Fat Lady & the Hound

Having finished a 10 month journey across America in 2014 in my Roadtrek van with my basset hound, it's time for a new chapter in my life. After many insightful epiphanies during my adventurous and memorable trip, I returned home to Annapolis and set out for California, to reinvent myself by launching a new career, making friends, and making a home. Join me as I transition into my new life. I feel optimistic and excited about what lies ahead for this southern Southern California girl.

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My sister got married!

My sister, Joanna, was getting married mid-October.  Somewhere in Ohio, after much teeth gnashing, hair pulling, and sleepless nights, I turned east for Annapolis, ending my journey two months early.  I surprised my betrothed sister on her wedding day, jumping out of a friends’ van to her driveway, surprising her as she stood with an upraised broom, shooing away uninvited spider cobwebs from the garage roof.  (Some brides just get their hair and makeup done.  Uncle Eddie Bush always said the Clarkes were diseased and insane, which explains a lot of our family behavior.)  Loving surprises more than homemade bread pudding, my family didn’t know I was coming.  It was a wonderful day, with lots of squealing delight at seeing me (who knew?) and a romantic and utterly charming home wedding.

But enough of my homecoming.   My apologies, devoted readers, for seemingly dropping out of sight, or at least, from my blog these past months since leaving Vermillion, Ohio.  Perhaps you will forgive me when I tell you what I’ve been doing and what is next for me.  But, I’ll save that for later.

I just pulled into the Walmart in Vidor, Texas, where I’m camping out tonight. Last night, I camped at a Walmart, just south of New Orleans. Tracking back, I spent the previous night east of Mobile, Alabama, before, at Ft. Clinch State Park at Fernandina Beach, Florida, and before that, Charleston, South Carolina. I left Morehead City after a few weeks with family for the holidays before leaving town.

Intriqued?  There’s more to tell.  Right now, SoLow needs to be fed, I need to tighten the screws on the bike rack behind the Roadtrek, and finish reading Thunderbolt Kid by Bill Bryson.

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Choosing scenic byways has served me well. Wishing to avoid highways, I've found the most charming little towns and surprises. 

Crossing from Michigan to Ohio, I followed the slower Lake Erie coast north road. Solow and encountered pristine homes and landscaping all along the waterfront for miles and miles. I always pick up a real estate guide where ever I go.  The affordable prices of these Lake Erie waterfront homes shocked me. 

I rounded a narrow Ohio peninsula east from Port Clinton to Marblehead, then south across the Sandusky River to the town of andusky and north.

In Marblehead, I viewed tall roller coasters across Lake Erie, and later in Sandusky found Cedar Park, known as the "roller coaster capital of the nation."

In Huron, Lake Erie wind was blowing a sandstorm across the community recreation parking area.  I understand that the Lake was once filthy, but private industry, individuals, and government woke up and made tough decisions to clean it up.  It was sparkling and clear, as were all the Great Lakes I visited (Superior, Michigan, Heron, and Erie).

I especially enjoyed Vermillion, with its' quaint train station, a friendly metal walleye sculpture, whose body was constructed such that the wind moved the sections of his body as if he were swimming, and an interesting ice cream shop.

The victorian yellow building looked innocent enough.  A sign told of its history - as a funeral parlor.  "Great Ice Cream and Treats to Die For."

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I have missed traveling across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge.  From St. Ignace south, even on a foggy, rainy day with miles of road construction, I happily motored across the longest suspension bridge in the country, eight miles long and, on a sunny day, a great view of Lake Huron.

On my list, was to visit Traverse City, a horseshoe harbor town full of life and culture. Home to the national cherry festival in July, it also sports an impressive film festival for which film maker, Michael Moore, serves on its board of directors.  Pie companies, breweries, year-round outdoor activities and affordable housing on a lake, were one of my favorite towns.

At the visitors' center, I met a former MD Department of Natural Resources official, who had moved to TC 15 years ago, but would soon move back east to a beach community in South Carolina.  We enjoyed chatting, but didn't come up with any common friends.

Traveling north on the western peninsula from Traverse City, I spent a couple hours in Sutton Bay, where glass and metal flowers bloomed on the front lawn.  A pretty hotel sat on the tiny harbor.

In a couple days, I ventured south, hugging the Lake Michigan coast and visiting fishing villages to Sagatuck, yet another town so picturesque and charming, I immediately wanted to live there.  (There have been so many of those.)  An artists community, the local artist studios and galleries fill the town, and I fell victim to a plate of Prince Edward Island mussel and a beer.

Is it possible to live a multi-state exisitance?  If so, Michigan is on the list.

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You MUST go see Mackinac Island when you are in Michigan, everyone seemed to advise.  One sunny afternoon, SoLow and I took the ferry from Port Ignace to the eight-mile wide island, that relies solely on horses, carriages, bicycles and feet to transport people and things, from luggage to hay and FedX deliveries.

Without SoLow, I would have loved renting a saddle horse to clip clop around the island. Instead, our six feet passed a horse and carriage with an overzealous driver who insisted on instructing the horse, who needed not be told the path or the pace.

A group of red-hat ladies passed by, happily munching on fudge from one of the many fudge shops lining main street. They obliged me with a photo.

Hiking up a formidable hill to see the famed Grand Hotel, a young lady at the top politely advised that further on was private property and visiting the hotel lobby would cost $10.  We hiked back down.

Large and colorful Victorian homes lined the streets, with a surprising array of blooming flowers, unusual I thought, for a September visit.  Although too many tourists for my taste, merchants said summer tourists descend on the island like locusts.  i had chosen the right time to visit.

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From Wisconsin, I traveled north west to the Porcupine Mountains and followed Lake Superior north to the tip at Copper Harbor. Lush forests, the vast lake, bracing winds, and unspoiled scenery aside, the air was crisp and chilly.  SoLow could run, unleashed, to her hearts' content on the shoreline, where the smooth rocks were many colorful shades.

Someone suggested stopping by a monastery/ bakery, The Jam Pot, located on an off, off, off, the beaten path, road. Many had made the journey as well. As I stood in line, my sweet-tooth smarting, rows of freshly baked bread, cookies, muffins, and other regional delights tempted me.  At the counter, I settle for the most delicious apricot muffin ever.  The monk at the counter couldn't have been more than 21 years old, perhaps the whitest man I've ever seen.  He said proceeds benefited their mission.  (Sadly, the gremlins stole my photographs of their unpretentious bakery and home, its hard workers and bakery offerings.)

Later, I spied this license plate sporting the colorful nickname for UP residents. A nearby gray hearse advertised "Best Little Cupcakes on Wheels." The bespectacled, beer bellied, grizzled looking owner was nearby so I chickened out asking permission to snap a photograph. Boy, I wish I had anyway.

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Lake Superior, Upper Peninsula, Michigan.

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While in Wisconsin, I visited my cousin and her husband in Spring Green, a picturesque little town with pretty houses, cute shops and at least one good eatery, where Mahlan, Brian and I had dinner and a couple good local brews.  The eatery was in an old bank building, where the owners had created the tables from wooden safety deposit boxes and kept the teller windows in tact.

This photo was taken on the long and windy uphill road to their tree house home outside of town.  If I remember correctly, it was built by a student of Frank Lloyd Wright, whose home, Taliesin, is just a few miles away.  About eighty feet off the ground, and surrounded by hardwoods, my photographs couldn't quite capture its unique setting and style.

On a hillside, across the road from the tree house, they've created an oasis of sorts.  There on a flat plot of land, you can relax in one of the two side-by-side swings overlooking the hills beyond, or by the large stone fire pit, or within the bug-free screened gazebo on a comfy wide chair.  Their impressive vegetable and herb garden enjoys full sunshine at one end.  At the other, my parked Roadtrek, and I, feeling as privileged as any billionaire on the grounds of an expensive resort.

She and I went to The American Players Theater amphitheater one night to see a Russian play.  After the intermission,  I wasn't quite following the story line (something about a play being produced during a play about the play - get it?)

Out of my eye to the left, a gentleman across the aisle appeared to be snoring and I caught a glimpse of his female companion giving him a nudge, but he wasn't wakening. 

In a split second, Mahlan, who had witnessed the same, shot up and yelled to the two actors on stage, "Hey, Jimmy, stop the play! A man's having a stroke!" and sat down. 

Immediately, Jimmy, one of the two actors in a dialogue, asked if there was a doctor in the house.  Several people scurried over to the ailing man. At this point, he was making odd noises and slumping in his chair. Jimmy called for an intermission.

After seeing help there, I glanced over to Mahlan, who was staring straight ahead and looked a bit pink.

"Are you ok?" I asked.

"I can't believe I did that." 

"Jimmy is a friend of yours?"

"He is the theater manager. I mean I know him, but not well enough to stand up in the middle of his performance and yell at him like that."

I reassured her that minutes count when someone is having a stroke, that she did the right thing, and may have saved his life. I was really proud of her. 

In the car on the way home, acknowledging the seriousness of the matter, we couldn't help but to burst into a fit of giggles about her dramatic call to action.  It was a great night at the theatre with my theatrical cousin.

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Sally and Gene were wonderful hosts to me while in Minneapolis and made it their mission to show me the best of the city and the area.   It's not hard in Minnesota, the land of 1000+ lakes, to fall in love with the area and take beautiful photos.   On a drive around the lake neighborhood where Mary Tyler Moore once owned a home, we pulled over for an off leash dog park across the street for SoLow to make some new buddies.  Looking across the lake, I snapped my best photo of the Minneapolis skyline.  In town, we saw the original Gold Metal Flour plant and toured the Guthrie Theater, within housing three theaters, an upscale restaurant and bar, a sinfully tempting gift shop, and light images on the walls of past and present theater characters, all set in a low blue light, modern decor.   Very impressive!

For lunch, we stopped at an old standard, a combination restaurant, bowling alley and live theater. Darn! What was the name of it again?  The hole in my file cabinet gets bigger every day.  Anyway, Sally was feeling, well, theatrical!  I sampled a local beer and had a walnut burger.  Surprisingly yummy, undoubtedly healthy.

I love sculpture and was anxious to visit the Sculpture Garden, next to the modern art museum downtown.  A crew was polishing the silver  ((hee hee) on a well recognized landmark, the spoon. With a cherry on top.

I credit my desire to pursue a career with my sister, Joanna, and Mary Tyler Moore.  I never missed an episode and in my eyes she was the most glamorous, confident and successful woman ever.  How could I resist taking off my funky hat and posing with her statue downtown.  I understand she is in poor health.   If, by some fluke, she is reading this blog, thank you Mary Tyler Moore.

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Minnesota has the second best state fair in the country, right behind Texas.  It's large, beautifully laid out with lots of shade trees, and the food?  On a stick!  The six of us shared a bite of nearly everything... key lime pie on a stick, fried cheese curds, pork chop on a stick, walleye fish on a stick.  Our last stop of the day was to get a bucket of fresh chocolate chip cookies at Miss Marthas, where the cookies were stacked well above the top of the bucket.  While the youngsters hit some rides, we visited the wonderful Horse Barns, and saw the State Fair Queen and her court each captured in a butter carving bust. She and her court waved to the crowd during the daily parade.  Wanting to meet Saturday Night Live alumni, now Minnesota Senator, Al Franken, I wandered to the booth, but had to settle for a photo of Sophie with campaign materials. Great fair!

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Entering Minnesota through the southwest corner, I passed miles and miles of beautiful farms with red silos and fields of corn on my way to Minneapolis.  One "don't miss" site along the way was the largest candy store in the state.  Banana yellow, you could see it for miles as yellow picket fences began to dot the roadside. Judging by the size of the parking lot, I thought I'd landed at a casino instead. Every conceivable candy was there with fresh baked fruit pies, old time sodas, and everything in between.  For this candy lover, it was overwhelming. Showing much restraint, I came away with mostly gifts of two fruit pies, homemade fudge, and English candies. Oh, and my banana taffy.

Later, I stopped over in Mitchell to see the famed Corn Palace.  It was undergoing an exterior renovation, but its facade is always replaced annually with new corn shucks, cobs, and minced parts.  SoLow along, I didn't go inside to view the corn theme of the year.  Thereafter, I referred to the candy store as the Candy Palace.

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Sioux Falls, South Dakota had the most wonderful city park, full of red rock falls and walking paths along and across sections of it.

I happened to pass through Chamberlain, South Dakota on my way to Minneapolis, Minnesota.  Again, a town park caught my eye.  Following its tree-lined path along the Mississippi River, SoLow and visited a marina, and walked downtown to see a local bar, poking fun at the bikers.

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Custer State Park, south of the Badlands, afforded me an up close view of a herd of bison.  Oddly enough, I saw more bison there than in Yellowstone. (It just wasn't in the cards for me to see animals in Yellowstone) . 

The Park was an unexpected delight, first the abundance of bison (and bikers), and then a 12 mile, curvy, drive through the beautiful scenery.  Signs warned of one-way narrow tunnels that should not be attempted by large vehicles. But the Roadtrek fit under the size limits.  Excited at the prospect of something different,  I proceeded along the scenic and curvey mountain turns. At the entrance, a stop sign advised that you check that the passage was clear, then honk your horn loudly before proceeded.  Just to be sure, I honked my horn through every tunnel.  There were type-A city drivers out there who were still in a hurry.  Some tunnels were on a curve, a heart-thumping experience, I assure you.

The west is full of dinosaur bones and museums. Although palentology doesn't interest me, the life size T-Rex at one museum had me slamming on the breaks and u-turning my way to it.  I couldn't resist taking a photo where T-Rex appears to be dining on a nearby church. 

I cannot resist stopping for horses. At a combination RV Park, eatery, and riding stables, I watched a young woman giving instructions to a group of riders before they headed out. The expression on the horses' faces spoke volumes, been there, done that.

No state visit would be complete without a visit to the Dodge dealer.  Solow, tired of my company, spent the hours with a new friend in the waiting room. She wasn't a dog person, but became one after SoLows' affectionate attention.

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Getting lost is frustrating, but in my experience, it nearly always leads to a great find. Such was the case when I stumbled into Scenic, South Dakota. It wasn't Scenic, but it was interesting.  This long abandoned town of nearly a dozen wood structures also had a Native American trading post and a gasoline station.

And three jails. That's right, this town must have been a swinging place during its heyday. I giggled at the message posted on the Saloons' door, thinking that its customers no doubt filled these jails.

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The Badlands in South Dakota were full of mountain goats and prairie dogs and the oddest rock landscape I'd ever seen.  That said, I made the mistake of seeing it mid-day and learned afterwards that dawn and dusk were the best viewing times in that light. 

At one stop, we viewed a family of mountain goats well below us, standing on a very tiny and steep rock.  Slowly they ascended the rock to munch on grasses near the road, and to our delight, walked right up to where the tourists and I were standing. 

In many of the national parks, I saw tourists getting dangerously close to dangerously temperamental bison and other large beasts.  In those instances and this one, I stayed a distance away, not from fear of being hurt, but fear of the laughter that would ensue from friends and family that I'd been that stupid!

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Sturgis Rally bikers zooming past me, my next stop in South Dakota was to see the Chief Crazy Horse Memorial and Mount Rushmore. Nothing prepared me for the enormity of Crazy Horse or touched me so deeply.

Chief Harry Bear (ok, so that wasn't his real name) asked an accomplished sculptor to take on this seemingly impossible project. In 1948 he began, initially with a rock hammer and a wobbly wooden cage that carried him to the top and back for his work on the mammoth stone. 

To give you an idea of its size, Crazy's nose is 44 feet wide.  George Washington's nose at Rushmore is "only" approximately 20 feet wide. (To the west of Rushmore, I spotted a break in the hills where I saw Washington's profile, perfect for a photo.)

There was to be a rock blasting at Crazy Horse the day I visited..  Sitting on a hillside with a Native American family, a gazillion bikers, and an unimpressed Solow taking a nap on the grass, we waited with great anticipation for the 750,000 TONS of rock to be blasted.  At one on the countdown, camera ready . . . a puff of smoke and a small firecracker pop.  Sure, you could see the hole it left at the tip of the horses' nose (only a white sketch on the monument), but underwhelming at best.  I have a video, if you are interested.  It's at least ten kernels of popcorn in length.

The blasting did serve a purpose as a testament to its' size and the amazing undertaking.  The artist passed a couple years ago, but his family are committed to its completion. 

And the best thing ... it is entirely funded through private donations.  The Native American tribes and Foundation are not accepting any government funds. Wisely, they are not trusting us again.

The Native American Cultural Center at the Monument was fascinating, with artifacts, documents, replicas of Native American life and culture, a movie about the memorial, and the artists original wooden cabin, included his collection of King Tut replica furniture. Odd, I know, but what an interesting fellow.

Sitting on the deck, watching Native American men in traditional garb pose with tacky-dressed, loud tourists, I became weepy and feeling sad about what the Native Americans lost and what they now call home, poverty ridden reservations where lack of jobs and opportunity have resulted in alcoholism, domestic abuse, and hopelessness.

I certainly won't be around to see the completion of the Crazy Horse Memorial, nor will you, but go see it now.  It's one of the highlights of my trip.

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In South Dakota, I stayed at the Rooster Roost RV Park, certainly the prettiest location so far in my travels. The owners who bought the park were from Florida and live there in the winter months, for good reason. 

Walking up to the office door, I spied what I thought were fake white chickens sitting on the welcome mat at the door.  When one moved, my feet left the floor.  Turns out, they owned several friendly chickens, also including some beautiful black speckled ones.  And, there was their grumpy, but friendly, yellow lab, and in the evening, a doe and her fawn visited the yard, completing their animal family, right at their doorstep.

Our site was oppose a large meadow, where I counted more than 30 deer grazing in the early morning and evenings.

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(At last, photographs of the Northern Cascades in Washington state turned up.) 

I nearly had a heatstroke that day.  SoLow and I were happily jumping in and out of the Roadtrek at every roadside pull-off as we drove into the Northern Cascades National Park, just below Canada. The dry heat was uncomfortable, but entranced by the natural beauty, I chalked it up to my usual heat-intolerant body.   Only when a park ranger, upon seeing my blood red face, asked if I was ok, did I learn it was 103 degrees!  No wonder the Roadtrek vehicle air conditioner (dodge) and my generator run window air conditioner weren't keeping the unit cool. We hoofed it to the nearest air-conditioned building and drank copious amounts of water.

The color of the river was unlike any I've seen so far - a milky Carribean blue.  Surrounded by mountains and lush forests, and dotted with tree islands, the view atop these mountains was still worth the heat and my near miss with heat stroke.