, Utah, and especially Omaha.

Got up this morning, looked outside and saw rain.  Damnrats!  Had to get the bike into Louisville and talk the BMW shop into doing an oil change and filter without an appointment.  Put on my wet gear - a chore - and headed out.  About 1/2 hour later I arrived at Louisville BMW and they got me right in.  Let's hear it for the good folk at BMW of Louisville!  Got to take care of the machinery.  You take care of it, it will take of you.  You don't, it won't.

Pat's brother, John, came home early and took me to Churchill Downs, home of the Kentucky Derby.  Quite the facility.  I'd never been to a track before.  We caught a few afternoon races.  I watched John look at his race sheet, and review odds and what some people had to say about the horses, and then observed him place a few bets.  So, the next race, I picked two favorites to take first and second, either order.  This is known as an exacta box.  I picked an exacta box because I didn't know what the other bets were called.  Now, I intended to place two minimum bets, $2.00 on each horse.  So I go to the window and say, "$4.00, exacta box, 7 and 8" because horses 7 and 8 were favorites.  Well, that meant I bet $4.00 on each horse, so I forked over another four bucks.  John bet a trifecta, picking the first three horses and their finishing order.  Very tough.  His minimal bet paid $2200  if he won.  So we go out and watch the horses, beautiful, big animals, race.  Number 8 comes in dead last, and not even close to second to last.  I'd never seen a horse use a cane before.  John's first horse comes in first, his second horse comes in second, his third horse is just edged at the wire by a horse that everyone had picked to finish last.  I mean, it had 69 to 1 odds, for gawd's sake.  After watching one more race - I didn't bet - we came back to the house and I called Pat.  Told her we'd gone to Churchill Downs and I'd lost $100 betting on a horse that John said was a sure thing.  She bought it.  I guess it wasn't hard to believe that of either her brother or husband.  When I confessed I'd lost only $8.00, she said, "EIGHT DOLLARS!  YOU HAVE TO GIVE UP A SUBWAY SANDWICH TO MAKE UP FOR THAT, BUDDY!"

Later that night, John grilled steaks and salmon.  The steaks were almost two inches thick.  I really like it here.  Got to have dinner with two of John and Jeannie's daughters, too.  It was a lot of fun.  Later, we watched a movie in the home theater.

John and Jeannie's house.

I haven't come up with a name for it yet.

One bit of prior road weirdness.  Know how on the interstates you will see very tall signs on substantial steel poles showing the location of establishments off the road?  Well, saw two of those earlier, one off the north bound lanes and one off the south.  These were for giant pornography stores.  A little farther on, was a road sign for the Bourbon Tour Trail exit.  My new hypothesis is that societies become more libertine the farther you get from Utah.

I travel far to the east.

June 5

It's four in the morning and the anticipation of seeing Mammoth Cave has me so excited I woke up early.  Imagine the spectacle!  Every evening, hundreds of thousands of mammoths levitating out of the  cave mouth to hunt bugs!  Snatching gnats from the air using echo location and their fabulously sensitive trunks!  It should put Carlsbad Cavern and all those silly bats to shame.  (By the way, when the Park Service first approached me about the name, I suggested Carlsgood Cavern, but the Feds never listen.  The government is just too big.)

Anyway, I can hardly contain my excitement!  Need more sleep, though, so will try to get some.

..............

I am at Mammoth Cave National Park!  Here be MAMMOTHS!

..............

What a damned bitter disappointment!  I explained to a park ranger in the visitor center that I had to be in Louisville, could not be at the cave entrance that evening, and could she direct me to where I could view film of the mammoths leaving the cave at dusk to hunt insects.  An odd look momentarily crossed her face as she took a step back, but then she explained that there are no mammoths.  The name refers to the size of the cave.  She was very, very polite, and seemed a bit nervous, so I did not complain about misleading the public.  It is not her fault.  Still, this is disappointment exceeding even the absence of Navajo fry bread.  I mean, the cave should not be named Mammoth Cave!  It should be Huge Cave, or Really Big Cave, or even Biggest Cave, but not Mammoth Cave if it has no mammoths.  I am tempted to call the Kentucky Attorney Generals office.  I know the Idaho AG's office has a consumer protection division, and Brett would be all over this.

Here be No Mammoths.

In further bitter news, Scotty emailed me to say that Herbie K was not killed at his restaurant.  It was a later owner who met his demise there.  I like my version better and am sticking to it.  Actual facts can be mighty dull.

I might have known today would bring tears.  I left Nashville just a shade too late.  Slept in about an extra 1/2 hour because tour director Pat told me that Louisville was only a bit more than an hour from Nashville.  I suppose that is correct if you are willing to go 157 miles per hour.  So, based on this rotten info, I, as I say, slept in an extra 1/2 hour.  I just missed getting out of Nashville before the rains came.  Still, they were not real downpours and it looked as though I would be out of them quickly, so rather than take the time to get into my wet gear, I decided to drive through it.  Looked like a good choice until the interstate took a bend right into a really heavy rain.  Instantly soaked.  I swear it soaked my shirt front and back.  The only rational explanation is that it soaked through the front, was driven completely through my body, and then soaked my back.  True fact.  It's science, people.  Oddly enough, I felt no compelling urge to hydrate for some time after this.  I mostly dried out about forty miles after it stopped raining.

About 40 miles south of Louisville, traffic came to a complete standstill on a three lane interstate.  It was stop and go for miles.  I figured it was a semi accident to cause such a big tie up, and sure enough, it was.  Closed two of the three lanes.  Stop and go driving on an interstate surrounded by 18 wheelers is not my favorite.

Forgot to mention the kamikaze deer that tried to get me on the Trace.  I was driving along and saw a flash of brown cross the road a bit in front of me.  Slowed down right away because I assumed it was a deer and I always assume the deer I see is not alone.  Good assumptions.  A really squirrelly, even-dumber-than-your-average-deer deer hopped out in front of me.  It was close enough I could see the headband with the red circle tied around its head.  Because I slowed, I had no trouble avoiding it.  So smart, so clever, so still alive.

Had some difficulty getting to my brother-in-law John and his wife Jeannie's house.  The municipal  area in which they live is saving huge amounts on street signs.  And speaking of signs, we went into Louisville for dinner at a fine Italian hole-in-the-wall, where I of course over ate in celebration of my Italian heritage, and on the way I we saw a sign that read, "Possible Ice On Bridge."  This is right up there with "Gusty Winds May Exist" or whatever that sign in New Mexico said.  As John said, how about "Possible Popcorn On Bridge?"  My hypothesis about philosophy majors and sign departments now has more supporting data.  Soon I shall publish.  Want to bet there is some obscure academic journal out there that really would publish it?

Jeannie and I had a nice time catching up, and I got to see their youngest, Michelle, who is much taller than I recall.  Of course, she was nine then and is nineteen now.  When John got home, I asked him about his IPO adventure.  John was brought into a metals company to rescue it.  It was probably not worth the cost of its inventory when he came on board.  He turned it around, and the owner decided to take it public.  Two weeks ago, after 2 1/2 years, the deal was finally completed.  I am astonished at the shenanigans of the investment bankers.  They have a built in conflict of interest and this doesn't seem to bother anyone in the industry.  A lawyer in Idaho would be disbarred for doing something similar.  And the investment bankers weren't the only questionable actors.

John and Jeannie's house is very, very nice as you might expect of someone who can turn around a basically defunct company and have it start making enough money to go public.  I have yet to come up with a suitable name for this particular refuge.

June 4

Pitchas.  I have pitchas.  Th first is a shot of the Mississippi River.  I couldn't stop on the bridge, so had to take the obligatory shot from Natchez.

That's it.  Sorry.

Next is a shot of a far southern part of the Natchez Trace.

Oh, wait.  It looks just like a nice road through some trees.  Everybody's been there, done that.  Yeah, well,  see, the neat thing about the Trace is that it is like this for just shy of 450 miles.  Can't get that on film.  Sorry.

So, today, I left Tupelo just before 8:30.  Had to wait for it to warm up a bit, believe it or not.  Started out when it reached 70.  Wonderful drive today.  It stayed in the 70s almost all day, with blue skies and fleecy white clouds.  I stopped at some Indian mounds constructed around 100 BC to 200 AD.   I believe these were influenced by the Hopewell Culture centered in Ohio and Illinois.  Those are much more extensive, but these are impressive for a group of hunter/gatherers.

Went to a Mississippi state park Pat found for me.  She's like a tour guide from afar.  Anyway, it is named something like Tushibimbo State Park and is very nice.  Lots of different plant species, including ferns found only in that area.  And poison ivy no doubt, so I did not go for a hike.  Looking at a hiking guide I picked up, I see the park is actually named 'Tishomingo' but it will forever be Tushibimbo for me.

Crossed into northwest Alabama for a while, then crossed the Tennessee River on a bridge used solely for the Trace.  So I did stop in the middle of the bridge.  Very little traffic on the Trace.

Looks like a lake, doesn't it?  It's a river.  Now, imagine the Mississippi.

Crossed into Tennessee and found a town just off the Trace where I had a sandwich.  Miss Hazelbea's  Sweets and Treats.  It sold mostly candy homemade candy and pastries and cakes, but offered some excellent sandwiches, too.  Not as many damned beautiful trees in Tennessee so you can actually see towns that are close.

Farther along, stopped to see the grave of Meriwether Lewis.  He died under somewhat mysterious circumstances while staying in an inn - I use the word loosely - on the Trace.  Bernard DeVoto suggests he was murdered, but most later scholars think he committed suicide.  Even Jefferson noted a tendency to depression (he didn't call it that) ran in the family.  He and Clark led one of the most successful expeditions in history and they lost only one man, Sgt. Floyd.  And he likely perished of appendicitis and would have died no matter where he was.  It was an astonishing feat, and all the more so since Lewis was battling depression even while he led the expedition.  Seeing his grave and the little restored log building where he shot himself ate the age of 35 was moving.

Lewis's grave, which I screwed up in this shot, but fortunately also took with my real camera.

This is a shot of a few feet of the original Trace.  Of course, the fence would not have been there.

And much of the Trace was very wet.  Stopped at another site that quoted a traveler in 1812 saying that he had forded 5 streams and a swamp in one day's trip before bedding down in the rain with some Indians.

Also got off the Trace to visit Leiper's Fork.  This was the suggestion of my good friends at the Tupelo Hardware Store.  It was quite nice, though I did not stay as I was getting tired and wanted to make Nashville and find a place to stay.  Which I did, Nashville being a nearby bedroom community to Leiper's Fork.  I am now on the north side of town so as to not fight traffic when I leave to head for Louisville tomorrow.  Plan to stop at Mammoth Cave National Park.  I've never been there.

A dull enough blog today, but, hey!  even Shakespeare wasn't Shakespeare all the time.

June 3

A fine day.  Did almost 400 miles today, though did not intend it.

Pat convinced me to head southeast through Louisiana and pick up the Natchez Trace Parkway at its southern terminus in - are you ready? - Natchez.  A very important town in the early history of settlement along the Mississippi.  That means a very important town in the history of North America, since the Mississippi was the key to the continent.  I did not eat brekkus, but headed right on out.  About 106 miles later, I was crossing the Mississippi.  Stopped in the biggest, best staffed visitor center I have ever seen.  Got directions to the Parkway, then drove around Natchez looking at the old neighborhoods, and searching for a place to eat breakfast.  The inhabitants appear not to need food.  So I got on the Trace.  Wonderful!  A very well-maintained two lane road, limited access, very little traffic.  Lots of trees.  The last logging around the Trace was almost 100 years ago.  Lots of historical markers, very interesting and a great bike ride.  Temperature was in the upper 70s - everything perfect, except I'm starting to get hungry.  No problem, I can get off on one of the little Mississippi state routes and get something to eat.

Wrong.  The US Park Service (maintains the Trace) shows the state route names and names the towns but decided against giving mileage to them.  And you can't see any towns from the Trace.  Too many beautiful trees.  No problem, I think, the road passes by Jackson.  Sure to be all kinds of places a really hungry guy like me can grab a bite.

Wrong.  Too many exits for Jackson and too many damned beautiful trees.  No problem.  There is an exit for I 55.  Got to be eateries and gas stations right off 55.

Wrong.  I get off the Trace at I 55 and there is zip.  I head south and run into I 220, which as we can tell from the number is the I 20 ring around Jackson.  Has to be something where two bleeding interstates meet!

Wrong.  Apparently the people in Jackson share a trait with the people in Natchez.  They don't eat either.  I head up I 220 and spot an interstate "Services at Next Exit" sign.  One lousy gas station.  By this time, I figure I should head back for the Trace and all those beautiful damned trees before I can't find my way back.  I will find something.

And I did!  I stopped and grabbed some of Pat's nuts and berries from my bag, ate a few handfuls and was again one with the spirit of the Great Bear.  Then I hit the road.

Now, the reason bears like to raid campgrounds is because nuts and berries don't do it for them.  I was soon hungry again.  Hadn't eaten since 5:30 the day before and that was a salad and a bowl of chili.  And now, I needed to start looking for gas because I sure didn't want to save refueling for too late what with the damned beautiful trees not letting me see any gas stations.

I spotted a sign for a dock and campground.  Ha!  Bet someone has gas there.  There was, at over four bucks a gallon for mid-grade.  Filled up, went into the station figuring there would be snacks.  Healthiest, most palatable thing there was a Heath Bar.  Ate one.  Asked the attendant, the lone human in the whole area, if there was a restaurant or something at the next couple of places up the Trace.  Sure.  In ------------.  (This name starts with a 'K' and is Polish, and is the name of a guy who helped us in the Revolutionary War.  You know who I mean.)  Great, says moi, should be only 20 or 30 miles up the road, if that.  How far off the Trace is it?  The answer, and I could not make this up, is, "I don't know.  I've never been there."  At this point, I hear Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs starting to play 'Dueling Banjos' and I clear out before I run into some guy who looks like he wants to rape Ned Beatty.  Or is it 'Beattie?'

On the way back to the Trace, I realize I forgot to put my ear plugs back in.  I stop.  These are plugs connected by a plastic string.  I start to insert the first one and realize the second one is gone.  I unpack my leather jacket and get my emergency set out.  Inferior protection.  I must find a hardware store and get some good ones.

I blast on by the town that starts with a 'K.'

Now I am starving and the nearest place I know I can find something is Tupelo and I want to get there fast and get a place to stay and something to eat and some earplugs and if really don't give a tinker's damn about the beautiful trees.  The speed limit on the Trace is 50.  I treat this more as a suggestion than a rule.

Twenty-four hours after I last ate a meal that was not either bear-connected or pure sugar, I made it to Tupelo.  Found a place to stay and headed for a hardware store I noticed whilst looking for a motel. Parked right outside the store.  Walked in.  "Hello, sir, can we help you," say two guys almost at the same time."  "Sure can.  I need some earplugs."  They set me up with some earplugs.  I get two pairs. "Where you from?"  "Idaho."  "Idaho, whoa!"  And we commence chatting and I have two new friends. "Say, do you know what this store is?  It's more than a hardware store."  "Why, no, I don't.  Do tell."  "This is the store where Elvis got his first guitar!"  Whereupon, my two new friends call over a third guy who becomes my third new friend, and have him show me the very counter and display case where it happened.  Seems Elvis' mother, Gladys, took him into Tupelo Hardware when he was ten to get him a bike.  Elvis saw a .22 and wanted that.  Not only no, hell no, says Gladys, only she was more refined and phrased it differently.  Elvis pouts, sheds a few tears.  Friend of the family and the hardware store owner comes over, pulls a guitar out of the display case below the .22, and has Elvis take a look at it.  Gladys offers to get him the guitar instead and is that alright?  "Yes'm," and the rest is history.  So I bought, and Kat, you scored, a Tupelo Hardware store Elvis tee shirt.  And they still sell guitars, too.  And earplugs.

Then my three new friends gave me directions to Harvey's, a restaurant where they allowed I'd get the best steak in Tupelo.  So I had prime rib, and garlic mashed potatoes and four big glasses of water and a nice cab and, damnit!, bread pudding for dessert.

And thanks to the wonder of GPS and the interwebs, when I got back and called Pat, she knew I'd eaten at Harvey's.

I have pictures, but I am too tired and will post them tomorrow. 

P.S.

While driving through Louisiana, I saw a sign advertising a business owned by the unfortunately named Jack Fluck.  This made me think of Jack, a fun loving canine type beast owned by One of Scotty's Sisters.  This brought me in mind of the other One of Scotty's Sisters, which in turn made me think of her husband, Don.  Then the stream that is my consciousness thought of the name 'Jon' which of course is more often spelled 'John.'  This made me realize I'd probably screwed up.  Sorry, Dohn.

After a very long spell where nothing worthy presented itself, today we have co-winners.  I give you Anal Discovery and Anal Conquest.  I may stop playing this game.

June 2

Am in West Monroe, La.  About 110 miles from Scotty's house.  Left this afternoon after Don and "One of Scotty's Sisters," the one he's married to, actually, so no bad thoughts, took us through Barksdale Air Force Base.  This was a big treat for me, being an Air Force brat and all.  Barksdale is home to a number of Air Force commands, including the successor to SAC.  A real treat for me was driving past the 8th Air Force aircraft museum.  P-51, B-17, B-24, B-29 (in which both Pat's dad and mine served in WWII), B-47, B-52, KC-135, another, earlier tanker, an F-111, an SR-71, an F-86 (I think.  Might have been an F-84.). And a Mig-17 (I think it was a 17) and an RAF Vulcan.  Also, a C-45, and a C-47.  In a separate static display, saw an F-4, which my father was in when he retired, and an A-10 Warthog.  Also saw active duty Warthogs and B-52s.  It was great.  I haven't been on an Air Force base in many years.  Brought back many memories.

Don was active duty Air Force for over 20 years, including a stint as a navigator, which is what my father finished his career doing, and is now a civilian contractor for the Air Force.  You can maybe tell that Don and I got on really well.

Last night, whilst we were having a good old time, Shreveport got quite the thunder and lightning display and a heavy rain.  But ARVAKR was safe in Scotty's garage, and I bunked down in her son's bedroom, so all was safe and snug.  It did, however, suggest what Scotty's house is now called, at least in this blog.  I give you, Stormhaven.

Scotty keeps a glass egg that Pat and I gave her for being our wedding photographer on display in her home.  Also, two Japanese prints we gave her are on her living room wall.  I really like her house.  Excellent taste in decoration.  Also a very nice backyard that was trashed before.  Scotty's very significant other did much of the work - he built up a nice landscaping and pool business from scratch and you look at Scotty's backyard and know why.  And she moved in only in November.

Getting ready to depart Stormhaven.

A few observations, one kind of belated.  Another great Texas town name, Cut and Shoot.  Population around 1100.  I suspect it is named after the entertainment on Sat. night.

Next observation:  In Idaho, the birds by the side if the road are magpies and crows.  Farther east, it's just crows.  But in Louisiana, the birds by the side of the road are egrets.  The roadsides in Louisiana are decidedly upscale.

Pat has me about 90% convinced to head southeast to Natchez to pick up the Natchez Trace instead of picking it up farther north.  Will ponder it while I relax in my $45 Motel 6 deluxe accommodation.

June 1

About 130 miles to Shreveport and Scotty, a good friend of Pat's and mine from law school.  We all attended night school because we all worked.  An interesting group it was, too.  A fair number of Chicago public school teachers who were looking for a career change because they couldn't stand it any more, at least one commodities trader, a senior VP at Commonwealth Edison - Dick ran all of CE's coal fired generating plants, 10, if I recall, and had 5000 people reporting to him.  Scotty worked as a photo editor at the Associated Press.  Still, she seemed maybe a little more tired than the rest of us.  She was working full time, OK we all were, and going to school three hours a night, four days a week, OK, we all were, but it seems she was also finishing up her master's degree in journalism and even going the the gym.  Oops!  We weren't all doing that.  When this became known, Scotty's legend began.  Add to that a ready smile and a soft Louisiana drawl and the legend only grew.  When Pat and I were married we wanted a small ceremony. We had only 18 people, including the priest.  But we had to sneak Scotty in somehow, so she was our wedding photographer.

She now regards her master's in journalism as equivalent to an advanced degree in buggy whip manufacturing.

After a fun time catching up, Scotty and her two sisters, who will be "Scotty's sisters" because they do not have normal names and I will surely misspell them.  I do not say their names are abnormal, mind you, just that they are unique and difficult to spell without extensive training.  If they were but named "Mary" and "Sally," I might deal with it.  But they are not and I can't.  By the way, Scotty's name is not "Scotty."  I can't spell it, either, but it begins with an 'R' and puts one in mind of a Rhododendron.  Anyway, we were joined by Don, husband of one of "Scotty's sisters" and their son and his girl friend.  I will not spell their names as they seem straightforward but likely are not.  I think it is a southern thing.  I'm not even sure I got "Don" right, but at a suspected three letters, I thought I'd give it a shot.  By the way, until I get farther north, I am "Carlbob."  Anyway, the first sentence of this paragraph is incomplete and mostly illiterate, but I was taken out for dinner by as delightful a group as I have run into for some time.

We went to Herby K's.  It is not in the best section of Shreveport.  In fact, Herbie K was murdered in his own restaurant, but the establishment soldiers on.  Scotty more or less instructed me to have the "Shrimp Buster."  It came with four shrimp, which I thought would be inadequate until the plate was delivered to the soundtrack from "Jaws."  These were man killers.  I suspect that bringing these onto a boat involved explosives.  We had an appetizer before dinner, too.  Fried pickles.  Surprisingly tasty, really.  But Herby K's demands pictures to begin to do it justice.

Fried pickle next to a man eater shrimp.

Self explanatory portion of the menu.

Where the beer is chilled.  We sat in a little private loft just above this and to the left.

Carl with wait staff.  "Hey, my friend is here from Idaho.  Could we take a picture of the two of you?"

Say, you don't think Scotty's IPhone makes me look fa. . . .  Nevermind.

Scotty snapped before I smiled.  I had a great smile right after this.  Really.

We were out having all sorts of fun for about 5 1/2 hours, including some time at Don's and "One of Scotty's Sisters'" very nice home.  It was great.

After dinner, Scotty's daughter, Claire, (going out on a limb here - probably has a silent 'S' in it) got in from Denton, Texas where she is about to begin a master's degree program.  She is 23.  When I last saw her, she was 8, and playing with Kat on the beach in Hilton Head, South Carolina.  That is the last time Pat and I saw Scotty, too.

Then Scotty's table lamp fell apart and we all retired.