There is something irresistible about a motorcycle. Is it the shiny chrome gears showing off a pattern of circles, rounded lines, or is it the shape with the forward motion implying there is danger ahead. Or is it the color or the lack of color? The big bad-ass black and chrome monster snorting, simmering, waiting to be unleashed. Maybe it is all in your mind, the long haired cool guy with leather chaps choosing you to hop on behind. Or is it past memories of being on the back of a motor cycle, holding on and feeling like life could not be any better. Whatever it is, these machines are like the guys from Chippendales, they are lined up performing for you, showing off their gears and chrome like muscles, flashing their colors like pieces of clothes being thrown in your face, smelling of leather and beckoning to you to get up and dance with them right out to a new life. Here are my Chippendales:
What is it about Norwegians? They must have a gene passed on in their DNA where they can sniff out any hint of Norwegian heritage, no matter where they are. That’s right, we were sitting in a campground off the highway, staring at Devil’s Tavern, having breakfast, when I gave Shap the task of finding out what was around Sturgis. Designation was to a motorcycle rally going on over the week-end; yet I was hoping he would also find a few hiking areas in the Black Hills for us to explore. Nope, he found a Stave church right smack dab in the middle of a neighborhood in Rapid City. Off we went. More about that later.
I set the alarm for 6 AM so we could be on “Dawn Patrol” as it was called in Cuba. The worst part is getting out of bed, but a peek out the window of the van and I was up. The most brilliant sunrise was happening right over the canyon wall where we were parked. Grabbing cameras, we started shooting. The sun did not hit Devil’s Tower until about 7:00 and then it all happened. Shot after shot, Shap and I snapped pictures, as the sun rose. Morning illuminated the side of this monolith, while sweeping soft light spread out over the land surrounding it. A magnificent sight and well worth the early morning wake up.
Back at the van, I found Shap lounging in bed, I handed him a cup of coffee and went off to the showers. We ate breakfast at the restaurant where Jesus loves us, and hit the road shortly after. Pulling up to the entrance of Devil’s Tower, we experienced our first line to get into a National Park. Having spent the night practically on top of it, we decided to forgo the park and move on. Up close, Devil’s Tower is even more impressive with its striated walls reaching to the sky. A rock climber’s dream, I am sure.
Our next big adventure was in the town of Aladdin, population 15 (actually now 12). We discovered an old coal mine, took several pictures there, read about its history, collected Ponderous pinecones, then backtracked to the general store which proved to be an interesting collection of antiques and any kind of odds and ends you could think of. I met one of the sales people who grew up in Middlebury, Vt. She told me she made a pack with her husband, who would not go any farther east, she would only live in this area of Wyoming because it was green and there was a change of seasons. She missed the covered bridges and the seasons of Vermont.
Arriving in Rapid City we drove through a residential neighborhood to get to the Stave church. This was built on the home site of a devoted Lutheran for his Lutheran minister in the 1960’s. Built from plans of Stave churches in Norway, this small but exquisitely beautiful church with its bell tower, stone walls, and sculptures along the “Peace Path” graced the Ponderosa pines and manicured lawn with elegance. Carved outside, but plain inside, music filled the church bouncing off of the high ceilings and surrounding one with reverence. Sitting on the wooden austere benches it was easy to take a breath and meditate on the beauty of the structure.
Getting back in the van, Shap’s next suggestion was the antique car museum and I put my foot down. I did not want to pull into the camp site in the dark. It was the right decision because when we pulled into Suzy’s campground I took one look and we drove right through. Not only was it right off the highway, but it was basically a field with RV’s parked in the blazing sun right smack next to each other. KOA looked great for sure. So here we are in Spearfish in a KOA and happy. There is grass, trees, and not a cement parking area. There were no Harvest Host sites close by and after reading reviews of campsites near Sturgis, this looks like our best bet.
Deadwood, Sturgis, the whole area is like a Western idea of what it was in the 1800’s interspersed with Walmart, quick marts and the like. Heading for the hills tomorrow to walk in the National Park of the Black Hills and finding the Presidents. Oh yes, we will have a bit of a motorcycle photography thrill along the way.
Leaving Denver behind we headed out to Devil’s Tower; a 7 hour ride on back roads. We quickly got out into the open prairie land cruising along, absorbing the landscape before us. Straight road ahead, with fences, telephone poles, abandoned barns, cornfields, cattle and occasionally horses. Coal trains pulled by engines with fifty or more containers behind them,would rumble by, usually close to town. It brought back memories of sitting at the railroad crossing in Gettysburg waiting impatiently for the train to pass by. No matter that the train passed by the same station where Lincoln descended to give his famous address, this was not even a thought in my teenage mind. How many times the whistle would blow, the lights would flash, and we would dash across in my trusty ‘59 Fiat 1100, exhaling a sigh of relief not to have gotten stuck in the middle of the track.
I diverged from our road trip north. What was interesting was the diversity of the terrain. We would be driving along prairies, not a tree in sight, and suddenly a row of Cottonwoods would appear, snaking their way across the landscape following an old stream that must still provide water for them. Then the next minute they were gone. Where the Cottonwoods followed a curving path, the snow fences stood straight and proud along stretches of highway. Whizzing past us were side roads with cattle crossing grates and beautiful iron signs forged with the name of the ranch. Finally, in the distance I saw one of the signs with horses grazing nearby, so we pulled off the road and began to shoot pictures. What fun this turned out to be.
We crossed the cattle crossing to get closer to the horses and after a few snapshots, the horses decided to find out what we were doing. Out of the five horses, there was one grey one who was definitely the most curious. He started toward us while we were photographing them, came right up to me, blowing a snuffle into my face. Now I am not a lover of horses, but how could I resist the gentle breeze of his breath and the soft velvety feel of his nose. His other companions came toward us and investigated us, then turned back to eating grass. Meanwhile Mr. Grey continued to insist on being petted. If we stepped away to get a picture of them, his nose was at the end of my lens. We finally crossed back over the cattle crossing to take a few distant shots, Mr. Grey tried to follow, but stopped at the crossing,with a forlorn look he stood and stared at us. We said our good-byes and climbed back in the van.
Continuing on our trip we stopped to photograph windmills standing solitarily in the middle of acres of prairie, cattle grazing, farm equipment cutting and thrashing the corn, beautiful scenery, and one bad ass motorcycle guy.
I could not believe the beauty of the landscape here in this northern corner of Wyoming. It is hard to put into words what you experience as you drive along. There are so many quick impressions, like the dash of a watercolor paint brush adding a hint of deep color to a painting. One minute you are looking at brown prairie grasses, next adobe red rocks cutting knife-like crevices through the land. Farther along the road climbs, revealing hillsides dotted with pines, then just as quickly we are back onto flat highways with hills in the distance. Finally, Devil’s Tower growing dark in the last rays of sunset. Minutes go by, the sun slips to the edge of the landscape just as we pull into your campground to a sign assuring us, all is right with the world, because Jesus loves me and Trump is protecting me with the Second amendment. Too late to move on, I must remind myself to keep an open mind, do not judge, have faith we are all good people and we all care for the same thing. I hear in my mind the phrase of the song:” This land belongs to you and me.”
And how lucky are we to live in this incredible land, to experience all of its beauty. What a privilege I am being given to be able to see all of the sunsets and sunrises.
Arriving in Parker at our friend Andree’s house after a long drive from Arapahoe, Nebraska through a downpour, we picked up our other friend, Raina, at the Denver airport. She left Washington, DC, circled for an hour and a half over Denver, then diverted to Scott’s Bluff, Nebraska and sat on the runway for an hour, over three hours later than her original time. The advantage was, we were able to pick Raina up at the airport at the exact moment we pulled into arrival and she came out of the terminal.
Andree and Raina were friends we made in Cuba on our photography tour and are fabulous photographers. We have been getting together off and on since 2016 in different places. Last year we were to come here, but due to Covid, here we are this year.
Three filled days with the Cherry Creek Juried Art festival, a graffiti tour, tea at the Tajikistan tea house, dinner with friends, and meeting up with Derek, his family and Mike, and his family, both friends of McKee’s. Oh and for sure ice cream at Bonnie Brae Ice Cream stand.
The highlight of the trip besides spending time with our friends was the graffiti tour. This area of Denver is called Rino and it has pink Rinos all over the place. We met our tour guide, Nick, at what seemed like a random street. He quickly explained his did this tour on week-ends and summers but taught high school on a regular basis. He began by saying we were free to take pictures, catch up if we fell behind, and since he taught high school he would understand if we did not pay attention or asked stupid questions. This was perfect for someone with an attention deficiency like me.
I think I will let my pictures speak for themselves, although I cannot help to add my first impressions. For someone like me who adores color and is called a colorist, this place was like a candy store. Large painted faces, scary skeletons, humorous characters, words that I could not understand and words I could. Some of the graffiti is permanent and others get painted over every year. This was called the Crush Festival, a juried show every year until this year. Here is what is said about the festive:
For over a decade, CRUSH Walls, the largest annual street art and mural festival in Colorado, has colored the walls of the RiNo Art District. It’s provided opportunities for both local and international street artists, often giving up-and-coming artists the exposure that helped jumpstart their careers. It’s helped turn the art district into a tourist destination, attracting visitors from Denver and beyond to check out the murals left behind long after the festival ends.
Another fact which I found disturbing, women have a hard time breaking into the graffiti world and are poorly represented. Because woman had a hard time getting accepted to this festival they started another one in another area of Denver. Another fact we learned about graffiti artists is:
“Street art, like traditional art forms, is automatically protected by copyright law. Even when street art is created with the purpose of being readily reproduced, intellectual property law does not treat it differently from other art forms.”
My question to Nick was; if you take pictures where is the boundary for reproduction by others. Apparently, you have to tag the artist and can use it as long as you are not making money off of it. So, to the pictures:
After a second day of exploring the Vesterheim museum where we looked for the chest Shap’s mother donated, (instead of the check I mentioned in my last blog), we got up on Thursday morning and headed toward our destination Araphahoe, Nebraska toward Denver for the 3rd. Our plan was to stay on Route 6, taking Route 80 only if we needed to make up time. We left Wildberry Vineyard after filling up with water, and talking to the owner for several minutes. She apologized for not spending more time with us, as the grapes were in need of harvesting and help was scarce. There was no need, as everyone working at the vineyard was so friendly. I would put this down as a 4-star rating.
Miles of cornfields, windmills, grain bins, railroad crossing, small town America and the occasional train, pulling mile long containers to places unknown, marked our progress on this marathon eight-hour drive. We rated the farmers for creativity by how they planted their fields. The most artistic being the undulating cornfields.
What is it about hours on a straight road that allows your attention to wander to the landscape, to remanence of your life gone by, opportunities you could have taken, paths you are glad you didn’t, old friends and lovers, but most of all, your family you hold so dear Time is always fleeting. How did I get to the last quarter of my life so fast?
I set up dates with McKee’s friends from high school and college, to meet in Denver, and give them hugs. Shap says, I have always been the mother hen. I think is it my privilege to know they want to see me, and for me to have them in my life. My Dad always said to make friends with young people, it will keep you young. I think of him sitting on the stairs in our house after our wedding with his arm around Steve, McKee’s buddy, hugging him and saying what a great guy Steve was. But even better was to see Steve beaming and giving hugs back, not something Steve did often. Dad brought the best and worst out of people. He could be tough, but he always loved being with my friends and his grandkids friends. And here I am following in his footsteps, meeting “my kids” as I call them and making friends with Matilda and Tallulah’s friends, wishing that life would continue so I could be with them always.
Today Sept 3rd, we are sitting in our fly ridden van next to a barn, fields of corn and alpacas.We drove in the dark at 10 pm. down a long country road following our Google maps, (thank God for them) and wondering how we would have found this place otherwise. Suddenly on the side of the road was movement and a large (I think) Bard owl landed in front of our headlights. He turned his head staring directly at us, as if to say we were intruding on his road, and then flew with his great wing span into the cornfields for a night of hunting. A moment in time, a chance in a million, a glimpse into nightlife, so precious, so spiritual, a message from the universe. “You are here, at this time, in this place, this is a gift given only to the two of you, take it and carry it in your heart.” For all the hate that is happening in this world, for all the rights being taken away from women, for all the racial injustice, for all the immigrants fleeing for their lives, we here in the middle of Nebraska sat on a country road and were handed a gift, a chance visit to remind us, we need to sit back and observe and then act with love and compassion. The owl sits on the road in our headlights, trusting that we will not hurt him. And we would not. But what about others? There are too many who would. Can they step back and observe?
Now this morning the Alpacas roam the Nebraska fields, the corn sways in the breeze, the sun is rising, painting the tops of the corn with a golden light and I am grateful for this day, for my husband who is a willing and loving partner and to be in a country free where there is water, shelter, and a safe place to sleep, or at least for most of us.
What are we doing in a place like Decorah, you might ask. Here is the home of the Vesterheim Museum, The National Norwegian-American Museum and Heritage Center. Shap’s mother donated a 14th century tapestry of the Great Holy Kings coming from Saba” and a carved wooden chest and we were here to find out where it was.
Waking up in a winery is interesting or at least this one. Basically we were in someone’s backyard next to an old barn, a house and a building where there were tours, and tastings. Since the winery did not open until 11 we took our time having breakfast and coffee, checking up on our mail and relaxing. This is exactly what I wanted, a field, a lovely setting, quiet (except for the garbage truck at 4:30 AM), birds singing, rabbits hopping around, flower gardens, and no one around. Harvest Host I love you.
Wanting to get out and take pictures I left the van and strolled over to the winery building where upon I noticed it was open. Stepping in I found a large room with wines settling in wine kegs, every available wine gee gog imaginable and a friendly woman behind a counter full of fresh pies. I found out there are 20 acres of vineyards and almost equal amount of rhubarb. What anyone wants to do with that much rhubarb I could not tell you except many of the wine descriptions included rhubarb as an ingredient. So guess that is what you do with 20 acres of rhubarb. I checked in and found our incredible grassy site costs us the grand total of $7 a night plus $3 for a water fill up. What? $24 dollars for three nights in a vineyard, are you kidding? Highway robbery ! I could not believe I had endured two nights of sleeping in basically a parking lot surrounded by Class A RV for $80+ a night when I could have all of this and I was charged so little I could felt guilty. We will be stocking up on wine to give away on our trip.
Meanwhile, out to the Vineyards for pictures… Except we had to do it:
Of course we had to do it.
The grapes were ripe and hanging off the vines. I am still getting used to my new camera so frustration runs high. And then I thought, why am I rushing, I have two days here so I could take my time and play with the camera. The results were good;my macro lens was so good I found a knock off lady bug known as the Asian beetle and some very juicy grapes.
Gathering our things together we drove into Decorah, a wide Main Street with a Norwegian vibe. Ducking in from the rain to buy an umbrella at the local drugstore, what else would we find, but several Norwegian children’s books from Shap’s past. Perfect to buy for the grandgirls. Farther down the street a knitting store with plenty of Norwegian patterned knitting books and volumes of yarn, definitely better than a candy store for me.
Then to the Vesterheim Museum, where waving Norsk flags hung from street poles showing us the way. Stepping into the museum you knew instantly that this was a great museum that showcased the history of the Norwegians immigration to America. But even more interesting to me, was the history of the folk art with modern day replicas of the artifacts brought from Norway.
We happened to time our visit right at the start of a tour of the buildings outside the museum depicting houses brought from Norway or built in the same design. Storehouses, an old mill, a school and a Lutheran church were all brought to the site. Our guide, a very attractive lady in her seventies obviously of Norwegian descent, toured us around giving us an amazing history of the various people who settled the area and their homes. Many of the artifacts were donated by Norwegians over the years and are displayed in the various houses. After almost two hours we figured we should head for the inside as the museum closes at 4 and it was now 3:00. Needless to say we did not finish it and are headed back tomorrow.
But where is the tapestry and the check that Sylvea Bull Curtis donated? Not on display but in the archives. Too bad as they are beautiful examples but it is good to know they are catalogued and being safely stored.
However, look who we found in the stairwell? Ah yes, who else but Ole Bull.
Meanwhile back in the vineyard watching the sun set, the grasses glowing and our van settled in for the night I leave you with some of the lingering day slowly turning to dusk.
Route 6 from Sundusky to Decorah, Iowa is one straight highway with long stretches in between small four way road stops. If one was running out of gas this is not the road you will find gas stations easily. We left Sandusky behind with our destination Decorah, Iowa 10 hours away. Cruising along we passed planted cornfields touched by an artists hand, curving in gracious waves, accented by a strip of green field in between. A river of corn, undulating over rolling hills with only the clouds and sky for backdrop. While on the other side of the road the soybean crops with their stubby stocks and dark green leaves quietly waved to us asking us to notice their beauty. While the corn marched steadily across the landscape in military regiment rows according to the artists design, the soybeans touched one another, creating a blanket of green on the fields and occasionally adding depth to a farmhouse yard.
Irrigation machines stood like foreign predators on top of the crops bringing water to nourish them. The grain silos stood tall in the distance with their metal tubes connecting like spider legs to a tiny body pregnant with the mixtures of grain, releasing them like a giant breath to the mother silo. And this scene goes on and on for mile after mile while we sit and drink in the vastness of our country.
Soon it is time to get on the great American highways to make some time, bypass Chicago and head westward. Here is America on the go with enormous trucks squeezing you. leaning dangerously toward you, then spitting you out as they leave you behind. Blocking out the sound, we chose “The Great Railroad Bazaar” by PaulTheroux and reminisced of our train rides through Russia, Peru and our travels through India. After a long while, we found Route 20 and again found the quiet of a country road and the beauty of the sunset as we road through Illinois, Wisconsin and finally Iowa.
Darkness and the voice of Paul Theroux propelled us onward to Decorah and our new camping experience found on Harvest Hosts. We called ahead to Winneshiek Wildberry Winery to make sure we could arrive late at night. A pleasant woman told us to come ahead and park on the right. Did I not say that I wanted to find the places I imagined ? We did. Arriving in the dark, with no idea exactly where we were, we pulled into a farmyard, that even in the dark we could tell there were no grapevines. Pulling out quickly (as if a large red van could be discreet),we put the address into my phone again and discovered it was next door. As we drove in the drive, the vineyards were illuminated in our headlights along with several barns and houses and an electrical box. We quickly plugged in, set up the bed and went to sleep, both of us road weary.
What to say about Sandusky, Ohio and why did I pick it? For one it was on one of the Great Lakes and was within a reasonable mid point between Canandaigua and Decorah, Iowa. When reading about it, it read like a quaint seaside town with a Maritime museum, and its main draw Lake Erie. What I can now say, is don’t bother, there must be other towns along Lake Erie or one of the other finger lakes to recommend.
Besides it being extremely hot and humid my image of a lakeside campground was completely shattered. Yes, this KOA is lake side over a berm, and if you stand on your tiptoes you can see it from the campground. But here is my assessment of the campgrounds so far. I need to get out of the KOA convenience and search for more interesting places to stay. Where is my comfy little plot of grass under a big tree parked by a river or a lake or a mountain side? i need to search better. I have about 5 apps on my phone but they all produce the same places. And reading the reviews does not seem to help because I have to take in to consideration who is writing them. I can see this is going to take sometime to get it right.
At the moment, I am sitting under a screened tent with a camp light in what might as well be a parking lot with a paved area next to a picnic bench surrounded by enormous Class A motorhomes complete with grills, golf carts, plant, TV’s outside, and any number of necessities they could not leave home. Not to be critical, ok I am going to be critical and snobby and every other bad judgemental thought I could have and say, right out, this is the essence of a bad dream. That being said, I am judging this from campsites I have enjoyed in the past before America turned into a traveling circus of RV’s. Where is my campsite in the Blue Ridge Mountains where we played music and danced in the shadow of the moon. Where is that campsite in Chaco Canyon where you could reach out and touch the stars or the campsite where we watched the heat lightening make natural fireworks in the desert? It must be out there and so tomorrow I will begin by “turning the page” and chasing it. No more conveniences such as wifi or phone or electricity or water. We don’t need it and I don’t want it. I want to hear the birds at 5 AM and the geese flying to their beds at night.
Highlights of Sandusky is the Maritime Museum and the Marblehead Lighthouse. By the way it is way prettier than the lighthouse in Marblehead, MA. The history of fishing, and in the winter, collecting ice was fascinating. Did you know Lake Erie provided ice for Cuba?. Did you also know that stored ice could last for 3 years in the ice sheds? Coal was brought by train to Sandusky to be shipped worldwide. The different ships and the battles fought were highlighted in the museum, but even more interesting for me was the underground railroad. and how they transported people to Canada. I did not take many pictures of Sandusky as I thought I might go out and shoot some night shots of the roller coasters, but I am too comfortable to fire up the van. Here are some of the Marblehead Lighthouse and one of my experiments in taking multiple pictures.
Oh, we can’t forget the Tofts ice cream factory where when they say large they don’t mean large, they mean LARGE. What teenage boy could resist a large mint chocolate chip?
Tomorrow we hop on over to Decorah, IW following byways. We will start my goal of finding campgrounds in the wild. In case you are wondering why Decorah, why else, it has a Norwegian-American museum where somewhere lies a 14th century tapestry given to the museum by Shap’s mother, a part of Ole Bull’s collection.
Canandaigua, NY is everything the guide books say it is. The town is quaint, and historic. The Main Street, although interrupted by a four lane highway boasts long green lawns reaching out from the most elegant homes set back with front porches reminiscent of time gone by where front porches were key in the architecture of the time. One can imagine the family sitting there in the summer evening as neighbors stroll by. The street to the Sonneberg gardens, although not as broad, continues the same architecture, with turrets, upstairs porches, and a particular house with a clock placed in the center of a turret above the portico to the house. I can only imagine a young girl sneaking into the house past a curfew. But this is a story in my imagination because what young girl would be out without a chaperone in those days.
This street leads to the Sonneberg Gardens and Estate. We stopped there on our way out of town and I am glad we did not miss this opportunity. The estate was the summer home of Ferris and Mary Thompson. It was purchased in 1863 and the farmhouse was replaced with a Queen Anne Style brick home in 1865 completed in 1867. Just a modest little 44 room cottage.
The specimen of trees and the flower gardens are interspersed with statuary which for my taste does nothing for me. But this period in history many sculptures were coming from Europe and it was in vogue to place these statues throughout the gardens. Imagine running into this scary fellow when meeting you lover in the garden at night.
I started with the beginning of day three instead of day two. but then my life has always been willy nilly. Our first morning in Canandaigua, which I will neither learn to say or spell correctly, we headed for downtown which was far from impressive with closed stores, and buildings that looked abandoned. Definitely a contrast to the beautiful homes we had just passed. We ate breakfast in a restaurant that looked mostly closed, with an imposing brick building of the most horrendous style. However, the waitresses were friendly and we were in and out quickly.
The waterfront on Lake Canandaigua seems to have bloomed algae so all of the beaches were closed. There were an array of boats and some kayak but generally there was little activity. This area redeemed the downtown with a beautiful walkway around the park. Wanting to see what the area was all about we drove out into the country side following the lake in some areas and losing it in others. The rolling hills of corn and soybeans between newly cut hayfields proved to be a treasure trove of photographic opportunities. Sheep grazing in the meadow, miles and miles of fields, beautiful old barns and farmhouses. A day of sightseeing turned into a day of photography.
We left for Sandusky, Ohio choosing to follow Route 20 along country roads and through some quaint towns and others not so much. The highlight for Shap was stopping for lunch at Tom Wahl’s a true hamburger joint with root beer in iced mugs and bacon and cheese to top off the burger.
,So we are now in Sandusky where there seem to be quite a few waterparks and roller coasters. This area does not look as nice as I thought it would, but tomorrow is another day and another surprise I am sure is in store. We finally got on Route 90 to get here at a reasonable hour and listened to “Greenlight” by Matthew McConaughey, also read by him. He reads well, and kept our attention. One thing I took away from the book was his phrase: “Turn the Page.” When you don’t like it , when things aren’t going well, “turn the page.” A philosophy I learned from a friend ages ago, only she told me, nothing material is that precious so if you lose it, let it go. Well, I finally let go of finding my contacts and last night where do you think I discovered them? In the frying pan tucked in a corner of a shelf. Logical don;t you think? Where else would you find a bag of contacts. Turn the page… more tomorrow.
August 26, 2021: Day One: What is it about starting out on a trip and feeling like you don’t really want to go, it would be so much easier to stay home in your everyday routine? Is it trying to remember everything, is it all the last minute work issues, is it a lack of control of the situation, or is it just you are stepping out into the great beyond.
Starting out today, had the usual bumps in the road. Somewhere along the line I lost my contact bag which I swear is in the van, but have no idea where. Had to stop at the eye doctor and pick up some contacts. “Oh no, you can only have one trial pair and it will take two weeks to get the contacts.” Himm, first bump in the road as the only definite place we will be until we get to Bainbridge Island is Denver. Can I have them Express mailed? I was told under no uncertain terms the contacts will not be in Denver by Sept. 6th. Should we bet on it? I sent them to Bainbridge, so of course they will be there by Sept 3rd which means they could and would be in Denver by that time. Oh well, back in the van.
We went north, to go south, by taking the scenic route through the Champlain Islands to Rouse’s Point. The bridge over to NY is pretty impressive, but once you get there you feel like you have stepped back in time. The towns have dilapidated buildings in all forms of restaurants, store fronts, houses, farms and barns. What still stands towering over the towns are churches. Churches in brick or stone, with turrets and steeples.
Riding down Route 11 toward Malone are acres of cornfields and small farms. As I went by one farm, an Amish man stopped hammering the wood on a shed and waved. I waved back and thought of that small moment of connection. Shortly after that, a woman in a black bonnet driving a horse and carriage passed by on the other side of the road. Flashbacks of my childhood in Gettysburg, sitting looking out the window of my grade school classroom and watching the Amish coming into town with their horse and carriages. A site very familiar to me then, yet this afternoon it seemed strange. I did not know there were Amish farms in this area of New York. Later we passed a farmstand with women in bonnets and baskets talking casually together in the heat of the summer day. I drift into the recesses of my memories, my mother and I buying cantaloupe, peaches, tomatoes, and sticky buns from the Amish and Mennonites farm stands. A time in the 1950’s when we bought all our summer produce from the farms, brought it home and prepared it to freeze waiting to be eaten on a cold winter’s night. The kitchen table spread with newspaper, my entire family seated around it shucking corn, cutting off the kernels into a bowl, and finally the absolute favorite of all, the gleamings. My father would take a fork and scrape the cobs so the inner kernels and their juices would fall into a separate bowl. This was the sweetest part of the corn and only produced a small amount. We could hardly wait to eat it, but we had to wait for winter.
We continued down the road listening to a story on Audible, while enjoying the flat countryside of corn and hay fields and horse ranches. We passed an old A&W, now painted bright pink with a miniature replica of a 59 Chevy for a sign. Cars lined up waiting to eat, I half expected a waitress to arrive on roller skates in a poodle skirt.
Suddenly we are surrounded by miles of wind turbines, slowing turning their gigantic blades over the landscape as if they were a priest giving a blessing. White giants, I felt as if at any moment, they could start to march, trampling everything in its path. Meanwhile life continued below under their command. Do any birds live nearby?
We are now in Canadaque, NY in a KOA campground, listening to the sounds of middle America, our only definite reservation. This is an interesting experience sitting here in the dark, typing, and listening to the conversations of others. I look forward to finding quiet out of the way places to camp, but for now this is fine. We are here, at the beginning of my dream, and our adventure.
Go wild with the Smith's 