Driving

Wake up in a rest area in Illinois, go to sleep in a friend's driveway in Tennessee. Just another day on the road for a couple of intrepid retirees.  

We arose disgracefully late on Friday morning. I watched Layne crawl out of our very comfortable duvet bedding around 10 in the morning while I stayed behind reading my Kindle on my phone. I have been plowing through a 1200 page biography of Adolph Hitler, a surprisingly readable tome by the historian John Toland.  At a time when democracy around the world seems more in peril than recently I'd like to go back and find out what really happened. Austria is just about to be annexed and I had to leave 1938 holding my breath, and get back to the business of driving.  We had a date.

The biggest question that usually arises when I get behind the wheel is whether or not to take the freeway. Layne inclines to freeways but I don't, even when we have a date. I got support from Google maps when I noticed the blue line to Nashville turned red for some considerable distance. We took the back roads. Yay!

Southern Illinois is said to be planted in horse radish but as I have no idea what a horseradish plant looks like in the ground I couldn't say whether or not that was true. Most of the fields looked fallow for winter.

The back roads were straight, as you might expect in the great plains of myth. Paved roads, smooth mostly, and straight through the fields at 40 miles per hour, not a car in sight, completely relaxing.

We listened to NPR for a while from St Louis and as the signal faded so did our interest. Often I plug my phone into the sound system in the Promaster and scroll through my BBC podcasts and broadcasts. Layne is pretty tolerant, listening to historical discussions or old radio comedies or dramas from Radio 4.  It is the radio of my childhood, not the music but the spoken word and I enjoy listening to it. Not this day, I was watching the world go by. 

The roads were lovely and we bowled along at 60 miles an hour on the state highways, not much slower than the freeway and we had the roads to ourselves.

Small towns with a gas station, farm equipment dealer and farm supply stores, a bar a grocery and at 35 miles per hour we saw it all. We enjoyed the drive, being on the road, taking a road trip.  We had two hours to make a 90 minute journey.

We stopped to walk Rusty and stretch our legs in a field alongside the road. The air was crisp but the temperature was bearable even at 50 degrees with no wind.

In southern towns there are churches everywhere but in this part of Illinois they were noticeably fewer in number at least visible from the road. 

I think of Illinois and I don't think of this sort of scenery. Now I've seen it and I'm glad I have, as I never get bored driving these roads.

I'm not a fan of electric cars even though I know they are the future. I suppose I am a product of my time and internal combustion was what I grew up around. I feel lucky I'm still able to dream of driving over the horizon in my van, not answerable to anybody. I suppose the time will come when electrical charging will be as fast and inconsequential as filling a tank with gas and if that happens in my driving life I shall be happy to switch. For the time being electrical cars seem better suited to the commute or local trips than grand over-the-horizon expeditions. 

But this experience of the open road is quintessentially American, celebrated in movies and expressed in songs where the mere mention of a Road Trip triggers yearning. Even if you don't like to drive and you don't want to see where your neighbors live the notion of a "road trip" is completely understood.

I would watch any movie that offered a road trip as part of the plot. I saw Easy Rider in an English language movie theater in Rome in 1980 as I was planning my first trip to America. The fact that I rode coast to coast via Mexico on a 200cc Vespa motor scooter didn't detract one bit from my connection to the bad boys riding across America on their Harleys in the movie.  It didn't end well for them on their drug fueled trip, but my ride across America was excellent. And I met the very first love in my young confused life and she was maddening and excellent too. 

I've driven across country, ridden across country and even managed to sail across country from Texas to Florida after a portage from California to Texas. 

With all that under my belt I still enjoy the simple fact of being on the road. To leave late and dawdle along the way, to see something memorable and to stop at dusk and sleep in your own bed with the promise of more of the same tomorrow... That is my idea of perfect retirement.

We saw deer dickering around indecisively at the side of the road. These are full sized white tails and I can't imagine how they would deal with Rusty who finds them fascinating.

Another dip in the road, another small town, more of the same stores masking the same small town stories no doubt. Onward we go with miles till empty on the dashboard showing three hundred miles to go.

Our first two weeks on the road we paid around $300 for gas according to the expedition accountant who is keeping track of our expenses. Gas this year costs around 3 to three and a half dollars a gallon for which the President oddly gets the blame. Free markets aren't always so free when someone can make political hay out of assigning blame. If I were president gas would cost a dollar a gallon to fund my road trips. Vote for me, OPEC be damned.

Rest assured Rusty doesn't drive but he looks really cute when he takes my place behind the wheel. He doesn't seem to mind road trips at all, so perhaps he and I shared a gene pool in some distant past in the Rift Valley. Or maybe not.

Oakbrook Illinois

"So how was I-65?" cousin Lynn asked brightly upon arrival. Horrible I said. Oh that's normal the reply came pat. It seems that Chicago residents are destined to travel south on only one available Interstate freeway and that particular road is in a state of permanent construction plagued by lengthy work sites, terrible bumps and cracks and crowded traffic. That's something to look forward to then Wednesday when we head back to warmer climes.

Yesterday morning I stuck to my new improved retirement schedule and got up at 8:30, kicked the dog into action (as though he needed any prodding) and we headed out into an overcast morning of drizzle and 36 degrees. The wind had died down so it wasn't as cold as it had been but after half a block Rusty gave up and we marched back to the van in the driveway where I dried him off and made myself a cup of tea and wrote a couple of letters. The shrubbery is startlingly bright and yesterday I learned in a comment about the perils of Sweet Gum trees (?) so I shall look out for their balls before I trip on them.

Layne got up bursting to get Stuff Done so the laundry which had been scheduled for Indianapolis met its match in Lynn's washer and the two cousins sat around and nattered while I listened to Rusty snore. It was the sort of Sunday morning anyone might enjoy, made doubly pleasurable by a warm spacious house in an inhospitable climate. I will be delighted to sleep aboard Gannet 2 later when we are traveling in a few days. For now I enjoy central heat.

Lynn has three adult children who all live nearby and one of them has produced a two year old grandson who was among those who came to dinner. It was reassuring to see health impaired adults and younger members of the family able to gather in these uncertain times and even Rusty got to meet and not dislike the company of Finn, a small black bundle of energy who produced wags from both tails.

For someone like me who grew upon the midst of family drama and conflict the chance to be surrounded by people who grew up together and hold fond memories of each other was quite delightful. Lynn told us of family travels to Alaska and Bob, an avid photographer, was the first person who has ever told me to be prepared not to be impressed by Denali. I will look forward to comparing notes on our trip south next Fall.

The conditions here are not conducive to dog walking Rusty tells me. We have managed half a block in each direction from the house before he gives up and shakes off the drizzle. My polka dot umbrella now lives by the front door as a precaution and and I stand ready to wander outside with him as soon as he points at the great outdoors. 

It is a festive feeling out there for me. As much as I have always enjoyed warm sunny Thanksgiving Days and Christmases in the Keys I find myself enjoying these Hollywood-style views of leafless winter branches and crisp intakes of breath. I have seen enough Christmas movies to enjoy finding myself living briefly on a similar set. 

Mild snow is in the forecast on and off but I doubt the fire hydrant poles will be necessary during our brief visit. I know I'm not cut out for winters like this but the hint of seasonal appropriateness is really quite enjoyable for a change.

To have to mark your fire hydrant like this is absurd as much as it may be necessary. I find it odd that the lump of metal is better adapted to harsh winter than am I. 

Arm Wrestling Stuff

 Alligator Alley at dawn.

Layne is sleeping, Rusty is walked and Gannet 2 is covered in dew. It is hot sticky and humid and weirdly enough this is a place we have stopped before, it is familiar and known and at the same time the circumstances make it as strange as the proverbial dark side of the moon.

The background is a symphony of truck engines and swooshing vehicles on the freeway, the light is flat and gray and my choices are a small plastic toilet in a broom closet or shared institutional facilities, clean but reminiscent of a prison or my English boarding school of fond memory. Life on the road, why did we do this?

Were we being sensible in our former home on the canal on Cudjoe Key we'd be shuffling around our own spaces, planning a day which in this age of plague was not quite the retirement one might have hoped for. Ironically enough it was easier to deal with coronavirus at work, head down, routines, no expectations for shared entertainment or intimate gatherings. On a day off one expects to gather and share and be together. As a houseless nomad on the road one is glad to be able to be isolated.

I got the last load of stuff dropped off last night near the Miami airport.  I hate stuff more passionately than ever especially after humping tons of crap everywhere. I've put it in strangers' cars (after they gave me money for it!), I've watched my wife press it on friends embarrassed by their desire, I've offloaded a ton of it at the smelly slimy dump, I've made repeated trips up the Accursed Highway to Miami to drop piles of it off. But stuff got its revenge. I arrived at the storage locker to a cheerful greeting.

How's it going the clerk asked as I stopped by to get a key for the carts they keep locked to the walls. Great I said, in Spanish and English. How I didn't get lost I don't know but I piled the last load on their cart, hauled it for miles through creepy dark corridors of lockers and got back to Rusty snoring under the air conditioning vent, with myself in a lather of sweat. No more stuff I swore to myself as I wrung out my sweat soaked shirt.

We ate ribs for dinner and watched an episode, the last available until they release the next episode, of the Great British Bake Off wherein Giuseppe the Italian beat his good buddy Jürgen the German and got Star Baker on German Week. Excellent. My Italian half brushed his teeth with extra vigor. Rusty snored from his bed in a dark recess of the van.

I slept long and hard from 10 till 5 hence my ability to put this page together with I think reasonable coherence. Honestly it was a day like yours, chores and duties and obligations, the passing of time all followed by unconsciousness. I will say I look forward to breaking away after we say goodbyes to friends and the familiar places to being alone and discovering roads and towns not before seen. But all in all what we did in 72 square feet you did in a proper space. We are just like you.

Except it turns out we accidentally threw out Layne's coffee with all the unwanted stuff, so that was another case of stuff having the last laugh. Layne's not laughing but I'm pretty sure Rusty is.

Duval Street Normal

I took the van into town and even though it is high season in winter there was plenty of parking downtown. I was surprised to find a space easily one block from Duval. I had had chores to do followed by an evening shift at work so I figured I'd do better to take the van to town and spend the afternoon in relative comfort without trekking home to Cudjoe Key. It was a good plan.

I spent some time at Truman Waterfront on an uncharacteristically sunny day off but before I went to work for my four hour evening shift I decided to take a photo walk on Lower Duval to see how the pandemic winter is working out. Duval Street isn't really very appealing as a destination and in this Covid year it has been even less so, which I do find rather annoying.

Properly masked I set off. I am fully vaccinated at this point, a week after my second shot so the mask is more  away to reduce the spread than to protect myself  but having lived through all those months of mask controversy I think it is more important than ever to keep following the rules. And in Key West the rule is wear a mask. These chickens were ignoring the rules and thus setting a terrible example to their numerous offspring:

It was a pleasant afternoon to wander and perhaps to wonder, a warm day and as it turned out not too crowded. I have to say that being protected by the vaccine makes me feel a lot less stressed being even close to other people outdoors, even though I have not yet got any interest in sitting indoors around strangers. We buy restaurant food to go and will for a while I dare say.

The mask ordinance is a tough rule to enforce if people aren't much interested in compliance. Officers are posted up and down Duval Street gently reminding passersby of the rule to cover up but how do you get everyone everywhere to do what they don't want to do? My solution is to stay away.

I thought it was a warm afternoon but not everyone agreed apparently. I came across a study in plaid outside Wendy's at the corner of Eaton Street, properly masked to boot:

Social distancing, a term I keep hoping will disappear from our vocabularies before too long. I find it weird to imagine a future without all these precautions, so used I have become to them. I was reading in the paper today that we may be back to normal this summer and indeed my wife, also vaccinated, has bought airline tickets to California this September. It's her first vacation during the school year in 20 years as she will hit retirement this June.  September is a good month to be out of the Keys to avoid heat and hurricanes and a good month to be in Central California to avoid fog and damp.

I have been toying with making a  trip back to Europe to see my relatives one last time before we hit the road in retirement next year but Italy is having a hard time organizing vaccinations and I'm not sure how easy overseas travel will be this summer. I'm not going to have time to take extended quarantines should they be imposed.  I find it energizing that once again such plans can even be remotely considered. That feels a bit like normal.

Outdoor dining, watching the world go by from the balcony at the Whistle bar...

...riding a  motorcycle, helmetless for those that dare, Florida winter looking superficially back to normal. I took the great lumpen van back home and enjoyed the drive.

Lake Okeechobee Sunset

My wife had an appointment with her arthritis doctor in Miami on Friday and I was off the weekend following so instead of going home we went vanning. As with anything you have to cut your clothes according to your cloth and because we live in southernmost Florida our road trips inevitably start out by pointing north. In my role as driver/navigator I decided to head up the east shore of Lake Okeechobee. The plan was vague to start with except that I didn't want too tick to the coasts where winter crowds gather  and I wanted to avoid the coastal Freeways, I-95 and I-75 or the Turnpike up the middle. Highway 27 was the choice then. 

To drive enough to see a sunset over the lake you have to drone through Everglades marshlands, sugar cane flatlands, the stark poverty of the south shore of the lake and back into agricultural fields that butt up the levee that keeps the lake surrounded. By the time we had passed through Pahokee an African American town of low net worth, in Palm Beach county as far from Royal Palm Beach as you can imagine, I was forming a definite plan.

Many years ago I sailed from Fort Myers to Stuart up the Caloosahatchee River, across Lake Okeechobee and down the St Lucie canal to the east coast. When I say "sailed" I mean I motored endlessly struggling to stay awake and steer a straight course down narrow waterways. The lake was arelif allowing some actual sailing and self steering always with the ever present need to reach Port Mayaca before dark as there is nowhere to anchor on the totally exposed lake if you don't lock through onto the canal before dark.  I recalled from that trip 30 years ago a park like area overlooking the lake and if we arrived before sunset we get a view. I have driven Highway 98 several times but never paid much attention to stopping here. All that changed on this trip. 

As we drove over the St Lucie Canal on the high bridge you can see in the picture above, I looked down and saw a grassy rest area at the start of the road that leads east to Indiantown and Stuart. Aha I thought to myself, that might be where we spend the night. Meanwhile I took the Promaster on a lumpy road that deteriorated into gravel and then grass where many cars were parked their occupants mingling and sharing Covid while picnicking, playing soccer, fishing and lighting campfires. I figured we might as well socially isolate on the levee road and along it I drove right up to the gate. Turning around was tight but front wheel drive gives the 21 foot van a tight turning radius and with a little backing and forthing I managed to turn without sliding down the slopes on either side.

I wanted to have the sliding door open facing east so we could have dinner overlooking the water and my original idea was to back up the one lane road but I saw how firm the grass was supporting big trucks at the water's edge so I kew we would be fine all the way at the top of the levee. And so it was. Lyne peeled away after five minutes on the 60 degree 20 mile per hour winds but Rusty and I persisted, passing a couple of bicycles, masked and racing the setting sun back to their car. 

It was cold and windy but the sunset was lovely and as darkness fell all we could see was the lights at the lock and the dancing flames of a campfire. The van is well insulated and surprisingly warm on such a cold Florida night, down to 55 degrees and expected to drop to 41.

We had a simple dinner, a frozen lean cuisine and salad which kept the chores to a minimum and watched the sun go down. We have enough battery power we can run appliances and lights and charge electronics without counting the cost. It makes it feel like home inside the camper.

And out there in the distance the grass was getting blown and the chill was creeping up on us. Time to find  a quiet spot to sleep and I knew just where that was.