Easterly we go
August 30, 2012

"On the road again" -  it’s a shame that I don’t know any words beyond those to the song of that title -- causes me to have them running through my head in a boringly continuous loop.  Ah well, despite the hectic past month and the blur of the previous week, we three are indeed in the Toyota Tundra Toter, Travel Trailer Totee following obediently, on Interstate 40 headed east.  Our travel for this trip takes us from lushly green Arizona to the drought-stricken heartland - what a reversal!

No worries because Lewis is tending to the home place for us and various friends are coming over to harvest pears, grapes and strawberries - our bounty left behind.

This is not to be one of those long wanders that consume months; we are ultimately to be at niece Suzie’s & Joe’s wedding in the northwoods of Wisconsin early in September.  Major bonus points: Mom & Dad will also be there from North Carolina and we get to spend three glorious days with Sara, Trinity, Ray & Dante in Kansas.  When we considered flying to the wedding, I could not bear the thought that another year would pass without seeing my babies, so surface travel won out despite associated financial drawbacks.

Rowdy read our minds several days before departure and was not happy about the situation.  Last thing before leaving was to load him up.  This is the way it works: approach him in a completely everyday way.  Despite the casual approach, he knows what’s up and curls into as tiny a ball as a 12-pound cat can manage.  In addition, he magically sinks and triples his weight in the belief that we will then either not see him lying on that chair or he will be entirely too heavy for us to pick up.  It never works but he never stops trying.

Then comes the dreaded harness that sports his cute little heart-shaped name & phone number tag for just in case.  He probably dislikes it so much because he knows it is really a dog harness, there being no cat contraptions made for felines of his large stature.

Once the deed is done, he is fine, wandering the truck cab from his back seat carrier to occasionally peer out the windshield or recline regally on the seat.  He also is fond of my lap any time I pick up the computer to type.

Coconino Forest country . . .

The countryside sights are blindingly spectacular as only monsoons in northern Arizona can create - thick pine forest carpeted by knee-high green grass, every meadow, playa and open area solid with yellow & purple flowers, dark blue peaks and mountains all around and all topped by high clear blue Arizona skies. 























I cannot help myself when I begin snapping pictures of roadside glories without even stopping.  It's really kind of embarrassing to take pictures through the window but I so want to share this beauty. 

Hooray for cell phones: we already have calls from various friends about this, that and the next thing - even a possible musical collaboration for Chris accompanying a vocalist.  And of course, Sara has texted a number of times; seems to feel a need to urge us onward, as if we needed that.

First (and only) two stops were related to this dad-ratted camera.  For most of the time i’ve owned it, the battery compartment latch has been broken.  Blame me, I busted it while climbing in boulders with it hanging around my neck, the result being that because it is spring loaded, it must be held closed with ample applications of strong packing tape.  All well and good until the tape stretches or the batteries have to be replaced.  Then it’s peel sticky stuff off, do what needs to be done and reapply tape while holding the thing closed.  Only problem was the batteries went kaput and the spares and tape were in the trailer.  One of these days, Alice, a new camera!

Thank goodness I will have to stop this demented stream of consciousness drivel that has been unleashed with my departure from home; the highway is getting very rough which will cause me to accidentally highlight and delete (possibly a good thing?).  So as we see the uneven ridges of Meteor Crater up here on this treeless plain now that we’ve left the forest behind, I bow to necessity and sign off.

Fast food, New Mexico . . .

In our rush to get on the road this morning, we skipped breakfast.  By the time we stopped for gas at St. Joseph, the rumblings were in full swing.  Not wanting to take the time to fix a bite in our home away from home, we opted for bacon, egg & cheese muffins at Subway.  This is not news in most circles, but I am pretty sure we were the only two humans in the United States who had never eaten a fast-food breakfast - ever.  That did the trick and we are again on our way for our long day of driving: Amarillo by 9:30ish (argh!).

I love the sights and landscape through this area of New Mexico.  There is so much diversity; I love thinking about how it all came to be.  The high plains are ringed and interrupted by mountains ranges and peaks, ochre- and dun-cliffed mesas.  And then there are the miles of monstrous jumbled lava flow.  Huge black jaggedly broken rock stretching over the grasslands ending in gigantic fingers like huge hands reaching for the distant mountains.  I can nearly visualize the molten rock running out red/black hot, building up and collapsing, folding back on itself.

We got into a bit of rain from an isolated storm but later moved into clearer skies with scattered thunderheads in the distance.  Today we “lose” two hours as we first move into the oddness of Daylight Savings Time (we love that Arizona does not succumb to that absurdity) and then cross into the next time zone.

This is is our longest drive day, trying to more than split the distance to Lenexa, where we will hang with the kids for Labor Day weekend.

First night out syndrome, Texas panhandle . . .

Well then, if we needed a reminder that the years are catching up with us, this is it.  A whopping 13 hours on the road kinda did us in; today will be long but a bit under that.  We dislike driving after dark only because we miss seeing the countryside, and last night was quite a long time after a brilliant red sunset. 

We excuse our late 9 a.m. departure by rationalizing that it is 7 a.m. “our” time, a true statement.  I call it the time zone two-step, hopefully a dissemble we can leave behind by tomorrow.  It is nice, though, when we will head back home to “gain” those lost hours.

Of course we knew mapwise we had come to the plains of West Texas, but getting here in the dark and having our first glimpse of the reality was shocking this morning.  To look out across the miles and see the sky and the land meet in one endless straight line without a mountain to soften the confluence is just odd for us.

Our after-hours arrival at the Overnite RV Park in Amarillo was flawless; however, my night of repose was not.  Rowdy (and I as a consequence) suffered from “first-night-out syndrome”.  Seems that feline instincts require incessant prowling and guarding.  Each new scent or sound necessitates informing Mom in whatever way is needed to be sure she gets the message.  Although accustomed to this process, I was less than receptive to it after such a tiring journey that was on top of a wearying week and month.  Not to worry, though, he can sleep all day if he chooses.  I suppose I could too except for the guilt I would feel to leave exhausted Chris to drive while I snooze.

This is agricultural country, mostly mono-cropping of grain and hay, much of it already harvested, leaving a level sea of cut-off brown stalks.  Here and there we see lush fields of heavy-headed milo, stands of field corn planted so thickly that a person could squeeze between them only with difficulty.  Other crops we have trouble identifying - possibly soybeans. 

In our normal mode of travel, we would find a place to pull over so we could wander over to inspect the fields more closely, but not today with a minimum of ten hours on the road facing us.

It is beyond bizarre to have traversed all of New Mexico with nary a sight-see nor a back road wander, not a hike, no explores whatsover.  In the past, we have enjoyed many adventures in the Land of Enchantment and anticipate many more, just not right now.

It’s interesting here to see vast fields planted to match the circular pivot irrigation systems and then a dryland crop (wheat most likely) growing in the unirrigated corners missed by the sprinklers.

There are many abandoned farm houses; I surmise they were family homes no longer needed as large-scale agriculture overtakes the family farm.  It makes me a little sad to see these places that once nurtured families, but are no longer useful. 

I’m singing the blues about the many missed photo opps.  I could have prowled around in the ghost of Cuervo, New Mexico, snapping pictures for a long time.  Here are great missed shots of abandoned rusting grain elevators and perilously leaning farm houses given over to trees and vines, occasionally even entire farmsteads.

This Interstate travel serves only to cause me curiosity about what the towns are really about.  A person gets such a skewed concept by driving this way.

Interesting that there is a long-unused railroad bed following our route.  Its path is mostly just slightly elevated above the plains level, but as we come into country that is convolutedly cut by canyons of the Canadian River tributaries, it occasionally enters its own road cut.

The river runs west to east a ways north of us; these canyons carry runoff to its bed, adding interest to the landscape in the process.  I’m trying not to spend much time noticing the points of interest that would typically be stops for us, but it is not easy.  Who wouldn’t want to know what is Square House Museum and of course I would love to explore and hike McClellan Creek National Grasslands.  So many reasons to return in a more leisurely way. 

OK City, Chisholm Trail, Great-grandfather George Taylor . . .

Whew, we’re mostly through Oklahoma City; it makes me a nervous wreck to drive with the trailer in that kind of crazed traffic.  Never mind that I'm not even driving; I just haven’t mastered the art of closing my eyes and waiting for the all-clear.

Somewhere in this metropolis or near it are dear friends, Paula, Loren & Quinton; I send them love as we speed past.

And what in the world is that humongous sky scraper in the downtown?  It appears to be twice as tall as the next highest building.

Along the way, we saw a sign about the Washita Battlefield, will have to look up that history.  We are seeing the dire effects of drought in the Midwest, rivers gone completely or nearly dry, brown where previously there was lush green.

There was a highway notification of the place where the Chisholm Trail crossed on its way northward.  I would love to take the time to determine if there are remnants of it to be seen.  My great grandfather, George Washington Taylor, and two of his brothers, Daniel Meredith and Louis Dixon, were drovers in the second trip up that storied trail.  I have an account that Louis wrote about the trip - what an incredible journey that was!

Another Oklahoma connection: My grandmother Pearl (Taylor) Kelley’s sister Nadine married Eli Marshall Jones and they settled in Kiowa, Oklahoma, south of where we are, to run a cotton gin, or so the story goes.  In 1930, I found him listed in the census as a “cotton weigher”, seemingly short of running the gin.  So go family stories  My research has not turned up much about them and where they ended up.  Perhaps if I spent more time on my own research and less on other people’s, I would be able to turn over that stone.

This trip is more about making family history than our usual researching it, but obviously, it doesn’t stop me from remembering the ancestors feats and even defeats and honoring them.

Sara told us we could expect rain from Isaac on this leg of the drive; sure enough, the easter we go, the cloudier it gets.  Not too threatening yet.

So far, our bird list is quite a bit less than impressive, but what can you say about zooming across the country at 60 miles per hour and setting foot only on concrete.  Don’t laugh: I’ve identified grackles (in parking lots of course), rock doves, turkey vultures and ravens.  A blur as we zipped by, I have spied hordes of shore birds wading in what’s left of water in river beds, but my yearning to stop was not satisfied.

Best business name: Happy Tails Kennel (I expect smart remarks to result from this).

Kansas' Flint Hills, hurricane Isaac . . .

We and hurricane Isaac have arrived in the beautiful Flint Hills of Kansas simultaneously.  Issac is bringing some much-needed moisture, although if I had had my ‘druthers, I would have chosen a divergence of approach times.  We hope rain doesn’t disrupt our scheduled photo shoot at Unity Village tomorrow evening.

We have crossed so many pretty rivers.  Although some have been bereft of water, others, like the Cimarron and the Neosho, seem to be running pretty much full steam.  I would like to fish the Cimarron for sure.

One last stop - gas & restrooms - and we are on the home stretch, about two hours to the Walnut Grove RV Park, our home for four nights.  At the travel center, there was a small well-kept park, a memorial to a man named Al Larsen, who evidently drowned in 2003 while saving many motorists trapped in the Jacob Creek flood.  I will see if I can find more information about that.

We turned off I-40 at Oklahoma City, driving north on I-35, one section of which is the Kansas Turnpike.  That translates to $; the ticket we were issued at the beginning of it said it was going to cost us $18 when we departed the road at Emporia; however, the nice toll booth lady asked for only $12 and that apologetically.  Nothing like getting a deal to take the sting out.

While stopped for gas, I shoot one pic that shows the edge of Isaac catching up with us.























A rainbow appears prematurely in promise of the end even as it is beginning.

It doesn't take long before that gathering-cloud glimpse turns into full-blown headwind and drenching rain.  It is startling how quickly it overtakes us.

The remainder of the drive is in darkness with difficult visibility, especially when we are in town trying to find the Walnut Grove RV Park in the midst of a residential area.  After I become convinced we have passed it by or taken the wrong road, we are there; we finally spot it through the streaming glare on the windshield.

Isaac makes for an interesting set-up during which the trailer becomes soaked inside and out, but we are here.  Too late to see the kids tonight, but time to rest at least.  A couple of leaks have gotten dampness onto the bed; we are entirely too tired to give it a thought.  That last hour of driving was grueling.

What is it about hurricanes whose names begin with "I" and us?  Last visit to Kansas was at Fort Scott where hurricane Ike darn near washed us away.  It made for a memorable time and even a fun one: we joined the garden tour via Fort Scott's trolley, got to know a whole passel of great folks, viewed some wonderful gardens (at least the parts that weren't under water) and enjoyed a great deal of finely prepared victuals.

Even so, we have vowed to avoid this state during any future "I" hurricanes.