There and Back Again - But Not a Hobbit's Tale

No I won't.

 

Sept. 19th and a clear morning after a wet, wet night. I was a bit fuzzy-headed and stumbled about trying to fix breakfast while memories of my dream kept flashing about. It was something about the actual length of a cubit all mixed up with why Cary never had pontoons as an option... Strange.

We left early on a romp through Amish country. Being an ignorant Californian, I had visions of well kept farmland dotted with little roadside shops full of home made wonders and was eager to lighten my pocketbook. What a disappointment.

We wandered down tiny country lanes (and got lost, natch) and into one-dog towns (in several towns, the dogs had obviously been missing for some time) and saw nothing different from the farmland of home... except it was greener. We only spied three Amish shays parked in the rubble of an abandoned building. Shame on the owner of one shay; the horse was thin and mangy.

We finally gave up and set our course for another area of Adamstown. As mentioned earlier, we had heard it was the center of antiques in the entire area and were in the mood for some serious shopping. Another disappointment. As the first area we hit the day before was fun galore, the other side of the highway was a bomb. We found lots of shops with lots of used junk, but no antiques. So much for advertizing. But we had a hoot hunting down the towns with crazy names such as Blue Ball and Intercourse.

By 12:30 we had had enough and hit the road. Jim wanted to be in Conn. by nightfall. Our truck was due for it's mileage tune-up and the only Toyota shop in the area was in Conn., so we shot across Pennsylvania and skimmed the tip of New York by 5:17. We kept to the major highways and by 7:10 made it to Kettletown State Park, Conn for the night.

The park was way off the main road, down a long, long county lane. Heavily wooded and with only two other campers, we had a dark and lonesome time getting settled for the night. The other campers kept to themselves and so our only company were the spiders in the bathroom. Yikes. Let me say this right now, you guys in the East have some serious arachnid **** going on.

Morning brought a stunning sunrise and better moods. The air was crisp and sent our breath out in tiny puffs of steam. We enjoyed our breakfast listening to the bird calls and wondering at the first hint of Autumn color blushing the tips of a few trees. A quick pack and we were off to Brookfield.

As we drove back up that country road, the sunshine sparkled through the thick foliage. Everywhere we looked, comfy homes peeked out of the greenery, doors opened and sleepy mothers emerged holding the hands of happy, bouncing children. I watched the little darlings, mostly first and second graders, skipping in place and playing little games while waiting for the school bus and thought: what a wonderful place to raise a child. How lucky those angles were to live in such a lovely place.

We were passing by Newtown.

The truck service was a quick job and we were on the road very soon. The country was so lovely, we decided to explore some of the small towns on our way to Waterbury and Hartford. This is where we found some truly wonderful time capsules. One town (and hang me if I wrote it down) was completely restored to it's 18th century state. Home after home, sparkling clean and beautifully landscaped, met our eyes. And antiques!!! Everywhere we stopped we found wonderful little shops filled with true treasures: painted chairs, flint glass, fine china and other goodies. It was a joy... but also beyond our pocketbooks. Too bad, but the sellers need to make their profit and the items were of such good quality, there was no way they would be affordable. Such is life.

We hoofed it around for hours and finally headed back to the truck... where we found this very nice man waiting patiently for our return. He worked in a building across the road from where we had parked and was anxious for info on the CI. We gave him the grand tour.

It was getting late, so onward. We again stayed to the main highway 84, then up to 91 and straight up into Vermont. Riding along the Connecticut River, we couldn't resist hopping over little covered bridges into New Hampshire and back again. We drove down the Parrish Highway while on one of our NH hops. Jim is a great fan of Maxfield Parrish and we tried to find the museum he had read about, but it had closed several years ago. But it was still great fun running the border like outlaws and jumping out to photograph that first covered bride.

By 6:15 we pulled into the Moose River Campground near St. Johnsbury, Vt. and found a spot right on the river. This was a fun-lover's campground, much like Sills in Adamstown, Pennsylvania. A group of regulars and the last of the visitors would hang around the camp store and chat over coffee( wine in the evening). They were more than welcoming and eager to tell stories of all the moose sightings in the area. It was a enjoyable place and we decided to stay two nights... and I was dying to see my first moose.

I was all excited about the next day. I planned a trip to the county seat, St Johnsbury, and the Recorder's Office to hunt down my Civil War soldier boy and his family and possibly find his farm. Sleeping was difficult.

Tune in next time for the exciting adventure of the lost soldier. Until then:

Camp On,

Sue and Jim says

 

Sue and Jim love the story - sitting at home waiting for school to be over and the rain to stop your story sparks many memories of our travels. Thank you.

 

Sue and Jim great story but you left us hanging again.

 

That's the fun of it. I grew up on serial stories and thought I'd teach the "youngsters" the joy of anticipation.

Tee-hee.

Sue

 

Now let me see, where was I... oh yes, Moose River, Vermont.

We live in an amazing country. Shore to shore, boarder to boarder, this land contains some of the most spectacular natural wonders imaginable and that's just what you can see from the window of a moving car! Stop a while, hop out and leg it a bit and those wonders increase exponentially. As we crossed the boarder into Vermont, our wonder exponents went off the grid (Hhhmmm, I seem to be mixing mathematics. Wonder if that's anything like mixing metaphors?).

I knew Vermont was a mostly rural state with lots of farmland and maple trees, but I wasn't prepared for the stunning beauty of the place. Huge rolling mountains soared into the sky, then dropped into river canyons with a suddenness that would make a Peregrine Falcon gulp. Great outcroppings of stone jutted out from amongst the ancient trees and thick verdure and everywhere water, water, water. It was love at first sight and the trees hadn't even started to turn. What must that be like?

We awoke to the glory of bird call and 35 degrees. Hello, Fall. We enjoyed hot coffee and a leisurely breakfast by the Moose River, hoping to spot my first moose. We had been assured by several of the locals that moose had been seen in the river just the other morning. No luck. So off to St. Johnsbury for a walk around the town for Jim and the Recorder's Office for me.

Did we drive straight there? Are you kidding? We had to make a stop at the local maple syrup farm for some taste-testing and heavy-duty purchasing. We had a wonderful time poking around all the goodies, buying treats for the kids back home and sampling everything made with maple syrup. The shop staff were very informative and I finally understood the difference between A, B, and C grades, light and dark. We bought a huge jug of the industrial grade stuff that was strong enough to melt the fillings in our teeth. Absolutely scrumdiliumptious!

At 11:30 we wandered over to the Recorder's Office. I chatted with a lovely lady about hunting down my soldier and she was more than enthusiastic. A dollar donation bought me a pair of white cotton gloves and unlimited time in the records vault. Jim left to explore more of the town while I dragged five enormous volumes over to my table and started turning pages.

By 12:45 I had to admit I'd hit a snag.

I found the marriage record for Merritt's older brother, Leander, but nothing on Merritt or his father, Samuel. Nor could I find any mention of his baby brother William or his mother Sarah. Nothing. I went over the records again and came up empty. How odd. St. Johnsbury was the county seat during the Civil War and Merritt had addressed all his letters there. In California, records are kept at the county seat... wasn't Vermont the same? Finally I asked the Lovely Lady. I was floored by the answer.

"Oh, no," she said. "Each town keeps it's own records. You'll have to go to Kirby." Then she laid the bomb on me: Kirby is a titty-bitty farming community and not a true town per say. There is a sort of community center/town hall where they have occasional meetings and the old records should still be there. But. But the lady who keeps the records is there for a few hours only... and on Thursday!

This was Friday.

I couldn't believe it. Had I come three thousand miles for nothing? Say it ain't so! Lovely Lady pulled up the contact information on the Kirby recorder and I tried calling. No answer. I wasn't too hopeful, because during my research into the history of Merritt, I had tried to contact this records officer before and had come up empty. Still, I left a pathetic, pleading message, my phone number and e-mail address in the hopes she would respond, then thanked the Lovely Lady and went in search of my wandering husband.

I found him happily scrounging about in the nearest antique shop. He noticed my Boo-Boo lips and did his best to assuage me with hugs, antique shopping and the promise to drive me to the center of Kirby. It is impossible to stay sad with Jim around and he had me laughing in no time. We thoroughly enjoyed the antique hunt -St. Johnsbury has some great shops- and after a few really good purchases, we set out sights for Kirby.

We only got lost once when we turned left over a particularly irresistible covered bridge, but we soon back on tract. Up, up into the steep hills, around tight curbs and little one-and-a-half car lanes we went until suddenly the hills opened onto a vast section of rolling farmland. We looked around in confusion. Had we finally arrived at our destination?

Surrounded on all sides by miles of Forest Primeval, the small community of Kirby was a collection of isolated farmsteads and milk cows. A single sign stood at the crossing of two dirt roads. On it was one word: Kirby. Yep, we'd arrived. We shook our heads and laughed as we hopped out of the truck and photographed the sign, the farms, the CLOSED town hall and the cows. One cow thought we were pretty funny, too and told us so with a long "Moo".

Across from the sign was the town cemetery, so we parked off road and went in search of the Parker family. Maybe we could pay our respects to Ma and Pa Parker and see how long the family lived in Kirby. But search as we may, not a single headstone belonged to the family. The cemetery dated back to 1811, so surely they would be there unless...

I looked at Jim in frustration. "You know," I said, "Merritt was actually born somewhere in New Hampshire and moved to Kirby as a child. Could it be the family went back over the river after the war?" It was a possibility. And as I never found out where in New Hampshire the family came from, there was no way I was going to hunt them down on this trip. I tried that Records Officer's number again and left another message, then we started back to the camp.

As we walked back to the truck, I looked around. Most of the farm houses dated to before the Civil War and the land was probably as it was back then. It was quiet there with no modern sounds interfering with the wind and bird call... and cows. No traffic or lawnmowers or wood-chippers, not even a small plane disturbed the tranquility of Kirby. I thought this must be pretty much as Merritt saw it. I could imagine the child running barefoot across the fields with a pack of mongrel hounds at his heels. A paradise in fine weather, but frightening in the winter; this would have been a hard but good life.

Jim climbed into the truck as I paused to look around. I could still feel the shades of the soldiers who had followed us from Cold Harbor. I stood there and thought, "You all came from around here. You're home now. Rest." I entered the truck alone.
As we drove away, I opened the window, leaned back and inhaled the sweet scent of Merritt's childhood.

We spent another peaceful night at Moose River Campground. If we came back to this area anytime soon, we would surely camp here again (even though it was a bit pricey). The next morning was clear, cold and beautiful... but no moose. On the way out we stopped at a farmer's market and bought...wait for it... maple syrup! Another maple farm was selling hug jugs at almost half the price of the "official" farm. It tasted slightly different and I liked it better, so we bought more. I assured Jim you simply cannot have too much Vermont Maple Syrup. Love the stuff.

We had decided that previous evening that Niagara Falls was too close to ignore, so we headed for Upstate New York via every cheese, chocolate and antique shop that came our way. Hit one antique shop and found several Tarzan and Venus series books from the early 1900s. I collect those and was delighted to find them price so reasonably. I asked if she had any of the Mars series, but no go. I was happy with what I did find and we were off again... without moose!

By 3:30 we were crossing the Grand Isles on Lake Champlain, a lovely string of low islands connected by little bridges. We were enjoying ourselves immensely, but a storm was coming out of Canada and heading straight for us. We needed shelter before nightfall. The front hit us, and I do mean HIT, around 4:30. The skies just opened up and dumped on us so hard I could have sworn we were back in Ohio. We crossed the last bridge on to Upstate New York proper and found the one and only open campground in the area: Babbling Brook RV Park. RV park...

Uh-oh.

Those two little initials are like a huge, red neon sign that reads: Pricey! This place was no exception. Extra fee for the WIFI, extra fee for the entertainment center ( a cold room with four sticky paperbacks and a TV - like we would ever want that) and a extra fee for the UNHEATED showers. It was "off season" so the heat was turned off until Memorial Day. I noticed the price for the night wasn't OFF SEASON. You get the picture. A measly parking space on a gravel and mud field, Yuck! But there wasn't anywhere else outside of one hundred miles, so what could we do? We got out of there as early as possible the next morning before they could charge us for anything else.

Upstate New York was lovely. Green, green fields, small towns and apple orchards everywhere. The air was heavy with the perfume of ripe apples. After much whining and griping, Jim finally agreed to pull over and let me buy some apples. "Don't get too many," he grumbled. "We can't take the extra across the boarder into Canada." Of course I didn't listen... how could I with so many wonderful varieties I had never tried. Deep gold, bright green, glowing ruby red; how could he possibly expect me to maintain control? Sheeze! I chose four varieties I had never tasted and bought four of each. Among the four was the Cortland. Crisp white flesh that gave that sharp, satisfying "snap" when bitten, was at once both sweet and tangy. The skin was a deep, ruby red of such intensity of color that it bled into the white flesh leaving little tails of pink. I burnished the skin on my shirt sleeve and was rewarded by a jewel like glow. I turned to my husband and smiled. "It looks like the apple from Snow White. Have a bite?"

They were delicious.

By late afternoon we were looking for a campground. We stopped at Hamlin State Beach along the shores of Lake Ontario in hopes it was still open for camping. It was open for day use only (Seems most places close down at the end of September. What a drag.). We were met at the entrance by the last person you would ever want to place in a position of representing your state. A middle-aged woman, big, loud, cheaply died hair in an sloppy pony tail and curled bangs, she was wearing an over sized, faded, food splattered man's polo shirt -no bra- and chewing gum as she yelled at us the top of her lungs.

"Are any of the parks still open? Geeze, I don't know! I just work here. You want me to call ahead and check so you don't waste your time? Geeze, I don't know if we even have their number. I don't know if the office has their numbers. They have a book with the numbers, but I don't think they know where the book is. So, what was it you wanted to know?"

I didn't exaggerate that. Honest to God.

We left Miss Charming still chewing away, with her sagging bosoms spilling out all over the window sill of her little information booth, and continued down the road. The storm from Canada seemed to have enjoyed our company and was following behind. It would catch up with us soon, so a campground was an absolute must at this point.

But luck finally smiled on us and just a few miles along we came to Lakeside Beach State Park. These two parks were just as opposite as their attendants. The lady at Lakeside was lovely, well dressed, well spoken and as helpful as she could be. Yes, they were still open for camping. We could go right in, pick any spot we pleased, set up and check in with her later. What a lovely park! Huge expanses of tree dotted lawns along an escarpment with unhampered views of Lake Ontario and, in the far, far distance, Canada.

We chose a wonderful spot along the cliff with panoramic views. The facilities were well used, but spotless and heated. I started dinner as Jim went back to confirm our site. It was obvious this park would be heavily used during the regular season, but as it was September, the place was practically ours.

We enjoyed a hot meal and later lounged by the fire and watched the storm move across the lake. Swans majestically cruised along the water and across the cloudy sky, flocks of seagulls shifted from black silhouette to dazzling white as they darted in and out of the shafts of sunlight. Magical. We watched their wheeling as we engaged in a little stem-breath competition (the temperature was dropping fast).

Jim excused himself for a moment and I remained by the fire, lingering over the sunset and my hot cocoa. Suddenly, the storm decided I'd had enough cocoa and dumped on me! Huge drops of rain hissed in the fire as I raced to toss the chairs in the back of the truck and jump into the trailer before I was soaked. I was fast, but the storm was faster still. By the time I closed the CI door, I was drenched and the fire was out. It had taken less than three minutes.

Jim came stomping through the downpour and we laughed as he tried to get in without drowning. Well, so much for S'mores by the fire. We curled up and made an early night of it. Tomorrow would bring Niagara Falls and a run through Canada.

And that will be enough for now.

Tune in next time: Same Bat-Time, same Bat-channel.

Camp On,

Sue

 

Love all your posts! Kathy

 

Sue amazing story and attention to detail. Keep the story coming.

 

Sue,

Sorry you struck out in Vt. Glad you enjoyed our New England.

If you ever find out what town in N.H. your Merritt family is from maybe I can help verify things before your next trip back!

J&B

 

Thanks, I'll keep that in mind. Who knows where that boy will lead me next.

Sue

 

Oh my goodness! I love the grandkids, but geeze are they a lot of work. Jim and I have been watching both kids during the summer break and let me tell you, a ten year old can be more work than her one year old brother. So tired we haven't had the umph to continue the story.

Until tonight. Sort of.

Anyway, when last we left our intrepid explorers (that's us), we had just been rained out on Lake Ontario....

We awoke to a glorious sunrise that Monday, Sept.24th. Towering clouds of pink and gold against a delicate blue sky was our reward for surviving the previous night's downpour. A hasty breakfast, then off to Niagara Falls (slowly I turned...). We had Spamalot all hitched up and ready to go save for the light check. Ooopps, a fly in the ointment: blasted left turn signal died on us. Now the joy of searching for a parts place in some little back water town. Goodie.

As Jim said, "Thank God for smart phones and the internet". He found a place just a few miles away. To our surprise, you can't just replace the bulb, you have to replace the whole light. But it wasn't screaming expensive and they had them in stock. Yippie. A quick fix and off again.

One thing I have to say about the small towns back East: They have some of the best preserved period architecture I've ever seen. Town after town, street after street, we saw gorgeous Federal homes in fantastic condition. Here on the West coast, the operative term is "progress". Everyone is in such a hurry to tear things down and build new. What a crime (not that we have anything even close to a Federal period building. Most of our old stuff was adobe and only the Missions survived for the most part.) I sighed in jealousy as we drove by so many lovely homes.

And then we drove into the town of Niagara Falls.

I had to blink and look twice. It looked like a carny had a messy accident with some cheap fireworks and exploded all over the place. Confusing streets, run down or abandoned buildings, cheesy tourist shops and urban blight everywhere. Not what we expected for one of the great natural wonders of the world.

11:05 AM and we managed to find our way through the confusion and made it alive to a large parking lot right next to the falls. We stepped out... and were nearly drowned by a blanket of "mist". All our disappointment was literally washed away by the power and the beauty of the falls. Monstrous swaths of raging water hurtled over the cataracts with such force that the ground beneath our feet shook constantly. Rainbows sprouted up everywhere we looked as thick clouds of mist rose up like smoke from a conflagration.

We spent the better part of three hours "soaking" in the atmosphere. We were drenched and loving every drop. And the roar! We had to yell at each other (yeah, we do that anyway) and use hands signs to communicate. We finally slogged our way back to the truck for a picnic in the rain as bus loads of Japanese tourists pointed at our CI, snapped pictures and smiled. So cute. After a soggy lunch, we headed over to the Canadian side to see how they do it, eh.

Crossing the boarder was a breeze...they didn't ask us about potatoes.

Now Canada has the right idea about how to show off the falls (and make a buck). Their side was pristine. Luxury highrise hotels, manicured gardens with walking paths along the river, four star restaurants for alfresco dining while viewing the falls...very posh. And such a price! Dang, eighteen dollars to park your car a mile and a half away and heaven knows what the charge was for the shuttle bus from your car to the falls, no street parking anywhere near the falls and no...and I mean no...stopping allowed for a quick photo. We were tempted, but there were so many cops around, I didn't want to risk a ticket. I took picture out of the moving truck.

It was getting late and we had to make it across the Lower Ontario Peninsula. We found an information center just outside of Niagara and decided to stop for the quickest route to Michigan. The lady at the counter was a doll and loaded us down with everything she could find. She brought out a map, highlighted it from end to end and jotted down all the exits so we wouldn't get lost. Jim thinks she was either one of the nicest people around who really loved her job... or she was really, really eager to get us the heck out of her country. Hhhmmmmm....

Jim was telling her about his Canadian heritage and suddenly the brochures started flying. "Oh, you must come back and see this and go there and do that.." She filled our hands with brochures, maps and pamphlets and darned near planned our whole Canadian trip for next year. She was fun.

Thanks to our lovely lady, the mad dash across the lower peninsula was a breeze and we didn't get lost once...a first for us. The boarder guard (US this time) was again very friendly and didn't search for potatoes either..but he did have lots of questions about the trailer. We rolled back into the USA at Port Huron, Michigan and decided to stop for dinner. Actually, it was a dinner challenge. I had spied a White Castle (hold the groans) along the road and just had to try it. A hint to the wise: never - and I mean never - take dining advice from a motion picture... especially if that picture is called "Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle". But what did we know? We bought a dozen sliders and some fries and I have never been so ill in all my life. Just remembering it now is making me nauseous.

Oh well, a little alka-selzer and we were on our way again.

We found a nice campground called Lakeshore State Park and pulled in for the night. We were out of camp by 8:30 AM and on the road for the U. P. and Manistique... and another visit to Great Grandpa Lambly's grave. We crossed the bridge at Mackinaw and stopped for a bit. Now here is a little ditty about a feud going on between the folks who live above and below that bridge. Seems the UP folks (that would be some of Jim's family) believe they should be separate from the rest of Michigan because, according to them, they are totally ignored by the State Government. They call themselves "Yoopers" and refer to the rest of the citizens of Michigan, those who live below the bridge, as "Trolls". This had us rolling and we wasted no time in texting a dear friend of ours who hales from Flint. She actually confirmed this and took great umbrage at being referred to as a troll. There followed several minutes of furious texting with off-color allusions to the marital status of our parents. We ended up in stitches and promised to make amends with wine and food when we returned. What a riot.

By evening we had made it to Indian Lake Camping Resort in Manistique. It was a campground full of humongous RVs with their ancient owners hunkered down inside, watching TV and peaking out from behind the curtains at the two loonies sitting outside by a tiny little trailer and drinking cocoa by a campfire. The maniacs! It's cold out there...with bugs.

We booked two nights...because there were only two nights left before they closed for the season and everyone headed to Florida. Snowbirds?

Tomorrow would be busy. We planned a trip to Picture Rocks National Lakeshore and a visit to Great Grandpa's stomping grounds. We finished the cocoa, took a last look at the stars and turned in for the night.

And we're going to do that now.

Good night.

Sue and Jim

 

Sue and Jim glad to hear from you again we thought the same of the Canadian side of the falls big difference from New York.

 

Ken, they were a bit to greasy for me, but I guess that is how they got their name....sliders. We don't have White Castle out here on the west coast so this was my first taste.

Jim

 

Okay, this is getting out of hand. Far too long a stretch between chapters. Let's get going.

Wednesday, Sept. 26, 2012, Indian Lake Campground at majestic Manistique on the North Shore of Lake Michigan. It's a very nice campground right on the lake, though full of Snowbirds in their monster rigs. We were the only ones out of doors, so we sort of had the place to ourselves... The cold might have had something to do with that. Burrr!

Before sight-seeing, we made a visit to Jim's Great Grandpa's grave and stopped by the First Baptist Church where Great Grandpa was the second pastor to serve there and laid the corner stone way back in 1882. We were in hopes of talking to the current pastor. Last time we had been by the place was closed, but luck was with us and the offices were opened. A sweet, young lady was in the office and got all excited with our story of grandpa.

Pastor Martin came in from a meeting and gave us a warm welcome. Martin had been compiling a history of the church and had written a pamphlet on the subject. He was terribly excited to meet a descendent of one of the first pastors. He gave us the grand tour of the church which still contained most of the original building, pews and carved doors. Then, with a wink, he took us to the vestibule where he kept his "Rouge's Gallery": a wall with pictures of every pastor to serve their church. Martin was bewailing the fact that he was missing photos of the first three pastors and asked hopefully if we had a photo of Great Grandpa James Bankier Lambly.

"It just so happens," said Jim, "I do."

Oh, what a beaming smile he received in response. We promised to mail a copy of the photo (of a very handsome young man in his cleric collar, mind you) and we left with happy hearts.

A quick trip to Jack's for fresh supplies and two hot pasties (yum), which we ate overlooking the lake, a short walk over a long breakwater to the lighthouse (dodging seagull bombs all the way) and then off to explore Hiawatha National Forest, Picture Rocks National Lakeshore and Munising Falls.

Picture Rocks was gorgeous. A beautiful walk through the jade light of the deciduous forest to stunning views of crystal blue waters against wind-carved cliffs of cream and ocher. The paths were narrow and there was much tripping over rocks and tree roots, but there were board walks and wider paths to some places and observation decks for easy viewing and photos, so it was pretty much accessible to all.

Munising Falls was fully paved and a short, easy walk along a playful stream. It's a small fall, but very rambunctious and prettily forested. Definitely a must see. We took lots of photos and headed back to camp.

So far we had not been fortunate to see the Fall color that is one of the East Coast's great claims to fame (besides invisible moose) and we were bewailing our bad timing when we turned a corner. Holy Cow, where did that come from??! Jim pulled over to the a gravel patch and we stared with out mouths open. Color! Unbelievable color everywhere. Huge stretches of the road were lined with massive trees ablaze in every shade of yellow, gold, pink and crimson imaginable. Jim swears we took the same road to and from the lake, but how could we possibly have missed such a sight? We hopped out of the truck and ran around like loons snapping dozens of photos. Finally, out of breath and memory cards, we drove back to camp happy and content.

The next morning dawned crisp and cold... well, actually it got cold that night - so much so we had to break out the Pendelton blanket. We ate a hot breakfast on the run as everyone, including the camp host, was packing up and heading South for the winter. Our goal for today was to get as close as we could to CICO, so off we went in a rush. By 3:00 PM we had made it to High Cliffs State Park along the shores of Lake Winnebago, Wi.

The campground was heavily forested with high-canopy, bare-trunk trees that were just starting to turn color and drop their leaves, blanketing the ground with a soft carpet of pale gold and green. Again, it was the end of the season and we nearly had the campground to ourselves... nearly. As we started backing into our campsite, we saw a familiar sight: a Camp Inn TD. What a surprise. We pointed at them and they pointed at us. Smiles lead to waves and we were soon shaking hands with Kip and his friends. Kip was a local musician taking a short break between gigs and invited us to drop by and share their campfire later. Sounded good to us, but first a short hike.

High Cliffs has several trails along the cliffs overlooking the lake and through the forest to something called the Effigy People. Hhhmmmmm, that sounded interesting. Off we went along an easy path and were soon deep in the forest. The path twisted around blind curves and I soon lost my sense of direction. Little placards pointed the way to the effigies with names like "panther" and "frog". Weird, it was definitely weird and slightly unnerving somehow in that claustrophobic wood. And then we came upon one of the effigies and I suddenly understood: the effigies were burial mounds. We were strolling through an ancient burial site! Ah, no... this was not right. No wonder things felt so uncomfortable. We got out of there as fast a possible.

Back at the camp, we had a nice dinner, grabbed some Ghirardelli chocolate, a bottle of wine and followed the music to Kip's campfire. Kip was joined by Jim (his back-up guitarist) Jim's wife, Nancy and an older gentleman and guitarist, Luke. The three fellows picked and sang for hours, treating us to a private concert of Bluegrass, Country, Rock and Roll and California "Hippie" music. What wonderful musicians, what marvelous voices! They sang late into the night and when the Ranger drove by for the second time, Kip commented about the chance that someone may have complained. Luke just grinned and said if someone did, it wouldn't do them any good as he was the camp host. What a laugh.

Finally we had to say goodnight. We tried to get Kip to come to CICO, but he had a gig that weekend. As we shook hands, I told Kip he had given me a memory I would carry for the rest of my life. He was touched and said that was a powerful thing to say. I responded it had been a powerful experience. It was.

Next morning, it was off to CICO. We contacted Jenn and arraigned to meet her at the local market (we were lost again and not sure how to get to where we were going...nothing new there). Pulling into the parking lot, we spied her car and parked right next to it. As we walked into the store, there was Kathy waiting for Jenn who was at the check stand. Hugs all around followed by the frantic, "Don't leave without us. We don't know where we're going". Jenn laughed and calmly waited while I found the ingredients for the Pot-Luck applesauce (lots of butter, wine and cinnamon), then off we went to the campground.

CICO was three days of pure joy. So nice to put faces to the names at last. I knew George the moment I saw that wicked little gleam in his eyes. He said something saucy and I gave him a sassy answer. We looked at each other, then I smile and said, " George, we're going to get along just fine." And we did.

We had a ball visiting, lazing and exploring all the different types of trailers. We wandered through the local towns, shopping for antiques, Amish goods and Wisconsin cheese. Now I must say this: California has some seriously good cheese... but Wisconsin beats all comers, hands down.

Sunday morning was omelets-in-a-bag and good-byes. Happy yet sad to leave our new friends, we turned our faces West and headed toward I-90 on the long road home.

We crossed the Mighty Mississippi by 11:20 AM. On I-90 at Chatfield, Mn, a Bald Eagles flew overhead. By 8:17PM we were dead tired, in the middle of South Dakota and desperate to stop. Jim found an RV park in Plankington that according to "Allstays" is a five start resort with all kinds of great amenities. It turned out to be a dirt patch next to a gravel supply yard. Hot and cold running bugs in the WWII bathrooms/nuclear fallout bunkers. The cinder-block toilet stalls had grey shower curtains instead of doors and we had to cross a foot wide carpet of dead flies at the threshold. Yikes! We were the only ones there other than three guys on a road crew. Holy cow. We wanted out, but there wasn't another campground in the state. Period! We were gone before sun up.

And it's late. Hate to stop again, but my eyes are drooping and my neck is screaming for a new owner... someone younger. So until the next time.

Camp On,

Sue and Jim

 

October 1, 2012, Monday, on the road before sunrise and leaving the dead bugs behind. We wanted to get as close to Cody Wy. as possible without killing ourselves. As Jenn will attest, Jim and I are heavy travelers; eleven hour days are the norm when we have a goal.

By 11:00 AM we had made it to Walldrug and just had to stop for coffee, pie and a little knee-bending at the feet of N.C. Wyeth (I am a huge illustration fan). Tandem driving until 4:30 PM, we paused in Buffalo at the IGA for gas, then it was a race with the sun down I-16 trough the Big Horn Mts. to Ten Sleep and the RV park.

What a gorgeous ride through those mountains! Everywhere we looked, 9,606' plus of elevation and 300 million years of accumulated geological history laid bare in a fantastic escarpment. Miles of pink and orange rock formations with slashes of dark evergreens glowed in the low rays of the setting sun. A shallow river wandered lazily around the base of the escarpment and every now and then, without warning, groups of white birch in full Autumn glory would blind us with shimmering golds.

Our enjoyment of this scene was slightly marred as maniac drivers in huge pickups, towing horse trailers, roared by as if we were standing still. This was the first day of hunting season and those boys were oh, so eager to get going. As we drove along, we came across many, many deer (but no moose). Now, I like a venison steak as much as the next person, but I just couldn't help rolling down my window and yelling, "Run, deer, run!" Jim thought this was hilarious.

We made it to Ten Sleep RV before sundown and found it to be a great campground (for an RV park, that is) with clean facilities, plenty of hot water and only $22 a night. Yeah! Clean, relaxed and well fed, we hit the sack early.

Tuesday morning we rose with the hunters. Hot coffee and cold yogurt filled out tummies, then off on the road again on our way to Cody. Strange ride. Wyoming at 4,000' looked a lot like Death Valley... except there were tons of oil rigs dirtied up the landscape. I've said this before, but really: one day the citizens of Wyoming are going to wake up, find the oil depleted, the jobs gone and nothing left but one hell of an ecological mess. Unfortunately, right now the oil dollars are talking and boy are they loud.

We reached Cody around 10:30AM. Great. We had planned on spending most of the day in the Cody Museum which boasts one of the finest collections of Native American artifacts, American firearms, Yellowstone Natural history, Western art and, of course, the life story of Buffalo Bill Cody. We were not disappointed.

The museum was beautifully organized with a separate wing for each subject. It was so large, we chose to limit ourselves to three wings: Buffalo Bill, Native American and Western Art. They have a magnificent collection and I found the Native American wing very informative and sensitively handled. It was clear the organizers of the museum hold our Native Peoples in high esteem. Good.

We had spent more time than planned at the museum and had to high-tail it out fast. We reached Yellowstone by 2:00PM - too late to tour the West side which has all the good stuff and were forced to go around the lakes on the East road. This area was devastated by those horrible fires a bit back and we were shocked by the extent of the damage. Mile after mile of naked burnscapes along a steel grey lake dotted with whitecaps. We stopped for a moment, but the howling winds blew ash and cinders in our eyes and drove us back to the truck.

All the campsites were closed, though there wasn't any snow and we had no were to stay, so onward through the Grand Tetons... and no camping there either (and no moose)! It was 72 degrees and everything was closed for the season. I mentioned to Jim that the Park Service really ought to consider the concept of flexibility, but that would require members of a government agency to think... and don't get me started on that subject!

As we drove through the Tetons, we noticed a definite lack of wildlife. One lost Pronghorn and a single skittish female Elk and that was it. No massive herds of Elk, no Buffalo, no Wolves..and no MOOSE. What the heck is it going to take for me to see one of those guys anyway? But I digress...

By 5:15 PM we pulled into Jackson Hole... just in time for everything to be closed. We gassed up, grabbed some coffee and started on another race with the sunset to find an open campground. Headed over Rt.22 to Idaho and found ourselves on an E-ticket, white-knuckle ride over mountain passes with 10 degree grades or worse on hair-pin turns. Yikes. We saw lots of moose warning signs everywhere. Watch out for Moose! Moose right of way! Moose crossing! And... (all together now) no moose.

We pulled into Teton Valley, Idaho by sundown and luckily found a nice RV park/KOA still open. $20 for the night, clean facilities with marble sinks and all the hot water you could hope for. As I snuggled down to sleep, Jim kept studying his maps, planning the best (ie: fastest) rout to Winnemucca. Finally I couldn't stand it any more.

"Honey, it's 10:30. If you don't put down that map and turn out the light I'm going to shoot you."

"How? You don't have a gun."

"Oh, shut up."

I rolled over and covered my head with the blankets.

Wednesday, October 3 and we greeted the dawn on the road along the Snake River. We got a sudden call from my sister, Rae: a huge snowstorm out of Canada (eh) was hitting everything from Montana to the Great Lakes. We were headed South and away from it, but Kathy and Bob were traveling our road a day behind and were in line for a full hit. We texted the warning, suggested they hunker down and crossed our fingers for their safety.

By 9:30 AM we pulled into Fort Hall and visited the Shoshone Museum on the Res. Nice, informative museum run by a delightful lady. We talked for quite some time about her people, the land, Sacajawea and her part in the Corps of Discovery.

Off again and into a dust storm. High winds combined with burning fields and freshly plowed acres made quite a mess and Jim was hard pressed to see where we were going... the big rigs didn't seem to have any problems, though. 11:00AM found us in Utah where smog joined the dust storm and made everything so much more fun... not.

At 3:30 PM Kathy and Bob called. They had been hit by the snowstorm we warned them about and had taken our advice to hunker down. Smart move. We were glad to hear they were safe. Onward... and into Nevada. We pushed on passed 6:00 PM, listening to the Presidential debate on CNN. Nothing new there. By 6:30 we made it into Winnemucca and a very nice RV resort: the Desert RV. Clean, clean, clean and not too bad at $39. Hot chilli and lukewarm Shock Tops for dinner as we were all out of fresh food. That was okay: we'd be home by nightfall tomorrow.

And so we were after an 8 hour day of solid driving. Whew! What a journey. Darn near 10,000 miles on the road in a month long trip. We must have been nuts to try it, but just to be sure... we're going to do it again this September. We'll take a different rout, explore a different part of the country and see you all at CICO.

Until then...

Camp On,

Sue and Jim (says)

 

Sue and Jim two great posts in a row see you at the CICO.

 

Hey! That rhymes!

Sue

 

Sue & Jim, those text messages were so appreciated!

 

We couldn't let you run off into a storm like that without any warning!

Well... we could... but it wouldn't be nice.

Heck, it was fun texting back and forth. Almost like you were right there with us. And we can do it again this year at CICO #10! Jenn can join in. It'll be fun.

Sue