Home again, Home again...

Heading East

"OoooooooooK........lahoma where the wind comes sweepin' down the plain

And the wavin' wheat can sure smell sweet

And the wind comes right behind the rain."

Rogers and Hammerstein got it.

Now I get it.

Because I'm blogging again it is obvious we did not get swept away like Dorothy and Toto by a tornado. I'm grateful for that. But we did endure torrential downpours accompanied by thunder and lightening, high winds and a some small hail. That was on Wednesday. I didn't leave Mary all afternoon choosing instead to continue my cleaning frenzy. Wednesday night the three of us went to the horse show. John told me it was a half block to the arena from where Mary was parked so we bundled up and grabbed the umbrella and Breezy and started toward the arena. Two blocks and gobs of rain later I was asking, "Where is the arena?" He says, "See that brick building up there?" I saw it. "You have a different definition of a half block than I do," I say as I slog through the puddles soaking my socks and working to keep the umbrella from turning inside out in the wind.

I attempted to sleep that night but the Interstate had different ideas for me. Apparently truck drivers don't like to stop in Oklahoma City at night when it is pouring down rain because they roared down I-44 in a procession all night long. I'm sure my tossing and turning deflated the Sleep Number by 10. On Thursday morning I dragged my butt out of bed feeling like I had run a marathon.

On the up side of our time in Oklahoma City, I met and got acquainted with Mary Ellen and Mike Carlson from Missouri. John has known Mike for many years but this was my first introduction to them. They are salt of the earth, wonderful people and we had a great time with them. Meeting them made the stop totally worthwhile.

On Thursday, as Rogers and Hammerstein predicted, the wind came in after the rain. We got up to a sunny day but Mary was rocking and rolling to 25 to 35 mile an hour winds...all day long. I kept checking the weather reports. They said, "WINDY". They weren't kidding. I really needed to go out and do some shopping but as John is well aware there isn't much in the world that can piss me off faster or more than stepping outside and having the wind wreck my hair style. It drives me around the bend. He was out and about at the show and would drop in on me every so often, relieved when he found me still in the coach working on bills and paperwork. Mary Ellen came to visit and then Bill and Mary Lynn Whitley stopped by and we exchanged coach stories for awhile. It was a nice afternoon to be sure. We had dinner with Mike and Mary Ellen at a historic steak house and then it was time to go to the show again.

There was something weird going on with the sky in Oklahoma City that evening. The sky was yellow. We had never seen anything like it and kept commenting on it. At first I thought it was dust from all of the wind but then I remembered that we had four inches of rain resulting in a lot of flooding the day before. I still don't know what that was. It was very weird like being on Jupiter or something.

Because of the construction there wasn't any place to park the car so there was no choice but to walk to the arena...in the wind. By this time the wind gusts were up to 50 miles an hour. I arrived at the arena looking like I had done my hair in a wind tunnel. I'll leave my frame of mind to your imagination. Suffice it to say that I was ready to move on from Oklahoma City. We watched the show with Breezy, Mike and Mary Ellen, visited with some people and then headed back to Mary for what I hoped would be a decent night of sleep. When we stepped out of the building the wind was still blowing but the temperature had dropped by twenty degrees. Now we were being blown to kingdom come and we were COLD. We arrived back at Mary who was warm and cozy. We dropped the black out shades in the bedroom to block the light from the electronic billboard and settled in for the night.

I knocked another ten numbers out of the mattress tossing and turning to the sound of trucks and woke up in the morning feeling completely worn out. That didn't stop me from jumping into the shower, into my clothes, buttoning up Mary and having everything ready to go when John got back from the videographer. He laughed. "I take it you are ready to go?"

I need to go back a bit to our trip from Needles to Albuquerque. Fabulous. That's the best word I can think of and it doesn't cover the beauty of New Mexico's rocky landscape. I tried to catch it with my camera but I really couldn't do it justice. I will include what photos I took in the Picassa album. It was a pleasant sunny day of travel. We stayed at a KOA in Albuquerque and the next morning did our last leg to Oklahoma City. It included a trip across the TEXAS panhandle.

More of our Sierras drive

I told John about the last time (and the first time) I drove through the TEXAS panhandle. I had come from Kentucky via Tulsa on my way to meet my friend Nancy in Phoenix. It was a pleasant drive until I got to the TEXAS border. For some strange reason I just assumed that there would continue to be gas available along Interstate 40 into TEXAS. I had about a third of a tank when I headed out into the vastness of TEXAS. I drove and I drove and I drove. I kept driving but I didn't see any gas stations that were inhabited. I drove and drove some more. The needle on my fuel gauge kept getting lower in tiny increments. Finally like a mirage I saw an exit with a gas station. I pulled off. I drove up to the station. It was abandoned. The pumps were still there but no one was home. I looked down at the gas gauge and sighed. I looked in the back seat at my sweet dog Tag (the Border Collie who graced my life for 14 years before Breezy) and said, "I don't know Miss Tag...I hope this Camry has a good reserve because we are about to test it." She looked at me with her big brown eyes and then curled up on the seat to prepare for what ever bizarre situation that I might get us into. She endured a lot of adventures with me in 14 years. We hit I-40 again in search of fuel. I drove and drove and drove some more. My gas gauge was getting very close to E and finally the fuel light came on. My imagination went to work as I visualized Tag and I hitching along I-40, thirsty and hot (it was August and scorching) waiting for the serial killer to come and pick us up. I was getting pretty worried. Then I encountered a bug storm. Massive big black kamikaze bugs with massive wing spans and huge gobs of guts impaled themselves on my windshield, wiper blades, grill and antenna. It was disgusting. After the flurry of cussing Tag decided that riding on the floor behind my seat was a safer place. Finally off in the distance I saw a sign. It was one of those state road signs that advertises gas and food and lodging. There was no food and no lodging but there was a mini market with gas. I pulled off and found that it actually had fuel and thankfully a window cleaning squeegee/sponge thingie so that I could clear the bug guts off of my windshield. After I filled the tank I gave Tag a drink of water and a handful of doggie treats and we blasted across the rest of the panhandle. At one point I looked off into the vastness of the flat barren landscape and I saw something sticking up on the horizon. A few minutes later I could see it more clearly. It was a HUGE white cross. I was sure that it was only five minutes away but I kept driving and driving and I could still see it. And the farther I drove the bigger it got. Finally I thought that I'd never get to that cross and that it must belong the hugest church on the planet. I drove and drove some more. Finally I came to the cross. It wasn't a church but more like a monument. I never forgot that TEXAS size cross.

As we drove down I-40 through the panhandle the other day I remembered the cross. It was in Groom, Texas. I saw it as huge and white as ever way before we got to Groom. I looked it up on the Internet (typed in Google "Texas panhandle big white cross"...what would we do without Google?) and came up with the facts. It is 19 stories high and it took 100 welders in two shops to complete it. It has been there since 1995. I don't know much else about it except it is huge and the panhandle is as flat as a pancake with nothing to block the view so you can see it for miles. I wondered what aliens landing here eons after we are extinct would think of such a thing standing there... I know. I wonder weird stuff.

So we finished up on Oklahoma and took off on Friday morning for Little Rock. I'd never been to Arkansas and was surprised how much it looks like Central Kentucky. Neither of us slept much during out stay in OKC so we made a short day of it. We found a nice little KOA off of the Interstate...but not far enough off of the Interstate. It was charming with nice owners but noisy and I didn't sleep much again. Even though I was pretty worn out from lack of sleep I decided that it was time to go shopping. The cupboard was really bare. John wanted to watch The Masters so he tuned in and I looked on the Internet for a grocery store. I found a Kroger about seven miles from the KOA. Feeling like I needed a back up to my driving directions I programmed Tom Tom and took off for Kroger with the bike rack and one bicycle on the back of the car. Believe it or not Tom Tom took me right to the store! I made the left turn into the parking lot and realized that even though it was the correct turn it was the wrong turn. The parking lot was full...full of demolition derby cars, nothing newer that 1980s and everything beat to hell. There were derelict people laying in front of the store on the sidewalk and a guy and a thrashed up Caddy. The black paint had peeled off of the sides and the front bumper was hanging down. He was trying to park it and was having trouble putting in the parking space. It was a diagonal pull in space. Not rocket science. A two year old could have put that car in that space. At that point I determined that he was probably somehow impaired and so were the rest of the people wandering in the parking lot and that I needed to go directly back where I came from. When I got back to Mary John offered to help me unload the groceries. "No need," I said. He looked at me funny. "I didn't go." He said, "Couldn't you find it?" I said, "Oh, I found it. But if I had gone into the store and been lucky enough to come out the bike would have been gone, the bike rack would have been gone and the car might have been up on blocks and the wheels gone." He went to the KOA office and found out that there was a new Super Walmart three miles from the KOA. We got groceries. We left Little Rock, me totally sleep deprived and John driving expertly and quickly toward Kentucky. We had planned a route through western Tennessee up US 51 to Paducah. When I was checking for KOAs I noticed one at Lake Barkley. Hmmm...a night at the Lake might be kind of nice after all of the noise.

I must say here that we have stayed in KOA campgrounds all across the country and back. Our experience at Wildwood was an isolated one and most of them are great places to stop for an overnight when you are traveling. Our best one was at Las Cruces, New Mexico. They are so convenient. You can find them on the KOA website, book the reservation, pay for it and specify exactly what you want. Most of the KOA owners are very nice and the parks are conveniently located, easy to get to and easy to find. I like that. But most of them are pretty close to the Interstates. So when we started talking about taking a day out before we get home and spending some time at the Lake it sounded like heaven to me. As I type we are parked lakeside. We are under some trees and parked next to some bass fishermen who are here for a tournament. The people across from us are nature lovers. They have to be. It's 4o degrees out, windy and they cooked out beside their coach and sat outside wrapped up in layers of clothes until dark.

Our only problem was a conversation that I had with the woman in the office. We found the KOA but couldn't determine where the office was. That's unusual. So I called the office as we sat in the road poised to make a right hand turn toward the marina. There was no traffic so we decided to just stop before we did something that would require that we back up (still touchy after Baytown). So I called the woman. The conversation went something pretty close to this:

Her: "KOA Lake Barkley. How can I help you?"

Me: "Yes, this is Karen Jones and we have a reservation for tonight for a 42 foot motor coach and we are sitting by the sign that says "Ramp" to the right and "Camping and Lodging" to the left. Can you tell me which direction we should go to the registration office?"

Her: "You're where?"

I repeated myself.

Her: "Just a minute." (I hear rattling) "Is that YOU sitting out there in the big tannish colored motor home?"

Me: "Yes, that's us."

Her: "You can't go up there. The owner's house is up there."

Me: "That's fine. So where do we go, to the right?"

Her: "You're gonna hafta back up. You're goin' to the owner's house. You can't do that."

Me: "Ma'am we can't back up. We are towing a car. We can make a turn. Can you tell me which direction we should go?"

Her: "Well can you see the yellow car in the parking lot?"

I scan to left and then to the right and see a blazing yellow car.

Me: "Yes. Do we turn to the right? We can make the turn without backing up."

Her: "Do you see the flag pole?"

What the????

Me: "Yes. It's by the yellow car. Now, do we turn right?"

Her: "Come down by the little wood lookin' buildin' with the green metal roof."

I look to the right again.

Me: "DO WE TURN RIGHT?"

We have been sitting there for five minutes and I can't get an answer to one simple question. Do we turn to the right, YES or NO.

Her: "Just drive down by the flag pole and pull in front of the little building. Come in and I'll give you your packet."

Me: "So we turn right and drive by the flag pole and the yellow car and pull up in front of the wood building with the green roof." I didn't want to ask any more questions but I had to be sure that we were parking in the right place. "So we don't pull into the parking lot?"

Her: "You'll have to turn your motor home around after you register."

Big sigh.

Me: "So we do NOT go into the parking lot."

Her: "Pull in front of the building."

Me: (I gave up). "Okay, thank you very much."

Apparently "yes" and "no" are not part of her vocabulary. She probably thought I was the dumbest person on the planet too. Oh well...

We drove about six miles off of the main highway to get here. After my exhausting conversation with the woman in the office John went in and paid for two nights and came back fifteen minutes later exhausted from trying to talk to the woman. Then in KOA fashion the manager came out in his golf cart with his little yellow flag flying on the top. We unhooked the car and I drove behind Mary while the little golf cart guided her to our spot. We wound around on narrow roads and big trees and then he guided John into this treed area right next to the lake. John has earned his Master's degree in coach driving in the last six weeks. I believe he could parallel park her in downtown New York City if he had to. We are almost home and I still haven't driven it. There is future post on the repsonibilities of navigation. I promise. So the KOA guy disappeared from my sight behind Mary as he guided her back toward the lake. I sat there and held my breath with Breezy hanging over my shoulder in the Camry as I watched her back tires get closer and closer to the bank of the lake. She stopped on the edge and I let out my breath. I thought after this long journey of learning and fun and panic and laughter and old friends and new ones, and every emotion known to man it would be a bad ending to put her in the lake. But between the KOA guy and John's expertise she is sitting on the pad overlooking the water and we are settled in for a day of rest before we go home and resume our daily duties of life.

I'm sure reflections on this adventure will come as the days pass. We are already planning our next trip toward the end of May. It will probably include a trip to the Carolinas and then a drive to Pennsylvania to the Devon horse show. We are also talking about going west again after the show in Louisville in August, this time taking the northern route through the Dakotas and stopping at some shows and stables along the way. And if we need a little quiet time we can just take her and disappear into some nice campground somewhere close by and have a retreat! Mary and the Camry are due for a good bath and some service for their next trip. They are both covered with bird crap, bug parts, dust, mud, cinders, muck and who knows what else. It's been driving us both nuts since we were in Oregon.

I'm anxious to get home to Lexington and enjoy the spring in Kentucky and sad that the trip is nearly over. As many people know better than we do owning a motor coach can be a challenging experience and some present such problems that they can drive people to do things totally out of their character. We've heard some horror stories that were unbelievable but believable at the same time. We were so fortunate to have gotten this coach with the help of some good friends. She's a good one too, beautiful and smart and solid as a rock. We have had lots of help from the Monaco people and we are so grateful for their assistance along the way. John called Dennis the other day to tell him that we survived the storms in Oklahoma. I realized after he hung up that he didn't ask Dennis one question. Not one! That doesn't mean that we don't have a thousand more to ask but that we jumped in the deep end and learned how to swim with it. Thankfully the coaching gods have been very good to us!

Here is the address to the web album of photos: http://picasaweb.google.com/tagfish1/FloridaToOregonToKentucky2008?authkey=LV-MrZqG-xA

Enjoy!

PS.

The tall one lasted until last night. Perhaps now that we are somewhat calmer about Mary the short one will make it through the summer!

,

From Heaven to Oklahoma

The Pilot and Our Comfort Dog




Today (April 8th) we are crossing New Mexico from Albuquerque across the panhandle of Texas and on to Oklahoma. At the moment we aren't at the end of the earth...but I believe I can see it from here.



On Saturday morning we woke up to a brisk Central Oregon morning. I took Breezy out for her morning walk and when we stepped out of the coach the smell of juniper and sage filled my senses and immediately took me back to my days living in the area. It is the best summertime place I've ever lived. The season is dry and warm and being outdoors riding, canoeing, hiking, biking or just hanging out is such a pleasure that you never want to go inside. Breezy spent fifteen minutes sniffing around the bushes on this sunny morning. She sniffed deer tracks, rabbit doo-doo and big holes where ground critters had made their homes. The campground was next to the Crooked River Gorge a huge cavernous gorge where the Crooked River runs. There was a platform overlooking the gorge where John and Breezy and I went to get a good look the day before. I am working on a Picassa web album that will have lots of pictures of our travels. I should have it posted by the weekend.



We just passed into Texas from New Mexico and into the Central time zone. This time I'm keeping up with the changes on my watch so I don't have to sit down with a pen and paper to figure out what time it is. I'm looking out my window at...nothing. Oh wait...I see a tree beside the road! Wait...oh it's dead. We are back in the land of picnic areas on the Interstates. Baffles me...



Okay, so when we left Central Oregon early on Saturday morning I was pretty sure I knew where we were going. I'd been there before. It was a bit of a distant memory but I had driven there. Our destination was Carson City, Nevada, a little south of Reno. My original idea was to head down US 97 and then cut across at Christmas Valley to Lakeview and drop down onto US 395. After our experience the day before on Santiam Pass I decided that because there is no way out of Oregon to our destination (Interstate 40 to Oklahoma City) without going over a mountain pass, I'd better keep us on the best highways that I could. But neither of us wanted to double back on Interstate 5 so I suggested that we go to Klamath Falls on US 97, take Highway 139 to US 395 through Alturas, Susanville and on to Reno and Carson City. Good plan. So we took off.


The drive to Klamath Falls was uneventful and beautiful. We got on 139 without a hitch. At one point we pulled off of the road so that we could eat lunch and take Breezy for a walk. I took her behind an old abandoned service station and waited while she checked out all of the new smells. A truck passed Mary sitting along side the road and then disappeared into the distance. At that point it occurred to me that I couldn't hear one thing except the sound of the wind and some birds. It was like taking a five minute retreat. It struck me that we have too much noise in our lives. We can't seem to go for one minute without filling quiet space with something. I'm one of those weird people who used go for two weeks without turning on my television. Of course that was before Clinton vs. Obama, American Idol, National Geographic Channel and Planet Earth. High def has ruined me. Anyway, the sounds of silence were immediately calming and appreciated.


After lunch we drove on through some pretty country as I checked maps, weather and altitude and answered pilot questions. I looked up and saw that we were coming to a stop sign. There was a huge sign that pointed to the left that said, "Alturas....to RENO" and an arrow pointing to the left. The real road sign said "Susanville 88 miles" and pointed to the right. John asked, "Which way to we go?" I was stumped. I had an instinct to go left but wasn't sure. We have kept Tom Tom programed and on MUTE practically since the incident in Georgia when I thought we lost the car. We've only referred to it as a useless piece of shit a few times since then. So this time, like an idiot, I ignored my intuition and deferred to Tom Tom. It said to go to the right. We went to the right and headed into a pine forest and immediately started gaining altitude. The road narrowed and I said, "I hope to hell this isn't a cow trail." John just drove on with eyes riveted to the road, without comment. We went higher and higher and until we drove past a sign that said, "Adin Pass, 5175 ft." We both took a deep breath. The road was very narrow and bumpy without guard rails and the cliffs were very steep. And there was no traffic. I was glad on the one hand but a little disturbed by it on the other. Why wasn't there any traffic? We continued to climb and twist and turn. I looked at the map again. We were due to make a turn onto a lesser road. It crossed my mind that I didn't think that a road could be lesser than this one unless it was gravel...or dirt. You know how on maps the more major the road the heavier the line that represents it? Well the line for 139 to Susanville was faint pink. Barely visible. We couldn't turn back if we wanted to so we drove on.



John made the turn on to the faded pink line and the road got bumpier but the scenery got better. As we thumped and rattled along we actually started to laugh about the fact that we had essentially made a wrong turn (thank you very much Tom Tom) and were making lemonade from it. The views on both sides of the road were very serene and beautiful. We were in cattle country; grazing land and pine trees and winding creeks. And as we jiggled along hugging the center line quietly appreciating mother nature's gifts we looked up and saw a large turquoise body of water dead ahead. Eagle Lake. It was such a treat that it made the entire side trip through the boonies worthwhile. From there we wound down out of the high altitude to medium altitude and came to Susanville. We found our way through the mountain peaks into Carson City and settled in for a terrific night of sleep.






















First View of Eagle Lake



There is a peculiar thing that happens to Sleep Number beds when you travel through high altitudes. It's one that can cause a lot of trouble if you don't pay attention. This is our first experience with Sleep Number and we are both thinking that it is a pretty neat invention. John can adjust his side to a firmness that he likes and I can do the same and be really comfortable too. I think the claims that you get a better night of sleep are true, at least for us. But when you travel with one you need to deflate both sides before you drive to higher altitudes. When I went to get into bed that night my bed had pumped itself up from 40 to 100. I was tired and looking forward to flopping into bed. When I flopped it was like flopping on a table top. "Crap!" I hollered and sat up. John came running, "What's wrong?" The bed is possessed!" I said as I stared at the sleep number remote adjuster. "It's going to pop!" He nodded. "That's right! Bill Tomin said his bed popped when they went skiing one time." It makes sense. The milk cartons expand anything bagged or sealed expands, why not air mattresses? Visions of an exploding air mattress danced in my head as I dozed off.



We just passed into Oklahoma and passed a rest area. I had a revelation; I haven't had to use a disgusting toilet since we have been on the road. Guys probably won't get this but women's public bathrooms in rest areas are very scary. I always feel like I may have contracted bubonic plague or Ebola when I have to use one. And we haven't had to throw good money into a flea ridden hotel so that they would take our dog (who is better behaved than most people's kids) for an overnight stay. Life with Queen Mary has wonderful benefits.



On Sunday morning we got up early and got ready to make a long drive to Needles, California. I finally figured out why it was named Needles. Needle Mountain is close by. The peaks are very sharp in the little range of mountains. Anyway, we left Carson City and headed south. As I said earlier I was sure I knew where we were going because I was sure that I'd been there before. I was wrong. I hadn't been down 395 from Reno to Barstow I had been down 95 through Las Vegas and then on to Phoenix. Big difference. BIG difference. We dropped south through Gardnerville and out into Antelope Valley and by Topaz Lake. We found a little piece of heaven. As the day progressed we found bigger and bigger pieces of heaven.



We are getting close to Oklahoma City now so I have to stop here and resume my navigator responsibilities. Finding the right entrance to the fairgrounds could be a challenge. The Camry had a dead battery yesterday morning so we don't want a repeat performance of Baytown. Another thing we learned (yesterday morning) is that you need to unplug the car from the coach when you stop or it drains the battery. The transmission monitor people in Wakarusa failed to mention that, like they failed to mention that if you warm the car up before you hook it up it will stop the monitor from howling at you for a half hour. Details, details...


April 9th



We found the RV parking at the fairgrounds with the help of a nice lady who took pity on us when she saw us circling the grounds...lost. I flunked navigation yesterday. John had spoken to Charlie at the RV office yesterday and he informed us that it cost $25.00 per night to stay here. We are sitting on asphalt with a 50 amp hookup, sewer, water and cable television (which doesn't seem to work). We have a perfect view of Interstate 44, complete with sound effects, and an electronic billboard that I'm sure will illuminate the bedroom nicely at night and we are sitting down in a hole. There is major construction going on close enough that I could hit the backhoes and jackhammers with a rock.



The grounds are very nice and John says the horse show facility is great. I haven't been out of Mary today except to take Breezy to the grassy area across the parking lot a few times and to empty the garbage. Today I'm cleaning up from the dust storm in Barstow. More on that later. We are in the land a little south of Oz and have been listening to reports of "severe storms" coming through Oklahoma City today and tonight. These storms include some or all of the following: High winds, heavy rain, small hail, LARGE hail, thunder and lightening, flooding and the possibility of tornadoes. John speculated that if we had a tornado we should get in the back closet over the diesel engine. I speculated that if a tornado hit Mary we would probably want a front seat view of our trip over the rainbow. It's been raining complete with thunder and lightening for hours. Perhaps the airbag system that Mary sits on can double as pontoons should the hole we are sitting in flood tonight.



Charlie stopped by first thing this morning to collect the rent. He tapped on the door. John was gone to the arena so it was just Breezy and me. I opened it and looked down at a man in grimy navy blue coveralls with a receipt pad in his hand. "You ready to pay your rent?" he asks. I was speechless for a second. Then I saw "Charles" on an embroidered name tag on his coveralls. There was a smudge of grease on the "L" so it took me a second to decipher his name. "You must be Charlie," I said. He grinned revealing a rack of tobacco and coffee stained teeth. "Will you take a check?" I asked. "Yeeeep. Check'll work." I asked, "How much do we owe you?" He asked, "How long you stayin'?" I was thinking that I was ready to leave immediately. "Two nights," I answered. "That'll be ninety bucks." Pretty steep rent for parking in a asphalt hole and twenty bucks more per night than we were quoted. I decided that it was worth the extra money to get Charlie out of my life.


The last time I took Breezy to the grassy area I noticed a small sign that the wind had blow over that said "VIP parking $45.00 per night". I was glad I didn't argue with Charlie.



Back to our trip through the Sierras. So as we proceeded along US 395 around every turn and over every hill was another treasure of nature. The Sierra Nevada mountain range is by far the most beautiful that I've ever seen. We agreed at the end of the day that neither of us had been on a more beautiful drive than we experienced that day.





















Eastern Slope of the Sierras



We reached altitudes of over 8,000 feet. I saw the sign at Devil's Gate which is a little over 7,500 feet I remembered the Sleep Number bed. I bolted out of my seat and ran for the bedroom with visions of spending the rest of our trip sleeping on the platform under the air mattress. I grabbed the remote adjuster and poked the button and it read 100. I deflated one side and then the other which was also at 100. Whew...close call. Our highest point was at Deadman's Pass, altitude 8,036 feet above sea level. We stopped at Mono Lake and I read where the highest and the lowest points in the United States are just 80 miles apart, Mt. Whitney at 14,494 feet and Death Valley which is 282 feet below sea level. I've always though that California was the most diverse, beautiful and interesting state I've ever been in. This trip really confirmed that.


As we eased out of the altitude we encountered small towns and valleys of green grazing that were full of cattle. In Bishop if people had a blade of grass growing they had a cow to eat it. Even in town there were two fat steers scratching their backs on a billboard that was planted on a tiny patch of grass. I looked out Mary's windows with binoculars completely enjoying the scenery as we descended. Then we came down by the China Lake Naval Weapons Center and started encountering dry lake beds. They look like giant salt flats. We continued to descend and finally approached Barstow. The wind picked up considerably and I could see John muscling Mary's steering wheel with each blast of wind. We made the turn at Four Corners and headed toward Barstow for fuel. Our destination was Needles. This was actually the longest we had gone without buying fuel and John was calculating our mileage and remaining fuel with the Aladdin system as we drove. We were good to go to Barstow.


The wind picked up more. As we got closer to Barstow I was relying on a memory (a dwindling resource) from our last trip through Barstow when we fueled up. There was a Flying J and a Travel America. But I was having trouble trying to remember whether they were on Interstate 15 or Interstate 40 which come together at Barstow. I rattled my brain but nothing was coming to the surface. Then I looked out the window my attention was redirected. A dust storm was blowing across the highway in front of us. By this time we had been through a bug storm and Mary's windshield was a mass of yellow bug guts. Now I was staring at a blast of white powdery dust and we were driving right into it.


"There isn't enough money in the world to make me live out in this wasteland," John says. I concur.





















And it got worse than this..


What passed through my mind, besides the fact that it looked like we were driving into a blinding dust storm was what that dust was going to do once it seeped through the cracks and crevasses of Mary. Leave it to the housekeeper to concern herself about cleaning when things get dangerous. Not only that by the time we drove through it and came out on the other side I realized that it actually was Kingman, Arizona where we fueled up and not Barstow and we had passed through without seeing any truck stops. It was a middle age moment...when you thump yourself on the forehead and say, "I can't believe that I forgot that!" Anyway, the truck stops really are there but just not where we were going. So our next challenge was to find a truck stop between Barstow and Needles. I got out "The Next Exit" and found one. It was a Texaco with a diesel truck station. John eased Mary up to the station and found that all but two of the pumps were out of diesel and the cost of what was left was $4.29 per gallon. I'll resist my urge to launch into a tirade about the cost of fuel and why it is so high. We got 25 gallons, enough to get us to the Kingman truck stops the next day and we drove on to Needles where we found a charming little KOA. The spaces were separated by Oleander and Bougainvillea flowering with white and red blooms. It took us five minutes to set up and three minutes to pour the scotch.


I just heard that we don't have any tornado watches for the Oklahoma metro area at the moment. I was relieved. And then the weather man said that we could have them around 4:00 in the morning. That will make for a restful night of sleep.


John accuses me regularly of attempting to re-write "War and Peace" and I'm sure he would (and will) say that about this blog post so I will stop for now. I'll update next on our trip from Needles to Albuquerque and our impending trip from Oklahoma City to Oz.

Mary Goes to The Mountains

Santiam Pass

On Friday, April 4th we wrapped up our business and our fun and prepared to leave Springfield. We went to the barn in the morning and Breezy and Buddy had their last romp together before we said our goodbyes to the Arcuris. Then we set off for Central Oregon...to meet the Arcuris for dinner. We were in Terrebonne less than 24 hours but once again we had a wonderful time. After we got there.

I had been checking the weather reports and travel cams on the mountain passes for two days. I used to live in Central Oregon and made many, many trips over Santiam Pass over the years so I am aware how quickly the weather can change up there even in the spring months. John has driven Mary in the rain, the wind, the dust and the sun but we hoped to avoid driving her in the snow. So I checked, re-checked and checked again obsessively. I checked twice before we left on Friday and had the weather cam on the Pass up on my computer desktop as we left the farm and headed out on Highway 126 to McKennzie Pass. It was raining lightly when we left. Twenty minutes later it was raining harder. Forty minutes later it was raining cats and dogs. When we left, the weather cam on the mountain said 28 degrees. Twenty minutes later it said 30 degrees. Forty minutes later it said 31 degrees. Things were going well way up there on Santiam Pass even if they were deteriorating quickly down where we were. John was skillfully negotiating the wet roads and the wet weather while I quietly obsessed over whether we would get over the pass without encountering really bad weather.

I must say here that my husband is getting quite good at driving this huge vehicle. He has managed to put it in tight spots and get it out and drive it in all kinds of road conditions. It was probably just this side of insane for us to take off on a six week long trip knowing next to nothing about this motor coach but it has turned out very well. We haven't hurt it (that we are aware of) and the coach (and Dennis and Bob and a few dozen other Monaco technicians) and some friends and acquaintances and even a few strangers along the way have taught us so much about how to handle her and about all of her systems. I must also say that we are not totally confident with her yet but when I think about how completely inept we were when we left Florida a little over a month ago I'm pretty impressed with all that we have learned. We can distinguish sounds that are normal from sounds that are not. That's big. It cuts way down on adrenaline rushes. That will lengthen our lives considerably. If the adrenaline rushes had continued at the level at which we were experiencing them in the first two weeks we would have been dead a week ago. If I had to equate our current knowledge to the kindergarten through graduate school system I would say that we have graduated to at least....well...the third grade! But John is much more advanced than that in the driving end of things. That would be partly because he drove horse vans and horse trucks and trailers all of his life and partly because he hogs the driving of Mary all to himself. Remember when I said that I might get to drive her when we crossed West Texas? Well I haven't driven her yet. My job is navigation. A subject for another blog post.

On another subject...Buddy, the cutest Basset Hound alive, was a little depressed after Breezy left. Tim said he sat in the office and stared at the door for some time after she left as though he though she might come back through the door at any time for another romp in the arena together. So that means that we must come back soon. We can't let Buddy down. Of course Breezy, being the femme fatale that she is, has gone on as though nothing has changed. I like to think that down deep she has given Buddy a special place in her heart and she longs to return at some later date to Springfield to rekindle her relationship with him. Or she may be one of those fickle types leaving a string of broken canine hearts across the country and back. Time will tell.

So we continued on our way over McKennzie pass while I checked the traffic cam on Santiam Pass. To my absolute horror I see that the temperature has not only NOT continued to rise...it is falling. And each successive look at the cam tells me that it is getting foggier...or snowier up there on the top of the Santiam Pass. I decided it was fog. The last time I looked it had dropped from 31 degrees to 28 degrees and the view on the cam was nonexistent. It looked like a photo of dense fog. I checked the weather report for the 400th time. It didn't say anything about snow. Okay. "We're fine," I mutter to myself.

A note on denial: It is alive and well. Even when I know that I should say..."You know...it looks like it is getting colder up there and we may run into trouble," my mind says, "Well it's probable that we will get over the top without a hitch and then we will enjoy the time with Tim and Jean that we planned..." It truly didn't matter because at the point where I determined that there may be trouble it was too late to turn back.

Next the rain turned from plain old rain, to thick rain. And then to rain and snow. And then it turned to snow. I tried to update the travel cam but I had lost my Internet connection. Too far out of range. And then in no time (I mean FAST) the road went from wet to snow-covered and Mary was grinding up and down hills and around big curves in the snow. I said, "Well I guess as long as we don't have to stop we will be fine." John maintained a neutral expression and attitude. I was bolstered. If he wasn't freaked out by the weather then I wasn't freaked out by the weather.

Of course it was totall fallacy. And I knew it but once again denial was coloring my thinking. Thankfully I didn't find out until later that in his mind he was FREAKING OUT...and so was I. But neither of us wanted to freak the other one out because of the weather. Breezy snoozed as we chugged through the snow...freaking out...quietly.

Mary with all of her weight and can do (anything) attitude ground through the snow like a giant snow plow and John eased her through along like he had been driving motor coaches in the snow all of his life. We were good. We were fine. As long as we didn't have to stop we were in great shape.

Then we rounded a curve and our eyes popped. Murphy was back, sitting right behind my seat...snickering. There was a line of traffic ahead of us. All I could see was red brake lights. There were cars, trucks, and RV's and up the line a fifth wheel that was moving at about two miles an hour ON A HILL. I groaned. "Oh (expletive)." Feel free to fill in the blank. John eased Mary down to a crawl and eventually had to stop. The problem? The fifth wheel pulled by a dually truck was crawling along up the hill slowing all traffic to a near stand still. One by one cars and trucks eased out into the oncoming lane and passed the fifth wheel and we eased along until we got behind it. John glanced in the mirror and said, "There is a snow plow behind us." We looked at each other with knowing looks. "*#$%!@@ Murphy," I said. "A snow plow behind us is not going to help much."

In the mean time the person who was driving the fifth wheel was obviously scared poop-less or was a total simpleton. It was snowing harder. The hill seemed to be getting steeper. We followed along behind this idiot hoping that the snow plow would find a place to pass us and actually start helping us get over the pass. We broke over the hill and started down the other side. We followed the fifth wheel going 20 miles per hour up and down a few hills until out of the blue, in the middle of the damn road the idiot in the fifth wheel stopped. Dead in the road. Stopped. We couldn't see around him well enough to pass so we stopped too. The blessing in this was that the snow plow got sick of the both of us and passed us. We sat there cursing the idiot in the fifth wheel until we could get around him and when we did I looked out my co-pilot's window and saw a man about 99 years old with his window down waving and smiling like he had good sense.

Scary.



So we fell in behind the snow plow. I turned and flipped Murphy off and we moved on to ascend the steepest part of the pass. Mary handled it all like a champ. The Camry, which I had considered washing before we left the farm in Springfield, didn't fare as well. When we stopped I got out and looked at the coach and the car. Mary is sort of colored like the red cinders that they use on the road to provide traction so while she was really dirty the poor little car was absolutely filthy. It got dragged along behind Mary while she was kicking up all of those red cinders and dirty snow. It looked like it had been in used in a mud bog race. It still does. And Mary is sporting cinder/snow muck and bugs collected from Florida to Oregon and half way back. We can't wait to get her home and clean her up!

On The Descent

We made it to Terrebonne and set up at the RV park at Crooked River Ranch. When I called the office for directions to the park the woman who answered the phone gave me the rights and lefts and road names and then she told me that we would come to a sharp turn just before we drove down a steep hill to the park. She said, "Now I'm telling you, please slow down and be very careful on that turn. It's one of those 'Oh my God' turns." I thought that was a little odd...until we came to this turn. It is a 15 mile per hour ninety degree turn to the left and a guard rail that would keep the average vehicle from driving off a 500 foot cliff straight down to a golf course. Of course Mary isn't the average vehicle. She is huge. Once we made the turn and started down the hill we looked at each other and said in unison, "Oh my God," and then cracked up.


We had about an hour to settle in before we changed clothes and drove out to Ranch at the Canyons at Smith Rock and met Tim and Jean. They have a lovely home with a perfect view of Smith Rock. Then we went to Bend and had a great meal and a great time. We drove back to Terrebonne and greeted our wonderful little coach dog who was thrilled to see us. We both stopped outside in the cold evening air and looked up at the sky. It was a mass of sparkling stars against an inkt black sky. In all my years on the planet I've never been anywhere where you can find a night sky like that. It is spectacular.


In the morning we got up early and headed south. In my next blog I will describe a trip through the Sierra Nevada Mountains that was the most beautiful drive that either of us has ever taken. We are on a march to get to Oklahoma City for the Oklahoma Centennial horse show on Tuesday so we haven't had much time to stop and smell the roses but we have completely enjoyed the trip from the windows of our magic bus!

The Magic Bus

The View from Mary in Springfield

First, I apologize for taking so long to blog. It won't happen again...I promise. We are fine. We didn't drive off a cliff (but got very close to the edge a few times).

We are in Oregon and as it is every time we come to Oregon we have been busy as bird dogs...or Border Collies. My family lives around the Portland area and we have several friends there as well so we spent a week attending parties, dinners, lunches, get togethers and a horse show. It was an eat-a-thon, lots of fun but not too good for the waistline. I surely didn't get to see all of the people that I wanted to but we will be back in Oregon before summer is out and I hope to be able to cover the rest of our list of very important people then.

Last Saturday we left the Singing Hills Stables and the hospitality of the van der Walts in Oregon City and moved down to Springfield to visit the Arcuris at their farm. At the moment Mary is parked in a pastoral setting with a view of green pastures, grazing yearlings and miles of white fences. And she is just a few miles from where she was made.

About two weeks ago (or was it three...I've totally lost track of time) we left Gilroy, California, the garlic capital of the world, and drove north through the hills around Oakland and on to the Siskiyou pass and Mt. Shasta. It was a day of ooo's, ahhh's and "Look at that!"-s. Through our last days of travel and our week parked at Singing Hills Stables in Oregon City we have discovered something about our Queen Mary. Every time we find a problem that we think will need attention from a Monaco technician and we say "Write it down," she fixes herself. Not only that, her magic powers seem to have transferred to the Camry. The words, "Write it down," translate to the vehicles as "Abracadabra!" and POOF! the things miraculously fix themselves. It worked on the door (the seal was working intermittently), it worked on the washer, it worked on the television, the satellite system, the brake light on the Camry and most miraculously it worked on the transmission monitor. Well to be truthful we figured out that if we remember to start the Camry in the morning and let it run until it is warm the transmission monitor stops howling at us and we begin the day sane. There were other magic things too but the point is that this is not only the smartest coach on the road...way smarter than her owners... she is a magic bus too. We had the opportunity to have dinner with the lady who was responsible for us owning Mary two nights ago. I'm sure we bored her to tears with our stories of life on the road and gushing over how much we have enjoyed our magic bus and how great the people at Monaco have been to us. All true.

I'm a little schizo when it comes to traveling in Mary. After we have been on the road for several days I look forward to stopping for a rest. It only takes five minutes to set up once we stop but making reservations at new places every night, finding those places (nearly always something of a hair raising event after Baytown, Texas) and worrying over whether we will be able to see American Idol or not wears on me a little bit after several days of travel. So when we stop and set up for a period of time I'm relieved. But then when we stop we are always busy...crazy busy. That's when I put on my business hat and go to work on collecting mail, paying bills, tracking everything and lately working more on coach paperwork issues. And there's the taxes. I'll spare you the soap box moment on what I think about how the government spends the obscene amount of money that they demand from us each year. It is safe to say that there is no high approval ratings for Uncle Sam. So after we have visited everyone, eaten our way into an additional size of clothing and I've whipped the paperwork back into its cage I'm ready to roll again. Once we folded up our camp at Singing Hills and we got on the road for the short two hour drive to Springfield John and I looked at each other and grinned. "It's great to be back on the road again isn't it?" he asks me. I'm looking down the road at the panoramic view, floating along in my leather reclining copilot's seat with my laptop and camera within reach and Breezy by my side and nod my head. "Yep! It's great!"

Tim and Jean set us up with a private spot on their 100 acre horse farm here in Springfield. It is beautiful and quiet. As she was at Singing Hills, Breezy is in dog heaven going to work every day at the barn with John and Tim and Ryan and hanging out with me in the afternoons while I work away on the computer. Breezy has her choice of several playmates, some of which are her breed, but she has fallen in love with the cutest Basset Hound on the face of the earth. His name is Buddy. They romp and play and he chases her while she works the round pen. It's pretty cute. Since we have been here the weather has been wonderful, cold in the mornings, warm in the afternoons and tons of sunshine. They have made us so comfortable that we think we might just stay here forever. Okay...I'm joking. Actually we are leaving to return to Kentucky tomorrow via Oklahoma City for the Oklahoma Centennial Horse Show. I got an email from Emily Lee yesterday and she said that Kentucky is in full spring bloom and the Keeneland race meet starts tomorrow so we are feeling the pull back to the bluegrass. I will be chronicling our trip back as we move along.

Okay...so I got sidetracked again. It is April 5 and we are on our way home and I have stories to tell. I just re-read this post and it is pretty boring but I promise the next one will be more interesting. Thanks so much to Gene and Annalize and Bill, Tim and Jean and Ryan and Brita for a lovely time and beautiful places to keep Mary while we were in Oregon. And Rickster, we're so happy that things went so well for you!

In The Stone Age

Pacheco Pass

Welcome to Gilroy, California, garlic capital of the world. No vampires live here. This is a fabulous country.

We were talking yesterday and I told John that the Camry may be the best traveled Toyota in history. It was made at the Toyota plant in Kentucky and shipped to Oregon. I bought it in Oregon and drove it back to Kentucky. Four years later I drove it to back to Oregon, stayed for an extended period and then drove it back to Kentucky. Actually I made that trip from Oregon to Kentucky in three days blasting through Wyoming, Nebraska and Iowa at warp speeds to get home. Now we have dragged the car across the country behind Mary and will drag it back sometime next month. It has failed me twice in 145,000 miles. Two dead batteries. At the very least the car deserves a medal. Perhaps it should be the first inanimate object in history considered for sainthood.

Okay. I'll call and make the appointment to see the therapist.

We traveled from Scottsdale to the Barstow area via Highway 60, to Highway 93 to Interstate 40 to Interstate 15 to Yermo, California and into the Yermo KOA. Our only issue came when we fired Mary up in the morning in Scottsdale. The new transmission pump monitor...the one that we replaced in Mesa and was supposed to actually work, went to howling and screeching worse that the last one. We did the drill (cuss, shut Mary off and start her again, start the car and let it run for ten minutes, cuss, sigh heavily, hook and unhook and re-hook the car repeatedly, shut Mary off again and start her again, cuss, sigh heavily, plug our ears, holler "What??!!" every time one of us tries to talk to the other, and cover Breezy's ears as she looks at me with that pleading look that makes me want to rip the unit out with my bare hands). Finally in desperation we just took off knowing that the pump was working but unsure what would happen if by some unhappy accident the pump actually stops working. Well, my mind has the entire scenario all ready rehearsed. It has a lot to do with replacing the transmission in the Camry in some backwater "Deliverance" burg in Mississippi on a sizzling humid day, swatting swarming mosquitoes and flies, and waiting for days for parts to be delivered from civilization as tobacco chewing toothless men leer at us...there's more but I'll spare you. So we drive. And we pray. Fifty full minutes later the monitor finally shuts up. Breezy, John and I breathe a collective sigh of relief.

John wants to call Remco again which is the company that makes the monitor. So far I've managed to avoid that confrontation through distraction ("Look!! Isn't that a Sasquatch!!" and "Rattlesnake!!!" and things like that take his mind off of chewing on some unsuspecting Remco employee who happens to have the misfortune of picking up the phone on that day). But it is coming. As it should.

Believe it or not the campground near the ghost town in Yermo was kind of cool. I thought we might have trouble finding it because when I entered the address in the GPS and in Mapquest and Yahoo and Google Maps they all said "Sorry, no such place exists". So I wrote down the instructions from the website and we drove right to it. The KOA had tall hedges between the pull through spaces so when we extended Mary's four slide outs we were looking out of the side windows directly into the bushes. There was a huge area in the back for Breezy to play Frisbee. For dinner we had talapia and rice and sweet peas and watched the last segment of Lonesome Dove. We started watching it on our way from Kentucky to Florida. That was about ten years ago wasn't it? Anyway, we did that and slept well in Yermo.

The next morning we go up and pulled Mary together in preparation to leave. John fired her up and once again the transmission monitor started whining. We did the drill and hit the road with my hands over Breezy's ears. This time it only took thirty five minutes and two more Sasquatch sightings to stop driving us nuts.

I was actually kind of dreading the leg of the trip to Bakersfield. It had been nearly thirty years since I'd been out that way and all I remembered was how desolate it was. I was pleasantly surprised to find the desert green and full of wild flowers. The mountain views were beautiful and the trip through the pass at Tehachapi was really pretty. There are lots of wind farms set up in the desert and in the pass and it was fun to see the wind turbines all lined up on the horizon, ready to produce energy for electricity when the wind blows. We passed Edwards Air Force Base where they land the shuttle. It stretches for miles and miles. There were views of several snow covered mountain peaks in the distance. It was really a nice drive. Until we got to Bakersfield. The birthplace of Buck Owens. The Bakersfield Flash.

When we got Mary, Monaco installed a neat new radio that was satellite compatible. John already had a small satellite unit that could be moved from vehicle to vehicle along with a subscription to XM Radio. We made countless trips from Kentucky to Florida and back in the 4-Runner while the XM Radio was entertaining...John. The problem I see with satellite radio is that you kind of get stuck on one station and that's it. John got stuck on a station called "America". I'm not a huge country music fan. I know a lot of people are and that's great but I'm just not. Some people like white wine and some red. Some like vanilla ice cream and others prefer Cherries Garcia (yum). That's life. I like some of the newer country music but mostly I'm from the stone age of the 1960s and 1970s and I tend to like that old rock music. John loves country. So I figured we could compromise on the music listening to some of what he likes and some of what I like. The problem was that I was always writing when we were traveling down the road and he was always stuck on "America". I would set it to the 60's decade and five minutes later it would be back on "America". It is a station that features music from the really old country genre, like Little Jimmy Dickens, Conway Twitty, Loretta Lynn and yes...Buck Owens. John mistakenly thought that because I was typing I went deaf.

Okay, I can do a little bit of the old country stuff without it grating on my nerves. Darn little. In fact one of the things I remember about working for John (back in the stone age) was that I would set the radio station to a local rock station in the morning when I got to the barn. When he came in he would change the radio to a country station. He was the boss so I didn't complain...outwardly. I would just get a horse ready, take it to the arena he would take it and I would do a fifty yard dash to the radio and change it back to the rock station and ready another horse. He would come in, I would take the horse and strip it while he changed the radio back to the country station. Then the cycle would repeat. This went on all day. We never discussed it.

Nothing much has changed in thirty years. So finally after making a few straight-through trips to or from Vero Beach (at 15 hours each) listening non-stop to "America" on XM I couldn't take it anymore. I was "America-ed" out. Endo "America". Breezy (as a puppy) obliged me by chewing the antenna wire in two, twice (apparently she was sick of it too) and I neglected to replace it the second time solving the problem. So when we got Mary and I found out that the radio was compatible with Sirius Radio I dashed to the Internet and scrolled through the stations and to my delight I could not find one like "America". Now we listen to one called "Outlaws" which plays a variety of country and rock music that is very entertaining. And of course, political junkies that we are, we listen to CNN Ballot Bowl and The Situation Room every day. Jack Cafferty is my favorite political commentator. Very funny guy.

Back to our trip.

Old 99 is a miserable mess of a road with pot holes and ridges and joints creating a noisy difficult drive. I was actually looking forward to crossing over to Interstate 5 via route 46. Normally the thought of I-5 through the central valley of California is enough to make me groan but after twenty minutes of bumping down 99 it was looking better and better.

I remember when they built the new Interstate 5 through central California. It was back in the 1970's (the stone age) and when they laid all of that concrete my mother thought they had made a personal racing surface for her and her 1971 Corvette. The car was made just before the lemon laws were put into effect. Too bad. It was a lemon of epic proportions. One time she made a trip down that new strip of Interstate 5 and got pulled over by a California State trooper who informed her that she had been traveling at 120 miles per hour and that it took two cops to catch her. They tag teamed her. She smiled, feigned innocence (with a rotten spoiled French poodle and a hand gun in the passenger seat...if you never met my mother you missed quite a character) and explained that the speedometer in the car didn't work. She went through 5 or 6 speedometer cables but the agency apparently kept putting the wrong one in and they kept breaking. It worked for her. She talked her way out of numerous speeding tickets with that excuse. And she knew how fast she was going. No question about it. I tried that one once and all I got was a lecture about keeping my vehicle in good working order and a fat ticket. Oh well. So the cop refrained from hauling her to jail, issued her a speeding ticket worth two weeks pay and sent her on her way. The beast had a 454 cubic inch engine (it loped at stop lights...made me crazy) in it and got the same mileage that Mary's 400 Cummins diesel gets pulling this bus, a car, all of our junk and us...about six miles to the gallon on a good day. She used to joke that it would pass anything but a gas station. True. At least Mary holds 150 gallons of fuel. But she was paying .50 cents a gallon for gas back then and yesterday we paid $4.11 per gallon for diesel in the central valley (now we're doing 120 miles an hour toward the poor house!). Think of that...back in the stone age when I started driving gas was actually .35 cents a gallon. Okay. I feel really old now.

So we drove across route 46 to Interstate 5 and made the turn onto the entrance ramp. That's when I realized how many years it had been since I'd been on I-5 in central California. It looks like a little old two lane cow trail and like old 99 it is full of pot holes and ridges. And there are no mile markers! They have the little posts up there but it appears that someone stole the little green mile marker numbers. John kept asking me where the next rest area was and I kept looking in "The Next Exit" but without mile markers it is pretty useless for distance. I would say, "Well if I had a clue where we were I would know where the next rest area is."

Soap box moment: When the presidential candidates say that the infrastructure of this country is falling apart THEY AREN'T KIDDING. We have seen it first hand. But there is massive construction going on in Texas. Go figure.

Okay, so we find ourselves Brailling it along I-5 looking for a rest area for poor Breezy who is looking a little desperate to get out for a pit stop. As far as the eye can see to the east and as far as the eye can see to the west there is nothing but grass and fruit and nuts and berries and more grass and goats and sheep and a giant concrete river to carry water to all of the fruit and nuts and berries and grass and goats and sheep. We bumped along in mind numbing boredom and finally found a rest area. Breezy and I made a dash for the dog walk area while I watched a man walk slowly around Mary and the Camry looking her up and down shaking his head. I guess they don't see too many of them thar buses in the central valley. I understand why. There are no decent roads on which to drive one. So Breezy and I are wandering around the dog area when a wind gust wafts by us and my nostrils fill with the smell of...cow shit.

Harris Feed Lot. They feed 180,000 head of cattle in one location. You can imagine the smell. We were somewhere between five and seven miles (who could tell without mile markers!) from the feed lot and I could smell it. The closer we got the stronger the smell. It took us five minutes to pass the concentration camp of cattle. I remember that in the summer the central valley gets up over 100 degrees every single day and that feed lot is identifiable much farther away. Mary filled with the smell and I was mentally freaking out that she might stink like a giant cow manure pile for the rest of her days. I'm sure that they can fertilize the entire valley from that one feed lot. They call it the fruit basket of the world. But it doesn't smell like fruit!

The stench finally left and we continued on our way toward Highway 152, Pacheco Pass. Our drive down I-5 was about to be rewarded. We made the turn toward the coast and the road widened out and smoothed out and the foothills lay before us. The sun was out and the sky was blue and the temperature was perfect. As we climbed into the foothills it occurred to me what it is about the west that is so impressive to people who don't spend a lot of time here. It is huge. Everything is BIG. The eastern part of the country is equally as beautiful but in a different way. It has gentle terrain and beautiful low deciduous trees. The "hills" that we passed through on our way to the garlic capital of the world were nothing less than breathtaking. Giant emerald green hills, each one higher than the next were covered with big gnarly black oak trees. We passed the San Luis Reservoir stretched on both sides of the road as we climbed through the pass. It looked like something out of a painting, soothing and captivating at the same time. They don't allow development around the reservoir so it is pristine. Mary handled the hills handily passing trucks that were grinding up the immense hills.

We dropped into Gilroy and found our way to Gilroy Garlic USA RV Park (for real). It sits next to a garlic farm and behind a shopping center. It is our first experience with a Good Sam approved RV Park. It is like a big parking lot with hookups and a patch of grass for Breezy to use. It's nice and sterile but I think I like our KOA parks better. They have character (and characters!). I'm on my way over to the shopping center to pick up a few supplies for Mary so that we can hit the road tomorrow and head to Oregon. We will pass through the Siskyou pass past Mt. Shasta. I'll try to get some good pictures and put together another photo album of our travels for my next post. We're off to Oregon!

Wagons hoooooooooooo! (that's from an old TV program called "Wagon Train" that aired back when I was a child, back in the stone age).

Chillin' in the Desert

We have been in Scottsdale, Arizona (the above photo is daybreak at West World) since last Tuesday enjoying the beautiful desert, perfect weather and best of all the company of good friends. I guess after our experience in TEXAS the coach gods decided to cut us a break. Thanks coach gods!

When we left TEXAS we stopped at a KOA (yes, another one) in Las Cruces, New Mexico. It was the best one yet. It is situated on a bluff overlooking a valley and with a perfect view of the mountains. Once again Mary was escorted by a pilot golf cart into a pull through space so we didn't even have to unhook the car. It was all gravel and had a nice dog walk for Breezy. And it was so quiet you could hear the morning doves cooing on the breeze. It was heavenly. We had a drink and dinner and just soaked in the quiet.

In the morning we fired Mary up. She purred. The transmission monitor screeched. And red and green lights flashed. Did we get all upset like we did the first time? Nope. After our experiences in TEXAS we were cool as two cucumbers. Well...there were a couple of big sighs and a few little cuss words but after shutting Mary's engine down and starting her up a dozen or so times we decided that it was due to the crisp cool weather, which was what we thought the problem was when we were in Georgia and got the red light and the green light and the screeching noise. John listened to the Camry and determined that the transmission pump was actually running. Then he called the company that makes the towing system and they said that there were some faulty monitors out there and suggested that we start the Camry's engine and pull it running and then stop in Phoenix when we got there and have the system checked. We did that. Eventually the screeching in the unit stopped, much to Breezy's relief, and we hummed across the desert to Tucson.

As we approached Tucson the mountains got more prominent and we passed through some beautiful country. We had arranged to have dinner with the Ruxers in Tucson so I went to work to find a campground or parking area that was close to where they live. The best I could do was a "park" at the exit where the road takes you to their house. We took the exit, immediately crossed over some railroad tracks, made an immediate right and we were there...sandwiched in between I-10 and the railroad tracks. We figure we can do anything for one night after staying at the Wildwood KOA. We set Mary up. She looked a little out of place...like a Rolls Royce at a demolition derby. But we can do anything for one night. Except sleep.

We went to the Ruxer's lovely home for a cocktail and some good conversation and then they took us to a wonderful restaurant high up on a mountain with a heavenly view and great food. Once again the very best part was the company. We had a wonderful time and then they delivered us to our "park". We said good-bye and settled in for the night.

About an hour into our slumber we were snoozing restfully when all of the sudden we were both jolted out of sleep by the sound of a train whistle. "Holy cow," I thought, "the dang thing is going to blast right through the bedroom!" That scene repeated itself eight or ten times (I lost count) through the night. The "park" was just a hop from 1-10 and the train tracks crossed the highway so I guess it is a law of the railroad that they have to blow their whistle before they cross the road. I had no idea that there were so many different styles of blowing a train whistle. Some conductors blow the whistle in several short little spurts. Some just hit it once or twice and pass through. Most of them lay on the whistle for three long blasts. Or two short and one really, really, really long one. A couple of times I wondered if Mary decided that it was time to end it all with her novice RVers and had moved herself to the tracks while we were sleeping to commit hara-kiri and take us with her.

By the time the sun started to come up we were grateful to get up and get going. It was our last day on the road for a little while and I think all three of us were looking forward to stopping. By the time we reached Arizona I was completely confused as to what time it was. I'm not sure that I know yet. We left the eastern time zone and moved into the central time zone somewhere in the panhandle of Florida. So we gained an hour. Then we moved into Mountain time on Sunday when we passed into New Mexico. We gained another hour. Then when we were in Las Cruces the time changed to Daylight Savings Time. We lost an hour. Then when we passed into Arizona we moved back into Standard Time. We kept asking each other what time it was. When either one of us would answer we would say, "It's twelve thirty (or what ever time it was) I think." It was like one of those dreaded story problems that we used have to solve in grade school math class. I was never good at those. And I was nervous about getting up to take a shower in the middle of the night again.

We only had about two hours to drive to get to West World in Scottsdale but we made a detour through Mesa to get the transmission monitor fixed. When we fired Mary up in the morning it went bonkers again driving poor Breezy to hunt for a quiet place to hide. It turned out to be a faulty monitor after all. It was quickly and painlessly changed out and we found our way to the show grounds. Mary has spent the last several days parked in a giant parking lot with other like coaches and people from all different walks of life. West World is a multi-functional facility so there can be several events going on at the same time. We spent the week grooming horses for Tim Arcuri which was a lot of fun. He brought three horses down for a client but didn't have any help so we volunteered. It has been years since either of us have done that kind of work (I actually groomed for John several years ago) and it was fun!

The desert is perfect this time of year. It isn't hot and the air is very light and dry. We are all a little static ridden, Breezy has the frizzies and John asked me last night why he has wings in his hair...very fly away. But morning and evening we were able to open Mary's windows and enjoy the fragrant air. My oldest friend in the world lives here so she and I were able to spend some great girlfriend time together (tons of laughing) and Breezy got to meet her cousin Brazil, a delightful little Border Collie/Australian Shepherd cross. It has been a fun stay. Tim had a great show and we had a terrific time with him so it has been a nice stay and we hope to come back to the show again next year and back to Arizona before the year is out.

Breezy has become a full fledged horse show dog at this show. We are parked a little ways away from the Equidome where the show is being held so John got up early every morning, got on the bicycle and peddled full out with Breezy running alongside (full out, ears bobbing) over to the barns where they helped Tim work horses. Then they peddled back full out. We used the bikes to get back and forth which was fun. While she was at the barn she would hang out around the tack room and keep an eye on all of the horses in the stalls and passing by the barn making sure that they didn't get out of line. When it was time to show we had to put her on a leash (she totally hates the leash) and take her to the warm up arena and then to the arena for the classes. She trooped right along and while it was very difficult for her she maintained her composure while the horses did their work. We feel so lucky to have such a nice, patient little dog to travel with us. She is a joy.

Tomorrow we hit the road again this time to cross the desert to Barstow, California. We are on our way to Oregon to visit my family and see some good friends and our broodmares who are getting close to having babies. By the time we make it around again they should all have little ones on the ground. I know that Barstow is kind of out in the middle of nowhere but guess what? Yep! There's a KOA in Barstow near a ghost town! We will be making the trip up Interstate 5 to Sacramento and then north over the Siskyou pass into Oregon. I'm sure there will be lots to write about along the way.

Murphy Was Born in TEXAS

Westbound and Down, Loaded Up and Truckin'


I found some things that I really like about TEXAS and I'm so relieved. My past experiences, though few, have been memorable but mostly for the wrong reasons.


To start I'll tell you where we are now. Actually I don't know where we are now because it has been so long since I've seen a town or a burg or anything but an expanse of nearly flat ground peppered with little juniper trees. I know we are past Junction, TEXAS and are not to El Paso yet and won't be for several hours. But given the terrain, with a set of high powered binoculars I could probably see El Paso from here.

Next I'll tell you what I really like about TEXAS. I like to start things on a positive note. San Antonio is a beautiful city. We went to a H.E.B. grocery store in Boerne (pronounced "Bernie" by the locals...we had it all wrong) and found the nicest grocery store I've shopped at in years. I had a ball shopping. We stayed at the San Antonio Rose Palace showgrounds last night. The SASHA show was going on and we had a nice time visiting with everyone there. The show manager was so welcoming and helpful and we met some great people. We even got offered a free steak dinner by a nice gentleman restaurant owner the next time we are passing through the state. Such hospitality!


Right now we are motoring along on a nice highway where the speed limit is 80 miles per hour (cool!). It is so quiet in here that we feel almost peaceful floating down the road. The skies are clear and there is an occasional wind gust but it's mostly pretty nice. We stopped at a rest area to take Breezy for a spin. When I got out of the coach it felt like spring and the air was sweet. So far I have to say that the people that we met in TEXAS are mostly as nice as the TEXANS that we already know. And they are very helpful...thank God.


Now I'll back up to the point where we crossed from Louisiana to TEXAS and try to recount what happened. When John suggested that I blog about this my immediate response was that I didn't think I wanted to re-live it but half way through the day yesterday we began to see some humor in all of it. In fact John was reduced to hysterical laughter just driving down the road. I didn't have to ask what he was laughing about. I knew. Breezy stood between our seats and watched as his hysteria over took me and we convulsed with laughter, gasping for air and drying tears

Okay. We were bouncing and bumping along on Interstate 10 late in the afternoon on Friday after leaving Florida that morning. We thrashed down the highway while I was frantically searching for a place to park Mary before we got to Houston. My best advice was that we stop before Houston because at the rate we were traveling we would have met Friday night rush hour head on. But I couldn't find a park or campground that had a space much less one that could take our big coach. I called five parks and all gave me the same answer...sorry, full up. The only KOA listed was right in Houston. Not going to work. The wind had been gusting at 25 to 35 mph all day long and John was worn out with wrestling Mary around narrow beat up, torn up, horrible Interstate 10 so we were considering a Walmart or a rest area or a truck stop...anything just to get off of the road. Finally I picked up "The Next Exit" and one entry grabbed my attention. It was an exit in Baytown, Texas and it has a KOA listed. I Googled "Baytown KOA" and came up with a number (it wasn't in the KOA directory because they apparently ditched the KOA to be an independent park). Yes! Things were looking up. I dialed and got a nice woman on the phone and asked her if she had space. There were two left that would accommodate a coach the size of Queen Mary so I made the reservation and she gave me some brief directions to get to the place. We were re-energized knowing that we would soon get off of I-10 for a good night of rest.

As we approached Baytown we realized that we were considerably closer to our destination than we thought. John asked me to call the woman and get specific directions. So I did. She gave them to me and said it was fine if we arrived a little earlier than we planned. As we got closer John asked me to call the woman back again so that he could get the directions from her personally. No problem. I dialed and she answered and I gave him the phone. She repeated that we would need to make a U turn under the highway (this is an odd thing that I've never seen before...frontage roads all over the place and quirky on and off ramps that leave you wondering what direction you are going. And instead of driving over the Interstate you pass under the Interstate. I know this shouldn't be a big thing but when you are driving a BIG thing and can't back up without tearing the front end out of the Camry it is important that you don't get into situations where you have to unhook the car in order to get out of a mess.


Every coach owner that we have spoken to nods in recognition when we outline the dreaded scenario in which you have to back up and can't. "Been there," we hear. "Oh yeah, done that," says the next person with excruciatingly painful expressions. Well we are determined to be so careful that it will NEVER happen to us.


But I forgot about Murphy. He was vacationing on the beach in Florida for a few weeks, spiffing up his tan before he packed his bags and stowed away in Mary for a trip to his homeland. When we entered TEXAS he woke up and started celebrating...at our expense.


Currently we are still heading toward El Paso. Haven't seen much. A few dead critters in the road. A tumbleweed. A few picnic areas. Call me crazy but I find it strange that anyone would want to picnic along I-10 in west TEXAS.


Back to the story...


So I heard John ask the woman to repeat the directions to the campground three times and he thanked her and hung up as we took the exit. We pulled up to the traffic signal where we were supposed to take a left. But there were two ways to make a left. I'd never seen anything like it. Neither of us was sure if taking the first turn would take us where we needed to go because there wasn't a sign. Anywhere. About anything.

I think in some states you need to be psyhic to get around.

In this case we needed to get to the frontage road. The choice was A or B. We chose B. We quickly realized that we should have taken A. Thanks Murphy. So we drove on down a road saying, "Uh oh"..."Oh shit"..."We screwed up" and lots of things like that while we searched frantically for a big parking lot big enough to turn around in. Finally we saw a church with a circular driveway that would work. John made the turn and we eased around as he asks me to call this woman again. Again? I'm feeling resistant at this point but I do it and hand the phone to him. He wants me to talk to her. I refuse. He takes the phone. He's trying to explain where we are (how the hell would we know where we are...there are NO SIGNS) and what we did wrong. Then before she finishes explaining how to fix it John sees an opening in traffic and says, "I have to go now!" and hands me the phone again as Mary lurches out onto the road and we head back to the same intersection where Murphy got involved in our lives. I apologized to the woman for making her start over again and for being such a pain. By this time I know she thinks we are total idiots (and if she didn't think so by then there couldn't have been one doubt left in her mind by the time we got off of the property the next morning). Finally I figured out where we needed to go. She repeats to me to be careful not to miss the driveway. Okay. We will be careful I say and hang up.


We found the entrance without a problem and John registered us for the night. It was a nice place but it was 100 feet from I-10 so it was a little noisy. And that's an understatement.

We just got hit by a gust of wind that felt like a miniature tornado. It rocked Mary half way out of one lane and into another. It's looking kind of dusty up ahead. We are trying to figure out which way the wind is coming from. I guess it doesn't matter. It's a annoying as hell and it is killing our already meager mileage. Oh well. As a good friend pointed out to us today, you can't take it with you so you might as well have fun. That we are doing!


Okay, so John started easing Mary into the park looking for the lane that we are supposed to turn down (lane D) while we discussed the desire to uncork a nice bottle of wine to have with our dinner when we see a utility trailer that was either left in the middle of the road or pushed there by a wind gust. There was enough room for us to get around it but by doing that we were cut too short to make the turn into lane D. No good choice.


Murphy must have been taking steroids while he was resting up in Florida. And drinking tequila all day while we were battling the roads and the wind.


John took Mary as far as he could take her which was about half way into the turn to lane D and stopped before hitting a big bus in front of us. We looked at each other. This was it. It was the thing that we were determined wouldn't happen. We had to unhook the car. It could have been worse (far worse). With the exception of being a pain in the butt we were inside the park and we were 30 feet from where we were going to rest, drink some wine and have a nice dinner. And there was just a little traffic using the lane that we were now blocking.

So we pile out of the coach and John starts to unhook the Camry but because of the angle of the turn, the car wasn't straight on the hitch so it was binding on one side. He struggled and jerked and finally broke the hitch loose. I jumped in and put it in Park so I could start it while he stowed the hitch on Mary. I reached up and turned the key and................nothing. Zilch. I turned the key back and tried again. Zippo. Nothing. It was dead. I opened the door and hollered over the roar of Mary's diesel engine, "It won't start!" He can't hear me. "WHAT?" he hollers back. "It's DEAD...the battery is DEAD!" A look of understanding...and disbelief replaces his look of questioning. "We'll have to push it out of the road," I say. I jump in and try to put the transmission back in neutral. It won't budge.

Thank you Toyota for adding such a great safety feature to your cars. I'm really safe sitting in traffic with a dead battery and no way to move the car unless I'm strong enough to pick the son of a bitch up and carry it to the side of the road.


End of soap box speech.


John shakes his head and gets in to the car to try it himself. I guess he thought I didn't hold my tongue just right. He shakes his head again and swears. And sighs. "Okay. Let me park the coach and we'll figure this out." He backed Mary up while I directed him around the front of the dead car and then disappeared into the park. I hung out with the Camry until he came back with Breezy on a leash and handed her to me. Then he started flagging down men driving pick up trucks through the park to find someone who had jumper cables.

This is a strange phenomenon...men and jumper cables. I've seen it all of my life. Just mention that you have a dead battery and you get swarmed by men with jumper cables. They will fight to win the right to jump a dead battery. If they have a dead battery and jumper cables they have to find someone to lend them a battery to jump. Women don't run down the road with jumper cables in their cars. We carry AAA cards and call an 800 number and have men with jumper cables come and jump our dead batteries. No muss no fuss. Most of the time anyway.



So I decided to take Breezy for a needed walk while three men with trucks and jumper cables huddled gleefully around the car discussing how to move it while it's stuck in Park. It looked like a man in a gray truck won the battery jumping contest. I saw a grassy area where Breezy could do her thing. I stepped off of the pavement on to the grass and sunk to the top of my clean white tennis shoes into TEXAS slop...and Breezy is into it over the tops of her little white feet. "Yuuuuuuuucccccccckkkkkkkkk!!!!" I holler and start looking for a puddle of clear water to clean our peds off. The wind was still blowing at 35 miles an hour and it was COLD. Out of the corner of my eye I see the little Camry heave forward in one big jump. My hair stands straight up. Apparently they found a way to get it out of Park. I didn't want to know what it was. I cleaned my tennies and Breezy's feet and cussed the wind.


They jumped the battery and John drove the car in behind Mary and parked while I got out my AAA card and went to work on the phone. I reached a nice lady who told me that they would send someone out in 45 minutes to replace the battery at a fairly reasonable cost. "That was painless," I said as I hung up the phone. "Are you going to open the wine or am I," John asks as he sinks into the booth of the dining table. "I'm on it," I say.


I probably should step back a minute and mention that when John had the Camry serviced at Valvoline just before we left Kentucky they tested the battery and tried to sell him a new one because they said it was on the verge of dying. He did what I would have done under the circumstances...say no thank you and find someone that you actually trust to test the battery and then buy a reasonably priced one if it was needed. We both meant to get that done before we left on this trip. I do remember saying that it would be a major pain if the battery were to go dead while we were traveling and that the Diehard that was in it had about 85,000 miles on it so it was probably due for one. Did we listen to ourselves? Nope. We just hooked the car to the coach and took off.


Back to the story...


So we are having a glass of wine and I had started dinner when my phone rang. "It's probably AAA telling me when the guy will be here," I say as I answer it. It was AAA but they were calling to tell me that no one in Baytown, TEXAS was participating in the "Battery Replacement Program" that AAA offers. I'm not surprised. I'm having a glass of wine and we are no longer moving so I'm not upset either. I explain that the car is now hooked to the coach and that we will be in San Antonio the next day so we will either call them again the next day or just buy a battery when we get there. Simple.


The rest of the evening proceeded without anymore interference from Murphy. I think he wore himself out. With the exception of feeling like we were sleeping in the middle of I-10 it was fine.

The next morning we got up and had breakfast and prepared to leave for San Antonio. It was sunny and nice out and we were looking forward to getting to the show. We fired Mary up and pulled out of our space around 8:30 in the morning. As we approached the exit to the park John's phone rang. It was Tre at the barn and they were chatting along as we were creeping toward the exit.


When we got Queen Mary we had a discussion about talking on the phone while driving. We agreed that it would be good to use the Bluetooth and not to make or take calls when we are in situations where total focus is needed. That worked well on the first two trips. But this time he is feeling more confident and deservedly so. He is doing a great job of driving the coach. But I still have trepidations about his answering or making calls when he needs to be focused on what he is doing.


So on this morning he is negotiatomg the turns out of the park while he is chatting it up with Tre and telling him how he is really getting the hang of driving this coach. He stops at the exit on the frontage road and says to me, "Which way to I go?" It is a two lane road and I look to the left and to the right and I say, "I'm not sure." So he goes back to talking to Tre and starts to turn the wheel to the left and eases forward. Then I see it...a sign with an arrow that says, "ONE WAY"...pointing in the opposite direction that we are turning. I said, "John it's a one way." He keeps talking and turning. I yell, "It's a ONE WAY!!!!" and he keeps talking and turning. I bounce up and down on the seat pointing and hollering "ONE WAY, ONE WAY, WRONG WAY!!!" I now know what "an eternity" truly feels like. Finally he realizes that he is turning the wrong way. He slams on the breaks. Mary's breaks let out a big CHHH!!! and everything in the cabinets shifts forward. I have my hands over my eyes at this point and I'm at a boiling point. I can feel the stresses of the learning curve and Murphy's interference breaking my self control down to the last thread.


"Tre I'll call you back. We're in a bit of spot here." He hangs up.


Yes. A bit of a spot...


We jumped out of the coach and ran to the front of her assessing the situation. She is sitting in the middle of the road blocking one lane entirely.


I've been told at least a hundred times since we got Mary that you can not back the coach with the car hooked to it. At least a hundred times. Maybe more. John says to me, "You direct traffic around the coach and I'll unhook the car and back it up so we can get the coach out of the road." I nod. I realize that I'm not breathing. He runs to the car.


I'm standing out in the road, the wind is blowing again (the wind makes me crazy) and I'm directing cars around the front of the coach. Then I look up and see a gray truck coming and it is signaling to get into the park. I start to direct it in when I realize that it is one of the same guys who helped us with the Camry the day before when the battery was dead. He is grinning. I want to dissolve into the pavement. Then I hear John yell, "I can't get the car unhooked from the coach. The hitch is in a bind!" I run back and see that it was sitting at too severe of an angle to get it off of one side. He had been in the car and had started it (by some miracle it did start) tried to move it to loosen the hitch and then shut it off again. He says, "I'm going to have to back the coach up." My eyes stood out of my head six inches. He says, "No, it will be fine. I'm just going to back it up a little bit so I can get the hitch off." He takes off for the coach. I run out into the road again and watch (praying and begging the car gods to be gentle with the little car) as he backs the coach up a little ways and then gets out. We both go back to the car. He still can't get the hitch off. In fact it seems to be bound tighter than ever. He tells me to get in and guide the wheels so that he can back the bus out of the road. He assures me that things will be fine. I'm really, really skeptical. We are having this conversation over the roar of Mary's diesel engine so there is a lot of hollering going on. And this is in front of the campground office where I'm sure that the woman that I talked to ten times the day before must be sipping her morning coffee while she is watching this clown act out the window.

So under duress and against the advice of my little voice (you know the one that tells you when you are doing something really stupid?) which has gotten very loud in my head I get into the car and take hold of the wheel while he gets in the coach. I glance down at the transmission to be sure that it was in Neutral and to my absolute HORROR I see that it is in Park! He backed the coach with the car up in up in PARK. I had to use both hands to wrestle it out of gear and into Neutral and when I did the whole front end heaved and dropped about six inches.

You can imagine what my obsessive mind was doing with this whole scenario. I was positive that the car would be undrivable, that the transmission would be toast, that the front end would be toast, that we would have to abandon it at a local junk yard and be forced to take a cab to the grocery store.


I have, some would say, an unnatural attachment to this old car. I bought it about five days before I left to move to Kentucky and put well over a hundred thousand miles on it while enjoying my new life there. It has been the most reliable, great little car. It is comfortable, economical, quiet,and a pleasure to drive. When we bought the coach I was relieved because I knew the Camry would have a job and I would still have it to drive. And if for some reason it got beat up or DAMAGED we wouldn't feel so bad because it has more than paid for itself. But obviously that theory doesn't pan out. When ever I think we might have damaged it I freak out. Probably time for a theapy session.

John backed the coach out of the road while I did my best to keep the wheels of the Camry straight. I got out and looked at the front wheels and they were canted off to a strange angle that I had never seen before. John came around the end of the coach to see if everything was okay and I lost it. I totally lost it.

Anyone who knows me well knows that it takes a lot, more than a lot, it takes tons and tons to push me to the point where I lose it and fly off of the handle. Murhpy had finally beat me and I did lose it. I started hollering, "YOU BACKED UP THE CAR AND IT WAS IN PARK!!" Confused, probably more by the fact that I had turned into a screaming meemee than by what I was saying he said, "It was in neutral!" I scream, "It was NOT! It was in PARK!" This conversation went on for another thirty seconds with me throwing my arms around and jumping around he driveway acting like an insane ape before I slammed the door car and pointed to the wheels. He got in the car and started it and turned the wheels so that they were pointing forward and then put it in Neutral and followed me into the coach telling me that the front end looked like that due to something about the power steering. I'm really, really, really skeptical. After the door closed in the coach I remember saying with emphasis something about a "Come to Jesus" about the phone business and then had to walk the length of the floor seven times to start to ease the adrenaline rush that had me shaking like a wild woman. Finally I sat down in the co-pilot's seat took a deep breath and we proceeded to go back to work finding the on ramp for the Interstate.

Neither of us brought up the "incident in the road" for an hour or two. Finally as we were driving down the highway in silence, out of the blue John started to laugh. We disintegrated into fits of laughter both visualizing what it must have looked like while we were having our crisis in the driveway. We dried our tears of laughter and promised that we would try not to panic and do silly stuff the next time we got into a bind with Mary.


We made it to San Antonio without any more problems and when we got there John started the car and drove it around the parking lot. He came back and announced that by some miracle it was fine. It too had forgiven us our errors in judgement. We took it into Boerne and it got a new battery and starts like a champ now. We added to our pre-launch checklist to double check that it is set up correctly before we move the coach anywhere and to triple check that Breezy is on board. Anything after that we can handle.


Now we are in Tucson. I'll write a much more benign post next time (I hope) about a perfecly beautiful spot in Las Cruces, New Mexico and also here in Tucson. The coach gods decided to cut us a break and allow us to enjoy our time at least for a couple of days. Tomorrow we will be in Scottsdale where we will be for about a week. It was 85 degrees when we arrived in Tucson today. Perfect!


I'm on my way to a good night of sleep. Goodnight Murphy...where ever you are (hopefully home in TEXAS!).