Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
"Hi Auntie B!"
Last week I had to make a trip to Lexington for a dental appointment so I had to choose between flying from Orlando into Bluegrass Airport or driving from Vero Beach to Lexington and back. Believe it or not it was a hard choice, for a few reasons, but mostly because I hate to fly. I'm not afraid to fly. I just hate it with a purple passion. And I love to drive. I find driving trips to be relaxing and therapeutic. I think well when I'm kicked back and covering the pavement at 70 MPH (okay...maybe 80 MPH). All I can think about when I fly is how much I hate flying.
My Dad is a driver. He raced dragsters in the 1950's (just before I came to be) and set a national record in his class on the Salt Flats at Bonneville. He has always owned nice cars and has spent many hours on the road in his nearly 80 years on the planet including driving a 1966 Jaguar XKE from Portland, Oregon to Key West, Florida and back with a friend of his. Imagine the Interstates back then...fun! My love of cars and driving comes from him. He also learned to fly but my hatred of flying has nothing to do with genetics. It has to do with the airlines.
So after deciding that I didn't want to be separated from my husband, dog and the warm Florida sunshine for four or five days I reluctantly booked a flight to Lexington. Because the Orlando airport is nearly two hours from Vero Beach we got up in the middle of the night and John and Breezy escorted me to Orlando. The flight was scheduled to take off at 8:40 AM and arrive in Lexington at 12:30 PM with a one hour layover in Charlotte. John dropped me curbside and we said our goodbyes and see-you-tomorrows and Breezy gave me dog hugs and kisses and away I went.
I only took a light overnight bag so there was no need to check anything and I printed my boarding pass at home, making sure that they were cut appropriately on the dotted line and that I had at my fingertips the airline's copy and not the customer's copy. God forbid that I make a mistake and hold up the line...a fate worse than death at the airport. I made sure that I bagged my little three ounce or under liquids in a QUART plastic CLEAR ziplock bag (no bigger, no smaller) and situated them on top of my bag for ease of retrieval in the security line and that I left anything that remotely looked like a sharp object at home. I proceeded directly to security stopping only to double check my gate number and dig my driver's license out of my wallet.
I have an unnatural fear of losing my driver's license in this process probably because I dropped it one time in an airport. Thankfully a nice lady picked it up and ran me down...literally had to run me down because I was hurrying to catch a flight due to the fact that the flight that I came in on was late, due to the fact that another flight was late...you've been there I'm sure. Anyway, I gathered up all of the needed documentation and headed for the security line with my little bag and my purse. When I got there I was disheartened to find one of those rat mazes set up and it was overflowing with impatient travelers. It was Friday before a three day weekend so there were mostly vacationers (ugh) and a few business travelers. As I entered the maze I heard a voice holler, "Hey! You can't do that! GO BACK!". I froze. I thought that I had done something wrong already. I looked around to see jerk trying to get to the head of the line by ducking under the rat-maze baracades. Some people have no shame.
The maze was set up so that you entered on one end and made no less than five turns before the group separated into three distinct lines where three TSA agents were checking boarding passes and IDs. Murphy accompanied me on this trip (thought I left him in the overhead cabinet in the coach) directing me into the slowest line. I watched as the other two lines filtered through and my line stood stationary. That was when I had a revelation; the people of the world are getting bigger. I don't mean heavier but taller. I used to be average sized for a woman. Okay...maybe a little shorter than average but close. I think the average when I was growing up was 5 feet 5 inches. I'm 5 feet 3 inches...almost. I was totally surrounded by people who are at least 5 feet 8 inches and taller. Way taller. Now I know how the Munchkins felt. I found myself being eternally grateful for the custom of daily showers and widespread use of deoderants being as my nose is about armpit height on the average person. For some unknown reason my sense of smell seems heightened in the last couple of years and I can't figure out why. When we were in South Africa and we enountered a pack of Wild Dogs and I was nearly reduced to vomiting over the side of the Land Rover at their stench. I'll spare you the details as to why they stink to high heaven...not a pretty story. If you must know, Google it.
I'm reminded here of an incident that happened in Vero Beach a few years back. John and I were crossing the 17th Street bridge in the car. We got to the base of the bridge on the west side and were stopped by a traffic light. We were listening to music and tapping our toes when all of the sudden the car filled with the stench of human...stink...like...flatulence. I glanced his way and then looked out the window resisting the urge to lower it and air out the car for fear that I would offend him. I then wondered what on earth he ate that caused such an...event. Thankfully the light changed and we moved on smiling politely at each other and as we moved the smell left the vehicle. Several months later we were stopped in the same spot under the same conditions and it happened again! Finally it occurred to me that the smell might be coming from outside of the car. I looked to the right and saw a small power plant and to the left was another plant of some sort. I said, "Do you smell that?". He got a little red faced and said yes. I immediately thought he thought that I thought he did it so I quickly speculated that it might be one of the plants that was emitting the sewer-like stench. He started to laugh. I asked what was funny and he recalled in great detail the last time that it happened and said that at the time he thought it was me but he didn't want to embarrass me by asking if I felt okay so he suffered in silence. He said he wondered if he could spend a lifetime dealing with the smells that I was capable of producing and then decided that it could be dealt with. We had a moment of hilarity. It happens a lot with us. And to this day when ever we pass that spot and it stinks we both crack up.
Back to the airport...
So I finally got my boarding pass and ID checked. Apparently the lines were out to Long Term Parking by then because they finally decided to open three more security check lines. A TSA agent elbowed through the throngs of travelers directing us at the top of her lungs to the newly opened check points which were divided by blue duct tape on the carpeting (another use for duct tape) saying "YOU, over HERE" as she points at you to move your ass and DAMN IT don't DALLY!
I was so surrounded by tall people that I felt like a sappling in an old growth forest, straining for daylight and to see how close I was to the security ex-ray machine. It's important to know how close you are because you have to begin loosening garments before you arrive at the stack of gray plastic tubs so that you don't stall the line. Since I've reached middle age and am in full possession of memory deficiency I tend to get a little hypertensive just prior to reaching the stack of gray tubs. Reminds me of when I was a kid and we did 100 yard dashes in track and field...ready, set, GO! Grab a bin, try to fit it on the table (with Murphy as a nearly constant companion the person in front of me is usually slowly proceeding through the drill and taking up the entire table, oblivious to the fact that there are 500 hypertensive people behind him or her waiting to dash through the process), put your purse/laptop if you have one/wallet/keys/change/watch, and plastic ziplock bag in the bin, jerk your shoes off, strip off your coat/sweater, figure out what goes in the bin and what goes on the conveyor belt, double check to be sure that you haven't dropped you driver's license and that you have your boarding pass in hand. Run to the metal detector and STOP. Wait to be waved through the metal detector in your stocking feet. Once you get through without setting off the alarm and are not abducted on the other side for wanding and a pat down you proceed to the other side of the ex-ray machine and wait for your stuff to come out. Hypertension sets in again when you see it coming down the conveyor belt. Will they confiscate your purse (bag, laptop or briefcase) for a search or will you begin the high speed re-dressing routine in reverse...push the gray tub to the end of the metal rollers, jerk your shoes and coat/sweater out, replace your laptop (if you have one) in its case, grab your purse, bag or briefcase, watches, change, plastic ziplock bag and wallet haul it all down to the bench where you drop everything into a pile and put your shoes on, coat/sweater on and find your boarding pass. On this day I passed through security with two incidents. I left my boarding pass on the table and a nice man retrieved it for me (there are some nice people in airports) and the TSA gang decided they needed to look through my purse. I guess the comb with the metal spikes on the end was the culprit. Once they determined that I couldn't hijack a plane with it and I finished dressing and proceeded to the tram.
As I've gotten older I've begun to understand that some things which irritate me are shared experiences. Certain things are cultural. In the United States we are accsutomed to our personal space. I take that to an art form. I am so goofy about it that I can get downright hostile if someone voilates my personal space zone (defined for me as an area about two feet in any direction from my body, arms, legs, and head) except by accident. This was driven home to me as I waited for the tram. In Orlando, as in most airports, it is an multi-sectional train with several doors that allow for boarding and exiting. When I arrived I saw a herd of people all crammed up waiting for the door to open so that they could board into the first car. It struck me as strange at the time because there were three of us to occupy the rest of the tram which meant that if we so chose to we could each have our own private car. The door opened and I stepped on and the door closed and when I looked up through the glass partition at the first car it was wall to wall people. They were stacked in there like cord wood. I thought, "How ridculous is that." When the tram stopped we all exited and when I attempted to negotiate my way through the crowd that got off of the first car I had an "ah ha" moment. They were all Asian and I assumed that they must have been traveling together because of the smiling faces and happy toned conversation going on in the group. I remember a dear friend of mine who visited China several years ago telling me that the concept of personal space doesn't exist in China due to the sheer numbers of people who occupy the cities. Airlines, in their effort to keep bankruptcy at bay, have eliminated personal space as an option unless you can afford to book First Class tickets. If I were Asian this airline thing would work for me. I'm American and it doesn't.
The next step in the process is to get on the stupid airplane. Slight obsessive that I am I quadruple checked to be sure that I had the correct portion of my boarding pass to give to the ticket agent. God forbid that I clog up the line. I handed over the paper and headed for my seat. I managed to book aisle seats all the way through to Lexington and back. When I got to my row of seats it was empty. It was too good to be true that it would stay that way so I put my bag and purse under the seat, got my book and iPod out and waited. As I saw people coming down the aisle I looked at each one deciding if they would be okay to sit next to (don't laugh...I know you do this too). "Not good...acceptable...fine and oh please, please don't let it be that one..." went through my mind as each approached and passed. Finally I looked up and I knew...I knew this was my seating companion approaching. I knew it without a doubt because I was traveling with Murphy and Murphy always blesses me with a teething-age infant, either in front of me, behind me or next to me. Sure enough a nice young lady with a cute little girl excused herself and sat in the window seat with her daughter in her lap. I was about to sit down again when she said, "I would wait if I were you." She pointed and said, "That lady coming down the aisle is traveling with me." I looked up and saw a rotund lady with arm loads of child care equipment...bottles, diaper bags, blankets, pacifiers...the works. I groaned internally and waited while the procession of glowering passengers squeezed by me to get to their seats while the nanny situated her more than ample body and into the less than ample space and plopped down on top of her seat belt. I quickly slid into my seat allowing the log jam of passengers to continue on their way. The ensuing struggle for the nanny to get situated and the beating that I was taking from passing travelers and their luggage left me with a new appreciation of what it is like to be a cow in a cattle car. Okay, so I was stuck with this situation and just had to find a way to live with it. I stuffed my earphones deep into my ears, turned up the music to BLAST and grabed my book. The rest of the flight was observed as mouths moving, heads bobbing and bodies going to and from the lavatory to Joe Cocker, Eric Clapton and Heart. The iPod is the best invention since baked bread. As I glanced around me it occurred to me that as a population we talk too much. Everyone's mouths were moving. As I walked through the airports everyone, everywhere was yapping on phones or non-stop to each other. I wonder if human air expelled from the mouth as voice has something to do with global warming. They say that cow farts do. Hmmm...
Okay so I get to Charlotte and find that I'm booked on to one of those small jets that flies into Lexington. I like the little jets because they are fast. They board fast, get in the air fast, get on the ground fast and fly fast and it doesn't take a year to get off of the thing once you've reached your destination especially in Lexington which is my favorite airport in the world. It is small and quiet and easy to access. If you can catch a decent fare out of there it is the only way to go. Back to the trip. I do the quadruple check for the correct boarding pass and head out for the little jet on the tarmac. When I get to my seat I discover that I am sitting next to a young guy who is built like linebacker. He is not fat. He is HUGE. He is so HUGE that he is taking up three quarters of the space that is allotted for two seats. He is so HUGE that he can't get the armrest down in between us. I smile politely as I stuff myself into half of a seat. I watch as the plane fills to capacity. I know I'm in for an hour of being smashed. If we hit turbulence I will surely be squished to death. I struggle for my book, give up on the idea of the iPod and fly to Lexington. Once there and extracted from my seat it literally takes me ten minutes to get off of the plane and get a cab ride to my front door. I made it...a little worse for the wear but I was home. Tomorrow I get to do it all in reverse. And the trip to dentist looks like a walk in the park.
On Saturday morning I got up at 5:30, showered, drank some coffee and sorted out my boarding passes again. I made arrangements for my Friday cab driver to pick me up at 8:00. He was early so we chatted on our way over to the airport and found out that we knew people in common, another thing I love about Lexington. I bought two bottles of my favorite shampoo while I was in Lexington not thinking until it was too late that I couldn't take all of that liquid through security so I checked the little bag and whizzed through security (I thought I might have ditched Murphy at the dentist office) and boarded a lightly populated flight to Charlotte. I had two seats to myself (unheard of) and had a quiet and pleasant flight in the little jet. Once I stepped into the terminal in Charlotte I knew that Murphy had just been napping in my purse. It looked like an ant hill. Suddenly I wondered if I had taken the wrong flight and ended up in Chicago. It was mayhem. I fell in with the flow of bodies heading for terminal C. I battle my way from terminal E to terminal C...about ten miles. I find one chair far away from my gate and plop down looking around at all of the people. Big ones, little ones, young ones, old ones, dark ones, light ones, skinny ones, fat ones, every type of human being imaginable. And where were they all going?
They called our flight to board. I was in zone 7. That's another thing that I don't get...the zone thing. When I am in zone 1 in the back of the plane they load from the front to the back. When I am in zone 7 in the front of the plane they load from the back to the front. I guess it is that pesky Murphy again. So I load in the last 100 or so people and when I get to my seat someone is sitting in it. That irritates me no end. I had to dig out my seating assignment from my purse and show it to this kid, about 17 and smirky. He grunts and moves over to the center seat and I slide into my coveted aisle seat.
A minute later along came an unremarkable looking man with a remarkable smell. The Wild Dogs in Africa didn't have anything on this guy. The line of people stalled out just as this guy got next to my seat, undoubtedly due to some jerk trying to fit an elephant sized carry on in an already over stuffed overhead bin down the line. I tried to draw a breath but every time I did I had to halt the intake of air for fear that I would deposit my breakfast on his shoes. Finally I covered my nose with my hand and dabbed at my watering eyes. It was HORRIBLE. No, HORRIBLE really doesn't cover it. It was DISGUSTING. He smelled something like rancid cooking oil mixed with skunk. That's close. Finally the line moved and I breathed before passing out.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
If you are interested in seeing more photos of our coach trip so far you can visit: http://picasaweb.google.com/tagfish1/MotorCoach?authkey=Z6zd_G1kH14 It is an album set up like our Africa trip web album.
When I last left you we had just pulled into the Wildwood KOA and were getting ready to set up our space. We were assigned to 57 Palm Avenue. That conjures up visions of a trendy tree lined avenue with floral accents, boutiques and cafes doesn't it?
57 Palm Avenue was a sand/dirt path with narrow angled pull through spaces. Each space came with a wood picnic table (each of which bore multiple scars from parking miscalcuations) and hookups for electricity, water and a dump site for the gray and black water tanks. We don't have Mary set up for satellite service yet so we were hoping for cable in this KOA. Cartersville had it. Wildwood did not. Not a problem because we have books, radio, and movies. John guided Mary into the narrow space and I parked the Camry in front of her. In order to get the car pointed in the right direction I had to make a tour around the park and come back down Palm Avenue. As I eased down the sandy road I was taken back in time to a memory of being unwittingly directed into a lovely section of Watts back in 1977 by a friend who was in need of a fix. We had just spent a day at Disneyland. Talk about one extreme to the other. Being totally dense about what was going on...and I mean totally dense, I ended up spending an hour sitting in my locked car in the 'hood waiting for this moron to come back. Our friendship ended that day. And my mother just turned over in her grave. Sorry Mom...
Okay, I exaggerate a little bit about this KOA but it really did look a little scary and looked nothing like what the internet description and photos portrayed. Oh by the way, if you know anyone looking for an Airstream bumper-pull trailer to restore (I guess the old trailers are pretty cool when they are fixed up) I can direct you right to the spot where you can find a great selection. There was also a couple there who had two nine-week old Yorkie puppies that were adorable. They were the highlight of the park.
It really seems too much of a stretch to call it a park. It was a campground. That even seems a little generous.
So we ran into the puppies with their owners when we took Breezy out for our first evening walk. Before we went out the door I hesitated and looked at John. "What is it?" he asked. "Do you think we should take the pepper spray with us?" He laughed at me. Then he hesitated. "Maybe we should take the gun instead," he said. We looked at each other for a long moment and then had one of those good tension relieving laughs. We started toward the door and I spoted the keys hanging in the ignition. "We might want to take those with us. I don't think Mary would last three minutes here if we leave the keys." We locked up and the three of us started for the corner of the park where there is a stand of trees. That was the designated dog walking area. There wasn't a blade of grass anywhere just a billion acorns. Acorns are toxic to dogs. Apparently they want to discourage dogs at this KOA. We watched Breezy closely being as she is the kind that will pick up anything and crunch into it to find out what it is. "Drop it, drop it, drop it" echoed through the trees and "Potty, potty potty, hurry, hurry, hurry." She ignored us. She didn't even want to poop in this place. Repeated attempts proved futile until we wanderd off of the property to a grassy area. Can't blame her. There was a wide walking path that wound into the woods. My champion visualization capability jumped right into high gear when I looked at that path. Headlines on CNN: Couple and their dog disappear in Wildwood KOA. Foul play suspected. Fancy motorhome stolen. Suspected serial killer works as campground host. The freaky guy with the Pit Bull in the flimsy pen outside of the TRASHED up trailer under investigation.
Okay, so we met the couple with the puppies. We chatted for a minute about the cute little dogs and then they asked how long we had been there. "Arrived today," John said. "Oh dern, you missed breakfast!" the guy replied. John and I looked at each other. I opened my mouth but nothing came out. Hospitalization...IV tubes...stomach pumping. My mind was at it again. I was thinking about the "pot lucks" that were listed on the website. "Yeah, we sure did," John said. "Maybe next time." Ha. We said good evening and sauntered on our way.
After Breezy finally did her thing the discussion began as to whether we would stay the two nights that we had paid for or to try to find another place. After our adventures with Mary so far we were kind of tired and looking forward to staying put so we decided to stick it out. It was just two days. And two nights. We could entertain ourselves inside for that long. No problem. We lowered the shades, turned on the radio and I blogged while John read and Breezy snoozed. Just before retiring for the night John volunteered to take Breezy out for her evening walk. "Please come back," I said. He smiled and flipped on the porch light and as he stepped out with Breezy I heard him say something to someone outside. When he came back he said there was a nice farmer from Kansas that had pulled into the space to the right of us. That was a relief.
The next morning we got up and I turned on the coffee. I don't wake up fast even if the house is burning and coffee is the second thing that happens after my feet hit the floor. John wakes up early and hits the floor running. Sometimes he forgets how I am and asks me what I have planned for the day. I normally have a plan for the next day before I go to bed but it doesn't rise to the surface until my second cup of coffee so I just stare at him with a blank look. So I poured a cup while John took Breezy for her morning walk. "Please come back," I said as he decended the steps. I plunked into the dining table booth and turned on my computer. When he came back I looked up and noticed that there was something very close to big Mary on the right. I strained to see through the shade and finally got up and opened the shade. I nearly jumped back. The Kansas farmer had parked his trailer almost on top of the picnic table (and the only object separating the two vehicles). You could barely see daylight. "Got a little close don't you think?" I ask. "Yeah, he did," John says behind me and then, "Uh oh."
I snapped upright. Suddenly I was awake. "Uh oh? What do you mean UH OH? What's UH OH?" I say in near panic. He says, "I'm almost out of Cheerios," as he pulls the box out of the cupboard. I let out a big sigh and took a few seconds to let my heart rate return to normal. "Please don't say that again unless there is a serious problem. Uh oh needs to be reserved for emergencies." He smiles at me shaking the box. "Running out of Cheerios is an emergency." He grins.
After breakfast and showers we decided that later we will drive down and check out the Monaco Service Center where we were scheduled to deliver Mary the following morning. We spent some time relaxing and watching the neighbors for a couple of hours; old ladies trooping through the campground in their chenille bathrobes to and from the public showers, the guy next door with the Harley (cool bike) getting ready to take his classic biker chic woman (EEEEKKK!!!) on a ride, the guy in the photo above who sat like a white-haired Buddha all day deepening his saddle tanned look, and the people across the road who were working diligently restoring a 1977 Airstream. I thought people did that kind of thing before they went on vacation... We took a walk around the park with Breezy and I nonchalantly snapped some shots of the...scenery.
After lunch we locked up Mary, got in the Camry and headed toward Monaco. Along the way we passed a Winn-Dixie grocery store and a Shell station and car wash. We needed something for dinner and the Camry was filthy and needed gas so we decided that on the way back we would stop. Two miles down the road we pulled into the Monaco Service Center and found a beautiful open green setting with tons of hookups. The lot was full of Monacos. Monacos as far as the eye could see. Since we took possession of the coach it has been John's fantasy to find a nice park and set up next to an experienced Monaco Dynasty owner whose brain he could pick about coaching. We were looking at his dream. It was too late to move (we were told by a nice lady at Monaco that we could stay there but that on the weekends it got pretty full...so that's why we decided on the KOA) so we put it in the "L&L" file (that's live and learn) and moved on to groceries. The plan was that I would go to the store while John went to the Shell station across the parking lot to gas up and get the car washed. Sounded like a good plan.
I went to get the food. I had a list in my head...never a smart thing at this age but it was short so I didn't think I needed to write it down. But when I get freaked out I tend to forget things. I went to the bakery section and picked up a fresh loaf of garlic bread, then on to the freezer section to find a Cornish game hen. As I approached the freezer section I heard a booming voice behind me say, "THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA IS THE AXIS OF EVIL!!!". My head snapped around looking for the nut case that just spewed out that load garbage. When I got a look around I saw some wierd...no very weird folks staring at this fruit loop who was preaching in the grocery store aisle.
Time to go. I grabbed the chicken out of the freezer, ran down the wine aisle and grabbed the first bottle that I recognized as being red wine and raced for the cash register. I tried to pay while the clerk and store manager commented at length about the wine that I chose and admitted that they knew nothing about it while my mind screamed "Just put the freaking bottle in the bag and let me out of here!" Once in the parking lot I looked around and didn't see the Camry. I looked at the Shell station and didn't see the Camry. "Don't panic, don't panic," I say as I got my phone out and called John. "I'm stuck in line at the car wash," I hear. I dashed to the car wash with bags in hand and threw myself into the passenger seat. "What's wrong?" he asks. "It was like Walmart on steriods," I say out of breath. "I'm sorry but I forgot the Cheerios." I felt terrible...but safe.
Our next challege came sooner than I was prepared for. The car wash had a bizarre entry system. You buy gas at the Shell station and they give you a reciept with a number on it that you enter on a keypad on a beat up kiosk outside of the car wash. There is a sign on the kiosk that says, "Do not enter your secret code until I stop beeping." No lie. That's what it says. After waiting for ten minutes the woman in front of us, who is the next in line, gets out of her car and waves her index finger at us indicating that we be patient (what can we do...we are sandwiched in between two cars and two curbs) and she disappears! Five minutes later she shows up with a big guy (Henricke) who has a small machine in hand that he is doing some sort of voodoo on. After he does what ever it was that he did she gets in her car and proceeds to the car wash. John engages Henrike in conversation about the problem. "She entered her number before the machine stopped beeping," he says pointing to the sign. "Don't enter your number before the machine stops beeping." By this time I just want to get the freaking car washed and get back to Queen Mary at the KOA. So finally it is our turn. John enters the number and we watch the red sign turn green telling us to move forward. He eases the Camry into the car wash. The green sign doesn't change to red when we hit the bumper for the front tire. It stays green and stays green and stays green until finally John decides that it must mean that we need to move forward more. I'm thinking that there is something wrong with the green light when he guns the engine and drives over the bumper with the left front tire. This cocks the car to an angle when it should be straight and once again my heart is racing. "I think we went too far," I say. The light finally turned red. He put the car in reverse and the tires squealed and jumped back over the bumper leaving us at an odd angle as the metal bars of the "touchless" car wash started to move. My visualizer went to work again. I closed my eyes and could see the "touchless" bars scraping down the side of the car tearing the paint off as they went. Thankfully it just washed the car. I thought about uncorking the wine while we were in the car wash but waited for dinner instead.
We had a perfectly delicious dinner from the convection microwave, which I had never used before. Between the two of us we figured it out. John opened the wine and we had a fun time listening to CNN Radio and talking about politics while we sipped wine. I only had one more heart stopping moment before we called it a night. We were sitting at the table when our neighbor fired up his Harley. I jumped straight in the air and if I didn't know better I would swear that my hair stood up. Oh those noises.
Mary is in Wildwood parked with about fifty other coaches just like her. I'm sure that she is telling some good stories on her inexperienced new owners. Thankfully she is patient and forgiving. And we already can't wait until we can pick her up and hit the road again!
Saturday, February 9, 2008
At KOA, enjoy the solar-heated pool, mini golf and holiday potlucks. You might even pick up some foreign language phrases while you’re there. The staff speak German, French and Tagalog. During the winter season, be entertained with live music and trips to local attractions. Six restaurants are within walking distance."
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
So on this damp drizzly morning we situated Breezy's bed and chew bones behind the co-pilot's seat (mine), buckled up and John (the pilot) navigated the BUS down McCowan's Ferry Road to the Bluegrass Parkway and we were on our way. It was great. It was cool. We were taking in the scenery and enjoying the smooth and quiet air ride. I kept the instruction manual (known from here on as The Bible) in my lap so I could attempt to answer each of the pilot's one million and one questions which arose as we traveled down the road. I got reports in ten minute intevals on our fuel economy (funny). "According to the computer we are getting five and a half miles to the gallon." Ten minutes later: "According to the computer we are now getting six miles to the gallon." Gee...our trip to the poor house just delayed itself by about a week...