Hobo Beach Pensacola

It's been just over one month of travel and the feeling of vacation hasn't yet left. I caught Layne yesterday on her phone measuring distances and checking Harvest Hosts between here and Austin so I think her feet are itching just as much as mine are.

Therèse lives in East Hill, a community set on an actual prominence, as close to a hill as you will find in the Florida sandbox. Take the correct street and you can get actual over the water views from high above the tideline. Not a bad place to be when the inevitable hurricanes push water up the Gulf of Mexico onto the beach.

The other good bit about this neighborhood is the variety of architecture and the abundance of plants including extremely large trees. Rusty quite like the walks as do I.

Therèse is an avid gardener so it came as no surprise to see grapefruit sized lemons hanging in her back yard. She settled in Pensacola a decade ago as her roots in the US were in Alabama (which is her team...) but Pensacola offers beaches, Florida sunshine and no taxes, the sorts of reasons I can agree with, especially after a subfreezing week in Chicago. The weather is actually quite mild by Florida standards with actual frost in winter from time to time and bearable summers for the less heat adapted among us. This is decidedly not the land of mangroves and coconut palms.

Rusty rather likes the stillness of houses. Layne said she was glad we have lots of Hilton points as we may have to give the little runt a break in a normal bed from time to time. I have to say though he is eating well, sleeping long and hard and is always ready to go and see what's what. When we arrive someplace he likes to get out of the van immediately and then he settles outside curled up watching the world go by. 

A case in point: he was stirring around six this morning in an unusual display of early morning activity so I got up, this is Florida after all and not by any means cold on a sixty degree morning (my standards have plummeted since Chicago and the snowfalls) and we too off for the Graffiti Bridge on the shores of Pensacola Bay. It's an informal free speech spot that has grown into. tourist attraction of sorts.

The bridge has been painted a bilious shade of pink in the style of a Pepto Bismol advertisement which is slowly succumbing to the blandishments of the spray can brigades. With a little convincing I got Rusty out of the parking lot which is apparently filled with interesting smells and we got busy Wirth the business of crossing the bridge.

We have been here in years past but this time we took the trail on the inland side of the tracks wandering through a shady wonderland of no people and no noise. Rusty lost his nerve a bit at one point but I walked ahead and he followed along. He is learning to not be scared of strange places which is one more step up the ladder for the dog abandoned in the Everglades. I was always amazed by his comfort levels running through the impenetrable mangroves in the Keys followed by his fear of falling leaves in deciduous forests...

Winnie the Pooh might have described it as a blusterous day, not too windy in point of fact but there was a decidedly cool breeze coming off the bay.

We walked alongside the railroad for a bit until I could hear waves beating on the beach on the other side and we then climbed the embankment to look over the top.

The small brown dog blending in.

This is why they call the place Hobo Beach. Bums don't bother me but there again I am one now.  I met a man out here years ago and I signally failed to make his picture so I cannot be sure anymore who he might have been.

He was well spoken and had travel plans which we discussed for a while as our dogs. played around in the sand. Often homeless people are shy, angry, demented, needy or lonely but he came across as none of those. People with houses come across in similar fashion to me but few housed or houseless people had the presence of mind and serenity of this particular man living in a tent in the dunes.

I looked him up on my next visit but there was no sign of him so I figured he was probably riding the rails somewhere, or living a new life somewhere else. This shack is roughly where he was living. I saw the occupant and waved. He waved back but he was young b blonde and not the old hobo I met before.

I rather think this bench, new to the site, revealed the answer to my little mystery. I took a seat and did some Googling. I am pretty certain this is my mystery man: Kent Stanton. Well worth a read if you click.

Things I saw wandering back to the van:

Hobo Beach seen from across the way at the waterfront park.

Work Day

We are on the road tomorrow and I am ready. I have had a grand time hanging out with northern cousins and I'm looking forward to coming back next Fall when we drive south from Alaska, but I have to say the road life suits me as much as I expected it might. More friends to visit but more road miles to mash as well. Excellent.

I crept out of the house this Moochdocking Tuesday morning and walked Rusty as far as he wanted to go through this neighborhood where fences and trash cans are not allowed, where leaves are neatly piled in the gutter and lawns are properly mowed. 32 degrees is too cold for me but for a few days its an enjoyable change.

The end of season vibe is strong here with leaves changing color and falling everywhere but I still have the sensation of being on vacation. We are hoping to cross the Mississippi at the beginning of September, breaking new ground as it were aiming for central Texas and later the Big Bend. It will be a return to van life after finishing our last goodbyes. Poignant but necessary goodbyes.

Monday was a work day in the neighborhood chased by a single trash collector in his automated truck, heated closed cab and all. We paid a fair few tips to our trash guy in the last weeks as we piled stuff at the curb in the October heat.

After the collection that recycling cans with yellow lids and the trash with green lids disappear out of sight into garages, by local rule I'm told.

I have read that the best thing to do with the fallen leaves is to mulch them back into the soil as nature intended but around here they follow the modern fate of disappearing in the name of tidiness. One can only suppose they will eventually go back to the soil by some devious path. I hope.

Rusty was walking slowly and carefully eyes wide open in case other dogs might appear.  One loud barker came on a front lawn held at bay by the permitted buried electric fence. Rusty ignores barkers and wanders on in silence.

I don't know why, but I was slightly surprised to see a school bus in such an adult oriented community but there it was:

I saw lots of decorative cabbages and I'm not sure what they are but they look just right among the leaves. 

Winter? Winter!

Rusty was ready to get back indoors. He doesn't seem to feel the cold but he loves hanging in Lynn's home. She is completely easy and he has a selection of couches, carpeted rooms, my bed, his bed and so forth. I shall pry him back into the van tomorrow...

He gets bored by the conversation and ends up doing this, pulling down a cushion and using it as a pillow:

Lynn put us to work helping her manage her extensive list of neighbors and friends at holiday time. She makes rather delicious nut clusters and I was curious to see what was what.

Three chocolates, dark milk and white were heated first and then Mr Muscle mixed them up while Lynn threw some Spanish peanuts into the mix. More heavy stirring...how she does it by herself I don't know because it is a heavy mixture.

Wax paper covered in chocolate land mines. Quite delicious though you have to wait till morning to allow them to set. In the meantime clean loose chocolate from face hands and clothing if, like my wife you are messy (!).

All work and no play makes me a tired boy so David pulled from Kitchen Patrol and we went and drank beer and talked at Yard House. I had Guinness which they seemed to offer in an endless supply so I did my best to make a dent in there overhead stainless tubes supplying the draught pumps.

Our instructions were to bring dinner home so David the tech geek got the menu on the phone and we pondered options, sausage salami garlic broccoli (!) olives and so forth split in two halves on the mobile menu. Time meanwhile for yet more Guinness. Yum. 

So the fuzzy photo was not helped by two factors: quantities of Guinness as drunk by me the passenger had the predictable effect, and the weight of the damned pizza was the second factor. I have never before picked up a pizza box that nearly upended me. This Chicago deep dish stuff is no joke, thick and as dense as a brick and quite delicious. Well, we got that done. That may also explain the tardy nature of this post. Apologies.

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.