May 24, Saturday – Waiting for Hannah

Hannah arrives here just before midnight to travel with me for a week. I’ve made a list of “things to do” ; laundry, stow gear, clear off the passenger seat of my poor man’s GPS and A/C units for a first mate. This is the first time since Bob left me in Tucson ten weeks ago that I’d have a crew on board. Traveling solo has permitted me to be causal and uncouth about happens inside the rig. Change is coming in the form of a daughter to provide communication and feedback. Steinbeck again: “I was alone each winter for eight months … (as) a caretaker on a summer estate during the winter months when it was snowed in. …As the time went on I found that my reactions thickened……….. and I believe that subtleties of feeling began to disappear until finally I was on a pleasure-pain basis. Then it occurred to me that the delicate shades of feeling, of reaction, are the results of communication, and without such communication they tend to disappear. A man with nothing to say has no words. Can the reverse be true – a man who has no one to say nothing to has now words as he has no need for words?”
Traveling solo promotes the above. What will traveling with Hannah bring to the circle tour? Delicate shades of feeling? I am deeply honor that she chose to accompany me on my sojourn fresh out of college. Many new diploma holders have grandiose plans before being shackled into the work-a-day world rather than a road trip with dad.
Where I’ve anchored, Snee-Oosh is in the shadow of the final flight pattern into Jacksonville Airport. With very jet that slides by a few hundred feet above my roof top, I think of Hannah arriving. Soon she will.

May 22, Thursday – Six

The home visit in La Conner was done in a dream state. I’m now sitting in Snee-Oosh in the evening heat in northeast Florida with Mr. Mockingbird welcoming me back to the Circle Tour wondering if I ever left this state.
While in La Conner I spun my Buddhist prayer wheel every time I went to Shelter Bay being thankful for my safety and my journeys. I spun Geraldine’s prayer wheel at Joan’s with the same gratefulness. On my last evening I walked down to the Spirit Wheel by Maple Hall and spun it also with prayers. I love spinning the giant wheel and letting my fingers trail over the smooth and carved wooden surfaces. My presence goes into another dimension; a difference place.
My mind must have been in a different place several other times during my stay such as showing up 24 hours early for my dental exam. The examining dentist found a missing filling that my regular dentist had missed several days earlier while he cleaned my teeth. Rushed calls to him and I was scheduled in during his lunch hour for a new filling. Another example: Hannah was going to Tacoma today with the van to move her college stuff back home. I hitched a ride with her. Dutifully I arrived at the airport at six a.m., two hours before my flight. The electronic check-in told me to see an agent. I got to the airport at six, but my flight left at six and not at eight like my flight from Florida to Seattle had. The agent said he would send me out on a flight in 45 minutes to Cincinnati then down to Jacksonville getting me in there at 5 p.m.; He also said I got the last seat on the flight and that I would have had to wait until noon before another slot opened up. Mind awareness; be attentive to details; spinning prayer and spirit wheels smoothed the path of good luck

May 21, Wednesday – Reflections

I have slowly adjusted to being back home in La Conner. Its taken many days to settle the struggle of: Am I sleeping in my RV in Florida and dreaming that I’m home in La Conner, or am I in La Conner asleep dreaming that I’m on a road trip in an RV? Being in the tiny house behind Joan’s place on the hill in La Conner convinced me that indeed I was back here for real. It was when I went to my house in Shelter Bay that things got very confusing because here was my space. When I left eleven weeks ago, I didn’t remove my personal effects from the house when the renter moved in. So when I unlocked the door, there were my pictures and photographs on the walls and the cooking utensils in the kitchen. My mind went “Where Am I???”
Affirmation is coming from friends by asking, “So how is your trip going?” If no one asked that question, then the reality of being on a road trip would have surely been in doubt. (The blog also helps me know what state of reality I’m in.)
With that resolved another reality has plunked down right beside me. A barrel of oil has topped $132. And articles are appearing on how the market for recreational vehicles has dropped. Here sits Ronny front and center of both. Oh, my, we just keep moving ahead and hope that the Circle Tour will survive. I budgeted the tour at 14,000 miles at $4/gallon at 10 miles/gallon. I figured it would cost around $6,000 for fuel.
On the flat pulling the VW Snee-Oosh gets 8.6 miles to the gallon as read out by my on-board computer as real time readings. If I have a tail wind, the mpg goes up to 9.6; if I have a head wind, it drops to 7.6. Also I can vary my speed by watching the mpg screen and drive with the best readout.
When I left Jacksonville, Florida last week, I was paying $3.69 per gallon (about the same price here at Costco). So I’m ahead in my budgeting in some areas such as price of gas, but behind in others such as mpg. So I just “Keep on Truckin’” (thanks, Crumb).
The weather while in La Conner has been the mix it’s well known for at a ratio of 3 to 1 – three days of rain to one day of sun. It’s raining now on my last day here at home. Tomorrow will bring a change both in weather and in place.

May 19, Monday – The re-uniting

I belong to an extended family. I do not have aunts, uncles or cousins that live down the road nor siblings that live in the next town. Through the miracle of time and place I have daughters and friends that form the nucleus of this sense of tribe. I live and die for these unions. Coming home to my beloved Skagit Valley is like taking communion; there is a cleansing and acceptance of who I am. To re-unite is an affirmation of self.
This extended family moves beyond people and into the community as well. I contributor to my town and it gives back to me in so many ways.
Upon returning to La Conner there were two happenings: the graduation of Hannah, the youngest, from the University of Puget Sound, which was six years in the making. The other was attending the Skagit Valley Poetry Festival, a nationally recognized assembly of poets. It was being held just a five-minute walk from where I was staying.
Because I had rented my place out in Shelter Bay, I had to find lodging elsewhere. Joan offered me the now empty “mother-in-law” apartment out back of her place. (I constructed it twenty years ago when we were married.) The festival was being held in Maple Hall and to open the three-day event the acclaimed poet Jane Hirshfield read from her marvelous creations. As she said; she was a searcher, not a poet. Her search was transcribed into words.
The next day was filled with more readings of which La Conner’s Georgia Johnson shown bright among the national notables. I am in love with this person’s work. She is of our community.
The love of words spread to the love of family as Joan, Pera and Laurel and I packed to drive to Tacoma to support and participate with Hannah in her glory of graduation. Caitlin, our other daughter, and her fiancé Will, joined us as well from Portland. Hannah’s long time friend and fellow student, Marcos and his Venezuelan mom, Carolina, made up our extended family. I brought twenty-five pounds of oysters from Blau’s from Sammish Bay at Hannah’s request . We eat well, very, very well. As the food disappeared the mood swung to honoring Hannah. Sitting in her quiet backyard we recalled, laughed and cried and so deeply loved her in this time and place.
On graduation day, Geraldine, who represents the base fabric of our community of friends, also joined us to celebrate this watershed event.
True to family form nothing is done standard fare: We had three bells representing her graduation. The first was the bell made by her uncle in Michigan at Harmony Hollow Bells. This represented her grandfather whose trust enabled her to attend this fine school; the next, also of Harmony Hollow Bell, represented her family’s love and the last bell was a ship’s bell representing her journey into the world. When appropriate at her graduation, eight of us stood and cheered and rang these wonderful bells for Hannah.
I am so blessed.

May 13, Tuesday – Traversing the Hypotenuse

I had a start this morning: the counter guy at the RV park said that he would drive me to the airport at 6 in the morning. At 6:15 no guy. Fortunately there was a phone number on the door and it looked like a residence attached to the office. “Oh, yea, I’m so sorry. I’ll be right out.” The 12 minute ride to the airport was why I chose the place. Got there with no problems. While waiting in Jacksonville for my flight to Seattle, the television showed what I saw yesterday: four fires were burning in eastern Florida (they assumed were set) and I drove through one of them. So far the winds and the dryness were making it difficult to put them out. In fact they were just protecting structures and letting everything else burn. 52 houses so far had been destroyed.
Twelve hours to go corner to corner in this great nation; five and a half flight time from Atlanta to Seattle going west and five hours returning due to the tail wind. And 55 degrees plus rain to greet me when I got on the shuttle bus to Mt. Vernon. It was great to be home

May 12, Monday – Burning Money

I try very hard not to be overly concerned about buying gas. I pick my spot for price and access for my dual rig and drive in. If I fill up and drive down the block and see fuel for 5 cents a gallon cheaper I try not to abscess over it. I’ve found on my trip that there’re scores of independent dealers like Gates, Hess, RaceTrack, Tom Thumb, Flying J. I make an assumed leap that these guys use the big corps’ gas to purchase their fuel from: Chevron, Shell, BP, Mobile. (I heard that Exxon-Mobile made more profit in the last quarter than any other company has in history. I also heard that Exxon – Mobile made more money in the last quarter of last year than Microsoft Corporation made in the last three years!!) On Car Talk they said that these independents like Costco call up several distributors and find the best price and order. So I buy by price not by allegiance to a company. I also set a record on Monday = $212 in fuel cost for Snee-Oosh. This is actually not a fair representation because I didn’t fuel up at the end of the previous day so fueled up before I got on the road then re-fueled at the end of the day of driving. But no matter how I sliced it, it was a shock. I just close my eyes and squeeze the lever on the hose handle.
Another shock to me also occurred on the highway. As I drove north up Florida’s east coast on Interstate 95, I saw smoke, then I saw fire. The palm trees and undergrowth were burning. It had burned up to the freeway, burned the median strip and had jumped to the eastside of the freeway heading for the ocean. The major fire had past but burning items were still flaming away. And there was no one around. We all just drove though the smoke and continued on!! About an hour later six fire trucks in a caravan went cruising southbound. No lights and sirens. Very strange.
I ended up at the Pecan Park RV Park north of Jacksonville for the night and it was here that I’m going to make my stand. I chose this place because it was near the airport for I fly back home tomorrow to La Conner for a week to attend Hannah’s graduation from University of Puget Sound. Here I will leave my tandem rig in storage while on the other side.
While at Dickinson State Park, I was told that fire was an essential part of the ecology and that they burn areas once every four to six years. So while the burning undergrowth and palm trees looked disastrous, it grows back rapidly. However the burns of the day were not good because it wasn’t the right time of year for it.

May 11, Sunday – Sun Bound

In the north country a blizzard sets in and you have to hunker down for a few days until the snow storm subsides then you venture out to see what can be done about digging out. You are snow bound. In the south country when the heat waves hit and the temperatures are in the 90’s with the humidity is 60 to 80%, you are sun bound. It’s still 90 at 9 p.m. and it’s 80 by 8 a.m. You just stay inside where you have a swamp cooler or air conditioner. This is where I’m at. I stay inside my RV hugging the AC.
I’m leaving the Circle Tour day after tomorrow and fly from Jacksonville to Seattle to attend Hannah’s graduation from University of Puget Sound and release into the world. I’ve spent the last three days camped a Hickinson State Park getting ready for the week long stay in the northwest before returning to the southeast. Time is being used organizing photos to show family and friends in the Skagit Valley and getting the RV ready to mothball for the week I’m gone. Any reason to stay out of the …. (I just read the outside temperature) 95 degrees. I’m for a thermo shock when I arrive in La Conner. Now where did I put my fleece?

May 9, Friday – Bloody, Black Friday

My new campsite was a rock hard area next to a mammoth herd of ugly RVer’s. (Strange how my psyche can preach it round or preach it square just on where my head rests for the night.) And on this side of the key there wasn’t a smidge of air movement. I was dying from the 85 degree temp and the 85 percent humidity. I remembered the previous night’s attack so I spent the necessary minutes on a search and destroy mission for all things that flew or walked inside my tent. Again peeling off my sweat socked clothes was as far as I got before giving up to slumber. Later in the night I was awaken by strong winds and even though the rainfly was off, it still was hot inside so I unzipped the mosquito netting door next to my head and returned to a fitful sleep. A couple of hours later I awoke with at start: Something was having at it on my leg. My flashlight revealed a tent full of mosquitoes. The wind had dropped and it was open season on Ron’s naked body. After quickly zipping the door back shut I whispered, “Already you thirsty shitheads, you are all going to die.” For the next 35 minutes it was a blood bath. They could run but they couldn’t hide. The inter wall of my nylon tent is now the artist tapestry of blood streaked smashed bodies of dozens of mosquitoes. Balanced by red mosquito bit swelling all over my body. The tent wall blood smears are a monument from the night of hell on Bahia Honda. Before dawn I was on the road to Tamarac.
On my return reunion with SneeOosh in Tamarac, I wanted to see the downtown Miami skyline so I took Route 1 and Interstate 95 past stacks of high rises. Beach? What beach? All I caught a glimpse of were canyons and buildings- no water. What a shame to isolate your beauty. We Americans tend to do that. Look at our cities; Miami is not alone.
It was a joy to drive the last hour with the A/C on in the Jetta. I backed the VW up to Snee Oosh and started rounding up the gear to return it to the mother ship. I was not prepared for what awaited me. Snee Oosh had $45 worth of season’ s greetings from the local police department. Unbeknownst to Alix, me and the section president, this charming golfing community had an ordinance that no RV’s are allowed to park in a resident’s driveway. In their rush to be a perfect community and the fear of losing control, they made rigid rules with not flexibility. If a resident has a friend driving a RV who would like to visit a few days, the answer is no. Or as one policeman that I spoke to at the police station, “They could park at WalMart … Come to think of it, they’d probably get a parking citation there, too.” So I filled out a report contesting the citations and said goodbye at 5:30 and left Tamarac. What started out as a trip up the keys to Miami turned into a bust and I was on the road again. I found a safe harbor in the form of a little known state park called Jonathan Hickinson that still did reservations by hand. I was home.
But the major thing that went un-noticed that day was that Side Two of Ron’s Circle Tour had been completed and for the first time I would be heading north instead of south or east. I had been to the to outer corner and now was tickling the Eastern Seaboard.

May 8, Thursday - Tourist Town

I awoke realizing that I needed to stay another day in the Florida Keys so the rangers at the park worked with me extending my visit for one more night. However I had to move from the ocean side to the bay side of the island. In other words from the windward to the leeward side which is very important when it comes to no-see-ums and mosquitoes. I would deal with it when it happened.
As I drove south to the tip of the Florida Keys,I past the second BSA Sea Base called Briton on the ocean side I stopped in and spoke to Lenny, the head of maintenance of the base. The base had a fleet of about seven vessels of which most were for fishing. The campus is made up of about seven buildings built up on stilts. Much of the under-building spaces were used for storage and shower facilities. Lenny was working on Hawaii canoes used to paddle out the four miles to the 110 acre island. What surprised me was that the canoes didn’t use an outrigger for stability but two canoes are leashed together to provide a total of eight paddlers. Once the base used double kayaks but weak paddlers couldn’t make it.
When I asked about hurricanes, Lenny said that the whole base could be shut down in twenty minutes. I questioned the speed and Lenny answered that they had to close down and evacuate five times in one recent hurricane season.
One of the staff came by and when he heard that I was with the northwest sea scouts, he said in the two years he has been on base only one sea scout ship had come through. The rest of the youth have been High Adventure Boy Scouts looking for fishing, sailing or scuba diving in the Keys.

Where did all the people come from? Key West was the most tourist impacted city I have ever seen. Could it be the 2,000 passenger ship tied up on the waterfront along with mega yachts with anchors that you could see your reflection in. Or could it be the jets landing every hour?
I found Mile Marker “0” and with a tip of my hat walked on. The tourist traps on Duvall Street were in full swing and I caved into a few: Sloppy Joe’s for a drink at Hemmingway’s old watering hole and a clothing store. I had been seen the sport fishermen wear a very comfortable looking shirt and when I saw one on display with SALE written on it, I went inside. When I asked about the price on the shirt, he said it had been $60 marked down to $40. I asked if he would accept $30. “No!” Pause, then “Just a minute.” He came back and said, “OK.” Nice shirt. I hope no one asks me how the fishing was. After a couple of hours of Old Town, I couldn’t get out of there faster.
Back at the park I asked about a place to eat: Key Fisheries on the other side of the Seven Mile Bridge. I slid into the dockside place for an early supper. And the place was authentic. Fishing boats, lobster traps, supplies and a small restaurant with the daily catch. I ordered up their famous Reuben Lobster Sandwich and because it was slow, the woman that took my order talked awhile. She was like everyone else – from somewhere other than the keys (in this case Tennessee). She had been in Marathon for 12 years but had said everything changed in 2005. That’s when everyone got greedy with the outlandish prices for property and houses. Many folks cashed in their places and left leaving poor folks like herself behind. Florida has been ground zero for the housing mortgage bust. Vestiges still remained with billboards blaring out “NO DOWN, NO CLOSING COSTS” and “NO CREDIT? NO PROBLEM!” The house of cards started its collapse right here with this type of greed. And Stern Bear, the banking giant that promoted this reckless offering to under qualified buyers, asked the federal government (you and me) to bail them out.
But I was helping out the local economy by pigging out on my local lobster sandwich while Ruddy Turnstones walked between my feet.
Party on.

May 7, Wednesday SHARK

At noon I piled onto the Snorkel Express with 60 other folks and settled in for the 45 minute ride out to Loos Key Reef, 3 and a half miles out from the chain of islands. The opportunity came up to discuss politics with my group of snorkelers as we pushed through the water. The conversation started something like, “Did anyone heard about the out come for the Indiana and North Caroline primaries?” In fact it could have been me that posed the question. What ensued was a hearty exchange between me (Obama) and the others (Clinton). God, I love this trip!!
Loos Key Reef is a national marine sanctuary. It had mooring buoys already in place so no anchor damage need to be done. The dive master gave all of us excellent instructions and laid out the boundaries where we could swim marked off by mooring buoys and depth. He stressed that there was to be absolutely no touching or standing on anything and let us leave the ship like penguins leaving an ice floe. Just as I was about to launch he yelled at me, “Swimmer, watch the jellyfish. Do not come near it!! It has tentacles 50 feet long.” It was a Portuguese Man-of-War” I judged the drift of the creature and decided to chance it and dove in and swam hard until I was out of danger. Nice start.
We had an hour and a half in the water and it just flew for me. I felt inadequate in my fish identification but it didn’t stop me from enjoying some of the best snorkeling that I have ever done. Angel fish, barracuda, parrot fish and shark. He just glided by underneath me and I was surprised by my reaction- none. Maybe it was because I was a shade larger than he was. He was one of three that I saw during my snorkeling. It was a great trip with interesting people.
Last night it was so hot I just collapsed onto my sleeping pad and fell asleep with no clothes on. At 2 I was awakened not by the need to go pee but something biting me. Mosquitoes having a midnight snack. I had forgotten to do an insect inspection inside the tent before I had fallen asleep so I immediately remedy the situation.
Not having the mother ship and forcing me to sleep in a tent on the ground and requiring my nightly trek to the toilet, put a whole different slant on my experience. As soon as I emerged from the tent I was stunned by the forgotten clarity of the tropical night sky. The walk in the darkness to the restroom was an experience lost when RVing. Another experience lost if one is inside an RV, is observing “the hunt.” Show me any florescent light in the tropical climate and I will show you a gecko community hard at work harvesting the insect life drawn to the lights. I could have stood there for a good hour watching the drama but I had to pee.

May 6, Tuesday – To the source

After a day of relaxing, I was on the go again but this time with just the land dinghy and my tent and Therma-rest mattress to find Mile Marker “0” for Route 1. As I headed south for the last time, I stopped at Homestead at a produce stand highly recommended by Sue and Murray’s friends called “Robert is Here”. “Best smoothies in Florida” Not being a smoothie expert other than myself, it was a bit of all right.
As I traveled out onto the long chain of islands that makeup the Florida Keys I caught my breath because visions of Fiji came flowing in. The sub tropical environment had me in rapture. This was way cool driving from one set of islands to the next. Paralleling the highway was the old early century railroad that had been constructed to bring goods in from Cuba. When hurricanes proved too much for the system, the state took over and converted it into a highway. When the highway started falling into the sea in the 1970’s it was abandoned for a new series of bridges. So as you drove the 110 miles your companions were the high power poles and the old train/highway bridges so if you ever got spooked about being “over the sea” just look to the side and there were these two features to assure that you were not alone.
I made two important stops before my campground on Bahia Honda Key; the first and perhaps the most important The Wrecks Sports Bar and Grill. Being a good tourist I couldn’t find it so I asked a fireman climbing out of his fire truck (no fire) where it was located. I was informed that it was call THE Wreck and where it stood. THE Wreck was one of the thousand bars along the Over-the-Sea Highway, but Rick and Alix said to check it out. Sitting on a bar stool I ordered the conch fritters. If there ever was a pennant printed, it was stapled to the establishment’s ceiling. The radio was blaring out moldy oldies and someone yelled for Linda to fix the reception. “Linda” walked into the kitchen re-arranged the antenna wire and when the sound was clear, taped them into place. My plate of conch fritters arrived and Linda sauntered on by. We struck up a conversation that last 45 minutes. She had owned a restaurant near Miami and sold it. This was more to her liking. When she heard what I was doing, she asked what was the highlight of my journey. I said, “Talking to people like you.” We both lamented the loss of “local”. First it was the cities and now even the smallest towns have the national chains that look stamped out of the same mould, local architecture be damned. Even now the local dialect is becoming smoothed out due to national television. After finishing the delectable conch fritters, my waitress asked if I wanted any thing else. “Key lime pie?”
“Yes.” “Key lime pie.” “Yes.” I was served the largest and best key lime pie that I’ve ever had. “You order these things in?” “No, we make our own right here.”
The second stop of the day was at the Florida Sea Base where I put on my Sea Scout hat, so to speak, and talked shop with Steve Willis, the Program Director. I got an excellent look at a high-powered operation for the National Boy Scouts of America. Back in the early 60’s I had heard of the scout ranch in New Mexico called Philmount. But I didn’t know that Florida Sea Base was their next shining star. They serve 10,000 youth per season.
My key port-of-call was Bahia Honda (Bay Ya’ Honda, Spanish for deep bay – most of the keys have coral reefs that stop deep draft ships from approaching. Bahia Honda was one of the few that had deep water right at the shore.) What a delightful hole-the-wall state park. I got an exceptional tent site on the east side of the key. [Side Bar: In the Katrina Hurricane damage area everything is spoken of as “Pre” or “Post” for anything related to time. In the Florida Keys everything is spoken of as “Bay Side” or “Ocean Side” in relation to directions and locations.] The ocean side site was within 150 yards of the Atlantic Ocean. Sweet. When I was checking, an ad in the park brochure listed snorkel tours as one of the attractions. Next thing I know I’m signing up at the concession stand for a snorkel trip the next day at noon.
This whole trip down the Florida Keys was to stand at mile marker “0” for Route #1 in Key West and be the farthest away from La Conner, Washington that I could get. Also I wanted to follow Routine 1 all the way up through Maine in the months to come. I shall stand at this “zero” point.

May 4, Sunday – Across

Again it was an early haul up the anchor before the rest of the inhabits were stirring and out onto the freeway. Because it was Sunday morning, traffic was tolerable. The truckers seemed to be taking a day of rest. I had made the decision yesterday to not take the interstate (Alligator Alley) but to drop down to old highway number 41. It was basically deserted. Interesting country, low land, wet swamps, dry swamps and burns here and there. Careless cigarette smokers?? An hour and a half into the Everglades I stopped at a National Park Visitor Center and attended an excellent movie. Dry lightning strikes – natural burns; part of the lifelong ecology of the area. All these waters are moving at glacier’s pace to the sea. Because of the sluggishness of the water, it supports an abundance of wildlife. It serves as a nursery for a broadband of creatures. Again the native population drew my attention but I failed to act on it as I drove by places of interest.
Getting around Miami was the usual. I write out my directions before I start the rig so when panic time hits, I’ve got my cheat sheet. I had one slip-up this time with the freeways and turnpikes entering and leaving but I finally pulled into the golfing community of Woodlands in the suburb of Tamarac. Everywhere you looked there were fenced in golfing communities and this one was no different with the greens and the twisting streets. I backed into Alix Foster’s mom’s house driveway and shut everything down. It was nice to know that I was here for a few days. I had some housekeeping chores to do so googling Lowe’s showed me on a map that there was one located eight minutes from where I had dropped anchor. A quick trip in the Jetta and back made me content. Best of all I had made it safely across Florida without hitting anyone or anything (alligators)
Before leaving La Conner Alix said that I could stay at her mom’s house in the suburb of Miami called Tamarac. With great appreciation I took her up on the invitation. Because there would be no one at the house, arrangements were made with the Woodland Golf Community section president about my checking in with him upon my arrival. Checking in with him was no problem because his house was directly across the street from where I was staying. We chatted and he asked how long would I be staying. I told him the earliest that I would leave would be Friday, May 9th and the latest would be Saturday, May 10th. I also told him that was going to leave my RV at the house and take my small tow vehicle down to the Florida Keys for a few days to save on gas money. I noticed that several screens had been blown out of the porch at the back of the house and was able to fix one. I notified the folks back in La Conner about the situation and volunteered to try to fix the others upon my return from the keys.
Woodlawn community is a huge complex but was just one of many “golfing communities” in Tamarac. I settled into the neighborhood.

America

Our Nation’s Symbol
The BeautY canNOT Fly. The FeatherS have been Chopped OFF.

May 3, Saturday, Glad, Sad, Tied

At the opening hour I was at the state park. The history of the place was that once upon a time it was a private park with both native and exotic animals in pens. The park system purchased it and got rid of the exotic animals and an enlarged the pens. The focus was changed from animal entertainment to animal education. The manatees were a surprise for me. They were as large as an entrance door to a mansion and weigh 800 pounds.. The park is also a center for manatee research and rehab of wounded animals. They had also constructed an underwater viewing room located directly over the spring that fed the river. While walking the park, I saw pontoon boats with families out in the slow moving river. Someone spotted a manatee and the boats stopped. People put on masks and snorkels and into the water they went. The manatees are not fearful of humans (since Americans are now in an obesity crisis, maybe they think we’re just one of them.) They would gather around and dive and swim with this sea mammal.
I also got to see many other animals up close because they were penned up. But as always there is a great sadness to see them caught and inside an enclosure. The one “display” that made me totally retch was the one with two bald eagles. Coming from a land that where these beauties are free to soar I was horrified to see their primary wing feathers trimmed so they were earthbound. They looked at a loss. And someone in their infinite wisdom hung an American flag on the backdrop of their pen. This was like having a starving, anemic child on display with an “American, the Beautiful” posted behind it. Sad, so incredibly sad.
My driving enjoyment of going along the coast and touring through small towns came slamming to a stop when I merged onto Interstate 75. I had left the interstate system at milepost 12 so was not acquainted with the Florida freeway driver. For the lack of a more original description, they suck. Speed limit 70. Driver cruising speed 80 mph. Tailgating is a must plus cutting off the driver in front. I was trying to decide whether to take I-75 (Alligator Alley) across the Everglades or to drop further south and take Highway 41 (Tamiami Trail) across the same region. After 15 minutes on I-75, I had my answer.
Traveling on the weekend is bad news. Every state park is filled. Without a reservation (needed 24 hours in advance) there’s no chance of getting in. I tried six parks on the phone and all were booked. I was getting exhausted and needed to stop so just randomly pick an RV park on one of the “services” freeway signs and pulled off for Riverside RV Park near Port Charlotte on a chance that I could get in. (I had already been turned away at a state park) The office was closed but someone was inside. She let me in. Yes, they had room. Yes, I could stay. (I could feel that cold beer in my hand, I was so happy.) Price? $42. Say, What? … But in 3,400 miles of travel I’ve never paid over $25. Okay, $38. How many are there of you? Just me. Okay, $30. Thank you, thank you.
The place was huge; it was a manicured city with 265 slots. It had fishing piers on the Peace River and lagoons with fountains. What a layout. And as at the previous RV park 80% of what I saw were permanent setups. I do not understand.

May 2, Friday, The Forgotten Coast (Thanks, Alix & Rick)

When Interstate 10 was pushed through to the east much of the Florida panhandle and the northern gulf coast was left without the wandering traveler. Highway 98 parallels the coast mile after mile and I had it all to myself. Now this is the type of American driving I love. At Homoassa Springs (Native American for “where the wild pepper grows”) I found a delightful RV park-trailer park on the Hall River. I was amazed at the number of 5th wheels and RV that were set up permanently with flower plantings and lawn art. Is this the escape place for the urbanites? Near by the park was a Florida State Park Wildlife Park, which I wanted to check out in the morning.
I think I solved the dead battery problem. The most difficult part of traveling in this rig is making sure that the VW steering wheel is not locked so it can "trailer track" behind the RV. If the steering wheel is locked (which I've done for a whole day of traveling), the RV will pull right through it so the locked front wheels skid through turns. When doing freeway driving this is not a major problem due to the gentle road curves but off freeway, it causes the wheels to wear. To unlock the steerage you have to turn the ignition switch one click, BUT that "click" is very hard to sense. The day the battery died I had started out and noticed in the rear view mirror that the Jetta wheels were not tracking. I was pissed because I had checked it closely (due to the sensitivity of the situation) before I started out. So I went back and turned the key until I heard a click. The problem was that I turned it too far and had all the dashboard lights on, etc, and over two days (I didn’t disconnect over night) wore the battery down to zero.

May 1, Thursday – Slow day

Hanging out (Photo of red fire ant bits on my foot)

May 1, Thursday May Day and Steinbeck

“Trucks as long as freighters went roaring by, delivering a wind like the blow of a fist. These great roads are wonderful for moving goods but not for inspection of a countryside. You are bound to the wheel and your eyes to the car ahead and to the rear-view mirror for the car behind and the side mirror for the car or truck about to pass and at the same time you must read all the signs for fear you may miss some instructions or orders. No roadside stands selling squash juice, no antique stores, no farm products or factory outlets. When we get these thruways [interstates] across the whole country, as we will and must, it will be possible to drive from New York to California without seeing a single thing.” Travels with Charlie, John Steinbeck, 1961 (thanks, Caitlin)