NBNC>KWFL: December 2016

Pelicans Briefing

Traveling southbound I-95 is always a challenge, especially when you have 57’ of vehicle being driven/towed. While I am skimming across my expansive field of vision and keeping to the tasks of navigating, Dave is tunnel visioned to the front, sides and rear of his world as pilot.  In my skimming I noticed so many silver poles having cameras and look-like-satellite dishes roadside. I have since learned these are part of a traffic management system that will help reduce congestion by alerting travelers well in advance on electronic signs. At first I was suspect, thinking ‘Big Brother’ was now intruding on our vacations, but having read several articles on the system it certainly makes sense; states from New England to Florida are installing these devices. So look up, open your window and wave!

It is funny…ha-ha funny… to be 9’ above the road and glance into passing cars, trucks and motor homes. Nearly every camper/motor home we encounter the passenger, a.k.a. ‘the navigator’, has some form of map in their hands/lap. Which makes me wonder, even though there were native guides with Lewis & Clark, would they have gotten lost if the little woman was with them? Just sayin’. 

Miami-Dade Landfill (not my photo)

Most everyone knows that southern Florida is pretty much at sea level, if not close, so while on the turnpike on the outside fringes of Miami-Dade, the elevation markedly appeared on the horizon. Come to find out it was Mount Don’t-Breathe-the-Air-up-Here.  What we saw was a landfill that is a 225’ high mountain of garbage, not unlike what our Mom’s used to holler at us when we were kids that our rooms resembled. This particular landfill started as a ten-foot high pile of uck in 1965. I would venture to guess there is no amount of Lysol to squelch the foul orders coming from that thar’ mountain.  Can’t help but think there is a lot of Monday morning trash there.

Card Sound Bridge

We hit the last exit mainland before continuing across Card Sound and our trek south watching the mile marker numbers decrease. And the seascapes are truly beautiful. Like watercolors of blues, greens, and violets blended in a puddle on paper.  US 1 is a two-lane, strictly enforced speed limits, always visible law enforcement.  A pleasurable ride for the passenger, and white-knuckle for the driver because cars dart in and out from side roads like hummingbirds.

Jolly Roger

We settled at Jolly Roger on Marathon Key, where we will spend Christmas and New Year’s Eve with splendid Gulf views and the gentle sounds of waves.

Bridge to the Clouds

The Florida Keys = aqua blue waters as far as your eyes can see the horizon on the Atlantic Ocean to the east and the Gulf of Mexico following you on the west over ancient coral reef; 200+ varieties of palm trees; a paradise described by those who have spent a weekend to a lifetime;  seasons of humid and hot; forests of gumbo limbo and slash pines; ornamental vines of magenta bougainvillea, the showy red hibiscus. And each Key defines itself from another.

Island Grill

We have become the 21^st century Ponce de Leon’s, exploring each Key and discovering their inlets, coves and bays.  All the Keys were obliterated in 1935 when the historic Labor Day Hurricane, a cat. 5, with gale force winds and high seas stormed the Florida Keys.  Hurricane winds of nearly 200 mph and a storm surge of 18-20 feet destroyed the low-lying islands.

Plantation Key (no my photo)

Plantation Key was settled in the 1870s by immigrants from the Bahamas who raised coconuts and pineapples, which were shipped by schooner to Baltimore and New York City. The plantations of Cuba forced the Keys out of business, but the entrepreneurs of the Keys tapped into Prohibition and its close proximity to the Bahamas and the bootlegging trade. 

Tea Table Key (not my photo)

Tea Table is privately owned by a guy from Chicago who spends just a few days a month at his piece of heaven, which has the price tag of mega-millions.  Tea Table was originally owned by the widower of Laura Ashley, ergo the English moniker.

Long Key Beach (not my photo)

We stopped by Long Key, home of Long Key State Park, where campers are quite literally parked on the sandy beach. Hoping to gander a look-see the park attendant told us that the park will be closed for restructuring campsites because of critically eroded beaches.

Duck Key

Key Colony Beach

Key Colony Beach and Duck Key continue to be our favorite islands along these Keys.  Crossing the causeway to Key Colony we pass through a small town atmosphere with the horizon opening up to beautiful homes and a quiet park offering benches shaded by tall coconut palms fluttering gently with the ocean breezes.  Duck Key actually looks like the head of a duck from the air with its beak aiming southward toward Key West.  With its elevation at 3’ above sea level the exclusive homeowner’s mc-mansions and the ocean combine at the sea’s perspective creating a lovely mirage.

Of course, we have put a dent in Key West, with intentions to visit again this coming week (before the Christmas-ers occupy Duvall Street).  You know how you can travel the same road back and forth and back and forth and by the tenth back and forth you have the trip pretty well memorized, with every mailbox, the terribly painted house, and the vacant lots? Well, when you travel US 1 to mile marker 0 the trip going and coming is never the same. 

  The hues of greens and blues of the ocean and Gulf waters reflect feelings of tranquility, peacefulness, even though the furthest one can see, the immenseness of, the infiniteness of the ocean’s waves, in and out, ripple after ripple, makes one feel slight. Stands of mangroves border the roadway along the Gulf and ocean way on the remote strands of creamy vanilla sands.  

Bo's Fish Wagon

We visited our favorites, Bo’s Fish Wagon and Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville.  We strolled along the uncrowded Duvall Street and meandered through a few neighborhoods.  We will be traveling to MM 0 the week before Christmas to get our last southern-most fix.

Our stay here on the Keys will close on the first day of the new year, when we level up and steer our way northbound to central Florida…home of Citrus Florida, over half million acres of citrus produce, which are handpicked and then processed for you to enjoy with your breakfast or in your mimosa.

So, as you read this ending to the year 2016, we sincerely wish you and your family (ies) a Blessed Christmas Season and a Happy New Year.  See you next year!

LIFE IS SHORT: ENJOY THE RIDE

NBNC>KWFL: November 2016

Myrtle Beach

Our exodus to Florida was delayed a few weeks so that Dave would be able to travel gall-less (gall bladderless, that is).  Pre-vs-post surgery has left him recuperating well and feeling lots better. With that, we arrived in Myrtle Beach on November 8^th with a pending appointment at Camping World on the 9^th. With expected repairs to take 2-3 days we were grateful that the service technicians could do their voodoo in one, which gave us a chance to check out Murrells Inlet and downtown Myrtle.   

There is a charming stretch of highway that nears Charleston as we travel southbound; it is known locally as Sweetgrass Basket Makers Highway. Basket weavers, direct descendants seventh and eighth generation daughters, aunts and granddaughters, sit alongside the roadside at disheveled stands working a spoon handle coiling grass into graceful works of art that have a similar smell to freshly mown hay.  Basket-making is a matter of patience, skill and technique. The sweetgrass is harvested from the shoreline in the spring and summer and allowed to dry. However, the natural supply of sweetgrass has diminished because of private development of land where the women are unable to harvest their forage that threatens the natural resources of harvesting.

Lake Jasper Campground

As we journey on along the South Carolina coast it becomes more apparent of the destruction of Hurricane Matthew, which really messed us up with campgrounds; we had reservations at Parris Island Campground but had to change to nearby Camp Lake Jasper, about a half hour down the road. A newly opened campground the sites are spacious, pet friendly and easy on-easy off at exit 8 I-95.

USMC Yellow Footprints

While leveled on site 60 we visited Parris Island three days, spending each one absorbed in the powdered sandy soil of the depot where, for over 100 years, boys have become men. Just as Dave and his platoon stepped for that first time on those yellow footprints fifty years ago, these once strangers became an element of one after 8 weeks of intense, critical training, then being fragmented to serve their tour(s) in Viet Nam.

No matter what; always attention

 We observed four platoons preparing to graduate, to become Marines, at the end of the week.  By Thursday afternoon on the parade deck these young men and women would snap in response to orders, cadence with exactness. Their pride saturated the air and ground. And as these Marines were graduating we saw another group of young men being marched to their barracks, not yet receiving the infamous haircut, not yet realizing that this decision to stand on those yellow footprints would be the unmatched decisiveness of their lives.

Hurricane Matthew damage on Hilton Head

One day we ventured eastward to the coastlines of Bluffton and Hilton Head. Bluffton on a Sunday morning was a sleepy town with its rural church parking lots filled so we scooted outta there before the masses came out of their masses. On both sides of the highway we are surrounded by low-tidal salt marshes.  At sea level there is not much to see except weaving channels through the cordgrass where snowy white egrets, great blue and tri-colored herons patiently watch for their next appetizer.  Once on the island we venture our way to Harbour Town Lighthouse and along the way realize the devastation of Hurricane Matthew.  It was estimated that nearly 2,000 trees met the fate of the hurricane-force winds that battered the coastline. Restoration of the properties will take some time, and with nature it will be restored as well.

One of the most iconic emblems of the south is the southern live oak. These strong tough trees can be measured in 50+ foot circumference and centuries old in birthdays. Although these formidable trees are anchored deep some were tumbled over by the hurricane winds.

No matter where we have driven these past few weeks, we have found pieces of history, plantations, and classic symbols of the old south that seem to have returned to the dust of the earth. It is disheartening to see the skeletons of these antebellum, once a visible symbol of prosperous land owners. Many other former plantations have become golf courses, interstates and residential communities.

On Sunday, the 20^th, we packed up and moved along to Mayport Florida, where we set down on site 13 at Osprey Cove RV Park on the Naval Station base, where we had rock star parking facing the protected harbor, that is home to the Navy’s Fourth Fleet.  While we were docked at the base we cruised along A1A south and found ourselves in St. Augustine. Having barely survived the squashed traffic on narrow streets, passing beautiful architecture of what was once an opulent gilded-age hotel is now home of Flagler College, we found ourselves at Mojo BBQ , sitting on their patio and enjoying the Old City’s sunshine we lunched on some very good bar-b-q from their own smokehouse. 

We circled the park where the Fountain of Youth is located. Of course, there is a fee to go in and get a sample of “the Fountain”, which is probably someone in the back room filling up bottles from a garden hose. We wound our way through narrower avenues being noisy of how and where the locals live and were finally able to access the Bridge of Lions, a draw bridge that spans the intercoastal waterway and connects to our goal, Anastasia Island. A barrier island, Anastasia is home to a 165’ lighthouse, which has only 210 steps to reach the light lamp. We stayed on terra firma, looked up and took pictures. Returning to our rig alongside the coastline, there were many homes affected by the recent hurricane and earth movers were seen on the beaches undertaking the task of restructuring the beach line.

Onward and southward we aimed for Fort Pierce, where we sat on site 130 at Treasure Coast that is conveniently located near I-95 and the Florida Turnpike. This is a wonderful park for big rigs; sites are concrete pads with lawn and trees and shrubs. While at FTP we visited with a school chum of Dave’s and her significant other. We had a wonderful time discovering nearby barrier islands and restaurants.

NBNC>SBNY 2016: Observations Heading Southbound

(not my photo)

Some truck drivers are bullies…following vehicles in the passing lane riding bumper to intimidate the poor lil’ old lady going seven miles over the speed limit, instead of eleven, in front of him. Our culture of speed has created a sense of entitlement to be furious and righteously nasty to someone who is driving slower than you want to go—even if that person is driving the speed limit, or a little above it. It’s maddening enough when private vehicle drivers are aggressive and dangerous, but we should have a zero tolerance policy for aggressive behavior by commercial drivers. And don’t get me going on trucker games blocking lanes for miles at a time.

But, alas, the citizen driver is anything but saintly. The greatest peeve is the turn signal: some drivers don’t even know that you are supposed to flick that little bar to show they are turning; or maybe it is the manufacturer’s fault, because there are a lot of cars whose indicator signals do not seem to function properly. Then, of course, are those drivers who assume that when they turn on blinker they have right of way to pull into your lane, even though you are currently in their line of sight and listening to their already blaring radio.

As travelers along the interstates we learned once again to always check your surroundings.  We stopped at the southern Virginia state line rest stop for the night.  Within three hours time we were approached by strangers; one, who we saw depart a very used, blackened window van, with Florida plates, knocked on the motor home door asking for money.  These Florida panhandlers were politely refused, since we had seen them approaching several vehicles and harassing a poor elderly man as he was trying to throw garbage away. Just as we were contacting security the van pulled out, assumedly to go onto the next rest stop.  Then, while Dave was securing the Jeep he was taken off guard by a man, with a confusing dialect, who asked Dave if he was the owner of a truck nearby. It was obvious to Dave that the man was attempting to gain access into the rig.  So, to those who read this blog, be a little more aware of surroundings than usual on interstates, whether you are in a big rig or a little volkswagon, because one can never be too safe.

So, on this first day of October we are beginning the second leg of our journey home.  Did you ever hear the ditty ‘black as the inside of your grandfather’s hat’?  A required fashion item  for men during the 1950s-60s; my grandfather had a grey fur felt Homburg with a center crown crease with a flat bowed grosgrain ribbon on the band…men’s stylish hats seems to be on the shelf with other antiquities such as women’s dress gloves and seamed stockings. Ah, and I regress. So, as a child do you remember putting your father’s or grandfather’s Homburg up to your face; perhaps you got a whiff of peppermint and cigar as well as Vitalis, but opening your eyes in the bowl of that hat was like turning off the stars is the skies… so dark, with nothing to focus on; that was what it was like getting on the road this morning after a not so good night’s sleep at the Virginia Welcome Center rest stop.  Thank goodness the moon was still out and there was no detrimental weather.

Allee (not my photo)

As the day brightened and temperatures began to rise we pass the familiar coastal plains we now call home. Long ago abandoned dirt roads, allees, are canopied with stands of hardwoods and pines.

Cotton field (not my photo)

Our corridor of travel gives us panoramas of errant yellow pine trees growing among  acres of low-to-the-ground shrubs holding fast to its cotton bolls waiting for harvest, stalks of grass with ripened milo that will be used to feed the cows and pigs during the winter as well as the soy beans growing along side.  Butterball-sponsored turkey hatcheries are scattered along the byroads.   

Family Cemetery (not my photo)

Along the rural stretches of state routes there are intimate family cemeteries sitting near the roadside; grave markers whisper softly of bygone eras, when mothers, fathers, children, aunts, uncles and cousins lived within walking distance of each homestead and worked the land and favored Sunday morning church together for generations.

Arriving at our driveway mid-day on this sunny Saturday afternoon we are hearing of warnings and preparation recommendations for the nearing Hurricane Matthew. In the meantime, we will be off and camping on November 1st with the RV Club and then will continue on our way to sunny FLA.

LIFE IS SHORT; ENJOY THE RIDE

NBNC>SBNY 2016: August through September

Remember those spiral wishing wells in the mall where you tossed in a coin? People love to watch coins spin around in circles as they descend into the vortex funnel.  

Well, that is how our last two months have happened….spinning and spinning until here we are the middle of September, with just fourteen days left until we level up and head back to New Bern.

Andy's new ride

As many of our friends know 95% of our time since May has been helping Dave’s parents transition to their new environment in a senior living center, where they receive round-the-clock care. In partnership with this we have been cleaning and preparing their home for winterization. But happily we have enjoyed several ‘mental health days’. 

Breakfast gathering with mimosas

Our core group of campers have helped make our weekends memorable again this year. We have munched and slurped our way through a pig roast, a hot dog roast and sundae Sunday, and Dave and I have hosted an omelet-in-the-bag breakfast accompanied with mimosas and an old-fashioned goulash dinner prepared wholly by Dave; and in the next two weekends a SU tailgate party and our annual Thanksgiving dinner, our final goodbye gathering to the camping season. 

Cousin Cheri and Dave

And mixed in with these busy days we have met with fellow Harbourites, Karen and Art Pethybridge and Don Albaugh and Marta Beman, as well as friends Bob Reid, the McCluskeys, and Dave’s cousin, Cheri, and my brother, Andy.  It has been wonderful to meet with everyone and give us a chance to share hugs, memories and fish tales.

Adirondacks in Fall - not my photo

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

We even took a side trip to Old Forge. There are amazing vistas of upstate New York; most spectacular is to journey into the Adirondacks. It does not matter if you barge right into the epicenter remoteness of this 6 million acre forest, with its lofty mountains and unspoiled waterways, or take your time and follow the more than 2,000 miles of beautiful hiking trails that lead you from the lush valleys to the steep cliffs; the Adirondacks are the essence of the breath of God. A mosaic of greens on summer bloomed birch, maple and aspen trees become a quilt of reds, gold, oranges, and browns in the Fall.  

Summer in Adirondacks - not my photo

We drove northbound on route 28 through small hamlets and crossroads of pastoral settings until we reached Old Forge, with a population of totaling 756 people and having 371 households. If you were 10 years old I’ll bet you could clean up pretty good on Halloween.  During the summer Old Forge is the western gateway into the Adirondacks, where a large water theme park draws children of all ages, and eclectic shops and boutiques draw the in vogue patron. We favored Montezuma Winery, whose Moose River labels we purchased after a pleasant tasting session.  It is another story come winter time.  Coldest of the cold describes Old Forge. Their school mascot is the Eskimo and for the state of New York they set the record for the lowest temperature in 1979 when it was -52.  This, of course, would be the worst time to test the "what happens if you stick your tongue to a frozen metal flagpole."

After we strolled the village streets we began our journey home following Gray Lake Road heading southeast out of Old Forge. Winding through the ancient timbers we found ourselves at the base of McCauley Mountain, where a ski resort welcomes those fearless at a 630-foot vertical drop, and their average base of 120+ inches of snow welcomes skiers for at least one hundred days during the winter.

Traveling back to camp the two-lane road rolled and crisscrossed pastoral lands skirting spruce-fir along small creeks, streams and ponds. Otter Lake, whose residents are largemouth bass, walleye, northern pike and yellow perch. Soon we are descended to the Tug Hill Plateau and the foothills begin to ease to the rural labyrinth of turn-of-the-century barns and homes.

Another occasion we visited The Wild Animal Park, just outside Chittenango. On these fourteen acres the owner displays his passionate desire to education and fosters an appreciation of the animals with the public about domestic and exotic animals.  Smaller animal exhibitors tend to offer inadequate space and confined in pens or cages.  And this park leaned toward this trend. 

Draken Harald Harfagre

In August Hokulea’s Polynesian canoe tied up bow-to-bow with the Draken Harald Harfagre, the world’s largest Viking tall ship, on the Erie Canal in Sylvan Beach. We watched as crew members from Hawaii and Norway exchanged gifts and photos taken of this encounter. 

The expedition crews are traveling the routes of their ancestors across the oceans, lakes and rivers of the world. The crew, live quite primitively; they prepare food in an open air kitchen and are sheltered on the deck with a tent.  Navigation is reliant on the stars, the winds and currents, and the guidance of their heritage. It was quite special to see these two worlds, so far apart, become one as friends on our shores.

And so with our time spiraling downward, we begin our final goodbyes and our closing of camp and filling the gas tank.  Thank you for joining us on the brief update….see you again soon….

 

LIFE IS SHORT: ENJOY THE RIDE