From Lake Erie to the Erie Canal

5/29/12: Straight toll road travel for us across the top of Indiana and onto the Ohio Turnpike. Conrad is starting to chomp at the bit and wants to get to Maine. He doesn't even stop at the Duesenberg Museum, and I don't ask about visiting “Meno-Hof,” built by the Mennonites and Amish to showcase their heritage and craftsmanship. Another time, another trip. Even on the turnpike, we are passing beautiful farms with lovely barns, old and new, and lots of growing corn. We cross the wide Maumee River near Toledo. And, soon we are back on two-lane roads, our favorite way to see the country.

Now we are driving along the shore of Lake Erie. Even though it is one of the smaller of the Great Lakes, we cannot see the opposite shore. It is a huge inland sea, small waves lapping the beaches. Farmland stretches away on the non-lake side of the road, but big, pricey-looking houses, along with mobile home parks, itty-bitty rental beach cottages, and occasional harbors and marinas are along the shore.  As we get closer to Cleveland, the houses become one giant, gorgeous, two-story home after another along both sides of the road in many styles: Craftsman, Colonial, Federalist, Georgian, and a few Victorians, and built of many materials: clapboard, stone, and red brick. And all sit on vast, vast expanses of lawn with no fences between them. Nearing Cleveland, the houses become closer together, and eventually they are all well-maintained, two and three-story wooden, clapboard houses with big front porches that in California probably would have become dilapidated boarding houses or apartments by now, but not here.



In Cleveland bridges are everywhere.



We zip through Cleveland (“established in 1796”) with its old, ornate salt cellar-shaped skyscrapers peaking out below the new ones. Huge bulk carrier ships loaded with iron ore and coal sit offshore. Bridges are everywhere: railroad bridges, draw bridges - closed and open, fixed bridges, and fluff from cottonwood trees is blowing and caught on everything, just like spring along the Sacramento River.

On we drive, and drive, and drive, and drive. We cannot find a campground or a motel, and finally ask for help from our smart phone, which claims to direct us mile after mile, and turn after turn to a Motel 6, but only an empty field is at the final destination point and there is not a commercial building in sight – that smart phone isn't so smart after all. The turnpike is close and we know we'll find something there; sure enough, a Motel 6 – too funny!

5/30/12: We get back on the scenic route near the lake shore. We are in more modest neighborhoods now, and of course, almost first thing, drive by a campground and RV park, and then by some modest motels. We're cruising through a very kitschy beach town with carnival-like storefronts, and small food stand huts with roll-up metal windows – still closed, awaiting the start of the summer season.

It is sunny and bright today. The lake is blue; the trees are in every shade of green: lofty and leafy, towering over all of the homes, and lining the roads. The little townships and villages we are passing through often date back to the 1800's, and the homes are mostly two-story, wooden clapboard or brick. Flags are flying along the streets from Memorial Day, and they look so right in this classic Americana setting.

We skirt Erie, Pennsylvania, breezing along its waterfront and past boatworks, commercial piers where Great Lakes' bulk carriers are being loaded, and a maritime museum where an old-time brigantine sailing ship is docked. Conrad says that one-third of the earth's fresh water is in the Great Lakes.

Now we are nearing New York, and the agriculture is strawberries and vineyards. Red leaves occasionally appear among the green trees now – either maple or ornamental plum. I had forgotten how long it's been since we've seen a tree that isn't green!  We stop in the village of Westfield for lunch and find we are in the Concord grape capital of the United States.  Still, the grape milkshake, the grape float, and the grape spritzer on the menu don't tempt our taste buds - yuk.

Back on the road, it is not as lush looking as before and there are more ranch-style homes as we drive into central New York state. Soon we can see Buffalo in the distance, and along the shore on the way, incredibly enormous wind mills - even by Northern California standards. We drive by the Port of Buffalo and pass great clusters of gigantic abandoned grain elevators, as well as modern ones; in the city we see old spired and domed tall buildings among the newer skyscrapers. And, so many old red-brick factories and warehouses, some abandoned, some converted to lofts and condos.

As we leave Buffalo, the river is on our left and a bascule bridge (a drawbridge that tips up from one side) over the canal beside it. We drive along the Niagra River, looking for the place where the river is joined by the Erie Canal, and find it in the town of Tonawanda. We will be there on our boat later this summer - it will be our final stop on the Erie Canal before heading to the Great Lakes!



At Niagra Falls



Back on the road, we can see the mist quite aways in the distance from Niagra Falls; it's not smoke because it isn't rising into the sky - a bit intimidating even from this far.  When we get there, the falls are even more impressive than I remember from my seventh grade visit.  We don't hike down to the lower viewing points because Conrad's back is bad today. And, the line for the elevator to a lower level is horrendously jammed full from the busloads of Mennonites on an outing.  Conrad fits right in with all the men in their suspenders, but they aren't wearing shorts.



Next, it is on to Lockport where we will get to see what one of the locks we will pass through on our boat looks like. Too cool!

To Chicago

5/28/12: We have been in La Crosse, Wisconsin on the banks of the Mississippi River for two days, and not by choice!  It is hot and humid, and the Tracker is sick.  Conrad fixes the turn signals and brake lights but the power problem is not so easy, nor is finding the tools he needs on Memorial Day weekend.  He concludes that the muffler must be collapsing inside and that the Tracker can't breathe very well - it's hard to climb hills when you can't breathe.  Clever Conrad, he figures out a way to circumvent the problem and fool the Tracker into thinking it can breathe, so off we go.




Classically-Shaped Barn With Silo



We are driving through parts of the massive Mississippi River Valley.  The hills are a rolling, bright green carpet with dense, verdant walls of deciduous trees.  A land so fertile, humid and buggy that we light-weights find it best viewed from an air-conditioned car.  Crops and cows, and old, classically-shaped barns with silos.  Our two-lane route passes through small Mid-Western towns with big shade trees and lovely,  large old two-story homes with generous front porches, just made for sitting.  There is a Dairy Queen in every town; it is Memorial Day and people are starting to gather along main streets with their lawn chairs to watch the town parade.  In Lancaster, a small band is already playing patriotic tunes in front of City Hall.

Now it is apple orchards and Christmas tree farms.  We're in Wisconsin, the state where there is a pitched recall battle between incumbent Governor Walker (the guy who signed every anti-union law he could get the legislature to pass and sent the Wisconsin Highway Patrol out to round up legislators for the votes), and his opponent, the mayor of Milwaukee.  "We Stand With Walker" signs pepper the lawns of mansions and big farms.  Defiant anti-Walker signs appear on other lawns.



"Igor" and Me at Carr Valley Cheese



We cross the Wisconsin River into Boscobel, "Wisconsin's Wild Turkey Hunting Capital."  We're in dairy country too and stop at Carr Valley Cheese for some Wisconsin cheese - "Horseradish Spreadable Cheddar" and "Salami Cheddar."  The next sign we pass says. "Drink Milk, Drive Safe."

Across the Mississippi into Dubuque, Iowa, "The Pork Capital of the World" with its old downtown of many storied, red brick buildings, and right back over the river into Illinois.  We're on our way to visit my daughter, Elizabeth, in Chicago, and pass through the Illinois towns of Elizabeth (!), and Stockton (population 2,100) with its historic district of late 1800's brick buildings.  The area also has a lot of sandstone and we see many beige sandstone homes, along with classic wood and brick ones.

Approaching Chicago, Conrad is loving his smart phone which directs him right to the "Three Aces" restaurant where we meet Liz for dinner.  I'm surprised to see my daughter with curly hair caused by the Chicago humidity - it was never curly when she was growing up in hot, dry Sacramento.  Our patio dining is disturbed by fat rain drops and such a wind that they take the awning we are under down, and move us inside.  Liz looks fabulous despite her 24/7 job as Director of Research on the Obama Re-Election Campaign, and we have a wonderful visit with lots of talk, good food and fun drinks.  Soon we are on our way again into the night, ending up in an Indiana motel two hours later.  This morning we need to get going; we are heading toward thunder storms and tornado warnings - yikes!

I'm Sorry....

My apologies to anyone who is trying to follow my blog. I've had technical problems, some of which I'm sure are because I'm still in the twentieth century, instead of the twenty-first, when it comes to computer smarts. I've managed to totally lose tons of written text and will have to recreate as I go.

For now, I'll just say that as the blogging has not gone according to plan, neither have our travels. We had a glorious day's drive (text to be recreated later) between Logan, Utah, and The Grand Tetons, arriving in Teton National Park as dusk was becoming dark, and rain becoming snow. Only one place to stay was open: the Jackson Lake Lodge, and just beyond that the south entrance to Yellowstone was closed because of the snow.  We were more than happy to pay big bucks to stay anywhere, especially when we awoke the next morning to find our Tracker and trailer covered in several inches of snow!

Tracker and Trailer Covered in Snow at Grand Teton Nat'l Park

By then, three of Yellowstone's entrances were closed with more snow on the way. Since going through Yellowstone was part of our route to Glacier National Park, we decided our visit there would have to wait until another trip.  Meanwhile, my vision of a roaring fire in the lounge of the lodge, with me drinking coffee and gazing at the amazing view of the Grand Tetons would also have to wait - we could see the bottom half of the Grand Tetons but the upper half of the peaks were completely obscured by fog.  Good thing I saw them twenty-five years ago!

Now it was on to Mt. Rushmore via an offbeat route through an Indian Reservation (text to be recreated later). It was either snowing, raining, or hailing the entire day, but we had four-wheel drive and foolish, happy hearts, so on we went to Custer City, South Dakota.  At the Custer Visitors' Center, "Mr. Peppy" assured me that we'd be able to see Mt. Rushmore despite the weather, and suggested a wonderful wandering way through buffalo country and up into the hills with challenging U-turns and S-turns, through one-lane rock tunnels which would perfectly frame the four faces on Mt. Rushmore, up the pig-tail turns with timber bridges built by the CCC during the Depression, and don't be so mesmerized by the sight of Mt. Rushmore that you forget to visit the underground museum that will be right beneath your feet as you stand gazing up at those imposing stone presidents.  Nature decided, Mr. Peppy didn't.  There were no views through the tunnels and nothing when we got to the monument - fog. fog, and more fog.  Still, the road and the pig-tail turns were amazing.

On to Chicago! Maybe we will be successful at seeing my daughter Liz when we get there.... And, I did get to visit the world-renowned Wall Drug (kitsch and more kitsch) and ride on a giant Jackalope, so all was not lost!

Along the Coast to Oregon

Saturday, 5/12/12, leaving the awe-inspiring California redwoods, we are back on Highway 101.  Along the way to Eureka, the sign for Ferndale calls and Conrad has never been there, so we detour to meander through the tiny town dotted by beautifully maintained Victorian homes with jewel-like stained glass windows, and intricate gingerbread trim painted to coordinate perfectly with multiple exterior colors. Ferndale is also the home to the annual kinetic sculpture race - we'll be back to see that someday!  But now it's on to find our evening campsite.  We end up in a county campground on a lagoon within the huge Humboldt Bay.  Near our site, there's a Swiss-American family reunion with blue and white Swiss flags flying, all the men wearing broad-brimmed straw hats with hatband ribbons fluttering..  On the edge of the lagoon, a bevy of small sailboats and rowing dories are beached at the shoreline.  Sunday morning we are awakened by the sounds of barking seals, reminding us that we are on the Pacific Coast.  It's an overcast day and we're on our way to Oregon.

Crossing the border into Oregon, there is an excellent visitor's center where a friendly volunteer, a retired transplanted Californian, white-bearded and tanned a nutty brown. provides a welcome and tons of free maps and literature.  We discover that those strange rock outcroppings standing in the ocean are called sea stacks and are the remnants of rocky headlands where inclusions of softer rock or fractures, were eroded by wave action until the sea stacks evolved.  We also read about the only Japanese bombing of the United States during World War II by a small sea plane, with folding wings and tail, carrying two 168-pound incendiary bombs and launched from a Japanese submarine along the Oregon coast .  The Oregon forest is so wet from the coastal fog, mist and rain that the bombs couldn't cause a fire, and the attempt was never made again.

Antique BMW Motorcycle with Sidecar

We are on a coastal route with interesting geological formations, grey whales (we don't see any but another tourist captured the tail of a whale with her cell phone camera), and vintage lighthouses.  We stop that night at Coquille River Lighthouse Campground.  A group of about 50 campers are on BMW motorcycles with sidecars - some are antiques, some are recreations, all are pretty cool!

Coquille River Lighthouse

We are getting  better and quicker at setting up and taking down our tiny tent trailer, assembling and cooking  at our diminutive kitchen table, and Conrad connecting to the Internet through his smart phone so he can do his nightly crossword puzzles and check emails.  The next morning we drive out to look at the lighthouse where Conrad spent six weeks living during a long ago summer.  Now it is on to Portland.

On The Road at Last

Figuring Out the Tent Trailer

Friday, 5/11/12: we are on the road at last, beginning our cross-country adventure in our cute, canvas-topped Geo Tracker and towing our candy-apple red, tiny tent trailer! A stop in Davis to say good by to daughter, Katherine, and fiancee, Kemble, and we head out. It's a gorgeous, sunny day and we're quickly into a rural landscape of wheat fields and nut orchards, then onto a road cutting through Putah Creek Canyon's rising, rugged rock walls and along a winding road to Lake Berryessa and the Capell Valley, then climbing through the lush green hills and soon into vineyards as we come down to Lake Hennessey and across the upper Napa Valley into Rutherford and over the Napa River through St. Helena and Calistoga. Not stopping to wine taste or take a mud bath, we have our own "spa" on the road dipping into the snack sack our friend Julie timely trip-gifted to us, drinking Pellegrino and eating almonds, apples and my buddy Marcella's marvelous homemade venison jerky.

Our little Geo Tracker chugs up into the Coastal Range, and Highway 128 soon becomes a winding tunnel of over-arching trees through a valley of vineyards and vache (cows), and we climb higher into the the hills to the Alexander Valley with vineyard after vineyard. As we cross the now-placid Russian River, we pass buildings marked with the height the then-rushing river rose when it flooded in 2006. Now we're on Highway 101 towards Eureka before returning to 128 and west to Boonville, where locals speak their own unique language, through the Anderson Valley, then winding and climbing again before we cross into Mendocino County to the coast redwoods: second growth trees – tall and straight, marching like soldiers up and down the hillsides. They close in on both sides of our two-lane route: lofty, stately trees, the sunlight filtering through them onto the moist forest ferns below and the spring green ground cover with clover-shaped leaves.

As we emerge into the bright sun along the banks of the Navarro River, light glitters off its water as it flows into the shimmering Pacific Ocean where wind-whipped wavelets and white caps meet strange rock formations jutting from the sea. Those lovely, lonely sea vistas carry us along Highway 1 to Fort Bragg where we are greeted by signs heralding "Occupy Rally Ahead – Join Us" and a handful of Occupiers with signs "Honk if you are the 99%" - we do, and I am guiltily leaving my Occupy Stockton activities behind until Fall.

Our first camp site is at MacKerricher State Park on the coast above Fort Bragg, and we experiment with how best to raise the funky 50 year-old tent that folds out above our 4' x 7' mattress in the trailer bed and into a further 7' x 7' comfy, canvas cave. We furnish our limited-size suite with our two forest-green, folding camp chairs, our two narrow folding camp tables, and, wonder of wonders, a compact porta-potti for night time nature calls. Our petite palace is complete with the comforts of home once we hook up our two-burner propane cooktop and our laptop. But instead of cooking, Conrad drives back into Fort Bragg for provisions and returns with mouth-watering, fresh crab sandwiches. He couldn't resist a visit to get them from Mama Carine's restaurant where an elderly Mama, asleep in her chair, awoke to say she hadn't seen him in a long time, remembering Conrad from over thirty years ago when he was renovating a nearby motel.

The next morning we resume our travels along Highway 1 through sun and overcast, past odd rock formations in the surf, through tunnels of trees, and villages along the coast, then inland to Highway 101, climbing into redwood forests, blue skies and sunshine and winding along U-turns and S-turns through steep redwood covered slopes that spill away on both sides of the road with glimpses through the trees of redwood covered hills as far as we can see.

On the two-lane road enroute to Garberville, we pass through majestic old-growth redwoods in Richardson Grove, before returning to the freeway, and then detour for thirty-seven miles through "The Avenue of the Giants" with the convertible top of our Geo Tracker folded back so we can look up into the tall trees. Not the driver, I lie back and gaze up into the towering treetops, riding a magic carpet through the forest primeval hundreds of feet over our heads.  California - what a magnificently beautiful state!

Almost on the Road

After a series of set-backs (literally Conrad's bad back several times), we are packing the trailer and hitting the road today.  We're meandering up the coast to Oregon to see our friends in Lake Oswego, and will practice setting up our tent trailer and camp as we go.

Thanks to my friend Kathy Smith, I now can post photos on the blog, which will certainly make things more interesting for all of you than just my writing!