Travel Bits

As you know from previous posts, we love to travel. We prefer journeys of  roughly three weeks in duration and we don't like organized tours although sometimes that is the only way to see what we wish in the allotted amount of time.  We prefer to experience the maximum at the minimum of financial expenditure. Another preference is to take the Robert Frost road which is to say the road less traveled. One way is which we plan and execute is with our travel folder and a good guidebook.

The travel folder is a simple manila folder with the spring clips to hold the pages in.  On the left side is our itinerary in chronological order. It contains in a table  from left to right:

• Date and  day of journey (i. e. Day 25)  and location of that day
• what we wish to see that day
• the nights lodging ( inn, B & B,etc.)
• Daily mileage (we prefer to drive)
• Total mileage

As a sheet is completed it is moved to the back.

On the right side of the folder is the documentation to support what is on the left side.  Here would be car rental agreements, lodging confirmations, and/or maps from Google or Yahoo maps. (Navigation is crucial when driving in a foreign country, particularly one with a different language. In our case the non-driver reads directions to the driver.) These pages are moved to the back also as they are used.  There is also an additional manila envelope attached to the inside of the right side which keeps small  items such as tickets or brochures where needed.

This folder has the culmination of about nine months of planning. The bulk of the reservations are made on line as well as the details of attractions to see. Details of attractions are very important when visiting popular sites.  In France there are days when there is no admission charge to national attractions.  That is when crowds are at their greatest. To be confronted with the least crowd we try to visit in early morning or late afternoon and pay admission.  Also be aware that some attractions close during lunch.  We missed the Toulouse-Lautrec Museum in Albi, France, because we were there during lunchtime.  Lunchtime was two hours long!

Get a good guidebook.  We prefer Rick Steves'.  We have long been fans of his travel shows on PBS and have used his books and travel products successfully.  But we investigate other books as well.  Lonely Planet and Frommers' have good books too.

Planning pays off when you're traveling and a travel folder is a big part of planning.

Sources:

Travel stuff

Travel books         

I'm out of toothpaste!

"I can't believe this!," I said to my travel bud.  We had spent the night in Vernon, France, near Monet's Giverny Garden. And I needed to get the taste of the Russian army marching through my mouth overnight brushed away.  I was able to get a little, no more than the essence of toothpaste, out of the old Colgate tube and that had to do the job. And it did, sort of.  Normally I'd have gone down to the local Wal-Mart and got a new tube.  But, no...this was France and no Wal-Mart. I was sure we could find some somewhere. We asked the lady of the bed and breakfast at which we were staying where to go and she said there was a store nearby.  At least I think that is what she said.  My travel bud understood the particular version of the English language she was speaking much better than I did. 

So away we went in our search for toothpaste.  The sign over the storefront said, "Villafrance Marche", and through the windows I could shelves of neatly stocked goods.  I found a selection of things in toothpaste like tubes.  Upon one of the tubes was the word "dentifrice", I thought this probably had something to do with teeth and unless it was adhesive for dentures, I was in luck.  I had horrible thoughts of getting hemorrhoid medication by mistake.  We picked up a few pieces of fruit and headed for the checkout counter. After paying for the goods, which was a lengthy process due to my ineptness in counting Euros, we found that the store did not provide bags for your purchases.  Later, we found this was not the case in all stores. Service was friendly and courteous at Villafrance Marche.

Actually, this emergency, if it can be called that, allows insight into local culture. Only by doing things the locals do can you gain any insight into their culture. Many times we have seen tour buses with loads of tourists stop at an attraction, tour it with their guide and leave after a visit to the gift shop, of course.  They never see anything except what they are shown. We, on the other hand, tend to get of the trodden path.  In non-English speaking countries we rarely eat at a restaurant that has a menu posted in English. We haven't eaten anything unrecognizable, yet, but the food in the Dominican Republic was debatable!

We traditionally use bed and breakfasts for lodging.  The homes seldom have more than three rooms for guests and this leads to a closeness with your fellow travelers. Breakfast conversation is always interesting.  An Israeli doctor extolling the virtues of Minnesota's Mayo Clinic or why it's extremely dangerous hunting mountain goats in the Alaskan mountains.  We've found our hosts to be founts of knowlege on local lore. We would never have seen the Durham, England cathedral had it not been for one of our hosts. Nor would we have found the site of Hadrian's Wall. Unfortunately, no one told us to be aware of sheep dung.  Sometimes there is an immediate connection to our hosts. Once our hostess was a widow lady who shared her experiences with my travel bud (aka wife) who had experienced the same loss. And I can ne'er forget enjoying a breakfast of kippers overlooking a loch in Scotland while our host presented his collection of musical instruments that he played.

While our favorite mode of transportation in rural areas is the automobile, driving in large cities in the British Isles or on the continent can be a less than good experience.  We favor public transportation in metropolitan areas. Buses, trains, subways, and trams are for us.   Not only are these methods less expensive than taxis, but you get to meet interesting  people that way.  On the early morning train from Paris to Vernon we saw a band being formed.  At each stop another musician with his instrument would get on board.  Eventually there was a group made of two accordions, a saxophone,and a trumpet.  They played in the doorway, and a girl in her early twenties slept through the entire performance.  While on a bus in Edinburgh, I found myself seated beside an elegant elderly woman who extolled the virtue of Barack Obama at great length. Although she was charming and I delighted at her Scottish brogue, I bit my tongue for fear I would cause an international incident. And another thing about the city bus transit, you can get a really good tour of a city if you find the right bus. One caveat, beware of extremely crowded conveyances, I once found a twelve-year-old's hand in my pocket on the Paris Metro.

Travel seems much richer when you get a bit off the beaten path and get to know the local folk a bit. Unusually meaningful and lasting experiences can be found there.  And yes, I have missed some opportunities, such as not dancing with the natives in Homer, Alaska.  But maybe next time.

Land of Ursa Major

We were in the land of moviemakers; western moviemakers, that is.  That part of Utah is famous as the background of many western movies.  The sun had fallen behind the horizon, and still we searched for our elusive campground.  We were on our first coast-to-coast camping trip and were misplaced, disoriented, and dare I use the word..."lost"?  We turned around and traversed the unimproved road back to the highway. As navigator, I checked our maps again.  I was convinced that we had offended someone at Yahoo Maps, and the internet giant had cursed us.

An hour later we did find the campground. There was no park ranger, but our campsite has our name stapled to the sign with the number thirty-four on it. That matched with the reservation confirmation in our travel folder.  The campsite was relatively flat.  The were no trees, just some waist high shrubs on the rocky soil.  We began pulling our camping equipment from the trunk of the Toyota in the waning light. I wouldn't be cooking supper.  It was late,  so we had some sausage, cheese, bread, fruit, and those little boxes of juice like the kids drink. The tent went up quickly with cots and sleeping bags inside, before we sat down at the table for our supper. Normally, after arriving at our campsite, we can set up camp and sit down to a hot meal within thirty minutes. I think that's pretty fast for two senior citizens. Tonight we were dining under a shelter.  It had three open sides, unlike the one on the Mexican border which was open on all sides. "What is that cupboard attached to the wall there?" I asked my travel companion.

"Oh, that's the bear box," she said.

"Bear box?"

"Yeah.  They noted that on the website. You put your food in there to protect it from the bears," she answered matter-of-factly. She had researched our trips online and made reservations where possible.

"Let's turn in," she said and added, "It'll be a long day tomorrow."

"Okay, but I still have to run the extension cord for my CPAP machine," I said, reminding her that I had to sleep with the machine because of my severe sleep apnea.  I pulled the fifty food orange electrical cord from the trunk of the car and began looking for the power outlet at the campsite. Normally they are mounted on a short post about one foot off the ground.  I could not find it. By now it was a moonless night, and I had my headlamp on. Claudette was helping me search.  We checked inside the shelter with no luck. So...the solution was simple; I would sleep in the car.  I can sleep in the sitting position if I must; sleep apnea doesn't affect me in the sitting position. We said our "good nights" and each retired for the night. I had slept in the car before.  It's not my favorite position, but I've managed.

But, I wasn't sleepy.  I kept thinking about being in bear country. It was not so long ago that while camping at Lake Tahoe we had a near bear encounter. It was right after the big forest fires in that area, and much of the wildlife had lost their native habitat and were venturing into villages and towns in search of food. We were camped in an RV campground for a few days.  One night we were awakened by the sound of metal clashing.  A bear had gotten into some food left under the canopy of a motorhome. It was less that twenty yards away. Awakened campers made a lot of noise banging together pots and pans to drive the bear away. My travel partner decided to keep the car keys close at hand. She could press the panic button and set off the car's alarm system if a bear got close.

I was sure she had her keys in the tent now, but what about me?  Oh well, I needed to get some sleep.  Maybe I could dream about chasing that pretty girl down the beach again.  I've been chasing her fifteen years in my dreams and haven't caught her yet! I just needed to relax. I've tried counting things to fall asleep.  It's never worked.  Counting backwards.  Nope.  I still can't believe this is bear country.  Gotta sleep.  There are YouTube videos about bears.  They recognize  food containers and will open them up. I've heard they can tear a car door off when provoked.  I don't know if I believe all that.  But, what if?  I was sure we had locked all food in the bear box.  Hadn't we?  I'm sure we did.  I'm feeling very tired.  Should be easy to go to sleep.  What was that noise?  Maybe I imagined it. If I hear it again I'll know it's real.  

I needed to go to the bathroom. I put on my headlamp and got out of the car.  The restroom was about a hundred yards away.  It was surprisingly light out. The sky was blanketed with millions of stars.  There were no clouds or urban haze to deter the star light.  It was marvelous.  I was soon back in the car after heeding nature's call.

And now...to sleep. I'm tired.  I must relax.  As I looked out on the landscape I saw movement behind a shrub about ten yards away.  I watched.  Maybe I'm imagining things.  Gotta forget about bears.  What was that movie with Anthony Hopkins and Alec Baldwin? They were in Alaska, and one of the people was killed by a bear.  I wonder if bears here grow that big.  Probably not, everything is bigger in Alaska! But there are bears here.  Gotta sleep.  Nothing moved behind that shrub!  I think my eyelids are getting heavy.  99...98...97...96...95... I see the  girl in the black bikini on the beach...

"Tony! Wake up! We've got to get moving!" Claudette says as she bangs on the the car window. "How did you sleep?"

"Just great!" I lied.

We were having a quick breakfast of instant oatmeal with juice and coffee when I banged my knee into something with a sharp edge under the table.  I had discovered the electrical outlet we had searched for the night before.

With breakfast finished and camp broken, we were about to leave when the park ranger stopped  by.
"How's it going?" asked the young man in thee olive  drab uniform.

"Great!," we said in unison.

"Seen any bears?"

We looked at each other and shook our heads.

"Well, be careful," he said as he got back into his truck and drove away.

"Bears, hah!", my travel buddy said, "I bet that there's not one within a hundred miles."

Travel

W
e've been planning our trip to Arizona. As usual we try something different. Usually, on domestic trips we try thing new travel ideas before using them in foreign countries. For example, when traveling to AZ via air we will be using new bags. When we travel overseas we carry all our needs in a carry-on bag and a personal bag. We've done this for trips on our four week trip to France and England. This way we don't waste valuable time waiting for our bags in a foreign airport. Time is valuable and  the best way to use it isn't waiting for your bag. So, we'll be checking out new luggage. This particular bag is the exact size as the maximum allowed by the airlines for a carry-on bag. It also converts from a carry bag to a backpack. We'll see what happens. We bought them online from Rick Steves



More Travel Tips

I recently found this video of travel tips on YouTube by Graham Hughes, a well known world traveler. Hughes holds the world record for the most countries visited in on year using ground transport: 133. I found the video informative and have added my own observations below.



My additional pointers:

1. Don't carry a laptop.  They are too big and heavy. We travel with carry-on baggage only. An iPod and redily available Wifi will serve you just as well. If you must use a computer, Internet cafes are often available for a small fee. Use the cloud for applications..
2. We've found that he insurance on our Visa card to be great when we had an accident in a car we had rented on that card.
3. We are big proponents of using debit cards and ATM machines.
4. For cheap bag storage we've used airports. We left our bags a Seatac while staying at a nearby motel.  Occasionally you can drop your bags off at your hotel prior to check-in.
5. Drink bottled water when in doubt. Street food is good but you must be sure it is well cooked.

Flying

I have always loved airplanes.  When I was a toddler my mother would take me outside when she would hang the laundry to dry.  I would sit in my little chair looking up at the sky. At the sound of an airplane I would point my chubby finger skyward and scream, "airpane, airpane".  Later, after spending years building model airplanes, I would find that I was afraid of heights. I was not just afraid, I was flat out scared!  Yep! Terrified! If man had been meant to fly, God would have given him wings!

But, those Wright boys from Ohio didn't know that, so they built the airplane. And since then airplanes have become the way to get from one place to another place FAST.

When I was twenty-one-years-old, the federal government decided that I was needed in the United States Armed Forces - the Army. I was drafted. You see there was a bit of a scuffle going on in southeast Asia at that time, and they said my services were needed.  That meant that I had to fly. The cross-country flight was not so bad; we stopped a lot. My belt size went from a 38 to a 35 inch size from tightening my seat belt.

When we flew across the Pacific I saw the longest crap game in the world.  It lasted from San Francisco to Manila. I was very concerned when we stopped over in Guam.  The plane was descending and descending and I could see nothing below except water. I began reciting what the stewardess had said about landing in the water.  I was not sure that my seat cushion would support me; it did not look like a life jacket. I looked for someone to trade with, but it looked like everyone had the same size cushion.  After boot camp I was at my lowest weight since I was fourteen.  That would help. A few minutes later the plane made a funny noise, like metal scraping against metal, and I was thrown forward against my seat belt restraint as the plane slowed on the runway. Soon I was off the plane and inside that airport building. They call it a terminal.  I don't like the idea of something being terminal.  That kind of signifies the end of something. It could be me!

There was that one time while in the Navy when some of my shipmates and I had to wait for our plane to be retrieved from a snowbank before we could board it. The plane was an R4D, also know as a DC-3, a WWII vintage aircraft still in service. In those days you always faced aft on military aircraft. I don't like to ride in any vehicle faced toward where I've been, although faced forward I may not be able to see where I'm going. It was a rough ride back to Norfolk, cold, drafty, and noisy. Years later I was taking a very small airliner out of Albany, NY.  That flight was kind of dicey.  The plane had a late departure due to mechanical problems. Naturally you always wonder if they got it repaired properly. It was a small twin-engined plane with a pod underneath for luggage.  I think it was a Piper or Cessna. When we finally were taking off, the safety instructions came from a tiny speaker sounding an old eight-track tape from the sixties. Then the Captain spoke over the speaker with the "Welcome aboard"speech. That's when I found out we had a woman pilot.  I don't have a problem with women. (I married two of 'em and my mother was a woman.)  But I was not ready for a woman pilot. A soon as the plane lifted off the runway, all the snow in the world descended on us. 

I have flown many more times since then, and some flights have been quite memorable.  Once in Alaska I was in a Turbo Otter float plane flying through the mountains. Yes, I said through the mountains.  The plane did not fly over the mountains but between the mountain peaks. They were craggy peaks with a smattering of snow. They were like giant hands with claws reaching up to grab us.  I decided that I would look up front to see how the pilot was driving. He was a wiry looking fellow with salt and pepper hair stuffed under a battered New York Yankees baseball cap. There was a grin under his huge handlebar mustache and his eyes were fixed on an attractive blonde in the co-pilot's seat. His demeanor did not instill confidence, but both of his hands were on the control yoke. Back in my seat I tightened my seatbelt, pulled my earphones back on and closed my eyes. The landing was my smoothest ever on water. Actually it was my only landing on water.

Frequently, when flying, an adult must restrain one's self from committing the crimes of infanticide plus.   I added the plus to include the killing of older children also. In air travel the length of time a child can cry is measured in miles or destinations.  I overheard a young mother say rather nonchalantly, "Oh yes, he cried from Chicago to Cleveland".  THEY ARE USED TO THE CHILDREN CRYING!  WE ARE NOT! Don't they know our malice can spread to include them AND their children.

I have my own list of caveats while flying.

1. Always get an aisle seat. (You can stretch one leg out.)
2. Sit next to a small person. (I don't like to have flesh spillage from the next seat.)
3. Sit near the lavatory.
4. If  "Airplane" is among the selection of inflight movies, DON'T WATCH IT!
5. This is the most important rule. If there is a small child in the section of the plane you are in, disregard previous rules and MOVE AS FAR AWAY FROM IT AS POSSIBLE

Just one more note on my air travel adventures. We, my dear wife and I, were on a flight from JFK (the worst airport in the world) to Charleston, South Carolina, late one evening on a small airliner. There were not very many passengers.  There was a very rotund man sitting in front of us. Had he been, and I don't think he was, a pro wrestler, he would have been called a man mountain. The flight attendant asked him to move to the other side of the aisle.  I think this was to balance the load on the airplane. The skies were not friendly to Delta that night and I don't think they would have been friendly to United either. Yep, rough air! It has been said that the air is smoother over thirty thousand feet, but he who said  that wasn't on the plane we were on. About a half hour into the flight things did smooth out though, and we were served coffee and a cookie. Soon after I felt the call to nature and made my way to the rear of the plane. The "Vacancy" sign was illuminated, so I walked right in and sat right down. Did I say this was a very small lavatory, maybe a little smaller that a Porta-John. It was the full width of the rear of the plane. As I was about to reach for the toilet paper, the solitude of my confines was broken by the crackling of the loudspeaker. "This is the captain speaking.  Please refrain from walking about the aircraft. Please remain in you seats and fasten your seatbelts!" So there I am, an old man with his pants around his ankles, precariously trying to maintain his balance while trying to reach a roll of toilet paper which is hell bent on not losing any of its sheets. As luck would have it, the next movement of the aircraft hurled me into the opposite wall and I was able to grab the objects of my desire. An opposite movement allowed me to complete the operation I had begun seemingly eons ago and escape from the tiny lavatory.

I wrote a letter to Delta Airlines requesting seatbelts in the lavatories of their airliners. 

I have found a way to overcome many of these issues I have with air travel though. I fly first class.  Snuggled in my cocoon in first class I am  oblivious to my surroundings.

Clarence

Anchorage Bed and Breakfast

One of the most interesting things about travel is the people you meet. Some of them just stick in your mind forever.  Fortunately for me, these are good memories.  And so it was with Clarence.

We were staying at a bed and breakfast in Anchorage, Alaska.  We prefer bed and breakfasts to the usual hotels when we travel. At the bed and breakfasts we find that you are more likely to meet interesting people, travelers as well as the locals. Particularly when you gather around the breakfast table for a communal meal. The bed and breakfast in Anchorage was different than what we were used to. Instead of being one building, it was made of several.  Our abode was like an apartment a few doors down from where we would meet for breakfast. We managed a good night's sleep after landing  at the Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport, picking up our rental PT Cruiser, and grabbing  a bite to eat before finding the bed and breakfast.  The weather was a cool drizzle.

At morning breakfast we met our hosts, or rather the son of the owners of the bed and breakfast.  The son, his wife, and two-year-old were from  Mexico and had come to help out his mother  in

It's not real! But don't I wish!

the tourist season. He ran some sort of internet business, which he could maintain from Alaska via a laptop. The other guests were from Minnesota and near the Arctic Circle area of Alaska.  I tend to enjoy breakfasts with other guests. We have met some very interesting people this way.   The breakfast was delicious with bacon, sausages, pancakes, pastries, cereals, and various local jellies and jams.  I rarely have a problem starting conversations with strangers, and before long I felt like the Andersens of Minnesota and I had been friends forever. We had visited their home state a few years earlier and knew some native Minnesotans back home. Also, we had almost frozen to death, or so it seemed, on the shores of Lake Superior when camping across the country.

The Andersens, husband, wife, and teenaged daughter, were in Anchorage to meet their son. He lived in the far north and would see them the next day. As a matter of fact the other two guests were his wife and son. She was a Native American of the frozen north and her son looked a great deal like her.  He had her jet-black hair, slightly turned-up nose, and Asian-shaped eyes. But in those Asian-shaped eyes was the ice-blue color of Grandpa Andersen's.  He said his name was Clarence, and he was sitting next to me.

"How old are you?" I asked.

"Ten," he said, while stabbing a piece of sausage.

"Like video games?"

"No, never play 'em."

"What's your favorite TV show?"

"I do not watch very much television. Don't have time..."

"Clarence would rather not be here," his mother interjected.

"Where would you rather be, Clarence?"  I queried.

"Home."

"Why?"

"I've got work to do!"

"What?  You're only ten-years-old!"

"I have a trap line."

"And what do you trap?"

"Whatever gets in the traps.  I look at them once a day.  My friend is checking them while I'm here. I need to check them myself."

"You trap animals? Why?"

"For their pelts," he said, "mostly fox."  I thought I detected a condescending tone in his voice.

We had all finished breakfast and it was time to pack up and leave.  I waved "goodbye" to Clarence as we pulled out of the driveway. I'll always remember my conversation with Clarence, a ten-year-old trapping animals for fur in 2005.  And, he didn't watch television or play video games.  However, if my memory serves me well, I set rabbit boxes to catch ole Peter when I was ten.

Wal-Mikes

It's About Service...

In our travels we have had some interesting encounters with desk clerks. For the most part they have been positive encounters.  However...it was not always the case.

While visiting Venice we chose not to stay in Venice proper but rather to find lodging an a nearby island. A great idea. The cost was roughly one half that of a hotel in Venice proper. However, little did we know of the  adventure staying on Lido would hold for us.  When leaving Venice we had to catch first water taxi in the morning to get to the train station on time to board our train for Florence. Upon awakening we could find no desk clerk at the desk. We found ourselves locked in the hotel. After  trashing the front desk, we found a key to the door and were able to get to the train station on time. (read more about this in the blog post: Escape from Lido)

In Villefranche-sur-Mer the desk clerk was quite helpful. The French town is on the French Riviera and we had reserved a room on the third floor with a balcony overlooking the harbor on the Mediterranean Sea.  Due to my medical condition I prefer to use an elevator to reach higher levels rather than a stairway. The helpful clerk informed us that he elevator was not very dependable and may stop between floors. But he quickly added that he would get me out if needed! The next day we were going to catch a train for Nice to visit the Matisse museum and leave our rental car in the parking lot. It was one of those lots  where you deposit some coins in a machine that prints a ticket for you to place on the dash of your car showing that you’ve paid to park. Much to our chagrin the ticket dispensing machine was broken. When we spoke with Jacques, the desk clerk, he said he would take care of it. And he did.

Bed and Breakfast hosts have been quite helpful and offered interesting anecdotes during our travels. When in Alaska the hostess, Mrs. Walker, of a B & B encountered a bear while picking blueberries for our breakfast. Her husband entertained us with stories of hunting mountain goats in the mountain peaks. And in Scotland our host  entertained us with bluegrass music while showing us his collection of stringed instruments. We had a breakfast of kippers at the bed and breakfast on a loch.

One of our most interesting experiences was in Spain. My wife, Claudette, makes all our travel arrangements. Many times she communicates with hotels via the internet making reservations. She had spent considerable amount time communicating with a young Spaniard named Javier. Javier was a desk clerk in a Madrid hotel. He was extremely helpful with directions on which subway train to take from  the airport and exactly which streets to walk to get to his hotel. He was an extremely helpful young man. During our stay in Madrid, Claudette decided we needed to do some laundry.  Normally we would find a coin operated laundry and do it ourselves. But in this instance Claudette thought she would let Javier take care of the chore. “No problem,” he said and sure enough did deliver our clean clothes the next day. Much to my surprise, Javier washed my red shirt with my underwear. The rest of the trip I lived in fear of being admitted to a hospital in pink underwear!

We have found over the years that the most interesting things in travel isn’t the places, it’s the people.

Essential Travel Gear

This piece of gear is useful, nay essential, no matter what kind of traveling you do.  It is the headband lamp or head light. Once a part of the miners equipment all over the world a new improved version is now right at home in my travel gear. It's been with me camping throughout the United States and on our travels in Europe. Why do I consider a headlamp a necessity you may ask.  Because I have found them irreplaceable in our travels.

      

          Here are a few  occasions I have found a headlamp helpful. 

1. Unloading gear at a campsite at night.
2. Reading in bed in a motel that doesn't have a good reading light.
3. Finding you way to the bathroom at the end of the hall in an inexpensive hotel in Europe. 
4. Writing or doing drawings when both hands are needed in evening light.
5. Changing a tire on a car or other automotive repairs at night.
6. Cooking in the evening when camping out.
7. Anytime I need light when both hands are being used.

The kind of headlamp you buy will depend on a two factors.  How do you plan to use it and how much are you willing to pay for it. If you are going to use a headlamp the way I do, which is basically for emergencies while traveling, an expensive lamp isn't necessary. Looking at the features will help you decide. For me, I wanted something that was light weight, comfortable to wear and would illuminate an area of about twenty feet. Also, I wanted  the light created by a light emitting diode, LED, rather than a conventional bulb and use regular alkaline batteries. I found exactly what I needed for under $20.

About the features of headlamps.

• Almost all all use LEDs for light source (more dependable and less power required)
• Lumens is the measure of how much light is emitted, the higher the number the more light
• Beam Distance (m.) is the distance the beam reaches and retain usefulness
• Run Time (hours) is how long the lamp will operate on one set of batteries.

Headlamps range in price from $10 to over $500. The more expensive models are designed for more rugged outdoor activity such as mountain climbing or spelunking. There are many places to buy them.  I bought mine at Mast General Store in Greenville, SC. Most major sporting goods stores  have them as well as online retailers such as REI and Campmore.  There are some great info and videos at the REI site. Headlamps by the French company Petzl are featured on their website. With whatever kind of headlamp you purchase don't forget extra batteries. 

In a Masculine Vein

Winch at Mont St. Michel

As you've noticed from my posts about our travels we visit a number of different kinds of attractions. Typical of any travel brochure or other travel advertising art museums, churches and restaurants are featured. It seems to me that those things I consider masculine are usually left out.(The museums are usually art museums.) Now I don't have a problem with fancy restaurants or art museums or cathedrals in moderation. But as a fan of things that move and/or make noise I search for other venues.

In our travels I've fed my masculine side with quite a few interesting attractions.  At the onset I would like to say in reference to cathedrals I am  in awe of the construction methods used to build these monumental structures. The builders moved tons of stone long before the invention of the giant machines used in modern day. At Mont Saint Michel in France we saw the winch used to raise building stones to the upper levels in this building.  It reminded me of a giant hamster wheel perhaps seventeen feet in diameter. Men would walk inside the wheel as a rope wound around the axle raising building stones to great heights. At El Escorial in Spain there was a great display of building tools used during the middle ages.   In the museum at Pont du Gard, France, you can see the building methods for the giant aqueducts. I never realized until visiting that museum that forms were used to construct

Template for arch at Pont du Gard

the giant arches that are a hallmark of Roman construction. The Romans were fantastic builders and great engineers. Their structures of 2000 years ago still stand today.

I have a fondness of mechanical things and the way they work. Cutaway engines have given me insight to the internal operation of the mechanics that produce the power. One  of the most notable of these is the 28 cylinder Pratt and Whitney 4360 aircraft engine. I saw an animated cutaway version of one of these in the Pima County Museum of Air and Space near Tucson, AZ. I posted a video I made about this engine on YouTube. It has received more than eighty thousand views thus far. The giant steam engine in the British Museum of Science was incredible to observe in operation.  In Nuremberg, Germany, there is a toy museum.  In it are those great mechanical toys of the early twentieth century. This was long before the advent of plastic and battery power. They were made of

German submarine in Chicago

metal and powered by wound springs and there are videos to show them in operation.   During our travels I have visited submarines, aircraft carriers, battleships and destroyers.  I've enjoyed them all. However, there are times when I think that the exhibitors desire to make an attraction more tourist friendly has destroyed some of the ambiance. For example, on the aircraft carrier, Intrepid,  the "knee knockers" through the bulkheads have  cut down so the tourists won't hit their shins when going through a bulkhead.  And on the German submarine in the Museum of Science and Industry, Chicago, the subfloor has been removed so tourists

Midget Italian submarine in Venice

will be able to stand up straight when touring the relic. I believe that these modifications prevent a person from experiencing the true effect of being on the vessels. Arms and armor along with the aforementioned ways in which mankind seeks to destroy mankind I find interesting. The mechanical means of destruction is well documented in the Spanish Armory Museum in Segovia where examples of weapons from the spear to rifled cannon are on display. The engraved and ivory inlaid crossbow of a past king is a work of art. One of the most unusual instruments of warfare was the two-man miniature submarine used by the Italian navy during WWII. I'm sure I drooled over it in the Italian Naval Museum in Venice.

Perhaps the item I seek out most on our travels are aircraft displays.  There is just something about these machines that break the bonds of gravity that fascinate me. If I had to pick a favorite it would be the Pima County Museum of Air and Space. The displays are more accessible than the U.S. Air Force Museum or the Museum of Naval Aviation.  In Charleston, SC, the aircraft carrier, Yorktown has a great collection of naval aircraft. It has a much better display than that of the Intrepid in NYC. We've visited at least ten other aircraft museums over the years. When I have the opportunity sit in the cockpit of these flying machines I feel a connection with the men that flew them.  I also realized that the men that flew them were smaller than me.

fighter plane on the USS Yorktown

In the future I look forward to other great museums and attractions.  But without an understanding wife I would never had be able to see the things I have. Of this I am most grateful.

Cafe au lait

We had been driving since early morning and decided to stop at the next town for coffee. After following what seemed like a multitude of spandex clad cyclists for quite a few kilometers before passing them I needed a little break. It was a village like most others, built of stone with the highest structure being the church. And across the street from the church was a cafe.

I eased the Peugeot to the curb and parked near the cafe.  There are no marked parking spaces in French villages.  You simply park where you find space out of the way of traffic.  We found an empty table on the sidewalk of course.  Only about three of the half dozen or so tables are occupied.  There was a huge tree with a trunk about one meter in diameter in the center of the outdoor dining room.  I relaxed and stretched a bit.  It was good to get out from behind the wheel of the compact car.  We waited what seemed like forever before realizing there was no wait staff. No one had pointed this out. The French aren't very chatty like the folks across the English channel.  Perhaps because of some sort of language barrier?  And, of course, everyone there was a local and knew there was no wait staff.  In the small towns and villages we were ususally asked if we were English. Probably because of the language we spoke and because the people from the United Kingdom were the most common English speakers in France.

I went  inside to the bar counter through sliding glass doors to get our two cafe au laits. They cost me two euros each; in Paris they would have cost me five each.  It was good to relax in the morning shade with a nice coffee.  It was reasonably quite.  The old fellow reading the morning paper made little noise. But a group of men were having a very noisy card game.  I remember six players. They seemed to range in ages from thirty to fifty-five and appeared to be  delivery men, shopkeepers, carpenters and such.  The French are extremely animated card players as they would throw their cards on the table with great fanfare.  Usually with what seemed like an expletive.  I'm sure I heard some good old Anglo-Saxon curse words in there somewhere. I think they were gambling and using small squares of colored paper for gambling chips.  The game had a gallery of old men  in hats and sweaters  with walking canes looking on.

There was a table of French women too.  And a young woman came by to chat with them.  She had a small child in a stroller and she was impeccably dressed. From her high-heeled shoes to the perfect coiffure she looked fantastic.  Perfectly color co-ordinated and made up.   I'm not sure where she was going or just out with her offspring to be seen, but she was eye-candy.  I can only say "Ah, the French!"

The helmeted cyclists in rainbow-colored Spandex went by quietly, like some sort of apparition. Much to my chagrin  I would have to pass all of them again on a narrow French country road.

I had to use the restroom before we got back on the road.  The barman pointed me in the right direction.  Upon return to the table I voiced my opinion to my travel bud.  If the French could build such technological wonders as the world's largest airliner, why couldn't they have a decent sit-down toilet? A few days earlier we seen Roman toilets from the first century that you sat on unlike the twenty-firsts century French ones you had to squat to use. 

My travel bud decided she would wait until the next town and hope for a Roman style toilet.

A note about our mode of transport.  The Peugeot 206+ diesel we rented in Roeun from what seemed to be the French equivalent of a 7-eleven.  By renteng from an agent , Hertz, about ten blocks from the train station we saved about 50% on rental costs. Yes, you do pay for convience!  I enjoyed driving the small car with standard 5-speed transmission.  I had plenty of pep and easily kept up with traffic on the tollways at 130kph.  The compact size was great in the narrow medieval streets too.

• Peugeot
• More about Peugeots
• Lots of stuff about Peugeots
•  Photos of our travels in France.

The Ghost and the Thunder

It was back when we lived in the little house. It was a sharecropper’s house on a large farm in the red clay area of South Carolina. A strange thing happened on that late summer afternoon. I was eleven years old and attending Bradley Elementary School.  It was the time in my life when I could have been considered the “boy scientist”. I was intrigued by the possibility of space travel, no doubt fostered by devouring issues of Collier’s Magazine and its stories of space travel as predicted by Werner von Braun. I had been trying to make black powder for a rocket that day. 

The day of the week was Thursday.  I remember it was Thursday because Daddy had been to the grocery store that day on the way home.  Thursday was also the day he got paid.  It was a warm day with a temperature in the nineties. (I had started recording daily weather conditions in my scientific journal.) The late afternoon thunder clouds were beginning to form in the previously cloudless sky. Mama, my younger sister, and me, were sitting down for supper when Daddy came into the kitchen carrying a bag, a small brown grocery bag. It did not seem to be very heavy, but then Daddy was a big strong man. At over two hundred pounds and over six feet tall he earned the nickname,” Big Jack”. He set the bag on the table and announced, “I brought a special surprise  today!”

I elbowed my way past my sister to get closer to the bag. “What could it be?” I thought.

Daddy’s big calloused hand reached into the bag and pulled out the biggest Coca-Cola I had ever seen! It was the twenty-six ounce size. 

“Put some ice in some glasses, Mama, and we’ll enjoy this surprise”, he said.

Mama went to the Frigidaire, got a tray of ice, and put some cubes in each of the four glasses. All

the glasses were different, having come from different kinds of store-bought pickles and jellies.  Daddy, of course, had the biggest glass and got the most ice. He opened up the big Coke just as we heard the first clap of thunder close by.  He gave everybody some of the soft drink and replaced the cap, leaving the bottle about one quarter full. 

That Coca-Cola sure tasted good as we stood around in that little kitchen.  I always liked the way the foam on top of the Coke tickled my nose.  Mama had been cooking supper, and It was really hot in there.  

Before we could finish our treat a bolt of lightning struck the big cottonwood tree beside the back porch, and the lights went out in the kitchen.  (We had the lights on because it had been almost dark when Daddy got home.)  Now we were in total darkness. As it often is before a deluge of rain, it was very quiet.  For some reason, in our family, you were expected to remain seated and very quiet during a thunderstorm, almost reverent.

“I hear something,”  my sister whispered to me.

“Yeah, me too.  It’s called thunder,” I responded.

“No, something else. It’s like someone whispering. Like Sh…sh…sh,” she said.

I listened intently for a few minutes. I heard it too!

But not to allow my fear to show, I said, “I think that might be the ghost!”

“A ghost?” I could hear the fear in my little sister’s voice…and I loved it!

“Yes, Grandma said that the old man that died here always spoke in a whisper. Like this:’ I see y-o-u…!’” I whispered.

From across the room I heard Mama say, “Stop scaring your sister!”

“But Mama…”

“Don’t ‘But’ me,” Mama said.  I knew that the next time she spoke to me she would use my full name and that would mean I was in real trouble. Daddy hadn’t said anything.  He was deaf in one ear and we never knew whether he didn’t hear us or just didn’t care to respond.

We continued to hear the noise as the storm raged outside. It seemed to rain forever, but it didn’t.

Then, suddenly, the lights flickered and came on.   I looked on the kitchen table at the remaining Coke.  My throat was dry.

“Mama, can we drink the rest of the coke?” I asked.

“Share it with your sister,”  she said.

 I grabbed the bottle and unscrewed the top. The mysterious noise stopped.

Proudly I announced, “I found the ghost!”, which really wasn’t a surprise since I was a budding scientist!

T

Sometimes You Just Nail It

"It's heavy!" I said.

"I'll bet it smells bad," she said with a slight crinkled nose.

"Not, really. It must weigh at  least ten pounds," I said, raising my arms and adjusting the slouch hat on my head.

"It probably didn't feel that heavy to the buffalo though," a slight grin spread across her face. "After all, when the buffalo had that coat, he was bigger and had four legs."

"Sometimes it's irritating when you're right!" I said.

We were at the famous Holzwarth Historic District of the Rocky Mountains National Park, Colorado.  This part of the 265,761 acre park has the restored Holzwarth Dude Ranch, which was built in 1917. There are guest cabins and other out buildings filled with artifacts of that era. I was trying to get the "feeling" of the mountain men who roamed this area in the mid 1800's. I had donned the buffalo hide coat and put a broad brimmed felt hat on to get the "feeling".  I could imagine drudging through snow all bundled up and breathing the thin mountain air. Later, while visiting a friend, I was able to fire a  replica Sharpe's buffalo gun of the type carried by these mountain men and buffalo hunters. The gun weighed almost ten pounds. They were strong independent people who blazed trails through the Rocky Mountains. They built their houses from whatever material was available, some of wood, some of stone, and some of dirt. The dirt houses were those of sod.  We saw the curious plow used to cut the sod strips from the earth, which would be cut into blocks to form the walls of a sod house.  There was a sod house there with grass growing on some of the walls. There were other curious primitive tools and machinery around.  Claudette was interested in the washing machine but had no desire to replace her modern one, although the old one was more energy efficient.

As we wandered around the old dude ranch, a small wooden cow caught my interest. Actually, it was about the size of a calf. "Hey, look at this!" I said to Claudette.

"What?"

"It's a wooden steer," I answered.

"So?"

I walked over to the wooden steer and took the coiled rope from around his horns. "I'll tell you

what I'm gonna do," I exclaimed, "I'm gonna show you how to lasso that steer!"

"Yeah, right!" she says with that "here we go again" tone in her voice.

"Did I ever tell about the time when I was about ten and I lassoed this little bull when I was a boy on the farm?"

"I've got a feeling I'm going to hear it now," she said in resignation. (She is not always thrilled with my stories.)

"We had just gotten this young Black Angus bull.  I guess he weighed 'bout eight hundred pounds, and I was gonna lasso him.  I'd seen Gene and Roy lasso many a steer, and I knew I could do it too.  I made me a lasso from a plow line  and tossed it around that bull's neck as he came around the barn. He started to run, and I held on. We made about three laps around that barn with that bull pulling me behind. I was holding on to that rope with both white-knuckled hands as he dragged me along.  I hit every cow pattie in the lot before I finally realized that I could turn loose.  And I did.  I was not injured, but Mama made me strip down to my underwear before I could enter the house for supper. My sister thought it was funny."

"Okay, go for it.  But we don't have all day!" my dear travel companion said.

"Piece a cake," I said.

Of course I had no idea I could lasso the wooden steer.  It would be a feat similar to parting the waters, but I picked up the rope and made a loop of about five feet across. As I swung the loop overhead in the thin mountain air a smile spread across my face. I took careful aim at my wooden adversary and released. The loop floated through the conifer scented air before gently settling around the horns of the steer with a soft "whack".  I felt like taking a bow. I had nailed it!

"I want to see that again!" she exclaimed.

"Not a chance!" said I.

We continued our drive in the Rocky Mountains National Park.  We took the Trail Ridge Road through the park.  It's forty-eight miles of the lush and rugged terrain of the Rockies. Along the road were small diameter poles of about ten feet in height, placed at intervals, with marks on them. We decided the these would mark the roadway in heavy snow conditions.  Waterfalls tumbled from the mists of the high mountains down through the meadows in their passage to the salt waters of our coasts.  This is where the elk roam.  The bighorn sheep are elusive, but we saw one of the magnificent creatures. As we reached the higher altitudes there were no trees. Eleven miles of US 34 are above the tree line.  When we stopped at an overlook we noted the very thin air, cool and sweet. The altimeter in the car read in excess of twelve thousand feet.  After all, we were on the highest continuously paved highway in North America. We saw no motor homes or travel trailers at this altitude.  We descended to where we saw a marker indicating the  Continental Divide at Milner Pass. From here the mountain snowmelt either goes into the Gulf of Mexico or the Pacific Ocean. We were now down to 10,120 feet.  This beautiful drive is open from Memorial Day to Columbus Day. It was a photo op.

The Rocky Mountain National Park exhibits all the splendor of the Rocky Mountains and is a testament to the great untamed outdoors.

.

On the Rogue

“O monstrous beast! How like a swine he lies!” the man in the long robe said. His voice was crisp and clear in the night air and punctuated by the distant rumble of thunder. We were enjoying a performance of William Shakespeare’s “Taming of the Shrew” at the Elizabethan Theatre in Ashland, Oregon, during the annual Shakespeare festival.

The town of Ashland, whose population is almost 21,000, is home to Southern Oregon University. It has all the appearances of a college town: used book stores, coffee houses, funky eateries, and dozens of disenfranchised-appearing youths hanging out everywhere. But, I like college towns. They have a character all their own, a certain joie de vivre. Here, nestled in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains amongst the hope of tomorrow, we enjoy a performance of one of the greatest playwright’s works. As the story unfolds tiny droplets of water begin to fall, and the night sky flickers with an electrical discharge. However, like their counterparts in Elizabethan England, the actors continue to perform in the light rain. Fortunately, it is the last act, and the performance is over before a torrential downpour.

We were back in our tent at the Valley of the Rogue State park before the rain began falling hard. We had pitched our tent near the Rogue River before going into town to have a look around before the theatre. We would camp here for two nights. When we made reservations for the play performance we had allowed for the second nights’ performance in the event the first was cancelled due to weather. Tomorrow, we would kick back around the campsite and maybe go for a hike along the river.

We awoke to the sound of the Rogue River as it flowed past our campsite. Claudette was insistent on cooking breakfast over the campfire. Once again, it was a morning feast among the tall conifers of the northwest. She served up bacon with eggs, hash brown potatoes, and strong camp coffee. Wow! What a way to start a day. There’s something about a campfire that just makes the food taste better. After I did the dishes I kicked back and put the finishing touches on yesterday’s drawings and reflected on our visit to Ashland. I began a tattered Clive Cussler novel I had picked up at the used bookstore. We had had a fairly extensive look around town before the play. We visited the aforementioned bookstore as well as some art galleries and may have enjoyed a performance of music and dance in a small park. I think it could best be referred to as experimental theatre. The language spoken and sung was French, of which I know little. We ate lunch at the Black Sheep Pub which was a faithful reproduction of an English public house. Claudette had fish and chips, and I ordered bangers and mash. Both were delicious. Now, I could relax and immerse myself into a Dirk Pitt adventure, while my intrepid travelmate was determined to find some wild berries. Indeed, she did find some, and returned to the campsite with about a quart of big delicious appearing blackberries. A slap to the back of my hand was a wordless indication that I was not to determine the quality of the berries prior to their being cooked.

Dinner that afternoon was special. Or, I should say that desert was special. Blackberries with dumplings! Plump juicy blackberries, just a few hours removed from their riverside home along the Rogue, in a thick gooey sauce with big tasty dumplings, warm but not too hot. I would have given one of my appendages for a scoop of vanilla ice cream! Nevertheless it was extremely difficult to eat slowly and savor the succulent flavors. But I did! As a wise man once said, “Joy in eating is always fleeting”. That evening I learned how to make dumplings and would later make my famous chicken and dumplings.

After dinner we did those things that must be done around a campsite. There were dishes to wash and things to pack in order to be ready to leave at first light. Then, we’d build a campfire and listen to the river and maybe pop some corn and recount the days’ adventures. But, not tonight. Mother Nature had another idea. The wind began to blow fairly hard, and it began to rain. There was much thunder and lightning. We quickly stashed a few things in the car and sought refuge in the tent. I was quite comfortable in the tent. It is dome shaped, and the wind doesn’t move it much, but seeing the lightning flashes through the walls became a bit unnerving.

“I’m not getting in that tent! I’m getting in the car!” I heard her say and then there was a flash of lightning, a clap of thunder and a large crash. My wife and travelmate did not need to plead with me for us to take refuge in our nearby car. Quickly I ran to the car and got inside just before a down pour. The down pour was short lived and we were soon out of the car and on our way to the bathrooms. We met a Park Ranger who told us that the bathrooms had been locked up and could not be used due to the lack of electricity but told of a bathroom located about a mile away that we could use.

On the way back from the bathroom Claudette told me that she had seen a big tree limb fall off a tree near our tent. After returning to the camping area we saw what we thought was a crowd of people near our tent. Upon further investigation we found that a huge limb had fallen from a large hardwood. The limb, which was about ten inches in diameter and fifteen feet long, had hit a travel trailer within ten yards of our tent. It had literally ripped the extended room from the side of the trailer. The owners were away and had quite a surprise on their return. Fortunately for them, they weren’t inside and the trailer was a rental. We were tired and slept well that night.

We left early the next morning after our usual travel breakfast of instant oatmeal, coffee, juice, and fruit, and we have great memories of the valley of the Rogue and Shakespeare.



We have made several trips coast to coast camping along the way. We carry everything in our car, a 2002 Acura TLS.  We are tent campers and cook either over a campfire or propane stove. We carry very few perishables and shop local supermarkets when necessary and buy presh fruits and vegetables  locally. When necessary we use coin operated laundries.  We find this exciting and a less expensive way to see the country.

Valley of the Rogue State Park Oregon Shakespeare Festival Ashland, Oregon The Taming of the Shrew Clive Cussler Blackberry dumplings

Gravity Does It All

Chu Ram Falls

"I think we turn ahead to the left," I said in my role of navigator.

"How much farther?" the driver asked.

"According to the Internet, two miles from Westminster," I answered.

"And the Internet is always right. Remember the time we were following Internet directions in northern Utah and couldn't find the campground?" said she.

"I'll consider that a rhetorical question.  There should be a sign for Chu Ram Falls."

"What kind of name is that for an Oconee county waterfall?"

"Cherokee? maybe? I don't know.   Look, there is the road to the falls!" I said.

She made the turn onto the narrow road marked by the sign stating "Chu Ram County Park".
It was a short drive to the park. We paid our $2 fee to get into the park via the honor system and easily found a parking space in the empty parking area. There was space for at least fifty vehicles. We could hear the river as we disembarked. Our grandson leaped from the car and headed for the sound of falling water. We were unable to keep up to his pace. Perhaps being over fifty years his senior could have affected that.

There is a rather large, about 1200 square foot, building overlooking the river. We walked down to the river beside it.  It was only about one hundred feet from the parking lot to the water. A massive boulder is at the bottom of the waterfall. The waters of Ramsey Creek and the Chauga River join and tumble down a thirty foot cascade.  It's a beautiful waterfall and easily accessible. We sat on the big boulder and felt the mist of the mountain water on our faces. There were few other visitors to the park that day.  Some things are best not shared with a crowd.

We continued on Highway 76, which incidentally is a highway we travel each year to visit Long Creek for mountain apples.   We like to go after first frost, because that is when the Arkansas Black apples are available. This highway has many apple orchards, but it was lunchtime and so we weren't looking for an orchard. What we were looking for was the Chattooga Belle Farm in Long Creek.  We began looking for Damascus Church Road. There must be a half dozen roads named for churches off the left side of highway 76. but we eventually found it.

The Chattooga Belle Farm is a 138 acre working farm. We turned into the slightly eroded parking lot on the right and walked uphill toward the entrance  of the building, which appeared to be a house or barn, or a whatever. When you enter the building the maine area is about the size of a basketball court. We walked past a table with containers of tea and lemonade with accompanying cups and ice to see an open porch overlooking the valley and mountains in the distance. I was drawn immediately to this panorama. Claudette and Nathan were drawn immediately to food. Teenage boys are always drawn to food. I was summoned by Nathan telling me, "Grandpa, we have found the restaurant." I obliged by following him through a door to the left of the entrance. I found myself in what appeared to be a store selling "touristy" type merchandise, but a closer look revealed that it was primarily farm products and farm related merchandise. At one end of the store was a counter at which a pretty girl from Seneca, a few miles closer to civilization, took our lunch order. I ordered the herbal burger. I was feeling healthy. Nathan grabbed the table marker, #12, I paid, and we found a big round table to enjoy the mountain view.

The view is awesome. The low Blue Ridge Mountains seem to emerge from the blue sky. As the landscape advances forward the blue becomes green, culminating in the greens of the orchards and vineyards one hundred fifty  feet down the hill from the restaurant.  From our vantage point we could see the state of Georgia to the left and North Carolina to the right while enjoying our burgers in South Carolina.  The burgers were of grass-fed Black Angus beef, grown right on the farm. They, the burgers not the Black angus, were dressed with what I call the "Scarborough Fair" blend: parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. A bit of lemon mayonnaise added a little zing.

As we enjoyed our food with large cups of tart lemonade we watched as tourists picked baskets of blackberries and other fruits from the vines and trees. Baskets are rented at the store for this purpose.  The Chattooga Belle Farm is open for lunch  from 11-2 and provides a venue for meetings and wedding ceremonies as well. But for us, there were other waterfalls to find.

Unfortunately the aforementioned teenager developed a stomach ache which required attention. We returned to highway 76 and stopped by the Long Creek "shopping center". There's a gas station at the end of which appears to be a row of buildings circa 1900. Actually, it's a modern structure but adds a lot of charm to the landscape and seems to be perfectly at home there.  I entered through the gas station hoping I would find a convenience store, and I did. On the shelf of medications, of which most seem to be for colds and headaches, I found a package of Alka-Seltzer. One tablet in the package. $1.99. It appeared to be new. I stood in line at the counter.  To my right was a display case with open five gallon cartons of ice cream. The sign said "Hand dipped". A man asked the large woman behind the case for some butter pecan. "Ain't got no butter pecan.  Man's bringin' some tomorrow."

"Strawberry?" he queried.

"Jest choc'let and vanilla," she said. She was a large woman with a pasty white face.  A droplet of sweat hung precariously to her left nostril.

"I'll wait 'til tomorrow."

There was only one fellow in front of me at the counter. The line moved slowly. Each customer wanted to know why Jake, the cashier, was walking with a crutch. By the time he rung up my

purchase, I really didn't care how Jake hurt his foot. I had heard at least three explanations. From the ice cream area I heard, "Cut out all that yakking, Jake.  You gotta a lotta people in line! "The drop of sweat was still hanging on.  I hurried back to the car with my purchase only to face another crisis. You can't just swallow an Alka-Seltzer tablet; you need a glass of water. We had water, and my Rebel ingenuity kicked in.   With my trusty Schrade Old Timer I cut a half liter plastic water bottle in half for a glass and filled it with water and the Alka-Seltzer. Another little bump on the traveler's road smoothed out!

We continue on highway 76 looking for Brasstown Road on the left. We turned on the narrow country road and passed a farm or two before the road abruptly changed at the "End State Maintenance" sign. It was a little rougher but still much better that some of those we traveled in northern New Mexico. We turned onto FS 751. This is a forest Service Road.  I've found that roads built and maintained by the U.S. Forest Service are generally quite good. We followed this unsurfaced road to the end. We could hear the rushing water as we got out of the car. "Hey, there's the trail head!" said Nathan, and he hurried in that direction. We, Claudette and I, followed at a slower rate of travel.We could see the creek through the trees and hear the fast moving water. Off to our left was a forty foot waterfall.  Unlike Chu Ram Falls the water doesn't cascade much. The path is about fifty feet from the creek and muddy.  It has been raining a lot in the mountains. Neither Claudette nor I have on our hiking shoes. In our hurry to see this waterfall we had left our hiking shoes in the car. She had on sandals, and I wore some Rockport slip-ons. We tried to avoid the mud by walking on the grass, weeds, and occasional sweetgum sapling near the path. Thoughts of

Brasstown Falls

poison oak entered my mind.  I once had such a bad encounter with the toxic plant that my eyes swelled almost shut.  The sky was dark, and the heavens were about to open with another deluge of rain. Hurriedly, we did catch up with our grandson.  He had stopped at the top of the fourth waterfall on Brasstown Creek. The creek is beautiful.  Though swollen by recent rains the water was not muddy. Today the creek reflected the overhanging hardwoods  and hemlocks, with flecks of white. There is a low rumbling sound as the water pounds the rocks and continues to reshape the stones as it has done for hundreds of years. I felt a raindrop and yelled, "We gotta get out of here!"  We returned to the Toyota as quickly as we could. By the time we had reached the hard surfaced road the rain was steadily coming down.

The rain shortened our waterfall hunting trip, but we had enjoyed ourselves. There are at least twenty-two waterfalls accessible in Oconee County and more in the surrounding counties. Perhaps, when we return to Long Creek for apples, we can enjoy more waterfalls in the colorful woods of autumn.  But, of course, it won't be quite the same without a grandson.