Tractor Pull

Wouldn't you know it, it had to happen within a mile of home, but what a great place to have it happen! My neighbor Charles Sams, down by the row of mailboxes (which were moved while I was gone), had to get the tractor from his barn (that was recently rebuilt after a 2010 snowstorm sent a tree tumbling on top) and pull The Turtle away from the bank that her driver slid her up against because of a very wet, gravelly road with a big hump. It took him about 5 min. to get the tractor, hook it up to the front towing bar and pull us out. With great neighbors with tractors, one doesn't need a cell phone (mine does not get reception this far out) or AAA. That is one reason Spring Creek, NC is such a super place to come home to. Everyone, please thank Charles.

PS---I think the Turtle was spooked because the mailboxes weren't on the other side of the road where they had always been.

And there was no snow as the photo shows, but the forecast is for possible light snow tonight and the winds are already whirling in from over the mountain. It is true that the road up here is about that scary looking...good for a Halloween fright.

The Only One

I never saw another Turtle or anything like her. And I never saw another woman traveling in a motor home by herself. Neither had anyone I met along the way. But I know there are some. I was expecting there to be more single women (married or not) or at least single men (not that I was looking for one). I did meet several women who wanted to do what I was doing. One of them did not want her husband to know this, so she pulled me aside and whispered, "This is something I have always wanted to do!" I hope I have paved (a road term) the way for those who perhaps don't have partners to get out on the road, but mostly I would be tickled pink to inspire others to follow their dream, no matter how impossible it may seem. Or how low their bank accounts might sink! I am sure a lot of you wondered what I thought I was doing traveling eight thousand miles in a 30 year old motor home by myself. But you were either kind enough not to say so, or you had faith that I could do it. I mean even John Steinbeck had his dog, Charley! I had you.

Who could ask for more? John was in search of America. I was in search of me. That search is endless. Is it the little me, or the bigger me that is part of it all.

End of the Road

Are these photos of the sunrise or the sunset? Is coming home the beginning or the end? And does it really matter anyway? It is all beautiful. But I must confess to the lure of being on the road. I have forgotten how to be a homebody, but it will return. Being out on the road in all that spaciousness and excitement of new scenery and destinations, then bedding down for the night in my tortoise shell. Then up and out again. Somewhere along the way I lost the fear of the Turtle breaking down or of not finding a place to stay for the night. Or of getting lost. Or the greatest fear of being lonely, for I was never alone. I enjoyed making photos and sharing my thoughts and feelings on this blog that automatically goes to Facebook, visiting friends and family, getting more intimate with America's varied landscapes, meeting new people, waking up every day in a different place, hearing trains in the night, the state parks, national parks, even Corps of Engineer parks, recreation areas, pay showers, historical roads, scenic roads, interstates, rest areas, KOA's yellow shirted Komforts, monuments, icons, the internet, my cell phone, my Canon Powershot SD1100, my coffeepot, and most of all The Turtle. I have been blessed. So many times, something led me to the right spot at just the right time. Can't say what it was. Might have been all your good wishes and prayers! Thanks for the memories. I will be home Wednesday, October 19th to witness that blaze of color that I haven't seen anywhere along my route. There is no place like home!

Horse Sense of Humor

Good Gob! Let's git outta here fast...

Something to hold on two

The new hybrid...

The fast ones don't need a sign..

Moby Dick meets Killer Whale. They name their first child, Killer Dick.

Picasso's Dawg...

Git along little doggie...what cowboys are doing these days

Not all Black and White

My shadow might suggest that I gained about 100 pounds on this trip. What made the dog-look alike shadow? Are those sand dunes near a body of water? Is that a cotton plant in Texas? A photo of the old Rt. 66 up close? The most recent lava flow in the US? The largest gypsum field in the world? Did I visit both the White Sands rocket lands and the Valley of Fires in the same day and get inspired to do a blog on opposites, on the elusiveness of truth?

Joy Riding on Desolation Row

From Barstow to Needles, CA on Rt. 66 was one of the most joyful rides. Joy among the relics of happy motoring. I was sailing on waves of bumpy concrete while savoring the past and sniffing nostalgia with the Mojave Desert as a backdrop. Earlier on I40 East, I sped by a sloppily painted sign in the sagebrush, a football field away, that read Bagdad Cafe(without the "h"). I remembered my favorite movie, The Bagdad Cafe, was set in some desolate place. But I had no idea, I was passing so close to it until I saw that sign. I didn't backtrack to Bagdad. I kept on going on 40 until I found my planned 66 escape at Ludlow. I was regretting my decision to not visit Bagdad when I discovered the town of Amboy, a few miles away. It looked and felt like the setting in the movie. Across the way a huge chunk of tin was being rattled about by hot winds. I remember things blowing in the wind, the sad sack scenery and that this 1987 flick had the same mysterious and magical power that The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly held for me in 1964. A couple of days later I googled a Rt. 66 site and found that the town of Bagdad no longer existed. It was destroyed four years after the movie was released so that the space could be used for storing pipeline.

All the buildings fit the setting, except for the Juan Pollo Chicken Shack. I thought some Mexican was trying to make a few bucks by selling his wares on The Mother Road. But I found out later (also on an internet search) that it was owned by a man in California who started a food chain called Juan Pollo. He wanted to perserve one of the many abandoned cafes and gas stations on this historical road that went from Chicago to Santa Monica, CA. So as a start, he bought the entire town of Amboy for about 140,000.

Two groups of tourists came by and took a few photos of each other standing in the middle of the road with the stenciled black and white route 66 shield at their feet. They didn't have to worry about getting hit by a car because almost no one was on this ghost highway. Except me. It stood still for me for a while and me for it. Then a few more modern cars flowed east and west. So few now, but I sensed a resurgence. I got back on Interstate 40, the road that killed the mother. Route 66 was running parallel and on it was a man on a scooter with a white terrier in sunglasses perched in front. Their hair was blowing in the wind. I have to say it. You can still get your kicks on Route 66!

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Turtle Patch

The Turtle sprung a leak in sunny California! How can that be? I drove along the CA coast in rain and fog. Then it rained sandals and sneaker waves. My friend, Juanita Stock and I found a repair place near Eureka just after heavy showers and curb puddles the size of small ponds. It took a lot of searching on cell phones to find anyone who was willing to find the leak. I walked into All RV Repair and there was a tank with a friendly green-striped turtle. I knew I had come to the right place. Sure enough, they found the turtle had lots of cracks on top. They patched the biggest cracks and now we are high and dry in Bakersfield, CA.

Published!

The Loft, an exerpt from a longer short story that I haven't finished yet, was just published on the online journal, The Great Smokies Review. Read it at www.thegreatsmokiesreview.org

The chalk art I photographed a couple of days before I knew about the published story, would be perfect for a cover for the book. (The next entry has more sidewalk chalk art.)

The timing was great because here I was in happy hippy culture and the story is a link to my experience with the transformation that was happening to my peers. Right on!

Chalk Art in Arcata, CA

My friend, Shirley Wiltshire from the Practice Community, but living in Eureka, CA with her husband,Stephen Timmons, took me to see this on my birthday. My inner child lit up like candles on a birthday cake. You can have a slice of my joy!