It Was Just a Dotted Red Line

We were leaving Bandelier National Park in northern New Mexico on our way to Tuba City, Arizona. It was a spring day with bright sunshine and a comfortable temperature. I was driving the Dodge Neon, a compact four door sedan, we had rented in Albuquerque. Our intent was to drive northwest and stop in Tuba City for some Navajo fry bread before continuing on to the Grand Canyon. It was a good plan.


We decided to take a less populated route. I know this sounds a little oxymoronic since there are very few heavily populated routes in New Mexico. What I really mean is a secondary road just a bit off the beaten path. It sounded like a good idea at the time.

The road we had chosen quickly changed from gravel to more dirt than gravel. This wasn’t a reason for alarm; I had grown up driving on the red dirt roads of the piedmont area of South Carolina. We did begin to get concerned when the road turned into a muddy path through the trees. Perhaps one indicator of things to come was the four-wheel-drive pick-up truck we passed abandoned in a ditch.

I did not realize that the winter snows were melting in the mountains, and everything was wet. I had always thought of New Mexico as one big dry desert; I had watched a lot of westerns. But I reassured my wife that I had driven in such conditions many times before. She did not give me a vote of confidence. While what I told her was true, about growing up driving on such roads, I did not tell her that the vehicles I had driven were bigger and more powerful. But I did say that no matter what, we must not stop, because if we did we might never get started again. I noted that we had almost a full tank of gas, and that was one thing in our favor. She was not impressed with our good fortune.

Soon I found myself gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles were white. I could only see my travelmate with my peripheral vision; my eyes were fixed on the road ahead. The little car swerved and slid over the road as traction was difficult to find. Under my breath I was saying some very unkind things about the little under powered sedan, but we continued forward. Occasionally there would be a crunching sound as the oil pan of the engine would drag on the road and the little 2 liter engine would over-rev, before the tires would finally get traction again. I wished for mud grip tires. We’d had them on our trucks when I was younger.

We were on a heavily rutted road, but we had to avoid the deep ruts, because our car would drag and possibly get stuck if we tried to use them. At one place a stream had overflowed the roadway, and we had no choice but to go through the wash out. I remembered how a Volkswagen I once owned would float and hoped the Dodge would do the same, but our momentum carried us across the stream. However, there was no sigh of relief, because we still had miles to go, and we knew not how many.

I was beginning to appreciate the front wheel drive configuration of the car. I believed that if I could keep the front wheels pointed in the right direction and continue moving we would get through. Frequently the rear of the car would be in one of the ditches of the single lane road but we continued on without stopping.
Finally, after what seemed like hours of driving in silence with only an occasional gasp from my passenger, we saw a barricade ahead. After we passed through an opening in the barricade we could see an asphalt highway ahead. We stopped for a breather and a bottle of water from the cooler. Behind us the sign on the barricade stated, “Road Closed to Through Traffic”. It had been a learning experience. We found out that I could drive a front wheel drive compact on muddy roads. We also learned to understand what the legends on a road map really meant. We had been on an “unimproved road”, and that was an understatement!

Bandelier National Monument     2001 Dodge Neon New Mexico Tony Hillerman

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.

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

Chipping Campden

We had been driving on the B4081 road through one of the most beautiful parts of England with rolling hills and charming villages: The Cotswolds. Here in the west central area of England we were searching for the town of Chipping Campden. Chipping is from an Old English word meaning market.

During the Middle Ages this was a wool producing center. It is not unusual in the rural areas of the British Isles to be waylaid by sheep. I think sheep look kind of neat, the small ones are cute, and rack of lamb is one of my favorite meats. But, hey, I wish they would stay out of the road. Unlike cows, which will move over to let you get through, sheep just mosey along at their own sweet time. However, in the Cotswolds sheep provided the livelihood of the residents.

We drove down the B4081, which becomes High Street in Chipping Campden, searching for our inn. We stopped to ask a couple where Lower High Street or the Volunteer Inn was, and they said they didn’t know. About a hundred yards further down the street we found the inn. Maybe they were tourists from Manchester or somewhere else. We dragged our bags into the Volunteer Inn pub and the barkeep directed us to our room. Our upstairs room was overlooking the street and, as usual, appeared comfortable.

We were starved and went downstairs to the pub, but it was dinnertime, and we wanted a bit more than pub food. There was a restaurant behind the pub: The Maharaja. I have a special dislike for Indian food, but it is all the rage in England now. Down the street a bit we found the Ligon Inn whose kitchen was serving up traditional English food. I had bangers and mash with mushy peas. Bangers are sausages and mash is mashed potatoes. And mushy peas, well…they’re green peas mashed up.

When we got back to the Volunteer Inn we went in the pub for a pint of the local ale. We always check out the local ales. The Volunteer received its name because it was the pub at which the local men volunteered to fight for king and country. The interior had a bar, of course, a piano, dartboard, and two flat screen televisions. The ceiling was low with exposed beams and a stone fireplace took up one end. The crowd that was there earlier was gone, since the football game was over. Only the bartender and an aging barfly were there. We enjoyed our pints at a table in the corner before going to bed. I suspect that many a lad had had his first pint here and many a scarred returning soldier had enjoyed a pint here as well and, no doubt, seduced by the same lusty barmaid.

We got a great night’s sleep, and the bed was comfortable and cozy. In all the Bed and Breakfasts and Inns we stayed at, we noticed that the heat was always turned off at 10 o’clock. Thick covers on the beds are a must.

From our fogged up window the next morning we could see Saint Catherine’s Roman Catholic Church, a charming yellow limestone structure with locally crafted stained glass windows, across the street. We had a cup of tea before going on an expeditionary look at Chipping Campden. You can always depend on a tea service in every room in Britain.

My travelmate and I thought we’d take a walk before breakfast and began across the street in front of Saint Catherine’s and proceeded up Hoo Lane to the church cemetery. It’s always interesting to read the epitaphs and look at the sculptural elements of the tombstones. The spring-loaded wooden gate closed behind us as we came back onto the lane directly across from a cottage with a thatched roof. They always remind me of Hansel and Gretel or someone else from the fairy tales of my youth. Thatched roofs are making a comeback as a show of wealth and that’s quite interesting because only the less affluent had this kind of roof for over five centuries. And here it was; a typical thatched roofed cottage in an English village on a cool misty morning, just like in National Geographic magazine.

Behind the gated garden in front of the cottage was a large fifteen foot tall shrub trimmed in the likeness of a bird. Topiaries are common in English gardens and my wife says to me, “I think there’s a bird in that bird!” “Indeed there is a bird nest in the bush,” said the thin balding man with the necktie and cardigan sweater as he came through the gate. He told us that the bird nest was an annual occurrence, as he hurried off down the lane.

We reversed our direction, turned left, and walked down High Street past the Town Hall, which is a 14th century building originally used as a Wool Exchange . We passed the impressive Cotswald House built in 1815. Everything looks so prim and proper with many blooming flowers around the shop and residence doors. Canopies of blooming wisteria framed many of the entry doors. It was kind of like stepping back in time; you could almost hear the horse and wagon of the milkman in the early morning. As my imagination drifted back in time I noticed a bottle of milk on the stoop of the next house, and a fat tabby cat quickly disappeared into a narrow walkway beside a house. We continue walking past the Old Market Place built in 1627. It is a stone structure with open sides and a roof with many gables. The market had been once used in the wool trade, and buyers from other regions and countries would come to Chipping Campden to buy wool for their mills. The sounds of draft animals, vendors hawking their wares, and the rattle of armor would have echoed through these streets. Indeed, market day would have had a carnival atmosphere. The war memorial and market lie in the middle of the street with the street on either side. We continued on our walk and came to bigger houses that stood alone before turning onto Church Street to the right leading to Saint James Church. We passed the Alms Houses, originally built for the poor, and the Eight Bells Inn on the way to the church.

Saint James Church, like many other churches, is built on the site of an older church, in this case a Norman church prior to 1180. Since that time the building has been changed many times. The bell tower had eight bells to call parishioners to worship. The oldest dated to 1637, but they were recast in 1987, The originals were stored, like the clock mechanism, which was installed in 1695 and replaced in 1962. Saint James is referred to as a “wool church”, because it was built from the wealth of the wool business. While we were looking around the church and cemetery we heard the bleat of sheep and, sure enough, beside and behind the church were a flock of sheep.

We continued our walk until the street intersected High Street, and with a left turn it led us back to the Volunteer Inn. Shopkeepers were getting ready for another business day by sweeping in front of their shops and hanging out the “Open” signs. But everything in the village looked clean and fresh as washed by the heavy morning mist.

Since we would soon be on the road again we opted for a full English breakfast. The size of the meal reminded me of the “lumberjack” breakfast of the Adirondacks or my mother’s “sawmill” breakfast. There were sausages in big links, eggs, bacon, white beans, grilled tomatoes, hash brown potatoes, and fried bread. English bacon tends to be back bacon which is very lean, much like ham, and not the American variety which comes from pork bellies. A variety of jellies, marmalades, and fruit preserves are served to spread the fried bread. Needless to say a large pot of tea is served as the beverage of choice.

We packed up, checked out, tossed our bags in the car and continued on highway B4081. Chipping Campden definitely became one of those places on “the most likely to revisit” list.

Additiona Information My Photographs  Our British Isles Adventure Map of our walk as described above Cotswolds Tourist information

Pedal to the Metal

What was the greatest chase film in the movies: Bullitt, The French Connection or Ronin? Of course, there have been many other chase scenes in movies as well, but were they as good as these three?


The chase scene in Bullitt, the police drama made in 1968, has often been the scale by which chase scenes in the movies are measured. Why not? There is a lot of action in this nearly ten minute sequence. What does it have that others don’t? Most chases in films are in cities or perilous roads. Bullitt certainly qualifies there, as it is set in the city of San Francisco. The French Connection was shot on the crowded streets of New York. But, some of the chase scenes in Ronin are on the perilous highways of southern France and the cities of Nice and Paris.

Could it be the automobiles? The cars featured in Bullitt were a Ford Mustang and a Dodge Charger, both high-performance automobiles in 1968 and are quite a contrast to Popeye Doyle’s 1971 Pontiac Lemans sedan in The French Connection. For the most part, in Ronin, the automobiles used were powerful European touring sedans: Mecedes-Benz, Audi and BMW. All chases are at high speeds. In Bullitt the Mustang of Steve McQueen reached speeds of over 100 mph on the streets of San Francisco. This was the first film in which high speed chases were shot in real time. Previously chase scenes were “speeded up” in the camera. Speeds of over 80 mph were reached by the sedan in The French Connection, and the cars were equally fast in Ronin. Particularly in Ronin the lack of a music soundtrack emphasized the sound of powerful engines.

Another thing these chase scenes in all three movies have in common is that they hit other cars, and in the case of Ronin, wipe out vegetable markets. We get to enjoy the sound of tearing and crunching metal as cars bang into each other.

There is only one thing that separates Bullitt from the other films: air. In this film the automobiles are constantly airborne as the chase occurs in the hills of the city by the bay. This doesn’t happen in the other two films.

What is the greatest chase scene in cinema?  You be the judge.

The French Connection Ronin

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                                         INTERESTING FILM FACTS
*The stunt driver of the  Popeye Doyle car in The French Connection was the driver of Dodge Charger in Bullitt
*Two Mustangs and two Chargers were used in Bullitt with suspension modifications.
*Skipp Suddeth (Larry) in Ronin asked for the Audi to be equipped with nitrous.
*In 2008 Ford Motor Company introduced a Mustang "Bullitt Edition" in the signature green color celebrating the 40th anniversary of the film
*Bullitt and The French Connection have the same producer.

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THE AUTOMOBILES IN THE FILMS
Bullitt--1968 Mustang 390 engine--1968 Dodge Charger 440 engine
The French Connection -- 1971 Pontiac Lemans
Ronin -- Audi S8 D2 , BMW M5 E34, Mercedes-Benz 450SEL 6.9,a rare Mercedes-Benz W116

Vegie What?

As I grow older I’m becoming more aware of the changes in my life. Am I getting to know myself? So far I like me all right, but some changes are causing a little alarm. For example: I think I may be a vegetarian. I seem to have some latent tendencies in that direction. In my heart I’m a grits ’n’ gravy guy. I was born below the Mason-Dixon Line, and the blood of those who wore the grey at Gettysburg runs through my veins. But recently I ate at a vegetarian restaurant, and…I liked it. Fortunately, we were on vacation, and no one that saw me knew who I was. Have you ever noticed what kind of people you see in vegetarian restaurants? They usually wear handmade jewelry and Birkenstocks, and they are always slim. For some reason I have an innate distrust of skinny people. But, there I was at the corner table eating a grilled tofu sandwich while non-country music was playing in the background.


Think about it. What is tofu? It is bean curd made from soybean milk. The whole idea is kind of crazy. One could question how one would milk a soybean, but I guess that would be utterly ridiculous. Curdling, I think, is another word for spoiling or “going bad”. I know this explanation of tofu sounds a bit unsavory, but I liked the taste of the grilled bean curd! This sandwich had black bean spread, bean sprouts, and other unmentionables, but the tomatoes and lettuce I recognized. Now I like beans; butter beans or string beans cooked all day with a piece of fatback. I don’t like bean sprouts. Bean sprouts are beans on the way to becoming bean plants and are harvested before reaching the plant stage. It’s similar to an abortion of the vegetable kind. I don’t think that’s very Christian.

But I like meat; beef, pork, poultry or wild game. I mean, that’s what men eat. You wouldn’t see Sly Stallone ordering black bean cakes, or, can you imagine Bruce Willis asking the cook not to leave his tofu on the grill too long? And would Duke Wayne have ever said, “I’ll have that hummus on pita bread, Little Lady.”? I don’t think so.



But, what should I do?



I will remain a closet vegetarian…I already have Birkenstocks!


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                        Some Items You May see in a Vegetarian Restuarant

• ciabatta-a type of open-textured bread made with olive oil
• falafel-an appetizer or snack consisting of a small croquette made with fava-bean flour or ground chick peas, seasoned with toasted sesame seeds and salt, often served in pita bread.
• pesto-a sauce typically made with basil, pine nuts, olive oil, and grated Parmesan blended together and served hot or cold over pasta, fish, or meat.
• mole-a spicy sauce flavored with chocolate, usually served with turkey or chicken.
• tahini-a paste made of ground sesame seeds.
• chapatti-a flat pancakelike bread, usually of whole-wheat flour, baked on a griddle.
• chickpea-Also called garbanzo. a widely cultivated plant, Cicer arietinum,  of the legume family, bearing pods containing pealike seeds.
• tempeh-a fermented soybean cake.