My favorite destination

Life is one beautiful trip

My favorite destination: home. I am so excited to drive down the road to our house. The old live oaks, with the Spanish moss dripping from them form a living tunnel. The sunlight plays hide and go seek as it peeks through the branches. The neighbors are out teaching their son to ride his new bike. My heart is here in Charleston with the heat and the humidity, the fault line, the floods and the alligators, and the sharks. And Griffin and Reagan. And all the boys who pull up a stool to the kitchen island and say, "Ooh, you made biscuits!"

No time to ease back into my life. No time to decompress with a big freelance project in my pocket and a hot deadline. I am working through the weekend. A small price to pay for the lifestyle I enjoy. 

I may be home again, but the trip is not over. I look at the last few weeks as The American Sampler. A dry run for more trips. The breakdown in Gallup threw a monkey wrench in the works, and I just didn't feel like backtracking to California after that. Twice across the Mojave in one week is enough for me, thank you. I got a feel for the type of places I like, what I can skip the next time, and what I'm still longing to see. I'm back on the road in about two weeks to house swap with friends. And I heard about a lady in Virginia who might need a farm-sitter in November. That could be fun.

On the next long trip I will be taking the northerly route out to California and driving down the coast instead of up.

In the meantime, I'm eager to do more camping. There are beautiful places here in South Carolina, and I still need to get to Mt. Cheaha in Alabama. The weather here is more forgiving than in my former home, Maryland, so there is a lot of time left in the season. Plus, maybe the bugs won't be so bad. That's me being the eternal optimist.

Find me a beautiful place to wake up in the morning. 

Life is so beautiful. Of course there is a lot of tragedy in the world, and many people ask if the human condition is worse than it ever has been. I don't believe so. Humans are no less moral and no more cruel than previous generations.There are just more of us, faster means of communication, and more ways to cause each other pain. 

We need to remember that this life is a gift. To focus only on the ugly and the awful and the horrific news stories is to ignore the gift. There is so much beauty in the world. So many experiences to have, people to meet, food to taste, places to see, sunrises to watch, oceans to swim, books to read, babies to kiss, dogs to slobber on us, hugs to envelop us. 

You don't need to drive coast to coast to find beauty and joy, but I do recommend looking for it today. Whatever it is you want to do, whether it is traveling, learning to play the guitar, changing your career – take steps toward that today. Don't wait another day to start living. It's too easy, but too true to say you might not have a tomorrow. 

Those of you who know me will suspect that this attitude is fueled by losing my beloved Darryl, and you are absolutely right. In 2011, he took what he called, "the trip of a lifetime" riding out west on his Harley. I was with him for part of his adventure and am forever grateful for one spectacular day riding across Montana. The air was cool and the sun was high in the sky. Not one man-made thing in sight for miles and miles. No people either. Just the two of us. He said it was the happiest day of his life.

my rider in the sky
This was a moment of our perfect happiness.

We made a big circle that day, leaving from South Dakota, riding into Wyoming, up through the corner of Montana, then back to Deadwood. On the return trip that afternoon, we could see a storm coming and calculated we might get ahead of it. With every mile, the black clouds raced closer to cross our path. The winds grew so strong, Darryl could barely keep the bike upright. The rain stung like needles. There was no place to pull over, no bridges to shelter under, a steep drop off the shoulderless road. I held onto Darryl tight with my right arm, and with my left hand, held the shield of his helmet in place as the wind kept ripping the snaps open. The storm passed in about 35 minutes, and we were finally able to pull over at a visitor center. We climbed off the bike, drenched, exhausted, and exhilarated. We were followed by other riders exiting the road, all of us silently shaking our heads and smiling. "Can you believe that?" we seemed to convey to each other. 

He was home for one week before he had the accident that took his life. It was a sunny, dry day, and he was just five miles from home. This time he rode alone, and my arms weren't wrapped around him.

All that rain inspired the passion vine.

There is no right time to take off on an adventure. There is no perfect time. You will never have enough vacation, or enough money, or a complete lack of commitments. Go anyway. This was probably the absolute worst time for me to go on a trip. I've recently been laid off. I'm recovering from surgery, my income has dropped, and expenses have risen. But I went anyway. And what do you know? The earth did not crash into the sun while I was gone. Granted there was a flood in my hometown, but I came back to a dry house, and a scene from Jumanji on my back porch with vines growing through the door. 

Nothing really changed while I was gone – except me. 

Smoky mountain memories

Life is one beautiful trip

I've now seen mountains coast to coast. The high desert plains of California, the Rockies, and finally, the Smoky Mountains. I am definitely an east coast girl. Nature is glorious out west and the landscape is majestic,  yet there is just something so warm, welcoming, and homey about the east coast mountains. 

My travels took me through Sevierville and Pigeon Forge into Gatlinburg, Tennessee. Darryl had been here on a motorcycle trip with some buddies and got a kick out of staying at a hotel that was perched right on the Little Pigeon River. My oh my did he understate the congestion and commercialism of this area. I drove past Dollywood and the massive DreamMore Resort. I came. I stayed. I took no pictures. 

The next morning, I got up, got packed, and headed out of town. My route took me along the Foothills Parkway. Now this is more my kind of thing.

Scooter is ready to climb more mountains.

Before I knew it, I was back in the Carolinas. The road took me right past the exit for the Roe's house, and I pretty much invited myself over for lunch. That Gretchen is one of the best cooks. She can make the simplest sandwich into the yummiest meal. We sat around the table and got caught up; then Pat sent me packing with a dozen fresh eggs. 

Today's tune
Man of Constant Sorry – Soggy Bottom Boys, live at the Ole Smoky Distillery

Today's Gratitude
work flowing my way
other people's prayers
Griffin always

Somewhere in Kentucky

Life is one beautiful trip

Somewhere in Kentucky, the check engine light went out. Let us not question this fortunate turn of events.

If you look closely, you can see the Mail Pouch ad on the side.

Barns are painted predominantly black in Kentucky. A number of them have quilt pattern paintings on the side.
At this time of year, many barns have tobacco drying in them.

Today was both a travel day and a work day. Although I work from home, I do not keep an office there; The phone and laptop travel with me from the sun room, to the kitchen, to the porch. Today, the car served as my office. I read creative briefs at a truck stop, and I dialed into a conference call from 75 South through Tennessee.

Truck stop office, with furry assistant

I didn't imagine this, did I?

Why yes, that is a tree growing out of the Decatur County Courthouse in Greensburg, Indiana.

Taking the back roads never fails to provide me with interesting things to see.

Today's tune
Baby Please Don't Go – Lightnin' Hopkins

Today's Gratitude
The check engine light went out.
technology that allows me to work and travel
my health
Griffin, always

Check Engine Light

Life is one beautiful trip

Thanks to all the nice folks at Pat MacGrath Jeep in Cedar Rapids, especially Nate and Larry. They finished up the repairs early and I was back on the road before noon. The Jeep was practically purring as I headed down 380 South. 

And then, about 40 miles out of town, the Check Engine light came on again.

Guys!? What's up with that? And the engine still smells funny. Any thoughts?

Since the light had been on for the previous thousand miles or so, I kept driving and I'm somewhere in Indiana tonight. Can I tell you how agonizing it is for a girl who grew up within spittin' distance of Memorial Stadium in Baltimore to be anywhere near Indianapolis? I reserve the right to bear a lifetime, unreasonable grudge against this town. And that team. And Bob Irsay. And Mayflower. 

On the bright side, my gas mileage has doubled. 

Today's tune
The Last Time – Rolling Stones

Today's Gratitude
The car is still running.
Griffin, always

Pit stop in Cedar Rapids

Life is one beautiful trip

It has been an indulgent weekend in Cedar Rapids, Iowa – visiting with Warren, Catherine, Alexander, and Gunther. Apparently, I was looking a little puny to Warren because he spent most of the weekend fattening me up. He cooked Fettucine Alfredo, steaks, waffles, and more. I am going to have to move the seat back from the steering wheel to fit in the car.

As for the car, she is on the lift in the local Jeep service bay. She needs an oil change and I had them look at the blinking "check engine" light since I am now in lower altitudes. She needs new O2 sensors and will be ready to hit the road by noon tomorrow. By the time I return to Charleston, she will have had every moving part replaced. 

While the Jeep was "getting a little work done," Warren and Catherine took me on a tour of Cedar Rapids.

Small town surprise. The Veterans Memorial Building contains this magnificent stained glass window designed by Grant Wood. The soldiers depicted at the bottom represent  the Revolutionary War, War of 1812, Mexican War, Civil War, Spanish American War, and World War I – all of the conflicts in which the U.S. was involved until the window's installation in 1928. 

The model for the figure in the middle is Grant Wood's sister, Nan Wood Graham.

Museum dedicated to the Cold War in the Veterans Memorial Building

House boats in Ellis Harbor

Czech Village in the NewBo district, where Warren added even more to my waistline with kolacky cookies.

Can someone tell me who this is?

A boy and his dog

Today's tune
Slavonic Dance No. 2 in E Minor op 72 – Antonin Dvorak 
Itzhak Perlman, Yo-Yo Ma

Today's Gratitude
dogs
a good night's rest
my iphone
Griffin, always

A pig fell off a truck on Route 25

Life is one beautiful trip

"A pig fell off a truck in Route 25 yesterday," was the opening story on the local news this morning. The poor thing rolled under a semi and tied up all south bound traffic until it could be freed. No one admitted to having lost the pig, but newscasters were so excited that a local farmer "rescued" him. This farmer already has 20 pigs. I don't think he is going out to buy the pig a personalized feeding dish. Let's not tell the newscasters that.

And in other news, I drove across Kansas today. It's not so bad. Kinda peaceful. The starkness of an October Kansas landscape is in great contrast to the starkness of the New Mexico/Arizona desert. It would be fair to say that there are miles and miles of very little in both locations, but the Kansas landscape holds so much promise. You can sense the fecundity of the earth. 

The next time someone tells you she's in a funk,  you'll know where to find her – Kansas.

Kansas feeds The United States. Vegetarians and Paleos alike are grateful to Kansas as the number one wheat producing state and the third leading state in cattle production.

It was a relaxing drive on two lane roads; no stress of an interstate.

Little pink houses for you and me

And if Kansas weren't exciting enough, I also drove through Nebraska.

I didn't know this company existed any more.

Today's tune

Ain't That America – John Cougar Mellencamp

Today's Gratitude

The Jeep is still running.
clouds
smiling strangers
Griffin, always

A spring in my step

Life is one beautiful trip

Scooter and I toured the springs in Colorado today. Colorado Springs and Manatou Springs.

The Garden of the Gods

Don't these look like praying hands?

Manitou Springs

Today's tune is for my Sweet Sis Roxy
Jessica – The Allman Brothers Band
This song always lifts my spirits.

Today's Gratitude

Waze
AAA
Griffin, always

I've never been this high before

Life is one beautiful trip

I love quirky America.

If it weren't for Instagram, I wouldn't know where I was. This van was spotted in the midst of Rio Grande National Forest today.

We drove through Pagosa Springs, where the water emerges from the ground at temperatures of 120 degrees, and is the deepest geothermal hot springs in the world. "Pagosa" is an Ute Native American word meaning "healing water." 

This fountain bubbles in town.

Elsewhere, in the middle of nowhere . . . a potter's studio.

Today's drive took me over the San Juan mountains and crossed the Rio Grande. I passed a sign noting the elevation as 9875 feet and imagined it next to my house, which is 8 feet above sea level. That's when it occurred to me that I have never been this high before. It seems like a different world here, and the low country of South Carolina feels like a safer, more grounded place. 

And sometimes they just close the highway for an hour, and this is what you see. I read my maps and napped for a bit while waiting for crews to move boulders out of the road. This is the Blast Zone.

Not a cowboy in sight

Life is one beautiful trip

I've been tooling around Durango, Colorado. Downtown is a few blocks long with some well preserved old buildings. It's semi-hip and expensive. There is a French Cafe, Jean Pierre's, on the corner of 7th and Main where a croissant sandwich and coffee cost three times what it did in Ocean Beach a few days ago. Actually the croissant and coffee cost me nothing in OB because Joelle bought our breakfast that morning. The service at Jean Pierre's was wonderful though. They let me bring Scooter into the cafe to order and then brought everything to me at an outdoor table, including water for Scooter served in a French onion soup bowl. 

When I hear the name Durango, I think of Westerns. After all, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid was shot here. Support Your Local Gunfighter was shot here. The Sons of Katie Elder, too. Only one fella with a cowboy hat, and he had the distinct look of a tourist. 

We talked to two lovely ladies (Kim the stylist and her sister) while we were having breakfast, who suggested a couple of good hiking trails. Kim gave me her card and encouraged me to call if I had any more questions.

We stopped into the outfitters to buy another little propane canister for the rapid boil and got into a conversation with Mike. Mike suggested I buy some bear spray. He also offered to take me out to see some moose if I wind up staying here til Friday. He gave me his card.

My canine companion and I were also welcomed at Maria's, a real bookstore. There I purchased an actual book to read as a backup if my Kindle battery runs out. Angels in My Hair, by Lorna Byrne. It is the autobiography of an Irish mystic. 

We then drove up the winding road to Lightner's Creek to inquire about a cabin. Tom, originally from Alabama, drove me around in a Gator and let me choose the cabin I liked best. He said he's never seen a bear up here.

The Honeymoon Suite

Soon after I took Scooter out for his last pee of the evening, I heard the banging of pots and pans, some hollering, and a few gunshots. Could I have arrived in time for the first bear sighting? Was Tom trying to allay any fears I might have? Maybe there are bear sighitings up here all the time. That might explain the gouges on the cabin door. There will be no peeing in the bushes for me tonight. I'm holding it til morning, just to be on the safe side. 

There is no electricity, no plumbing, and no heat. But there is wifi. How funny is that? I eschewed this modern indulgence for most of the evening until I got a fb message from a friend. I couldn't resist.

All snug in my sleeping bag, with the hood pulled up, Scooter tucked inside – I'm returning to my Luddite ways and my throwback book, which I will read by the light of my battery operated lantern.

Two days, four states, and a very scary gas station

Life is one beautiful trip

Whoosh. A little pooped, but tonight I can catch my breath and slow down. No sooner had I dropped Joelle at the Southwest terminal, than my phone rang. My favorite stoic and smiling Pep Boy, Garrett, called to tell me the Jeep was all better. New axle, brake, rotor, fluids, and on, and on. 

Much like GPS, I've been re-routing. 

I have made my way from San Diego to Hesperia, California; to Flagstaff, Arizona; to Gallup, New Mexico; to Durango, Colorado. 

Hesperia is located in the high desert and was alarmingly windy. It reminded me of one of my favorite children's books, When the Wind Blew by Margaret Wise Brown. It is the story of an old woman and her 17 cats on a windy day. 

On the way out of town, I stopped at a Von's grocery store to stock up on healthy food choices. A Baguette, goat cheese, fruit, grapes, salad, and a container of olives from the olive bar. You ever notice how difficult it is to get the lids to fit the plastic containers? A word of advice, don't hold the container too tightly. The squeezing causes a propelling force to pop the lid and shoot 27 black and green olives across the deli department in a slow motion arc, culminating in a multi-olive skid across the floor on an amazingly viscous oil base. 

While my hometown was flooding, I was driving across the Mojave.

Desolate beauty of the Mojave

Needles, California

Noticed this when I pulled over for a Scooter pee break.

Fueling my gas price obsession in Needles, Ca

Flagstaff is a dark, rainy blur, but that is a good excuse to go back one day. As tempting and close as it was, I passed all the exits for the Grand Canyon in my rush to pick up the Jeep.

I grilled poor Garrett on every possible safety and preemptive topic of Jeep maintenance I could think of. "Did you check the air pressure in the tires?" He assured me the the check engine light will remain on at all times now, but don't be alarmed.

I wanted to get the heck out of Dodge, so I headed to Durango. When I reached Thoreau, I noticed a sign for a post office. I finally got around to buying stamps for the postcards I promised my sis in law. It was there that I met the happiest postal worker ever. She was tall and beautiful with long raven hair and a deep laugh. She must love her job.

Many people have offered advice about traveling cross country and they all reminded me to never let the tank get below half. The Jeep gets awful gas mileage, and according to Garrett, it gets even worse in high altitudes. Being in 6 and 7 thousand feet altitudes, the gas mileage positively sucks. The gas gauge literally plummets before my eyes, feeding my gas paranoia. 

Pulling out of the Thoreau post office the gauge started wavering between 3/4 and 1/2, so I stopped at the first station I saw. Why does a gas station in the middle of nowhere need an electric gate, chain link fence, and razor wire? As I pulled into the station, there was a sleeping dog in front of the pumps. I slid my card into the slot and an alarm sounded. A message showed up on the pump stating I had to go inside. The brown, greasy dog was circling. The clerk was pleasant and apologized because running the card would take a while since they were on dial up. He also informed me that if I wanted to use the rest room, there was a spot-a-pot out back. I made a wide circle around an elderly hitchhiker as I pulled out of the station.

Crown Point, New Mexico

Somewhere around Farmington, NM, I heard a noise coming from beneath the dash. It was kind of a scurrying sound, or maybe a crispy sort of fluttering. It seemed to move from one side to the other of the steering column. Hmmm. Could it be a mouse? A wide-winged beetle? I pulled over to the side of the road to inspect. I shone my flashlight around and tapped the dashboard to encourage whatever it was to depart. No luck. I kept driving for another 35 miles, with my legs to the far right, in case whatever it was fell out while I was driving. I didn't want to get startled and drive off a cliff.

It was then that I looked into the door pocket and noticed a bottle of lotion rhythmically rolling into a bag of granola. Mystery solved.