Homeward Bound

After a beautiful day yesterday, the view out our window was of low clouds and heavy overcast. Still, the scene was colorful.

We elected to get breakfast on the road. The first place we came to didn’t seem to have much parking, so we passed it up. It turns out that we didn’t see another restaurant for many miles = a late breakfast.

The road took us past (but not up) Mt. Washington. In the higher elevation, the woods were spectacular, even in the overcast. We crossed New Hampshire twice, both times at places where it is narrow. So we soon got into Vermont. We had a number of stops to make in Vermont. First was Goddard, the school where Jean’s daughter took her masters. It is a non-residential college, plus it was Columbus Day weekend so the campus was deserted. We walked around a little and took some pictures.

Then we followed the back roads to Bragg Farm. This is a sugar farm where we normally spend a night in the Harvest Hosts program. We also pick up our year’s supply of maple syrup. We were not staying overnight this year, but we still went in and shopped. They were doing a good business on the weekend.

Next stop was Montpelier, the capital. Once again, we followed what has become a tradition and had lunch at the Skinny Pancake, a popular crepe restaurant. Then we walked around a little, and visited an interesting record store. While perusing the CDs, we spotted a man on his hands and knees on the floor. He was sorting through a low shelf of old vinyls. He was obviously a collector. He eventually picked several, one of which he said only had two tracks he was interested in.

By then it was time to head into Burlington and Gene’s son Alan’s house. We started out on Route 2, the road we had been on all day. After a while it got very rough, and we gave up and went the rest of the way on the interstate.

Next day, Monday, Jean and Valerie went shopping, and I got a prescription filled. For some reason, my insurance wouldn’t cover it. It was for a 90-day quantity and they said I had another month to go, even though the bottle had fewer than seven pills in it. It was a generic, and the pharmacist found a way for me to get it filled for $10. My handy son fixed a drawer in the motorhome that had started to come apart. The day was very relaxed (for us; Alan and Valerie are workaholics).

Tuesday was more relaxing all around. The four of us drove to Waterbury for lunch, and then on to Stowe. We went to the Von Trappe farm in the mountains. This is in a beautiful location. It mostly caters to the tourist trade, but they do raise some cattle and sheep.

We left on Wednesday after a great breakfast by Alan, enjoyed on the deck. The Lois McClure, which I usually visit, was not in Burlington. Alan said that they moved her to the Lake Champlain Maritime Museum for the winter, so on the way south we stopped there. I didn’t get to see the ship but I did talk with her former boatswain. I was interested in his reaction to a book I am thinking of publishing on basic rope work for historic reproductions. He was enthusiastic, which made me feel good and optimistic.

We stopped for lunch in Fair Haven. We went to a nice café where we had eaten before, but got there just after closing. We had salads in a pizza place instead. Downtown Fair Haven is a typical New England small town. There are interesting buildings,

And a village green.

We made it into New York, where we stayed in a campground which had TV. We mostly saw news about Hurricane Michael. This trip seems to be book-ended by hurricanes. Next day was overcast, with occasional rain and fog. It seems to be an every-other-day phenomenon. The drive was pleasant, though.

We made it into Pennsylvania, and found a campground a bit off US-11, which we were now following. We plugged the address into the GPS, which led us on a merry chase across miles of dirt (gravel?) roads in the misty rain. After more turns than I would be able to remember, we arrived, covered in mud, at a campground in the hills.

 Next morning, I asked the campground manager if there was another way back to US-11. She told me a way that was shorter, with fewer turns, and almost all on pavement. She said the GPSs always sent people the long, difficult way there.

South of Scranton, US-11 veers away from I-81 and follows the Susquehanna River. We often got views of the wide river, but nowhere where we could get a picture. We enjoyed the wide valley views. In places where the road runs close to the bluff we saw frequent springs running down the hillside. The road is smooth and wide for the most part.

Most of the towns are small, but there were a couple big enough to lose the route in. All you have to do is miss one turn sign (assuming there actually is one) and you are lost. In one town I stopped at a gas station to ask for directions to Route 11 and the man at the counter didn’t know what I was talking about. Gas stations and convenience stores often hire people who are not from the area and don’t know the town. There was a customer there playing the electronic slots, who was able to give me directions that put us back on the right road. In the second town we were able to find our own way back.

Our last night in Pennsylvania, we were not able to find a convenient campground, so we spent another night at a Walmart, along with three other RVs.  Since we needed to run the generator, we parked some distance away from them so as not to disturb them with the noise. The generator runs on propane, and we were getting low, but we made it through the night okay.

Next morning I was able to squeeze myself into a crowded U-Haul dealership without hitting anything (or being hit, I stuck out onto the road a little) and topped up the propane tank. Then I went to a nearby gas station and topped up with diesel. As it turned out, the propane cost about a dollar more than the diesel --- but we don’t use as much of it.

We picked up I-81 near Harrisburg and followed it into Maryland. We made a short run back on US-11, but we were doing well so we decided to go the rest of the way home. We got back on 81 and other than a brief glitch changing to I-64, we made good progress. Traffic wasn’t bad for an interstate. It was a long day, 349 miles (long for us) but we made it back to Forest in time to meet Jean’s brother, Chillie, for dinner at 6:00. Thus ended our New England adventure, after 23 days and 2,584 miles. Some problems but mostly a good trip.

Maine

After wandering around in Massachusetts getting lost and found again, we finally got on the way on US-1. We went through a corner of New Hampshire and then we were finally in Maine. Much of the coast has extensive salt marshes.

Our first stop was the town of Wells. We found a nice campground near the water, we could even see marsh and ocean through the trees of our site. We went into town in search of breakfast, the post office, and a Wells Fargo bank, in that order.

Breakfast was delicious, in a place that serves several kinds of Eggs Benedict. The waitress told us how to get to the post office, but was stumped about a Wells Fargo bank. One of the other customers said that Wells Fargo was their bank. Good, where is it? In Florida — they were also visitors. We eventually found out that there are no Wells Fargo banks in the whole state of Maine.

After looking around Wells for a while, we drove down the road past our campground, expecting it to lead us to the beach. It led us to a marina. Across the water we could see a long row of houses, which was obviously where the beach was. We went back to the highway and looked for a road that might lead us to those houses. Lo and behold, there was a sign with an arrow that said “Wells Beach.” Much more accommodating than Massachusetts.

There was a parking area right at the water but it had a sign “No RVs” Not that this would normally deter us, but there also seemed to be no space. We followed the sign that pointed toward RV and bus parking. The road led between typical wall-to-wall beach houses. Every block or so there was a public walk to the beach. It looked good. There was lots of room at the parking lot at the end, including a place to pay for parking. There was also a contingent of the Wells Fire Department there, testing and repacking their hoses.

We took the first marked beach walk and discovered that it led through a large marsh. We elected to skip that. We went back and sat on a bench facing the marina on the other side of the parking lot and watched the birds and a little bit of action on the piers.

After a while, we decided to head back. As we passed one of the earlier beach walks we could see that it led straight to the beach. We found a place to park and walked down there. The beach here is very long and was almost deserted (as were most of the houses). The beaches so far have been very flat, with waves breaking a ways out. We walked along the edge of the water and found a few shells. Then back to the campground after a reasonably successful day.

The next day, Friday, we went back to the same café for breakfast. Gene had to try the Red Neck Bennie. That is an Eggs Benedict using a biscuit instead of English muffin, a sausage patty instead of ham, and sausage gravy instead of béarnaise sauce. About the only thing left of the original was the egg. (That is also pretty much the same situation in restoring an old wooden boat, which we saw a bit of.) It was good, but no improvement on the original.

Our next stop up the coast was Freeport, so we had to go into the LL Bean store. It is, I believe, the only store the company has; everything else is sold from the catalog. The store is huge. The campus takes up a whole block and the main store is two floors and a mezzanine. It was full of people — they do a big business. However, not much from us. The prices are very high. Even the sale prices were out of our league. It was an interesting exercise, though. (And I do mean exercise, we must have walked a couple of miles.)

We stopped at the Bath Visitor Center and got some information, then went on to Wiscasset to a campground. In the evening Gene went to lower one of the rear blinds and it came down extremely crooked. He spent more than an hour of frustrating work getting it straightened out again. The cloth got torn, and it probably needs replacing when we get home. Meanwhile it is down and straight and will stay that way.

Friday we went back to Bath to visit the Maritime Museum. This was highly recommended by friend Whitt in Mystic. Bath has been a center of boat building since the 19^th century. The museum consists of several buildings around one of the old shipyards. On the grounds is the Wyoming monument. The Wyoming is the largest wooden vessel ever built in the United States. She was a six-masted schooner, over 460 feet sparred length (end of the bowsprit to end of the boomkin at the stern). The sculpture, which is full-size, consists of six flagpoles between an open frame outline of the bow and a similar outline of the stern.

There is also a restored schooner (much smaller) at the pier which we went aboard. We spent a lot of time in the main building, which had displays and models of everything maritime.

After we tired ourselves out in the museum, we went to a recommended local café for a delicious lunch. Then back on the road north and east. Wiscasset is a pretty little town, which has one stop light. For some reason that stop light backed up traffic well beyond the township limit, at least five miles. We had to have spent at least an hour crawling through the countryside before we even go into town.

We started running into trouble finding campgrounds. The last two we were in were scheduled to close down for the season after the weekend. We ended up staying in a Walmart in Thomaston. That would normally not be a problem, but when we tried to turn on the gas furnace, it wouldn’t come on. Sometimes the outside vents for the furnace attract wasps who build their nests in them. I have a screen over the vents to prevent that but you never know. I went inside and bought some cans of compressed air, and blew the vents out. Nothing came out of the vents and it didn’t make any difference. Nights are cold here now. We have a small electric heater that we used in previous nights when we were plugged in to shore power. That is not possible in a Walmart parking lot. We were well out of the way, near the back of the building on the garden end. Luckily, the generator worked; so we could use the little heater. It only meant sleeping all night with the generator running right under the bed. As it turned out, that didn’t bother as much as we feared.

However, that put a big crimp in our plans. We don’t know if the problem is in the furnace (probably a major repair) or in the thermostat that controls it (relatively easy fix). But it was now Friday night of Columbus Day weekend, and nothing much will get done. It also means that we will have to have hookups every night or live with the generator every night. With the fact that campgrounds seem to shut down for the season after Columbus Day, the prospects didn’t look too bright. Gene felt that this has been a bad luck trip anyway: our start was delayed by Hurricane Florence, then the fuel hose came off, then the vent fan stopped working (when the nights were still hot), the blind tried to destroy itself, and finally the furnace refused to work once it got cold. He was ready to throw in the towel and head back home — via his son’s house in Vermont.

So Saturday morning, we turned off US-1 and set our course for Vermont. As the day went on and we started getting into higher elevations, the colorful trees became brighter and more colorful. We drove hour after hour through peaceful countryside, with occasional small towns, and more bright trees. In many ways it was the best part of the trip so far.

View through the windshield

At the end of the day we parked in a campground just over the line into New Hampshire. Our Maine leg was over but it left us wanting to come back for more.

Massachusetts to Maine

After Mystic, we got on US-1, heading east. The first place we came to was Waverly, RI. Winding around the crowded streets, we missed where US-1 turned (of course) and soon found ourselves driving out a long peninsula. As we went farther out, the houses got bigger and fancier. We finally spotted a huge, yellow building that was either a fancy hotel or an oddly-shaped apartment house. At that point, we turned around and went back to town looking for our road.

We finally got back on track, and proceeded to Massachusetts. We wanted to see Cape Cod, and managed to get a reservation at a campground at Sippewisset, sort of on the armpit of Cape Cod. That is not a comment on the area. It is pretty country, with interesting architecture and colorful houses. The roads where we were are narrow, and the small towns crowded. I guess that is what is meant by “quaint.” The campground was crowded, and it was difficult backing into our space; but once settled in we close the blinds and enjoy our little house.

Next day, Saturday, we drove in to Falmouth. They have a Tourist Information office there, but it is closed on weekends. Who closes a Tourist Information center when most of the tourists are there?

       From there we drove down to Woods Hole, almost by accident. The streets there were narrower and more crowded, so we immediately left again. Jean was most interested in finding a beach, so we headed east. We shifted our route to the northern side of the “arm” because she saw a beach on the map there.

New England has many quaint churches, but on the Cape we spotted an Anglican church that stood out.

 Cape Cod has many beaches, but you have to know where they are; there are no signs for them on the highway. We thought we might be in the right place, so we turned off the main road. There were a couple of men talking beside the road, so we stopped and asked them. They informed us that we had missed the beach we were looking for by a couple of miles, but there was a much better beach down at the end of the road.

We drove to the end and, sure enough, there was a nice, long beach with plenty of parking. We spent some time on the beach, collecting shells, and enjoying a beautiful fall day.

After Jean had her beach fix, we drove back to the campground, making the usual number of wrong turns in this unfamiliar territory.

Sunday we headed off the Cape.

Cape Cod Canal

It was time to do laundry, so we found a reasonable campground with a laundromat. We checked in and the girl gave us a map with the road to our site. The road was very rough, rocky, and partly washed out in places. This campground, like the last one, was on a hillside, and being New England there were lots of rocks. When we got to our site, we looked for the number, 36. Instead, we were at site 112. I got out and looked around and could make no sense of the situation. The map seemed to have little to do with the area. I finally flagged down one of the other campers and eventually determined that I was at the wrong end of the campground. I had entered the area in the usual way, driving past the office. Instead, I should have gone in the opposite direction, away from the office --- most unusual. When we finally found our site (on a better road) it was a little tricky backing in, but very nice once we were settled in. On the good side, there was a short path down the hill from the back of the site to the laundry. It had new machines, and they were free!

The washer had clothes in it, but after a little while, the person who they belonged to showed up, and we negotiated who would use the machine and in what order (we both had a couple of loads). She turned out to be an interesting woman, with a cute three-year old in tow, so it proved to be an interesting afternoon.

Monday dawned overcast, which eventually turned to fine rain. We took I-95 around Boston (not bad traffic). We decided to check out Salem. We probably picked the wrong way in. The streets were narrow and rough with lots of traffic. Interesting houses, though. About the time we would think about giving up, we’d see another sign that said Information Center ahead. This went on for quite a while. When we finally got to the Information Center, the only place we were able to park was a meter with a fifteen-minute limit. After talking with a ranger, we headed toward where we thought he said there would be more parking, but got confused in the old streets. We finally stopped for lunch at a Cafe99, and took to the phone to find a place to stay. We had had more than enough of Salem.

We scored a site on Cape Ann, with a nearby beach. This campground was also hilly (we are in New England, after all) but it was much easier to maneuver. Jean loved the flower garden in the front and wished she could ship it home.

We drove to Wingearsheek beach next morning. We were almost the only ones there on a cold, foggy Tuesday. The beach is very flat, with a fine, grey sand. There is a lighthouse across the inlet. I took some lighthouse pictures while Jean scored some shells on the beach.

It took us a while to find our way off Cape Ann. The maps we have can be very confusing. We finally found a Walmart on the GPS and set it as a destination. This got us back on the main road. We didn’t actually go to the Walmart. On the way (and when we knew where we were) We stopped for lunch. Then we continued up US-1.

We went through a corner of New Hampshire, and finally got into Maine. We got a campground in Wells. It is a pleasant campground next to a marsh. It is even mostly flat with level sites. The day was cold and rainy, rather dreary for travel. But with clam chowder for lunch, hot chocolate with rum when we settled in, and home-made chili for supper we considered the day a success.

New England 2018

We took our winter trip in the spring in order to attend Jean’s granddaughter’s wedding. We are taking our summer trip in the fall, because Gene’s son preferred that we visit in September this year. So it has been a year of traveling on the shoulder of the season. We may decide we like it that way; it should be easier to get spots in campgrounds.

The reproduction Viking ship, Draken, was scheduled to be in Norfolk on September 13-15, so we decided to start our trip by seeing her. Then Hurricane Florence showed up. So we had to postpone that plan. We seem to keep running into hurricanes.

A week later, things seem clear enough, so we were off again. We stopped at our usual breakfast place, and had a nice meal. When we came out after breakfast, the van wouldn’t start. It would crank but not start. There was also a strong smell of fuel. Someone passing by said they saw diesel on the ground. Jean called AAA but said the word “motorhome” and they refused to send someone. So Gene called his FMCA roadside assistance number who were helpful and professional. Except they called a tow company in Roanoke, fifty miles away. It was a hot day, and when they didn’t show up very soon, Jean called her brother and he came and picked her up. When they finally did show up, five hours later, they had the wrong kind of truck (I always request a flat-bed) so the driver had to disconnect the drive shaft after he picked up the front end.

I suspected that the problem was that the fuel hose had become disconnected from the filter, which had happened to us once before, in New Mexico. I had called ahead to the truck repair place I regularly use so they were ready for me when I finally got there, just before 6:00. Jean and her brother came by and picked me up, along with some things we had to take out of the rig, and we spent the night at home.

It turned out that my guess was right. The appropriate hose clamp was gone. They had the rig ready by 11:00 the next morning. The bill included $1.34 for a new hose clamp, and $200 labor (they also had to reattach the drive shaft). Another day at home getting the van ready for the trip, and we were ready to try again next day. Perhaps the third time would be the charm.

So off again the next morning. We aren’t superstitious, but we stopped at a different place for breakfast. It was a good trip to Williamsburg. We stopped briefly at the ships to find out how they did in the storm, then on to the Watermen’s Museum in Yorktown, which was hosting a folk festival. Some friends that live in the area joined us and we spent some time at the festival, and a little more time having drinks and conversation in the motorhome.

Next day, Sunday, there was on-and-off rain. After breakfast, we walked down the Riverfront to the end. We went out on the pier, where we spotted a pod of about ten dolphins swimming by. In the afternoon the clogging group that had performed the previous day had another show. We knew they were going to do some audience participation, so we wore our dancing shoes. We found out just how out of practice we were when trying to clog (it couldn’t have been because we had gotten older) but we made it through.

Monday, we drove across the river to check out some of the housing there. We also had a talk with one of Gene’s son’s old high school chums who gave us much useful information. After getting lost trying to find a West Marine that Gene used to patronize, we finally found it and bought some whipping twine. Then into the rain and traffic to Norfolk. Our plan was to drive up the Eastern Shore, around New York, and on to Mystic, CT to meet another old friend, who was there working on the restoration of Mayflower II in time for the 400^th anniversary of the founding of Plymouth.

The trip up the Eastern Shore was uneventful. Weather was good, so we took the ferry to Cape May.

Thence up the full length of the Garden State Parkway (not bad except around New York City), across the new Tappan Zee bridge, and into Connecticut. Too much freeway driving, but we weren’t interested in much of anything in between, so we just pressed on.

The exception was Branford, CT. Gene had lived there for three years when working at Yale. He lived in an interesting area, right on the Sound, called Summer Island. Jean wanted to see it, so we tried to see if we could find it. Obviously, the area had changed a lot since 1963, and Gene couldn’t remember the road in, except that one of the ways involved a railroad bridge with a very low clearance. We found that, and had to detour around it, which took us into unfamiliar territory. After driving around for a while, the geography began to look more familiar, though most of the old landmarks were long gone. Eventually, he got on familiar ground and managed to find Summer Island (it is only an island during very high tides). Some of the houses had been replaced, and some expanded, but it was pretty much the way he remembered it. Jean thought it was beautiful and interesting, and even made note of a house that was for sale.

 We pressed on for Mystic, and the third night after leaving Yorktown, we were set up in a nice campground in Old Mystic. Next morning (by now it was Thursday) we slept in and took a leisurely drive into Mystic. Downtown was tight and crowded, standard for New England. We managed to find a parking lot, run by the art museum. Walked around a little, and had lunch at Mystic Pizza, which Amanda insisted on before we left. We waited until the work day was almost over to contact Gene’s friend, Whitt. He guided us to a parking place near where the work was being done at one end of the Seaport Museum. We got a guided tour of the ship at this stage of the restoration.

The ship is larger than the Susan Constant, and when out of the water looks huge.

At this stage, her bottom is replanked up to the waterline.

Those planks are straight-grain, knot-free white oak, 40 feet long and three inches thick (the garboard is four inches). They were each steamed, then carried to the ship and forced into place, and finally attached with very large, galvanized spikes, countersunk and pegged. The Mayflower project managed to get two containers of perfect lumber from the Danish Royal Forest. These are trees grown in ideal conditions for the Danish navy, and very few other places have access to them.

We climbed three or four flights of stairs to get to the main deck. There we saw more large pieces of perfect wood (of different kinds and from different places) being worked to replace whatever had gone bad in the years since the voyage from England so many years ago.

Not that the whole ship is new. Whitt pointed out much of the ship that still had its original parts. But there is a great deal to be replaced before she is ready for the 2020 celebrations. Ships like this cost a great deal to make in the first place. What people apparently don’t realize is that it also costs a great deal to maintain them. That is where too many historic reproductions run into trouble.

After the tour of the ship and the facilities, we went to Whitt’s house and met his wife, Ann. We had some wine and talked a bit; then went out to dinner to celebrate Gene’s birthday. All told, a very pleasant day. From here on we are playing tourist (and adding two more states to our little map). On to New England!

Homeward Bound

The main commercial street in Forest is US-221. We found out recently that it terminates six miles away in Lynchburg. That led us to wonder where it begins. We learned that it begins in Perry Florida, near the Big Bend. So we decided to take US-221 all the way from Perry to where it passes half a mile from the farm. This done, we will have driven its entire length.

Since we were already on the west coast of Florida, we just needed to head up the highway to Perry. We couldn’t make it in one day (at our usual rate of travel), so we stopped for the night in Homosassa Springs. We spotted the sign at the entrance to our campground too late to turn in, so we had to turn around. As we turned around in a tacky-looking campground nearby, we realize that we had done the exact same thing a couple of years ago — Déjà vu all over again. We have been doing this enough now so that we occasionally find ourselves staying at the same campground, not necessarily on purpose.

We were now within striking distance of Perry, but Jean wanted to have one more plate of oysters at Ouzt’s Too, where we had eaten on the way down to the wedding (and who had given Gene two checks for free beer). The same people who had told us about the restaurant also said that there was a campground nearby. So that’s where we spent the night. We decided not to walk the busy highway to the restaurant for dinner.

The plan was to have a light breakfast, go to a nearby beach for a short while, Ouzt’s for lunch, and head toward Virginia. Unfortunately, we could not find the Florida map which showed where the beaches were (it eventually turned up in the storage area under the sofa). Jean inquired of the campground host, who had no idea where there were any beaches. Then, to add to the problems, Jean’s stomach started acting up, and she reluctantly felt that oysters would not be the prudent thing to do. So we headed the thirty miles back to Perry.

We found the beginning of US-221 and headed north. Now we just needed to stay on the right road (not generally a problem).  We shortly got into Georgia, which looked a lot like Florida. We spent the night at a very pleasant city/county park campground. In the morning we took a walk around the almost deserted campground and went down to look at the Altamaha River. This is a substantial river; there is a water trail on it for canoeists and kayakers that is over 100 miles long.

The fuel tank registered half when we started, so we kept an eye out for gas stations. The road leads through rural countryside, with few towns, and few gas stations. When the gauge read 3/10ths we got concerned. We pulled into a station but it didn’t have diesel. We talked to a local there, who told us of a truck stop about ten miles away. It turned out to be more like twelve miles, but it was a small, new truck stop and very pleasant. We wondered why they put a truck stop so far from an interstate, but we didn’t argue, just filled up.

The road for the most part goes through small towns with few cities. This is the way we like it. On this trip, Gene started collecting old county courthouses.

Brook County, Georgia

Though there were some other municipal buildings we just couldn’t resist.

Uvalda Police Station

In northern Georgia, we started running into hills. The motorhome would slow way down on the uphill, though it seemed okay on the level (which we had been on for most of the trip). It just didn’t seem to have any power. We crossed into South Carolina at Strom Thurmond Lake, and found a Corps of Engineers campground. We got a great campsite right next to the lake.

View from the campsite

The sunset was beautiful enough to help us forget the problem with the motorhome.

But next morning we needed to do something about the motorhome. We found that there is a Mercedes Benz dealer in nearby Augusta, GA, that handles Sprinters (not all do). We managed to get a service appointment that same morning and drove down the hill into Augusta. After extensive analysis, they said that the non-functional EGR valve (which we already knew about) had somehow over time (I never understood how) caused the turbo to stop providing sufficient pressure. They had one in stock, so they replaced it at a cost of $1,000 (nothing is cheap at Mercedes Benz). Subsequent road testing showed no improvement, so they took another look. The now full-power turbo had blown out a hose. Unfortunately, they did not have that hose in stock, but they could get a new one by tomorrow. So after spending the day in the dealership, we spent the night in their parking lot.

They put the hose on next morning, and this time the road test was successful. The service manager worked some magic and got our total bill under $1,000 and they even washed the rig before turning it back over to us. As we headed back up the hill, the rig was back to its old self. Apparently, the loss of power happened over a stretch of time, and since we had been mostly on level ground, we didn’t really notice it. It really felt good to have the old girl back in top shape. We even found fuel at a good price.

We found a campground not too far off our route and set the GPS to lead us there. As we exited the interstate, the GPS lady said, “Turn left, then right.” We passed under the highway, but the only place to turn right was a freeway off-ramp that split Medusa-like into three outlets.

I thought I saw a stop sign in the background, so I picked the middle outlet and turned. I was immediately confronted by three cars exiting the freeway. I jumped a curb and got out of the way. Then I pulled into a nearby McDonalds and watched the scene. Shortly, a local car came down the road and turned into what would have been the first outlet (as I approached it). He stopped briefly, then crossed the exit ramp and went down a road on the other side. I followed his path and found myself on the road to the campground. So what kind of a highway engineer terminates a road in the middle of a freeway off-ramp?

We had a spot in a small campground, next to a babbling brook. It was a pleasant end to a challenging day.

For a while next day we kept seeing these interesting route markers.

Tuesday was our last day on the road. We got an early start and at mid-day we crossed the line into Virginia. Jean called a cousin that lives on our route, but he didn’t answer, so was probably at work. There were no cars in front of his house when we passed. As usual, we approached the only big town on this route (Roanoke) at rush hour, so since we had traveled the last part of this road often, we got on the Blue Ridge Parkway and bypassed it. We got back to Forest in time to meet Jean’s brother for dinner. A pleasant end to a good trip.

Statistics:

            Total trip miles – 4,817

            Days on the trip – 50

            Days on the road - 32

Average days run – 150.5 miles

The longest run, 346 miles, was the first day, the next longest, 283 miles, was the last.

Footloose

We finished the Great River Road, we attended the wedding, and we visited with Jean’s family. All the things we wanted to do are done. We are footloose and fancy-free; we only need to get back home before the money runs out. But the weather here is much better than back in Virginia, so we are in no rush.

Before we left Palm City, Gene made reservations at the Collier-Seminole State Park, so that is where we headed. Sandy and Anna gave us a routing that avoided all interstates and turnpikes, so off we headed into the hinterlands of Florida (yes, Virginia, there are hinterlands in Florida). First, we stopped at Publix to restock food; but then we decided we needed some other things as well. We figured that we could get everything we wanted at a Walmart. They are everywhere, so surely we would pass one on the way. As it turned out, we saw very few stores of any kind, much less a Walmart, the whole way.

What we did see was lots of rural Florida. At first it was mostly cattle with no crops. Eventually, as we approached Lake Okeechobee, we saw fields of sugar cane. The route they had given us seemed simple, Just three roads to the Tamiami Trail across the state. What they overlooked was that the three roads didn’t always intersect. We had to find our way from one to the other. So there was a little frantic map searching.

We stopped for lunch at the southern end of the lake. When we went to get out, Jean couldn’t find her purse. We both did a thorough search of the motorhome. She called back to the house, but she hadn’t left it there. Finally, on another search, she spotted it on the floor. It was a small, black purse, laying on a black rug. Both of us had missed it several times. Who says camouflage doesn’t work?

The Tamiami Trail (US-41) cuts straight across Florida through the Big Cypress Swamp. We saw more wildlife on a two-hour drive than the rest of the time in Florida until then. We saw alligators, cormorants, anhingas, ibis, and turtles among other things. We got to the park and squirreled ourselves into a spot and settled in for the night.

There are some interesting displays at the park. The first thing you come to is a walking dredge. This machine was designed to walk through the swamp, and was used in the construction of the Tamiami Trail.

This area is part of a huge (900,000 acres) block of land bought by Barron Collier to preserve the environment and especially the royal palms, which are native to this area. He became a millionaire selling streetcar advertising. It’s amazing what humble products can produce large amounts of income.

Royal palms and Collier memorial

We were in the park when some of the air plants bloom. They can be colorful.

Cardinal Air Plant

The park information center is in a reproduction of the kind of blockhouses used during the third (and last) Seminole War.

The park is next to the road leading to Marco Island. Jean’s brother worked there one summer while he was in college, clearing mangroves, etc. by hand. We drove down there to see what they made of it. As we crossed the high bridge we saw high-rises in the distance. The island has become a high-priced area with condos, McMansions, and gated communities. The land has been cut into numberless canals so that every house is on waterfront and you can park your boat in your back yard. We were looking for a public beach, but the only one we found charged $12 to park, so we passed it up.

After leaving Marco, we finally found a Walmart and got the things we needed. We were hungry by then, so we took a chance on a place called Bob’s Burgers. We try to eat at local places rather than chains as often as we can. We had no idea what to expect but we soon found out it was not your basic burger joint. My hamburger came as two patties on the halves of an English muffin. They were topped with onion rings stuffed with mushrooms. There was a bowl of au jus and thick French fries. Jean had a standard cheeseburger with a side of really good cole slaw with cranberries and pecans. Everything was done right.

Next day, Saturday, we just hung out at the campground. It was too hot and muggy to think of trying out a hiking trail. Gene did some more work on the latch to the armoire, which wasn’t catching again. Jean did some reading and Gene did some writing. In other words, a quiet day. Mostly sitting in the air conditioning, listening to Preservation Hall jazz and Cajun music from our new CDs.

After the relaxation, Sunday was busy. We left the park early and drove down the road to the Walmart. We both needed to get prescriptions refilled and we needed groceries. The prescriptions took longer than we hoped, but by afternoon we were on our way again. Our first stop was Koreshan History State Park, where Gene had secured a reservation. After checking in, we turned around and headed back down the way we came.

Our destination was Sanibel Island, but we decided to go by way of a long, narrow peninsula and some islands rather than attack the traffic in Ft. Meyers. In retrospect, that was not the smartest way to do it. We had visions of a pleasant drive with water on either side. In fact, it was very much like A1A, driving mere yards from the beach but not able to see it for the houses and condos crowded together. As we approached Ft. Meyers, the beachgoer traffic got quite heavy, and it was a relief to get back on the mainland and Ft. Meyers itself.

When we finally crossed the causeway onto Sanibel, we decided to go all the way to Captiva. We had never been to Captiva and the map showed a public beach all the way out on the end.  We drove to the end of the line and sure enough, there was a beach with parking. There was also a sign warning that there was not enough room to turn around for any vehicle bigger than a pick-up. That sign was just past the last place where we could turn around. So we just continued on into the small parking area. We found a parking place for our 22-foot motorhome right next to a sign that said “no vehicles over 20’.” Again too little, too late.

We bought an hour’s worth of parking, unloaded beach chairs, etc., and headed to the beach. We made good use of the time we had. Jean found several nice shells. Sanibel and Captiva are known for their shelling. Here on Captiva we were finding shells on the whole beach, not just the tide line.

The beach was not crowded, except for one space filled with umbrellas and lounges. We figured that area was in front of a hotel or similar facility.

Ponytail Palm

We had arrived at this motorhome trap late in the day. By the time we needed to leave, enough cars (in the right places) had left so that there was no problem turning around to leave. The day had been hot, so we sought out some ice cream. It tasted so good! At the ice cream place is where we saw a ponytail palm, which we had never heard of before.

Back at the campground, we were parked in a handicap space, so it was paved and handy to the bathrooms. The natural growth in this area is a dense mix of pine, hardwoods, and palm trees, with a thick understory including saw palmetto. The sites in the state parks are carved out of the jungle, so that even though the parking pads are close together, you can barely see your neighbor.

The park we were in includes the site of the Koreshan Unity village. Koreshan is one of the utopian communities that sprang up in the nineteenth century. This one lasted for about 70 years, though it only had about 100 or so members. They built a village and an economy in the wilds of Florida at the end of the 19^th and beginning of the 20^th centuries (yes, it was pretty wild then). The park contains what is left of the town, about fifteen surviving buildings, one of which is still used for performances. We spent about an hour there before getting back on the road. It is one of those interesting places you never hear about until you run onto them in your travels.

Leaving Koreshan in the early afternoon, we spent the next several hours traveling up the coast. We stopped in the late afternoon in another state park (Oscar Schrerer — don’t ask me who he was). Here again, we are in a slot carved out of the jungle. There is a short path at the back of the site that leads to a small river. We really like the Florida State Parks, though it is hard to get a campsite during the season. Thanks to Hannah’s wedding, we are on the shoulder of the season and getting a spot for the night is easier. It is also hotter, so that is the downside.

View from the motorhome

Our next point of interest was Anna Maria Island, off Bradenton. But first we had to go through Sarasota. That is the town the Ringling Circus eventually settled on for their winter quarters, and eventually the Ringling’s home. Gene always notices the references to Ringling since their home town was originally Baraboo, Wisconsin, where he is from. He grew up seeing movies in the Al Ringling Theater.

We drove up a long string of islands, some of them very busy and some of them very tony. We finally came to Coquina Beach (part of Bradenton Beach). This is one of the best beaches we have been to (and we have been to a lot). There is extensive free parking (including an area for RVs), much of which is in the shade. One of the nice features is a broad, tree-shaded area between the parking and the beach. There are picnic tables there, and even cabanas.

The beach has fine, white sand, good to walk on. There are concrete groins to control erosion, with piles of shells next to them. A treasure-trove for Jean. There were not the usual sandpipers, but we did watch a busy willet working the water’s edge.

 We stayed until we started getting red, then went on to Anna Maria for lunch. Back on the mainland, Jean found a campground in Palm Harbor. We just had to endure miles of heavy traffic in the St. Petersburg, Clearwater area. Once there, we had a layover day. Time for laundry again.

Mostly laundry (one of the dryers was very slow) and relaxing. Next day, Wednesday, we were back on the road, heading north. We had one more stop we wanted to make, Tarpon Springs. This town is best known as a center of Greek sponge fishing. We headed down to the Sponge Docks.

This area is non-stop tourist traps, crowded and hard to find (free) parking. We drove around a little, checking it out. We found on-street parking a couple of blocks away, and headed for the strip. We ended up talking for a while with a gift shop clerk whose family (now the shop owners) had lived for a number of years in Williamsburg.

On our walk around, we saw this restored old sail-powered sponge boat. There is still a lot of sponge fishing, but much more modern now.

One of Jean’s goals in this very Greek area, was to get some more mastiki, a spice she uses when she makes tsourekia, a Greek Easter bread (which she likes so much she also makes it at Christmas). We had been here before, and she found it in the same Greek grocery she got it the last time. All told a successful visit.

That finishes the stops we wanted to make in Florida. From here on we are basically heading home. However, there is a wrinkle. Jean’s brother is now suffering a second bout with “the crud” (so called by his doctor). Jean had a long-lasting bout of it last winter, and all are urging us to hold off getting home until he is better. We don’t know how that will work out, and what other adventures await us on the way home. Stay tuned, same time, same station.