June 30, 2010

I'm pleased to report that I'm safe, well, and in pretty good spirits, here in Indiana, safe within an 8-foot-tall barbed-wire fence, which is locked around me and the Motherload for the night. Nobody could possible scale that fence for nefarious intent, and if they did, I'm sure the fangy guard dog doing laps around me  would enjoy the encounter. I know I'm not stepping OUTSIDE the Motherload until morning.

When I had my propane tank refilled this afternoon,  a leak was discovered. I drove 30 miles to the nearest RV repair yard with my heart pounding, scared of a freakish blowup. The technician agreed to fix it, tomorrow, if I gave him permission to drain the tank tonight. The owner of the RV Maintenance yard has graciously allowed me to stay IN THE YARD overnight. He threw in his guard dog and elec/water hookups for free. Mighty fine. It saves me a $37 KOA charge, and when I look out the windows at all the other RVs stationed here on the gravel, awaiting repair, it's easy to pretend I'm in an RV park, minus the stimulating aroma of BBQ. There are no trees, only large perimeter bushes, but I'm snugged up against an aluminum building for shade.

While waiting for the tank to drain, I tried to do some computer work, as I'm in good coverage area here. For some reason, Verizon (my wi-fi stick carrier) would not allow me access. Would you believe it took 67 minutes and 8 phone calls to resolve the matter and get me back on the grid? And it was THEIR mistake in the first place! I almost pulled out my teeth!

I was tired, though, and short on nerves. I had set out this morning for a lovely walk along the paved road that meanders through Lincoln Trail State Park, IL, where I camped last night. Beautiful shady trees lined the road, inviting a leisurely circumnavigation of the campground. I figured 45 minutes, tops. It turned into a "Twilight Zone" episode. Almost 3 hours later, I was tired, thirsty, worried about Jubilee having to walk so far, and completely and utterly lost in a labyrinth.  I WAS ON PAVEMENT IN A STATE PARK, for Goodness Sake! How could I get lost here? The trouble was that the "main" road very quickly split into a series of spurs. All of which looked just as "main"--same width, same prominence, none of which was labeled or signed in any way. Also, they all curved into the woods, following the "fingers" of a completely inaccessible lake, which shimmered irresistibly like a mirage. So I could not see where the roads led unless I walked down them. I had no cell coverage. Not a soul was around. I yelled for help, hoping that in the quietude of the woods, someone would hear me! I've never been so lost. It was so creepy. Plus it was heating up, which activated all the blood-sucking insects in a land where I was the only target.

I found a shaded tree stump and honed in on it for a good cry, which I aborted to spare Jubilee. Then I called to my guardian angel for help. H-E-L-P!!!! I don't know why or how, but I KNEW I was heard. Within maybe 15 minutes,  a man driving a state vehicle came my way and I flagged him down. I told him my plight and he gave me vague directions but would not give me a lift, even though I pleaded. I guess I didn't look almost dead enough. He claimed "State Regulations" and took off. I muttered a few ornery hopes for his future and tried to get myself out of the labyrinth of doom. And, in another 10 minutes or so, another state vehicle crossed my path, and I ran after it like a wild woman, screaming. After hearing my scream, and then my story, I was kindly chauffeured to my campsite, which was a circuitous and mysterious mile and a half away. I would never have found it though, and probably would have parrished, either from exposure and thirst, or from being sucked dry by mosquitos, if not for that kind man, who had only disdain for the young chap who deserted me.

June 27, 2010

Whippee! I discovered the joy and ease of interstate travel, after 2.5 months and more than 6,000 miles of  back road highways. I had forgotten how quick and simple an interstate is, if you really just want to peel off some hours from driving time, which I did. In this heat, I'm giving myself full permission to make any adjustments to previous mind sets if the adjustment serves my comfort and/or convenience.

I'm holed up at my cousin's 3-story victorian brick house in Centralia, IL, completing tasks and preparations for the next phase of my journey. The guest room that was prepared for me is purportedly the "most haunted" room of the house, which functioned as a mortuary at the turn of the century. I have to report that I was awakened last night (and Jubilee shot up to full attention) by a perfectly clear and cheery "hi-ee!" in a child's voice. All the windows were closed, and the air conditioner running, so I didn't think the voice came from the street below. Who knows about these things?  I just offered up my own cheerful "hello" in response and moved over on the bed, in case there was a sleepy child spirit somewhere looking for a place to rest. I slept like a baby, as usual.

My dear cousin cooked up a storm for our supper, which we ate at 2pm in the dining room at a table set with china. We fell into easy and amusing conversation which lasted until 10pm, no matter which room of the house we moved through, and there are lots of rooms.

June 26, 2010

Today was bittersweet, knowing that this incredible joint-journeying had finally reached its natural conclusion. We decided to celebrate by visiting one of the gazillion Waffle House establishments that pepper the landscape. And we PIGGED OUT sufficiently to hold me for a good 24 hours (though it didn't!). It was an intolerably hot and muggy day, the Motherload was suffocating, and I was completely without motivation. I attempted a short bike ride in the morning heat blast and retreated after 2 miles, having mistakingly allowed Jubilee to romp down to the river for a quick swim in cool, but stinky, dead-fish water. I'm sorry about that. I rented a cheap, air-conditioned motel room for two worthy reasons: 1) watch World Cup Soccer with my son while beering and snacking, 2) mentally/spiritually cleanse and reposition myself, my dog, and my belongings for advancement in this next phase of my journey. We had a lovely time, hooting and screaming at the TV as our American players ultimately failed to keep their position. It's a surprise to me how completely absorbed I can become, clenching my fists, stomach, jaws, basically every part of myself that contains a muscle, hoping--praying even, that we'll score. Then when the game is over, I  realize I don't even follow soccer as a sport, and actually don't care one hoot who wins or loses, or if the game is ever played again on the planet! Such is the nature of spectator sporting.

I took my beloved son to the airport right after the game, kissing and hugging him goodbye and, yes, crying all the way back to the motel. It was only a 5-minute drive, though, and when I returned, I busied myself with research and planning for the next day's travel, ordered a pizza and salad, showered my dog and myself, and turned in for the night in the splendor of cool air and a TV movie.

Hansi, if you're reading this: you are the light of my life.

June 24 and 25, 2010

A little break in the weather sure improved my lot in life! Mercury topped out at about 88 I think, and there was a steady breeze. Hans and I rode bikes through Forest Park. This is a huge city park, kinda like Golden Gate or Central Park, but less botanical. Probably about 4 or 5 square miles of rolling greens, enormous trees, fountains, ponds, lakes, art museum and the likes. It was a real treat. Jubie got to run and play and take several dips in the lake, until an unidentified creature swam by and freaked her out.


We pedaled through charming old neighborhoods of 3-story brick houses on tree-lined streets, then stopped at a famous little diner called Blueberry Hill.

We opted to leave our asphalt, treeless moorings in downtown St. Louis for a more bucolic KOA site, back over the river in Illinois. We lucked into a nice shady spot with grass, a pool, the works.

I have one little problem to report and that is: the Motherload's refrigerator up and died! I was quite upset at first, but then I figured it's no big deal, actually. I just use the fridge as an ice box, and it stays quite cool. Plus I discovered an added benefit: I am relieved of the daily preoccupation and effort of keeping the Motherload level (required to run propane for cooling). It's a little task that has always vexed me, and now it's gone! This will come in very handy when boondocking, which I plan on doing a lot of through July.

Today we made a trip to the Cahokia Mounds in Illinois, which are the remains of the largest prehistoric Indian city north of Mexico. The mounds were built for different purpose by native Americans during Europe's dark ages. We walked quite a distance in the increasing heat and blazing sun until I retreated back to the Motherload to sit beneath a shade tree and chat with a friendly local for awhile. After a rest, we headed up the stairs of the highest mound to get a panoramic view of the Mississippi Bottom Lands and the St. Louis arch rising in the distance.

Tonight is our official last night together. Hans will fly home tomorrow, being forced off the river by the recent floods. He'll return in a couple weeks to resume his journey. I will head further south, making my way through Mark Twain National Forest, then down to Maulden, MO, my grandmother's birthplace. I hope to find the old farm home she grew up in.

To honor our last evening together, we went for a swim, then fixed a fine picnic-table supper and played a couple games by candlelight, then retreated to the safety of the Motherload when the mosquitos whined their threats in our ears, and watched "The Big Lebowski" for probably the 10th time, laughing heartily.

It's been a wonderful, unexpectedly extended time with my dear boy, and I know I will miss his companionship and his helpfulness, too. AND, I feel a calling to return to my journey of solitude and introspection. I've been gone 10 weeks now! I have nothing but curiosity, excitement and wonder about what lies ahead!

June 23, 2010

HOT. HOT. HOT!!!!!!! Brain has shriveled. Walked the city in the morning. Dragged self home (Motherload). Discovered refrigerator broke. Week's worth of groceries--gone!

Biked to river front for air, breeze and grass. Got some. Jubie played, collapsed in bike basket, slept all day and night.

Jumped into pool. Ate watermelon for dinner. Drank 2 gallons of water. Fizz, fizz went my brain cells. Hans had to abort river trip. Going home. Will wait out flood, then return. Over and out, mostly out.

June 22, 2010

My first travel painting is now posted on my "Travel Art" spot! I'm so excited! Please feel free to check it out!

Today was so steaming hot half of my bodily molecules reached "escape velocity," and thus I'm scattered. Two-thirds of those molecules must have been brain matter. The morning was very sweet, though. Cool and breezy. I took Jubie on a swell bike ride through a little village called Elsah, just north of St. Louis about 30 miles. It is spectacularly adorable and quaint, with narrow lanes and old cottages. The entire village is listed on the National Historic Register. I sat on the porch of a lovely inn to chat with the owner for over an hour, while our dogs played cat and mouse. Elsah is situated just off the river, and I was able to squint my eyes and see my son floating on by toward St. Louis!

As it turns out the Mississippi is in dangerous flood stage and considered too hazardous to allow "pleasure craft" to pass into St. Louis. The Coast Guard "evicted" Hans from the river just above town, where I  picked him up and brought him onboard the cooled Motherload. Tomorrow, the entire harbor at St.Louis will be closed to ALL boat traffic, including the barges and all forms of river travel! The river level had clearly risen with all the rain from this month, but neither of us saw the danger. Hans was thrilled that the current sped up to assist his travels. There was never a warning posted anywhere that the river was considered hazardous. Maybe if you live in these parts you understand that flooded levees, partially submerged structures, swamped roadways and fish in your driveway means hazardous river conditions, but with so little brain matter in tact...

I HAVE figured out that the way to deal with the heat is to get up very early and start the day's activities by 6 am, while it's still cool outside. Then do the driving part of the day during the worst heat, with the air conditioning full blast, only leaving the car for short bursts and never turning off the ignition. Then, at the end of the day, pull into an RV park and hook up immediately to continue the cooling. I've never felt heat like this before! The RV camp I found today has a pool! A blessedly clean, sparkling, clear, blue pool!

June 21, 2010

Oh my gosh by golly, it's HOT, HOT, HOOOOOOOTTTTTTTT!!!! I think my brain fuse has blown because I can't really remember yesterday at all. Just the heat. Oh yeah, I remember Hans calling to ask if I could locate a laundromat, as he found himself up to his pits in poison ivy the night before. So we packed a couple ice-cold brewskies and snacks and got some laundry done in an air-conditioned room. Heaven help me, I practically climbed into the wash tub to soak in cold water.

It was an amazingly sloggish day and I have nothing to report. Even the interior landscape of my mind is a muggy, gray mapping of incoherent thoughts leading to nowhere.

Oddly, spirits were high all day!

June 20, 2010, FATHER'S DAY

I want to start this blog with a tribute to my father, the kind genius, who more than anyone, shaped my ideals, my ethics, and my sense of whimsy. He taught me some of my most treasured lessons by the example of his life. Even now, as he struggles daily with Alzheimers to form a simple word, he exemplifies courage, acceptance, kindness, and undying love. Happy Father's Day, Daddy. You are still my hero.


This morning, before the heat got too intense, Hans and I enjoyed walking around Hannibal, MO, visiting a few notable Mark Twain structures and taking in the sounds and aromas of this quaint, if somewhat crumbly, riverboat town. By 10:30am, we embarked upon our separate journeys. I had just a 45 minute drive to what appeared to be a shady state park. I intended to get there early and stay put for 2 days of non-moving splendor. Eight hours and 200 miles later, I finally pulled into camp!

A series of unfortunate events unfolded for me today! the first was a casually indicated "detour" along my planned route. It turned out to be more than 50 miles long! It was a gorgeous detour, however. Winding, hilly country roads through farmland and hardwood forests. No towns. I kept my eye trained on the gas gage, growing increasingly nervous about its decent into the EMPTY zone. At last I came into a little town with one gas station that was--you guessed it! CLOSED. I flagged down a kind woman who assured me there was another station at the other end of town. I was afraid to even try the ignition, but it worked, and I barely coasted up to the pumps. Whew! close one!

The interesting lack of road and highway signs in this pretty state continued to confound me throughout the day. I tracked and backtracked so many times I utterly lost my sense of direction, even with the river flowing right next to me. Every time I stopped for directions, which was often, I got a different answer and a whole new route to try and follow, and a whole new level of heat-blast. I even tried to find three different ferries that would get me across the Great River to avoid another 50-mile detour. But all three of the ferries were closed. That's a hundred extra miles right there!

I drove through St. Louis, trying to keep my blood from boiling, either from within or without. The mercury reached 100 today, which made itself a well-known reality every time I left my car for more misdirections. How many ways could there possibly be to go south?

Oh well, I did arrive at the state park this evening, and it is beautiful. I'm parked beneath two behemoth shade trees and am hooked up to the electric box so my air conditioner is running, soothing my rattled brain and removing the bubbles from my blood. Jubilee has been an angel all day, co-piloting next to me in her booster seat, jumping into my lap to encourage me every time I gave vent to a pre-rage groan. What a trooper.

June 19, 2010

I experienced the most audacious lightning and thunder show of my life last night. Remember the strobe lights of the 70's discos? Same thing, except it all took place under a gauzy blanket of thick, grey clouds. The strobes of lightning came ever second or two,  bright and flashy enough to bring on seizures, but I couldn't help but watch! Wind, too, enough to sway the Motherload, which also vibrated with each thunderclap. Slept like a baby!

Hans and I enjoyed a mosey around the quaint historical residential area of Quincy, IL, noted for its architectural wealth. The houses are circa 1840-1890, ornate, beautiful, and dreamy. We call neighborhoods like this "Disney"hoods, after the one pictured in "Lady and the Tramp". We happened upon a hand-cut stone mansion built for $50,000 in 1890, which is now a museum and open for tour for $3. I was even allowed to take Jubilee with me, if I promised to carry her. Trembling, aching biceps, but worth every tremor. It was a private tour, filled with amusing historical details about real life for real people during that era.

The thermometer topped out at 94 today, to match the humidity. That figure also seems to match my no-deodorant threshold. Sorry, Quincy natives!

I drove southerly, then westerly over the river again to meet up with Hans further downriver in Hannibal, MO, home of Mark Twain. What a great little town, and plenty of intrigue and gawking for Twain lovers. Inspires me to read Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn again!

I don't know how this happens so consistently, but I seem to have incredible luck finding the prettiest spots to camp in and the nicest folks to connect with. I can only deduce that our country is filled with pretty spots and nice folks. In Hannibal, our lovely campground is just one mile from town. Our site is located right on a fresh little creek--perfect for Jubilee! We are shaded by an enormous canopy of Elm trees, AND I found a nice person at the marina who graciously granted Hans a tie-off at his boat slip. This kind of goodness on all accounts is the most common and consistent theme of my entire journey. I can't tell you how deep my satisfaction runs.

June 18, 2010

Lord-A-Mercy! It's HOT!!!! Pretty muggy, too. I"d say about 99% humidity. Almost enough to dampen insect wings and render then flightless, but not quite. Storm clouds threatened most of the day, but never delivered a drop. I was especially glad to get a good report about the Motherload.  Hans took her in for her "check-up" and came back with the relieving news that all I need to do is add air to the shocks, which is no different than adding air to bicycle tires! After snooping around the restored Fort Madison across the river from Nauvoo, in Iowa, we drove back to Nauvoo so he could set in on the river once again to continue his journey. I stayed in Nauvoo for a couple hours to ride my bike around the old town again while the breeze kicked in and dried my persperation to a nice, salty coating, which the mosquitos apparently enjoyed quite nicely.

I made my way leisurely south, crossing the border into Missouri! I found our pre-arranged meeting spot easily.  It's a tiny town of 166, and includes an old gas station, a few houses, and an old tavern called the Purple Cow, right on the river, with a deck beneath ancient cottonwoods, and great 70's music. I sat out there enjoying an ice cold beer, awaiting Hans' arrival. There were a couple of friendly locals for conversation, and the merriment and simple pleasure of the whole thing was more intoxicating than the beer. We enjoyed a fine dinner of...I'm embarrassed to say: burgers and fries. I know, I've got to stop this. Maybe tomorrow.

June 17, 2010

Spent the afternoon in lovely, historical Nauvoo, IL, God's Country for Mormons until Joseph Smith was lynched while in jail for destroying a printing press. This town of 1,100 takes the trophy (so far) for general tidiness, orderliness, and an all-around good feeling. The yards are large, manicured without being fussy, the houses freshly painted, not a bit of litter in sight. Kids are out riding their bikes, neighbors talking on porches and corners, under giant shade trees. It's just so pretty. Friendly, too. At its height in 1840-ish, Nauvoo was listed as the 10th largest city in America! Who knew?

The original layout of the town has been preserved, along with numerous original structures, including the Mansion of Joseph Smith and many noteworthy people of the time. Some of the restored houses are now private dwellings. We had short tours of several trade shops, including a tinsmith's home and workshop, which immediately filled me with fantasies of taking up the trade. I fell in love with the tools, more than anything. Also, the end-product is so practical and charming at the same time! Beastly clever, as well.

It is easy to see why this particular spot, upon a vast rise, just up from the river, was thought to be God's Country. It's shamelessly verdant, peacefully beautiful, rich land, fit to grow just about anything. The trees tower overhead, the fields stretch out beyond vision, and  it offers a splendid view of the river and the bottom lands and all the wildlife supported there. I can't imagine the heartbreak of leaving such a place if it were my home.

After walking for a couple hours, we drove into the "commercial" part of town. Again, quaint, clean, unhurried, uncrowded, busy with tourism, and eager to please. We dined at a Victorian hotel, once a private mansion, with all the charm and froo froo of the era. Our Southern fried chicken was DELIVERED UNTO US, buffet-style, along with a large assortment of good ol' country kitchen fare. The only disappointment was the wine, probably labeled "Welches". Poor Hans. Glad I declined.

Now the interesting part of the day came when we checked into a motel so that: 1) Hans could watch the World Cup Soccer Playoffs on TV,  and 2) we could have much-needed, long, luxuriating showers and ease. Have you ever had a kinda weird, kinda bad dream about being in a sort of carnival hotel? The entire establishment is wrapped around an enclosed sauna-like courtyard that features a steamy pool, a tiny miniature golf course, some miniature pool tables, and areas of plastic palm trees with mini lights and plastic patio chairs. Some of the area is wooden deck, some areas are carpeted and some areas are just plain dirt with plants dying to live. Numerous areas are in various states of decay or arrested refurbishment. It was eery. The kind of place a kid would be drawn to and scared of at the same time. I'll say two things about it:  I awoke with more bites than I went to bed with. It was cheap!

I hit a pothole today, and now the Motherload is creaking and making me nervous. So I'll have to spend a portion of tomorrow find a mechanic to look at her undercarriage. GULP! Please say a prayer for her!

June 16, 2010--JUBILEE'S BIRTHDAY

Please join me in the Happy Birthday song for Jubilee, who turned 3 today! In celebration, I tried to make the day HERS, giving her plenty of trips down to the river to fetch sticks (her passion, not mine). This meant more Mississippi mud, and a short, enthusiastic roll in a dead fish. This also meant a very un-birthday wash in the camp spigot. She pouted for a short while and abandoned the gloom when, close to dinner time, I brought out my gift to her: a Mastodon bone! She was employed with it for nearly 2 hours, while Hans and I BBQ'd steaks and enjoyed a blissful picnic at our campsite at Delamar State Park, IL. We were stupendously hungry, but stopped short of licking our plates, honoring the birthday girl's talent for that sort of thing.

After dinner, I reclined on my perfect little couch, facing the sunset, and listened to a beautiful guitar-only CD on my computer while Hans worked over his journals. I don't remember the last time I treated myself to a simple concert like this. During the past few years,  music has taken a "background" position. It was like a restoration of some part of my soul to allow music to be the focus, while everything else, including the blazing amber sunset, played background.

Good as meditation!

June 15, 2010

Mississippi Mud is a real thing! And I can easily see why it is the inspiration for countless fudgey confections. Yesterday, I pulled into an obscure campground on Blanchard's Island, IL, to await Hans' arrival. It is a lovely spot with about 20 primitive campsite under huge shade trees, right along a slow section of the river. I pulled into a perfect little grassy spot. Never mind that the entire region (including me and Jubilee) had been drenched in a horrendous downpour earlier! The sun was out, the breeze uplifting. Until I sunk the Motherload in about 6 inches of sticky, gooey, greasy, sucky Mississippi Mud! Terra Infirma! I spun all 6 wheels to no avail. I tried my yellow leveling blocks. No good. I miraculously found two large pieces of plywood sitting by the river and hauled them into place behind the back tires. No good.

Out of nowhere, a gentleman arrived in a truck with a hitch and chain, and he mercifully pulled the Motherload free. I was still standing with my mouth open, like a venus flytrap, barely able to mutter my thanks, when he hopped back in his truck and drove away! Where did he come from? I'm out in the middle of nowhere!

Jubilee had spent her time playing down by the river's edge where it was pooled up and still. She was coated in black mud up to her ears and full of glee. I scooped her up, coating myself in the process, then tried to wash her clean at the camp spigot. I tried washing off the yellow leveling blocks, too. But the mud was difficult to coax free. Thick fudgey chunks fell at my feet and piled up like cow plops. I did what any sane adult would do: I made a mud pie, glancing furtively to see if anyone was around to witness a middle-aged woman playing with mud and what appeared to be huge Lego blocks. The activity did not measure up to my childhood memories, but I'm glad I gave it a try. Perhaps if I'd had some dry sand or dirt for the "sugar" sprinkling...

So, the Motherload is a bit stinky. Too many wet days and soggy clothes, VERY humid shoes. But still a wonderful haven and by now, a tried and true friend.

I climbed into bed as the sun went down, in shades of grey-green, gold and amber, the music of frogs and night creatures lulling me to sleep.

June 12, 13, 2010

I can't get over my good fortune! This is the honest truth: for every day that I struggle with something, an equal and opposite day of extraordinary gifts occurs immediately afterward! Yesterday (Sat.) I poked around the Great River Road until I found the obscure little campground that Mr. McKayak and I had selected as our meeting place. Not only was it a gorgeous and easy-as-pie drive, but I lucked into the best (and only) spot left. It's on a grassy little protrusion with a wide-open view of the river. And next to me, but slightly set back are two wonderful groups of folks, friendly and helpful in every way. We all met and shared our stories and a bit of good cheer and soon everyone knew to look north for my son's approach. And when he pulled into view, everybody shouted, "Your son is here! He's here!" There was a great stirring in our little neck of the woods. Hans was able to paddle right into the camping spot, walk 20 feet and consider himself "home."

We cooked a fine dinner and ate outside as the sun became heavy and sunk behind the clouds. It was a glorious, long display of a sunset, too.

This morning (Sun) Hans paddled off toward the quad-cities, and Jubilee and I took off on my bike for a terrific ride along the bike path that stretches for about 100 miles. Just gorgeous. Plus mostly flat. Winding through old hamlets and parkways along the river.  Lots of folks out walking, riding, jogging on this lovely Sunday morning. I never gave a thought to rain.

WHOOPS! I can now say I've proven myself a bonafide moron! I left the Motherload without a care, all windows and ceiling vents open, rain gear laying out on the picnic table to "dry". After a couple hours, the sky turned to lead and the thunder nearly rattled the meat off my bones. Then SPLUGE!!!! Great downpours and wind. I was wearing a tank top and shorts. Jubie, of course, was in her summer coat. I peddled home as quickly as I could, but as I had about 10 miles to cover, we got drenched, thoroughly. Wet is not a good look for Jubilee, nor a good auroma. It's even worse for me. Everything was wet inside the Motherload. Even my computer!

I'll never take another sunny day for granted.

June 11, 2010

My first, actual DO NOTHING (pretty much) day occurred! It was stupendously satisfying. The only thing I did was drive into town (2 miles) so Hans and I could hang out at the air-conditioned library for an hour for internet connections. The day was grey, muggy, warm, and we had a perfectly executed torpor. When we returned to our non-electric campsite, we tried to stick it out, but we cracked under the barometric pressure. We antied up another $5 each and moved into a spot with electrical hookup. I ran my air conditioning for the first time and boy was that a treat! we stayed inside the RV the entire rest of the day, except for the few minutes it took to roast our hotdogs outside. We drank beer, listened to music, played Bananagrams, then Jax (in which we never made it beyond our "onesies" on my tiny table with two cupholes), then watched a very cute movie called "Deathtrap". Just a wonderful afternoon and evening.

Thunder and lightning seemed to split open the sky's grey beast belly, and we awoke this morning to pouring rain. It's coming down now like ragged sheets of waxed paper -- nearly opaque. I watched my soggy boy paddle off for his day's journey, all hunched over against the rain, trying to keep his cigarette lit. I'm pulled over at a dockside park, trying to light a fire under my enthusiasm holding tank. I don't feel substantial today. Like I could dissolve in this rain.

We hope to meet up again tonight, just south of Clinton, IL. While we're both following the same section of the river, I am delighted to provide dry lodging for a night, which is a total relief to both of us, for different reasons.

June 10, 2010

I’m learning to accept that the shellacked finish of bug spray on my body is a good thing, or at least the lesser of two evils, as I attend daily to upwards of 70 swollen bites. I’ve had exactly ONE leisurely evening by the campfire on this entire journey, as I’m driven inside nightly by the arrival of mosquitoes and other varmints who threaten to ruin me.

Hans and I met up again today, earlier than anticipated, along the great river at a small town called Savanna, IL. Our hunger was robust so we walked the streets in our usual fashion, looking for just the right place with just the right ambience to settle on for victuals. The town offers at least one bar or pub per block, but only a few eateries. We selected a true “mom and pop” place, run by an auntie, who put together two delicious sandwiches and home-made fries in a go-box, which we toted to the river and ate at a picnic table in the shade. The river on one side, and the railroad on the other. Quite picturesque and delightful. No bugs. After lunch, Hans entered the deliciously dry comfort of the Motherload to computer network, and I took off on my bike with Jubie for a splendid 10-mile ride along a river-hugging bike path. Bugs galore! I think they even went after Jubie, as midway, she tried to escape her back-seat basket by climbing up my back! It was a gorgeous ride, however, as long as I kept my mouth closed, my eyes narrowed to mere slits, and tried not to breathe through my nose!

A unanimous decision was reached by mid-afternoon that tomorrow we will do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING but hang out, read, nap, drink beer, munch. We all need a day of blessed rest. And with restored vigor we will map out the next phases of our journeys.

We bought supplies for a real BBQ, but fell into camp too tired and still too full from lunch to follow through. So tomorrow night, after a splendid day of torpor, we’ll have our BBQ, even if our hard-shelled, bug-sprayed bodies crack in the process!

I only made it half way through the night before a dream (which I thought was REAL) freaked me out and caused me to abandon my place by the little boat ramp. I drove south for about 15 minutes, then pulled into the post office parking lot (which consisted of two parking places) of the nearest town, population, 106. There was a warm beacon of streetlight shining down on the Motherload, and I found it a comfort, though it also spotlighted my illegal overnight parking.

In Prairie Du Chien, WI, I visited an historic estate (Villa Louis)--a beautifully restored Victorian Mansion and several other historic buildings on pastoral grounds. I lucked into a private tour of the place, as I arrived ahead of a bus full of school kids. Afterwards, I was invited to walk Jubilee all around the estate and picnic if I chose, which I did! It was LOVELY and so serene.  Weather=perfect! I spoke with a friendly fellow in charge of park maintenance and we exchanged anecdotes about our middle-aged lives. He was very interested in my son Hans’ kayaking adventure along the river and flabbergasted about my own solo journey.

Later in the afternoon, I made my way across the river to a most charming town, McGregor, Iowa, where Hans and I had agreed to attempt another meeting. McGregor is probably the most charming little town of all the quaint villages I’ve driven through thus far. The ever-present BNSF Railroad, which hugs the river like a lover, allows the train to creep slowly into town along a gentle curve that borders the public marina, with all its brightly painted boats, shops, and eateries. The town was founded in 1837 by Mr. McGregor who established a ferry service and put McGregor on the map. His original log home sits across from the marina. The entire town is lovingly restored and lived in and authentically retains its 1860-ish flavor, except for the cars, of course, and a few other modern disturbances. As Hans pulled into the harbor to dock, I was waiting for him, and who should I see but my friendly park maintenance man and his wife, waiving wildly at me. They’d crossed the river for his birthday dinner! It was a fun coincidence, and I was especially proud to introduce my son—famous mountain man explorer and river kayaker!

June 9, 2010

OK. For those of you who read June 8, scratch McGregor. I just found the actual most charming, most picturesque town I’ve ever seen, except for my all-time favorite, Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia, the standard against which all towns are measured. (I’ve even worked up a rating equation: 

x = [H(G + y)]

This quantity is all divided by 2. 

x is the town’s rating,  H is the constant, (Harper’s Ferry), G is the “grabbing” factor, and y is a variable,  which can be positive or negative, such as weather, schools, recreation, etc. The whole quantity is then divided by two, leaving no chance that any town could be half as good.) The town that IS half as good is Galena, home of Ullyses S. Grant, after the Civil War.  It is so historically intact, and every type of architecture from the 1800s is represented. The town is lively and full of interesting shops, and a beautiful riverfront park stretches along the length of the town, providing many places to sit in the shade beneath ancient trees. The residential areas are perched upon terraces that reach upward from the river, so that nearly every house, from brick Victorian mansions to log and mud miner’s cabins, has a river view. Numerous staircases were built to allow “easy” shortcuts to the ascending neighborhoods. I walked one of the stairways and lost count after 300!

This most charming town also provided me with the second-best ice cream cone of my life! The top scoop was Almond Joy, the bottom scoop was peanut butter fudge. The middle scoop--naw, just kidding! One of my favorite traveling joys is eating an ice cream cone on the curb or shop stairs. You wouldn’t believe how many passersby INSIST that I share with Jubilee. As if I wouldn’t!

I’m staying at a beautiful state park for $10 a night. Jubilee and I walked 18,797 steps today, so we’re turning in early. The weather has been perfect all day and it’s chilly tonight, which pretty much guarantees a good night’s sleep. (I don't know what's happening to the font here. sorry!)

I completed my first “real” painting of my journey, thus far. Oh, am I glad to have found my way back into the zone! I’ve been rapping on the door for months, waiting for guidance to entry. Yesterday,  I just closed my eyes,  said a prayer,  and pretty much called out, “ready or not, here I come!” I walked without vision into that sacred space, trusting the vibe like a bat.  I hope and pray I have broken through my inertia with this painting and that I will establish a discipline once again.

I intended to drive only 40 miles today to connect with Hans further down the river in a tiny hamlet called Victory. It left us unvictorious, however,  as we were unable to find each other. I drove back and forth along Hwy 35, hoping to find him docked at any of several small boat ramps. But since I had no cell reception, we could not track each other. He may have been  delayed by the locks, or perhaps made reached “ludicrous speed” with the wind at his back today and traveled beyond. I’m boondocking tonight at a little boat ramp four miles south of our original destination. It’s quiet and pretty and even though it’s 9pm, it’s quite light and the birds are still singing. 

June 5, 2010

I've decided to dedicate the month of June to driving leisurely along the Great River Road (Hwy 35), which conforms to the shape of the Mississippi River for several hundred miles through Wisconsin, Illinois, Iowa, Missouri. Yesterday I drove a total of 86 miles, which took about 4 hours! I stopped at several places along the way to observe the beauty and participate in SERENITY. The countryside is just jaw-drop gorgeous. Little hamlets dot the road every 10 miles or so, each with its own flair and personality, its own historic sites, and bragging rights to the longest Main Street. Most of the towns had no other streets but Main Street. The woodlands are hardwoods, achingly green, overdosed on chlorophyll. I can only imagine the splendor of the fall colors.

This month will be a much-needed retreat from the drive to...DRIVE. A solemn summation of my bank account withdrawals and a matching drain on my nerves has led me to this choice. I'm quite pleased with it, too. Not only will it afford me greater peace, it will also stretch my funds, and the best part of all: offer numerous opportunities to connect with my son Hans along the way!


Since I'm in my serenity mode, let me take this moment to THANK each of you who has taken the time to read my blogs and thereby connect with me on this journey. When I sit down to write, I feel like a little lighthouse in the fog, sending forth my beacon. When you read me, it feels like you're seeing me. Like you  glimpse the light radiating from this journey, which has become an entity itself.

June 4, 2010

Forgive me, for I have sinned. I have not updated my blog in 4 days! I've been having too much fun playing with my dear son, Hans. You know how certain memories are stored in the heart like raised-relief  maps with all the ridges and hollows? That's how I'll always remember the moment I saw Hans floating up to our designated rendezvous point, the dock at Diamond Bluff, WI. It was golden hour, too, so the colors were intense--matching my joy, which was itself, raised-relief.

We "dined" on big, sloppy burgers and fries at the Naughty Haug, a pub on the bluff, overlooking the Mississippi River. We slurped our cold beers and shared stories from our adventures, resting into our easy camaraderie. We boondocked near the actual dock and travelled a mere 10 miles downriver the next morning, finding a perfect spot across the river from Red Wing, WI.  It's a shady, grassy campground with a Jamaican Pub, bicycles to borrow (not rent!), a lovely view of the barges and tugboats, and very active railway! Red Wing is an old, brick-building town, vibrant with new life and commerce. We rode bikes over the bridge into town for some shopping and ice cream cones, then back to camp for poached salmon and salad, as atonement.

The Motherload proved a cozy place for the weary kayak and hammock-sleeping camper, complete with a gentle rain pelting the roof! Oh, it was good for my soul, in deed, to enjoy the company of my son, a man I truly admire and whose company is a perfect fit for the odd-shaped emptiness that solo travel has carved.

I waived goodbye to him from the dock today, as I watched him recede from me in the light-infused morning. I unexpectedly experienced a dart of woe, brought on by what I can only label as "SAO" (sudden accumulative onslaught): an incident of instantaneously collected memories of a certain type. In this case, the many times I've waived to his back as he receded from my view. I remembered the day I walked him to the bus stop for his first day of kindergarten. He was wearing his navy blue shorts and matching cap.  I held his hand the entire 3 blocks and talked merrily about the exciting day of adventure he would surely have. I felt, though, as if I were pulling a little wagon with square wheels. When I stopped to ask if he was OK, he said, "Yes, but my knees are kinda shaky." When I looked down at his little popcorn knees, my heart almost splattered on the sidewalk. His knees were like two rocks in a can, jangling together. I wanted to pick him up and carry him home. But when the bus arrived, he stoically stepped away from me and boarded, leaving ME weak in the knees. And there you have it: the first time he willingly receded from my protective hold. Did I cry? Enough to fill the Mississippi, but not on his watch!

No tears from ME, today, however!  We'll be meeting again tomorrow at a spot downstream for more good stuff, good food and sweet times. We've decided to pick a song to practice (banjo and harmonica) for the next time we meet, and there will be many times along this watery vein of America.

May 31, 2010

Awoke to perfect sunshine and birdsong. Since today is the end of the holiday weekend, folks were packing up around here. And since the sun was beating down on us by 9am, I knew I'd need a shadier camp. I casually walked about, sizing up the perfect spot, shaded by a canopy of ancient cottonwood. Then I waited like a leopard in the brush to pounce on the site when the occupants drove away. Lucky me, they even left firewood behind!

Another longish hike today, along the river, and then back into the forests and up to the tops of hills to see the historical markers and remnants of buildings from 1862, in which the Dakota people were forced to live and learn to “convert” to white culture. The whole thing failed, of course, and the Dakota were removed from their sacred land of abundance and placed on reservations where even lizards struggled to survive. I thought about all the times I complained about having to move as a child. It's like complaining about shoelaces coming untied to a person who has no feet.  

Towards the end of our hike the sky became frothy with clouds and cooled us quite nicely. I had just enough time to set up the portable canopy (which I broke in the process) when a thunderstorm moved over us and rattled my bones.

A simple dinner of vegie tacos, a shower, and now a little reading by the fire…

May 30, 2010

Oh my golly. I think I just felt the first conscious growing pain! Yesterday I came close to a breakdown of spirit: I drove for 13 hours, across the hot, windy, endless prairies of South Dakota into Minnesota, looking for a place to camp. By 9pm, I was driving around the neighborhoods of Marshall, Mn., trying to find a place that would grant me squatter’s rights for the night. (I should have been proactive in my search for campgrounds, given the 3-day holiday!) When I finally pulled over at 9:34, I was ready for a shower, a drink, and a mommy, none of which was available. My discouragement matched my fatigue. Even Jubilee looked like a gargoyle. I had no water, no electricity, no propane gas. In short, I was DRY-CAMPING to the max. I actually experienced my first “I wanna go HOME!” moment. But the conscious part of me decided against giving in to trials of the day. I reminded myself that fatigue paints its own pallor, and that a little rest would probably adjust my perspective. So I prayed for a coma. I also bathed in an ice cream bucket with my last half-gallon of water.

Well-h-h-h-h-elllllll… I fell into my bed, like a baby relaxing into my mother’s body, which yielded to fit my exact contour. It was hot, but the evening birds were singing, and a slight breeze was whispering great hope for tomorrow. I slept for 7 solid hours, with my little gargoyle next to me, inert and folded into my body.

Sure enough, rest renewed my spirits and altered my perspective. Today was an easy drive to what could only be described as HEAVEN. I found (and lucked into) Upper Sioux Agency State Park. It is thousands of acres of green, wonderfully green, grassy, sloping land, running along the Yellow Medicine River and the Minnesota River, with stands of hardwood and pockets of wild flowers.  I am distinctly aware that in terms of being a vagabond, it DOES NOT GET BETTER THAN THIS! (But I’ll certainly let you know if it does!)

Jubilee and I hiked about 6 miles in and out of hardwood forests, over hills and into flower-bejeweled  dales, then stopped to play several times in the river.  Powdery pink wild rose petals were rising with the breeze like fairies’ thought clouds. I TOLD ‘YA! It doesn’t get better than this!