Virginia Horse Center

Virginia Horse Center, Lexington

 9/30/10

Its 6:00 AM and it has been raining all night.  Fortunately we are camped in an area that has a large gravel base so at least there isn’t soggy mud.  It takes a concerted effort to keep the inside of a trailer clean.  Rugs have to be shaken out at least twice daily.  Dishes need to be washed and put away as soon as possible.  Even in 25 ‘ all motions require either moving around something, often sideways, or moving something out of the way (and back) before one can move around or move or retrieve  an item.  Its a juggle  that consumes time and energy.  Half steps back before  a single step forward.  There are routines of course but we all know how those can break down.

If I may say something about the content of this blog.  As you may have noticed there are not a lot of photos of me and Jo.  Well Jo is pretty adamant about having her picture taken at all and I am usually  not in the position to take my own.  Consequently you see a lot of the Airstream in different campgrounds.  I hope this is not too boring but I think the main protagonist of this journey, aside from our state of minds, is the Airstream.  I usually capitalize it as a proper name as we have no name for it yet.  Many names have been suggested and a few not too flattering.  There are the usual ones: Silver Bullet, Tin Can, Silver Streak, and in our frustrations - Fluidstream, Black Water Tank, Silver Sewer, or even The Honey Bucket.  This is not being very fair because it has served us well for the past month and a half and sheltered us from the many storms, even  a hurricane, in dryness and warmth.  And we have prepared many memorable meals and kept clean in the very tiny but very hot water shower.  Its just that every time we look at the toilet we have to think - Now where and how long until the next dump station and how much can I really put in there!  This is no small question in the middle of the night.  We will be making a detour up to a dealer in New Jersey to have the valves replaced.  That should do it - period!

Also most of the Airstream’s pictures are taken at our campsites.  This is as much to serve our own flagging memory as to where we have been since so many different places begin to melt into one another.  Clues, I need clues.

It never fails that every day someone comments on the Airstream.  People at counters, toll booths, walking across the road, coming out of post offices, some sharing their own stories.  Yesterday a Virginia lady in her smooth drawn out accent came out of a store and up to the truck in the drizzle,  as I rolled down my window she said how it brought back memories of when she first came to America she lived in one for several years.  It was the last thing I would have expected to hear from this southern matron.

I have not delved into the history of the Airstream but there are hundreds of thousands out there so the river of stories must be wide and deep.  Aluminium connestogas.

Usually people are stunned when they ask us “Where you headed ?” and we reply “We don’t know.”  That will always get a conversational ball rolling and we find out a lot about others.  As you may have gathered by now while we do have some general idea of a route, each day brings up the question of “Where are we headed?”

Maybe away from the rain for a while? 

Do you hear marimbas ?

I understand there’s a space shuttle launch in November in Florida.  They say its like watching the sun rush upwards with an all consuming thunderous marrow crushing noise.

It’s still dark and it’s still raining so I guess I’ll crawl back in bed and read some Merwyn.  It's good rain poetry, full of earthen memory.  I think you would like him.

After we got going this morning with a huge country breakfast at a local waffle house we took in the morning session of the American Saddle Horse judged events.  Kicked around in the afternoon then went back to watch the evening shows.  Amazing animals and riders that ran the gamut from tiny to huge, old to young, balletically composed to floppy hulks.  The men all dress like undertakers with black tails, wide lapels and black hats with tiny crowns and large brims.  By the way, the floppy hulk guy won two blue ribbons ! I’m missing something here.

Monticello to Lexington

On the road to Monticello

 Monticello 9/29/10

At Waynesboro, where JoAnn was born, we headed East towards Monticello, the home of Thomas Jefferson.   This was intresting to me not only because of his abilities as a self taught architect but also his personality as the earliest of America’s complete men.  that is complete in self discovery, artistic and intellectual and scientific pursuits.  As the 3rd president and the drafter of the Declaration of Independnce he embodied the American Modern man save for one snag.  He continud to own slaves until he died and was purported to have fathered children with a slave that grew into many generations that are living today.   How modern is that?  Not that I condoned it by my question but as ususal there was so much more.

We spent several hours at Monticello, it was raining of course, going through the museum, reading some of his papers and accounting books, watching videos and examining drawings of his buildings and models.  He was also an avid gardener and grew several vinyards for wine grapes.   Records of almost every letter, note, or written word is collected in 50 volumes of his papers.  Very prolific.  In addition to his contribution to the nation he did much for Virginia.  And then there was his sponsership of Lewis an Clark.  It was a morning well spent.

Driving back across the Appalachian Mountains to the city of Lexington a strange sight imprinted itself upon my eyes.  There were sections of beautiful hardwood forests that were completely taken over by the Kudzu vine.  It is difficult to describe the effect this has on one particularly on a gray overcast day.  It covered everything in the woods even on both sides of the road.  It was as if an alien concoction of dark green slime was poured upon the surrounding landscape.  Trees were no longer recognizable but were instead amorphous shapes of fantasy.  Not an original branch or trunk was seen.  All the shrubs, ground, stones, land forms were all humps.  Continuous humps of an alien landscape with dark shadows and recesses.   A viscous drape of living mass that cared not for what it covered, that did not need its host to live.  Whose only purpose was to grow, expand and cover everything in its path; buildings , vehicles ,tractors, road signs, and the once beautiful hardwood forests that lined the roadways.  it was a very unsettling sight.  I could not drive past these graveyards fast enough.  Apparently nothing can be done.  Much of Georgia and Florida have succomed.

We made it to Lexington and the facilities at the Virginia Horse Center.  They had a few spots mainly for those traveling and showing horses.  This place is huge!  Think of 15 Seattle Center Key Arenas in one place with horse barns holding hundreds of horses.  All kinds of shows and exhibits take place here.  The Virginian countryside  is full of huge emerald pastures with black or white fences that run for miles all for the raising and care of horses.  

After a too big dinner of stroganoff we walked down in the rainy dark with flashlights to one of the arenas to watch saddlebred horses perform.   Apparently we did not kow what we were looking at or what the criteria were for judging because the  horse and rider we thought was the most controlled, and had the best “seat” and whose horse performed elegantly came in last!  Time to head back up the hill to our steed and wagon.  

Hi ho silver!  

Lexington near Virginia Horse Center

Loft Mountain, Skyline Drive

Park all to ourselves.  Everyone and the school kids all gone !

Loft Mountain Campground

Skyline Drive, Virginia

9/27/10

We have moved South down the Skyline Drive a distant 30 whole miles and set up.  Mist and fog and rain blanketed the entire drive and we drove at 30 miles an hour with visibility no more than 20 yards.   In camp we set up, did laundry and settled in cozy, clean and warm to wait out the weather.  So far it is wait in the rain and use this time to plan for the rest of Virginia .  The more I see and learn about Virginia the more I like.  In the next couple of days I look forward to seeing Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello and his experiment in some of the earliest architecture in the New World.  Also just below Monticello is Appomattox, central to Civil War history as the place where Lee surrendered to Grant.  The entire state is so steeped in American history.  Consider Lee’s  soldiers moving down the Shenandoah Valley in a column 4 miles long!  History does seem to come alive as the battlefields so bathed in blood of American brothers and fathers and sons imbues the earth with a spine tingling  presence of tragedy. It cannot be comprehended  how much richer America would be today if the hundreds of thousands of our men and all that they could have contributed had not been lost to the musket ball, to the shells and flames and bayonets, gas and horrors of war.   I wish I knew more about this strife that so changed our world.  Rest assured I am reading and looking as much as I can to begin to learn.  Seeing these sites and hearing these names gives me  the same feeling I would get in the Western states where  I continued to criss cross the Lewis ad Clark and Sacajawea trails.  We stand on those who have gone before.  It’ an unbroken continuum.

Again a thunder storm is forecast for tonight.  A thunderstorm in the Appalachians !

A good time for a rum and poetry, some Merwin perhaps, contrapuntal rhythms  with the rain music.

Playing in the sun

9/28/10

Woke up to a misty morning with the moon past full still low and gleaming off the top of the Airstream’s wet  aluminum skin.

The sun tried and tried to break thru.  It was worth taking a chance to dress dry and go for a walk.  Schools back in session so the playing, shouting high pitched voices are gone.  It’s Moday so the week enders are gone.  In fact the park is practically empty.  And it’s a large park.  The black asphalt drives are strewn with yellow leaves.  We took off into the woods on the West side toward the blankets and walls  of  mist which hinted at a valley beyond and maybe even the Shenandoah Valley.  We stumbled onto the famous Appalachian Trail and took it for a while.  Lichen green granite promentories hung out over the slopes and allowed for vistas to the Appalachhian Hills and Shenandoah Valley beyond.  And beyond we could see West Virginia and George Washington National Forest.  The dense hardwood hillsides were shaded with cinnamon, green, and tints of vermillion.  Not yet the full blown exclamation.  Perhaps in about three weeks.

We continued along the Appalachian trail with the occasional white blaze on trees showing the way.  The sun began to break out again and dappled the forest canopy and floors with light and shadow shifting back and forth animating the walk.

The afternoon finally cleared, blue won the skies and I was able to spend a few hours playing my guitar and warming up.

We even built a fire for the evening.  All in all, a good day.

JoAnn chilling 

Skyline Drive to Loft Mountain

Loft Mountain Campground

Skyline Drive, Virginia

9/27/10

Along the Appalachian Trail

We have moved South down the Skyline Drive a distant 30 whole miles and set up.  Mist and fog and rain blanketed the entire drive and we drove at 30 miles an hour with visibility no more than 20 yards.   In camp we set up, did laundry and settled in cozy, clean and warm to wait out the weather.  So far it is wait in the rain and use this time to plan for the rest of Virginia .  The more I see and learn about Virginia the more I like.  In the next couple of days I look forward to seeing Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello and his experiment in some of the earliest architecture in the New World.  Also just below Monticello is Appomattox, central to Civil War history as the place where Lee surrendered to Grant.  The entire state is so steeped in American history.  Consider Lee’s  soldiers moving down the Shenandoah Valley in a column 4 miles long!  History does seem to come alive as the battlefields so bathed in blood of American brothers and fathers and sons imbues the earth with a spine tingling  presence of tragedy. It cannot be comprehended  how much richer America would be today if the hundreds of thousands of our men and all that they could have contributed had not been lost to the musket ball, to the shells and flames and bayonets, gas and horrors of war.   I wish I knew more about this strife that so changed our world.  Rest assured I am reading and looking as much as I can to begin to learn.  Seeing these sites and hearing these names gives me  the same feeling I would get in the Western states where  I continued to criss cross the Lewis ad Clark and Sacajawea trails.  We stand on those who have gone before.  It’ an unbroken continuum.

Again a thunder storm is forecast for tonight.  A thunderstorm in the Appalachians !

A good time for a rum and poetry, some Merwin perhaps, contrapuntal rhythms  with the rain music.

Appalachian Mountains, Virginia

Big Meadow Camp, big rains all day with acorn mortars

Appalachian Mountains, Virginia

9/26/10

It is a game of seek an wait.  We are early for the fall colors of the Appalachian Mountains.  Late September to early October is when they seem to be gathering their strength for a last run at at life.  A diminution of death’s turn through affirmation by fire.  The autumnal  earth’s fecund oder of wetness and soil,  of sweaty brows under knit caps, of the crunch and crinkle beneath our feet.  Autumn is the beginning of the end, an end that never really completes itself as we wrap our necks with wool and turn up our collars coddeled in  warp and weft.   Is it not wondrous as squirrels sprint from tree root to limb and back certain in its ability to gather and thwart winter want.  

As a climber in my youth of the granite slabs and spires of the Pacific Northwest’s Cascades Mountains of 8-12 thousand footers I am reluctant to call these Appalachian hills mountains. These hills instead roll like great ocean waves with crests of deciduous cloth as luminecent as walls of sea.  These are muscled hills underlain with granite bones and water.  These are old hills whose leafy skin is  sloughed off each fall and reborn again as  always  since the First day.  These are old hills that once were mountains  upthrust like the Himalayas.  These are hills that were once  an ocean sea.  These are hills whose valleys, draws, ravines and clefts move clouds of mist at great speeds and slow speeds  in the same  breath with wispy tendrils  clawing to and fro and upwards and thus the aappelation The Great Smoky Mountains.  They breath and smoke like humped dragons whose heads are buried beneath the leaves.  They are a treasure these hills.  

Today it is raining and it is such a relief from the heat and mug of DC.  We have begun the Skyline Drive atop the “Montains” at the northern tip of the Shenandoah National Park.  It is a 110 mile curving, climbing, dropping  drive along a spine that holds you to 35 miles an hour.  To go any faster  would loose your vision to the enchanted.

Here in the higher elevations of 3000’ forest floors of fields of fern are already so evanescent yellow that they light up the underside of the canopy of leaves above them.  Sumacs, as usual, have  the jump on vermillion.  You can feel the other flora anxious for the right combination of sun and temperature and time to fire up.

The trailer is parked in Big Meadows Camp and it is raining not hard and fast but slow and steady.  Each rain drop is individually heard with the occasional acorn pinging off the Airstream.  We are dry camping again, no power, water or sewers.  So it’s battery and candle power.  Tomorrow we will probably go no further than 30 miles down the road to another hill top park.  Perhaps there we will stay a few days to let the colors catch up a little closer.

It’s a game of wait and seek.

It’s “Woodsmoke and Oranges”

It’s the high mountain larch above timberline with its cloak of gold already three weeks 

       worn, the bugler from on high.

It’s the staccato rain flicking Airstream’s skin

It’s wine and hot dogs and candle light

Its the big down coverlet

It’s the rolling waves of dark hills outside

It’s the starless night

It’s how we seek and wait.

Goodnight to all our friends.  Here’s  listening to the same water tumbling from the  same sky.

Tony and JoAnn

Appalachian Hills with Shenandoah Valley beyond then West Virgina

National Art Gallery DC

National Art Gallery Rotunda

Mass. 54th Regiment

9/25/10

Last week Summer ended and Autumn began.  This is our last night here in Greenbelt National Park.  The tips of the trees are starting to turn yellow and the driveways and vehicles now collect the dryer leaves that have already fallen.  The high temperatures have baked the moisture from the fallen and they crunch underfoot.

Tomorrow we will head for the Shenandoah Valley and the Blue Ridge Parkway seeking more wooded park grounds to park the  Airstream and watch the botanic   transformation slowly intensify with each day.   It should be colder at the higher elevations and perhaps the colors have gotten a head start.  We need to be sure the propane tanks are topped up for more “dry” camping as they run the ref., hot water stove and we will probably need the furnace soon for heat.  We are not sure how long we will be in the hills but we both look forward to more peace and quiet.  Somehow the crickets and far, far off train whistles here in Greenbelt qualify as quiet.  More of the same would be just fine.  

Today we again took the Metro Rail into DC and found it to be such a relief over driving  ourselves.  The right shoes, socks and dress for heat are important. Carry as little as possible and drink a lot of water. A frosty glass of Stella Artois helps as well!  Today we concentrated on the National Museum of Art.   It made my week.

The Chester Dale collection of Impressionism to Modernism is incredibly encompassing and balanced.  Much of the finest works of Manet to Monet, from Matisse, Renoir, Degas,  Cezanne, Toulouse-Lautrec, Picasso to Braque, Modigliani to Van Gough even Dali were represented.  How can a single man amass such incredible art?  

My faith in the artist and art has been again at once restored, reinvigorated and overwhelmed.   In these technologically driven times when more is more and fast is never fast enough we can take heart and flight  in the artist and art that bring such intelligence, beauty, soul and passion into light from pigments on the tip of a brush in measured and deliberate time.

Of course the Museums other permanent exhibits were mesmerizing as well, paintings of other masters and periods, sculpture with a huge amount of work from Rodin, metal work and even Gauden’s life size masterpiece Memorial to Robert Gould Shaw and the Massachusetts Fifty Fourth Regiment, the first all African American regiment.  There are many things here in our Capitol that succeed in reminding us of our struggles and sacrifices ,  losses as well as victories.   DC is our repository, our shelves for our stuff.  Consider how each and everyone of us have  our places, that give us security,  for our stuff.  DC is the collective shelf on display for all of us.  My apologies to all you Poli Sci majors and attorneys out there but the politicians of DC never even entered or seemed to be a part my perception of the consciousness of our stuff save for a peripheral creeping in around the edges.  Certainly much of this town pays homage to our statesmen and military leaders, many astride equine splendor in stone.  Certainly the founders and framersof our national birth were a unique and fascinating bunch of individuals.  But there is an underlying current that is wide and deep that represents all of us on a more personal level.  Despite the hardness of the city, despite the unfettered political ambitions this still is a place for our

stuff.

Perhaps we’ll return one day, we only saw less than half of the Smithsonian’s art although  JoAnn did get to see Julia Child’s kitchen!  And we found our own little restaurant that we returned to three times off of an open square where we were comfortable and refreshed.  And we learned to ride the subway!

See you in the hills of Appalachia.

Tony & JoAnn 

Rotunda Dome

For 5 days from the 17th until this morning, the 21,  we have been camped “dry” at the Greenbelt National Park, 18 miles from the White House.  It has been a bucolic and peaceful stay and very inexpensive, only $8.00/day for seniors. It has encouraged us to seek other National Parks for the coming days.  Where to spend those coming days seems to be evolving around map studies of the Blue Ridge Mountains and Appalachians of Virginia and Tennessee.

This area is a total mystery to me but the Americana historic iconography of the Eastern First Peoples with names impossible to pronounce and the mining and the music with old roots from Scotland has always interested me.  I’m not much of a Civil War buff but given the right presentation it still intrigues me.  It’s all living history here.  History that was critical in our nations formation.  For this reason I am very anxious to visit the Smithsonian museums in DC.  Something we hope to do tomorrow or the next day.

Marine 1 rounding the Washington Monument

Thus far the park’s peace and quiet mornings and evenings have been broken by the daily travel outside its boundaries as we visit places.  Every day on our drives we have been lost.  Sometimes terribly and several times almost ruinously close to death by auto.  How so?  As you might recall from my blogs about Montreal and Toronto regarding the French drivers, well  the DC drivers are about split between courteous and being abjectly rude.   Of course the slower moving airstream brings out the impatience in the latter drivers.  But as a generalization the road systems being as numerous and as old as they are it has been very easy to be shunted off and lost in the maze.  Perhaps it can be compared to Los Angeles except it covers almost 100 times more area!  Directional signs  tend to be worn and staked one in front of another or placed just beyond where you were supposed to have turned.  

Perhaps some of this can be attributed to a slowing down of my reflexes.  I no longer motorcycle at night and my driving  is no longer enjoyable when darkness surrounds me and headlights blind.  

Marine 1 landing on White House lawn

I need to make a serious and encompassing attitude adjustment.  This screaming and bemoaning at the insanity and incompetence of other drivers, highway and signage engineers is having a marked and deleterious effect on my health.  This rage  is just not worth occupying even a fraction of my consciousness or another minute of my life.  Still the effort required to resist railing at the ever increasing incident, as the driving population balloons,  is stressful in of itself.

White House as seen from Washington Monument

Road trips.  Road trips mean dealing with it all on a daily basis and even on a per mile basis.  It’s crazy out there.  I have noticed  a steady deterioration in roads, manners and skills in direct relation to the increase in the number of drivers.  I recall trips in the late 50’s on route 66 from east to west with my family.  My dad could refer to everyman as “Mac” with a smile given and a smile received.  Maps were free at service stations and waitresses could smile at you in those desert cafes and make you feel older than your 15 years. 

Lincoln Memorial

Then there were the road trips in the early 60’s to Mount Rainier in the old VW bug where, as impoverished students with little for food and usually running on fumes had to coast down the mountain for miles in a pea soup thick fog with the door open  and head hanging  out, face close to the surface to see the centerline  and not meet another oncoming car!  The empty road is such an anomaly today that its occurrence causes one to look behind to make sure you are in fact the only one on the road.  If alone a shiver runs through you as you feel as if all you survey belongs to you.  Of course this still happens in isolated rural locations.  I felt it often  in New Zealand only 4 years ago.

Today, it is gone.  We need to deal with it.  But recently it has led me to wonder if traveling across America in an Airstream is capable of imparting that sense of exploration anymore?   The respite in the park was certainly delightful but one could not remain in there.  Is it truly lost?   That sense of exploration   used to be easy for me to find on my solo motorcycle travels through the western regions but today groups of bikers are the rule. Harley Davidson’s with cacophonous mufflers assaulting the public is not only offensive but desirous on the part of these bikers,  typically in groups of up to 15-20 riders.  It does not feel that they do this in the spirit of camaraderie but rather in the spirit of the mob as if afraid to be an individual.  There is group security in the American male penchant for loudness - listen to me, look at me.   It is rare to see the single biker today.  We are uncomfortable to be alone,  to be by ourselves.  So we no longer  experience the quiet.   We cannot walk into a room without turning on the TV or radio or computer or phone.  We are nervous if we are not doing anything.  Something must be wrong, we are wasting time,  wasting life if we are still.  Oh man is indeed a social animal I understand this but as we build to fill in the natural spaces and even the spaces in the ether and the internet, jammed beyond belief,  we insulate ourselves more and more from ourselves.  

Abe and Tony

This is why poetry is so important for the spaces it creates.  We have so little space left.

That which takes time to do right, craft, actually gives us space by suspending time,  the time needed to become involved with ones own creativity.  The creative act creates its own space around itself in order to come into being.

After the 5th day in Greenbelt Park our trailer batteries ran low.  Even with the trailer harness connected to the truck and an hour and a half of the motor running the batteries were still too week to keep the fridge going so we pulled up stakes and headed to a park with full hook ups.  It was nice to fire up the AC since the day was muggy and in the high 80s low 90s.  It’s  thunder and lightning in the forecast for tonight.

Viet Nam War Memorial

We visited Joe’s uncle Jack one day and had a delightful time.  He’s in his late 80s and regaled us with the history of his family.  He and I talked cars, especially about Morgans and Jags which I had owned and the Austin Healeys he had owned.  His wife never wanted the top down.  We also went over his collection of metal and enamel auto club badges.  I had never seen a collection before and found the designs to be very indicative of the countries they were from.  And we drank too much scotch and talked of the pet dogs that graced our lives.  He had 5 buried in his small back yard.  He wants his ashes to be spread in his back yard and a small plaque, which he showed me, to also be buried about three feet under,  the future owner never to know.  Bethesda, his last stop.  Frere  Jaques, a bien tot.

The next day we visited DC .  I have been thinking about this for may years and 

JoAnn and Uncle Jack on Bethesda

even shaved for the occasion.  Gotta look spruced for our country’s  capitol right?  Who knows who’s party we might be able to crash!  Jo and I limited this day to just walking the mall from Lincoln’s memorial to the VietNam memorial, Washington’s monument and White House.  

DC is a hard surface town.  There is Granite everywhere.  Granite monuments, buildings, streets, walks, public seating, planters, fountains, artwork, all granite. The town feels hard as well in its presentation of mind and soul.   Chiseled words meant to inspire and adulate and provoke thought are everywhere.  While the words of great fathers continue to amaze one with their rapier perceptions they show  little use for softness in this town.  Perhaps this is the way it should be to demonstrate a certain American strength to the world.  Perhaps the cherry trees in spring help.  Perhaps if it were not so muggy and hot today.  Still, I can not shake DC’s hardness from my mind down to the soreness of my feet.

Sirens, seemed to be an ever occurring event during the day.  Sirens escorting somebody’s black limo,  or monitoring protest marches and parades.   The protest march we saw had something to do with the disabled and a strange parade of scooter chairs very, very slowly moved up a cordoned off street.  I couldn’t understand  what they were chanting.  I was too concerned about finding a parking space in DC.  We found one, a two hour limit.  What can you do in two hours?  It was broken and ate quarters without giving back any time!  We called the number on the meter and they gave us a confirmation of call number to reference when we got the ticket!  

The Capitol mall walk was a good one and great for people watching.  People of every conceivable race and country were there with an extra large dose of baby boomer vets wearing dark baseball caps with scrambled eggs.

It was a sunny day and we made our way back to the truck passing in front of the White House.  It appeared there was a large contingent of police and swat types with motorcycles and I assumed this must be the daily cadre.  Then as I started to slow down to take a photo the security all started yelling for everyone to get away! to move off! disperse! don’t stop! and letting no one else pass in front of the fence.  They were shouting and using large arm movements.  No one else was allowed to enter the zone.  I tried to snap a shot as I was moving away when I heard a voice 12” from my left ear, “Move on.  Right now.”  He had the timber and tone down just right.  It was direct, insistent and commanding.  I moved on.  The slightest hesitations of any one were noted  and brusquely  moved on.  There was no touching but they knew how to enter one’s zone of personal space to intimidate.   After we were perhaps 30 yards away we started gathering in small groups again and as I turned around I noticed that a completely empty swath from the White House fence to Constitution Ave. that was perhaps 500‘wide.   Then I heard the chopper blades.  There coming around the Washington Monument at about 3/4 of its height thumped Marine 1 the presidential helicopter.  It was impressive.  After rounding the Washington Monument it made a bee line, about 250’ above me at its closest, for the White house lawn.  We could not see but heard it land.  “Jo, did we just see Obama fly in?”  This is probably a typical day in DC.  But it was still neat.

Yes, we got a ticket. 

It thundered with lightning.

Annapolis

Bird In The Hand To Greenbelt Park

Bird In The Hand, Penn.  "Dry Camping" in the parking lot

9/16/10

Spent our first night at an AOL campground in ElisabethTown last night.  We were pleasantly surprised.  It was all neat and clean.  That day we went to RV  Show in Hershey billed as the largest show in the US.  It was the largest on planet Earth.

We did not make it very far that night.  Only a couple of hours drive to Amish Country, Lancaster County Penn.  We went to a smorgasbord in a town called Bird In The Hand.

Amish rod with turn signals and rear view mirrors.

It was raining and late already when we finished dinner so we just stayed parked in the bus loading area and spent the night “dry” camping - no hook ups, water, power, sewer.  All night empty tour buses and a few semi trucks kept pulling in and out but we slept well.  The next morning there were a lot of single horse drawn Amish carriages rolling by their clopping hoofs a contrast to the hissing of rubber tired vehicles.  Everyone gave way to them and they moved soothly about.  The men in their straw hats all seemed to be smiling, the women prim and stone faced.  A  van towing a UHaul trailer pulled into the parking lot and spilled out its contents of young Amish adults.  It’s hard to tell their ages since they all are dressed the same, though the men all had beards.  They ebulliently bounced around ducking the light sprinkles.  One bearded lad drove a scooter chair out of the UHaul  around the van and back in to the trailer.

9/17/10

 We left Bird in the Hand and headed into town to get our propane tanks re certified and filled with propane and stopped by York where Harley Davidsons are made.  Tried to take the tour but missed the time so we went to Brown's Country Farms instead - best, sweetest apple cider.  The pastries were good but not as good as Helen's Bakery in Cape Breton NS.  

We made it in just a few hours to Greenbelt Campgrounds just outside DC.  in Maryland.  Here it is also dry camping.  We hope to use this spot as a point from which to foray outwards.  The DC monuments, The Museum of History, Annapolis, and what ever else we can do.

Today, instead we dealt with the first problem with the truck.  The Power steering pulley went out as I was easing to the ranger Station to get some payment envelopes.  It was down, it could not be driven.  the ranger and I found a repair station within a mile of the park and called a tow truck.  They said they would work on it in the morning so there was nothing left for us to do but chill out in these woods and learn to live without water,electric or sewer hook ups.  this meant no 110 outlets for all the electronic stuff and only 12V for lights.  The propane worked the ref, hw heater and the stove so all was not exactly primitive.  The trade off for all those amenities? peace and quiet amongst the oak trees.  It made for a deep  sleep.

9/18/10

Picked up the truck at mid day. Mid day usually means not enough time to do much in the afternoon so it’s hang out time.  It’s getting dark earlier now around 8:00PM

It’s a good day to be in the woods.  The 1100 acre Greenbelt National Park is right in the middle of DC, Baltimore and Annapolis.  Its a quiet secret.  Its an urban park surrounded o  three sides by freeways and on the fourth by dense residential.  From deep within its center, during the commuter hours you can hear the hum of the traffic and  the occasional siren.  But during most of the day and the nights it is difficult to imagine the world beyond.  The Park roads gently curve with the topography and the woods are mostly tall narrow oak trees.

Today we treated ourselves after picking up the truck to hanging out at REI then back to camp in the mid afternoon.  All the huge RVs had left and only a few tents remained. For a moment the park felt empty and quiet.

With a brimming shot of apple brandy from the Ironworks Distillery in Lunenburg and the last chapter of James Burke’s latest book where all would find some resolution or prelude to prologue I sat at the picnic table beneath the blue awning of the Airstream beneath the oak leafed canopy.

I savored the time to finish the last chapter of one of my favorite authors and let myself feel quiet.  

Quiet is not always the absence of noise for there was plenty of noise around albeit of a woodland nature.  Sitting still, my elbows on the table, my chin in my hands, I let my eyes drift about while my head stayed almost motionless.  The better to see the movements slowly increase in presence of squirrels, robins, crows going about their business oblivious to me.  I might as well be just another tree.  In the canopy above to my left a red crested pecker began tapping for grubs,  squirrels dashed about the underbrush picking up acorns and birds swung back and forth from ground to branch.  There was a lot happening and I had nothing to do with it.  I just watched.  This is a kind of quiet that we as humans cannot sit still for for very long.  We are such an impatient lot.  And if there is any chance of interacting with some kind of civilization within a mile of where we sit in a matter of minutes our stillness will break and we will soon be drawn to other affairs.  

This is why finding true quiet is so hard.  We have to remove ourselves physically so apart from society’s trappings and complications to have any chance of quiet of any quality.  There is the inward travel of meditation and zen that can take place in any crowd but somehow they feel forced and manufactured and ignoring of one’s surroundings.  We can not all travel to actual places of nature for quiet. So we need to stop what we are doing if the opportunity presents itself and watch the squirrels so purposely yet without stress or panic prepare for fall.  One will see that even they stop occasionally to savor an acorn or two just for the moments pleasure, almost indolent in their relishing of the nut.  As I will try to be before finishing that last chapter.

Home for 7 days dry camping.  Greenbelt National Park MD.

Leaving Maine, Push to Penn.

9/13/10

River falls from town to harbor

Leaving Maine

Side streets to harbor

Typical craft

We left Maine today with a general plan to make it to Brunswick, not too far away to try and hook up with a friend of JoAnn’s mom.   I also had a plan to make it to the Sears in Brunswick to get the Diesel’s tires rotated and oil changed after more than 6500 miles since the last change. I had checked the oil and in spite of the  miles it was still clean.  I changed it anyway.  We missed the lady friend so we continued southward and stopped  at Camden.  This is a very historic and wealthy seaport town.  the harbor was filled with beautiful yawls and ketches of the most elegant lines and fittings.  Strolling the waterfront we shopped for used books pastries and coffee.  It was a relaxing stop even though the rig had to squeeze the narrow streets.  

New England is filled with steepled churches, all prim and painted white.  Most dating to the last century with attached  well kept cemeteries.  We have not had the chance to wander any of them yet but I’ve always found the dates and inscriptions interesting.

back street parking

The weather continued to drizzle so we made for a campground in Freeport.   Poor signage as usual so believing we were lost, “It can’t be out here,” we turned around only to see another camper speeding toward us from the opposite direction.  Hmm, perhaps we gave up too soon, again.  So we too with some difficulty found a place to turn around and learned another lesson about the resistance of the hitch to make up the difference in vertical angle between truck and trailer.  We strained it though and got turned around.  Sure enough the camp was only 500’ further than the point at which we turned around.  Sorry but they had just rented the last space!  Guess who got it?  The other RV that came at us just 10 minutes ago.  Now What?  It’s dark and its raining.  Well they had an overflow space in the parking lot by the office with power and water but no sewer.  We’ll take it.  That will be $40.00 cash!  Crusty old dude.  As it turned out we had  more space and privacy so it worked out.  Somewhere a train whistled good night.

Push to Penn.

9/14/10

We had stayed hitched up so we pulled out fairly early with the intention of taking 2 more days to get to the big RV show in Hershey with a target of Milton just across the border from New York and New Jersey where they both meet up with Pennsylvania at Port Jervis.  We got to Port Jervis so after a restock at WallMart and noticing the signs in the parking lot that they no longer allowed overnight camping which we wanted to try we decided to push for Hershey.  It did not look that far away on the map and we had been making such good time.  Mistake.  The connections between freeways was a long 2 laner with construction detours, 35-45 mph most of the way and through congested business districts.  The afternoon ticked away and getting on to the E-W interstate took a couple of wrong shunts requiring back tracks.  We still felt OK since we had called ahead and made reservations.  The daylight faded and still it seemed it was always another 70 miles away.  The freeway itself was under a lot of construction where the orange traffic barrels went on for miles narrowing the lanes to the point that thundering semis trying to squeeze by us left a few pearls of sweat on my forehead.  I don’t like driving at night and my night vision is getting older.  JoAnn is trying to keep up the navigation from the right seat in the dark.  Somehow between the bouts of doubt 4 different maps, a Woodall Camp guide, and a GPS we manage to keep heading East.  Thats my basic crutch now, East, as long as we’re going East surely we’ll intersect with Hershey.  Its a black moonless night now and the freeway seems to be only occupied with the semis and trailers bedecked like Christmas trees sporting 3-4 dozen red lights.  Like angry giant cockroaches that multiply at night they surround me on both sides forcing me to wind up the Chevy to near redline to get ahead or try to back off straight and steady to be jettisoned out behind, an Airstream hot dog slipping the surly bonds of  Whiteliners and Kenworths. And I’m running out of fuel.

We finally make it to the general area and now need to find the little town of ElisabethTown.  We get lost again and this time the freeway is deserted, no stations for that last resort of help.  No businesses, just acres and acres of empty industrial warehouses.  It would be the last straw if that boat had not already left an hour ago.  I am in pain from my neck and down my back and butt.  My eyes are blurry and my arms are noodles.  So we pull another exit  into an empty sodium lamp lit complex with no indications of what is made here.  It’s erie.  Parked beneath one of the lamps Jo tries to keep up some semblance of spirit and hope but more turns, backtracks and loops leave me dazed.  But what’s the choice.  At last we stumble into Elizabeth Town but the streets are tiny and the trailer now feels like a tanker on my tail.  We turn around again to head over to a Turkey Hill Service station and ask.  “Why you just turned around half a block to soon!”  Agh, Jesus help me!!  “Just go back and cross under the trestle to the right and go about 2 miles.  

Everything is moving on fume remnants now.  It’s been almost 11 hours on the concrete and its almost 11:PM.  Tooth picks couldn’t prop up my eyelids.  The KOA park is in utter blackness.  They did leave a map with site on the bulletin board but we can’t see a thing.  It takes JoAnn, again to lead the lumbering rig by walking ahead with a flashlight guiding the beast into an arrival gate. I was never more drained.  It did not even come close to the time one late dead tired night on my motorcycle in Idaho when the gas station kid hosed me and the bike an all my gear with gasoline.  I did not have the energy to be angry.  I think I was on the verge of tearful madness then.  This night was a bit worse.  I don’t remember anything after shutting off the ignition

The morning broke clear and blue.  Though still sloppy groggy I stumbled outside to the smell of aspen leaves on wet grass.  The cattails in a pond very close by were clicking in the faint breeze.  All felt all the more sweeter and last night was a fading nightmare.  I’m so thankful for JoAnn’s help.  So it’s pop three advils and head up to the shower.  No quarters needed.  they were immaculate and 30 minutes later as I began to prune up the pain pills and hot water softened and eased it all down the road..