Travelog Nov 9 2004= letters\trip04au.txt
This year I enjoyed a wonderful motorcycle trip for about ten weeks starting in mid-August. I saw several friends; three elderly aunts; four cousins; my sister; my nephew and his family; and a sister-in-law. The farthest north & west was Minneapolis; the coldest was 28 degrees one morning in northern Iowa; and I passed through only fifteen states. I met a few new genealogy cousins and contacts. The new people I met are true gems: Harry Long gave me USGS topological maps of area near New Market, Virginia with all the original land patents traced onto them; Bettis Rainsford is a lawyer interested in the Revolutionary War and told me additional details about Lawrence Rambo in Edgefield, South Carolina; and cousin Sharon Bell blew up an air mattress so I could sleep on her balcony overlooking the moonlight ocean breakers under beautiful stars in Hilton Head, SC.
This particular trip started with a phone call from my "new" buddy, Lee Baumberger of Dover, Ohio. It seems that Lee and his girlfriend Tammy had been "cold" too long this August in Ohio (!) and had decided that the Florida Keys sounded warmer and accessible, especially since I was living there keeping my buddy Bill company. Lee called about 1pm one day to see if I was there; called again about 4pm to say he was leaving; and showed up on Big Pine Key 20 hours later. He complained bitterly that I had given him bad directions since the street sign across from Bill's reads 16th street and I had told him 17th. Fortunately he has a cell phone and called to complain even as he drove around nearby, so I was able to walk out the 100 yards to Key Deer Boulevard and listen for the sound of his voice.
Usually I can determine dates and places by consulting the receipts I keep for everything I buy, and in this case, the approximate date is August 11th - the date I bought a citronella candle for Lee & Tammy. Mosquitoes are bad in the Keys and this year in August I was finding (and killing) several inside my tent every morning when I awoke. Lee and Tammy slept in his van parked in Bill's driveway and the mosquitoes made their first night miserable. The heat was partially responsible as night time lows were above 80 degrees. Thereafter Lee burned the citronella candle every evening for an hour before going to bed and the mosquitoes stayed away. Those 80+ degree nights were a little too warm, even for Lee & Tammy.
Sunday, Aug 15th
After a quick week of sunshine and surf which included a day in the sun at the beach in Baja Honda State Park and a day shopping in Key West; pizza at Boondocks and a meal at the No-Name Pub (wallpapered by dollars stapled to every surface); Lee offered to shove my motorcycle into the van and take me back to Ohio with them. I've been saying ever since that I was kidnapped. In fact, I was ready to leave the Keys anyway to get some decent sleep. I had been ill-rested for months due to those overwarm nights. In the two preceeding months, the temperature may have dropped as low as 78 degrees once or twice overnight. Ditto for the next six weeks. Way too hot for this little chronic hypothermic. No ... sleeping in air conditioning does not work for me ... I sleep best in fresh air.
The trip back to Ohio was slower since I don't drive at night quite as fast as Lee does. Lee insisted that we stop to watch the sunset from a Gulfside bar in Islemorada. The bartender said that they don't have poisonwood trees there. Sorry, but there isn't much to describe about driving 22 hours straight with stops only for gas. I guess it might be worth mentioning that I started driving about 60 miles south of Jacksonville after warning Lee & Tammy that I WILL stop to buy Blue Bell ice cream at the Walmart I vividly remember alongside I-95 just north of Jacksonville. The surprise is that I did not see that Walmart even though I was looking for it carefully ... even to the point of driving slower than the speed limit. So I continued driving without awakening them until we got to the Walmart in Savannah, Georgia. (Yes, I am enough of an ice cream nut as to remember these details, but my memory failed me ... there is no Walmart north of Jacksonville.) (My pile of receipts shows that date to be 6am on Monday, August 16th, but it doesn't say which two flavors of Blue Bell pints I bought. Lee drove the rest of the way. By 8:30pm we were in Dover, Ohio where I bought blueberries, bananas, brussels sprouts, and a pint of Ben & Jerrys New York Fudge Chunk.)
Thursday, Aug 19th
My motorcycle had not been starting well for months before this trip, and I found that the points were badly pitted. New points and a condensor at $24.93 helped immeasurably. I enjoyed myself at Lee's, sleeping on the front porch despite the traffic noise; visiting with his help (Jeff & Tom & Joe) in the early mornings; and riding motorcycles around the vicinity with Lee in the evenings. Since the companionship was great; the entertainments amusing and varied; the weather mild and pleasant; and the bachelor accommodation without stress, I felt no need to go elsewhere and applied myself to working on the Rambo genealogy.
Saturday, Aug 21st
Part of the reason I came to Ohio with Lee was to attend his daughter's graduation from Kent State the following weekend. I enjoyed a stimulating conversation with Amy's boyfriend Jay. [I'm now told that they are no longer dating.] Now that I have some small exposure to various sorts of people, it is quite interesting to meet someone who I expect to do well from marketing ideas to entrepenours who will transform those ideas into reality. Walt and Pam also came to Amy's graduation and we all enjoyed lunch at a typical collegiate watering hole. Walter suggested that we go riding together the following Monday, so I volunteered to abandon Lee to stay with Walter & Pam for the remainder of the weekend, even though I was totally unprepared. I had nothing more than the clothes I was wearing, but at least they were my best traveling outfit and they were clean. Seems to me that I was also out of cash and had to borrow $20 from Walter ... I wonder if I ever repaid him.
Sunday, Aug 22nd
Walter was on call and got called in to the hospital early Sunday, so Pam and I took a walk along their country road with Doggie on a leash and explored the newly paved road that will eventually lead to a new, small housing development.
Monday, Aug 23rd
Walter let me ride his "extra" bike, a BMW R1000C cruiser. It is a pretty cream colored bike that handles well. Walter knows all the local vicinity and picked beautiful rural/suburban roads through parks, along watercourses, and into woodlands. It was every bit as delightful as you might imagine. Walt and Pam were debating the possibility of making a long weekend trip to see most of their kids and to ride in the Great Smokey Mountains, so I volunteered to join them. Afterwards I decided that it sounds more exciting to say that they kidnapped me from Lee.
Tuesday, Aug 24th
Walter loaned me the cruiser to return the 100 miles to Lee's. I always like to take the less traveled roads, especially rural Ohio highway 44 between Walter's and Lee's. One advantage of this route is that I can stop for ice cream at the New Baltimore Ice Cream Shop. Actually, the shop in New Baltimore was closed when I arrived there at 11am, so I took back roads toward Hartville where the Village Bear Creamery has delicious ice cream ... and was surprised to come upon a second New Baltimore Ice Cream Shop en route. This was part of a miniature golf course and some small part of a group of about a thousand kids were in line before me. Although I never expressed my impatience, it was irritating to see yet another three kids come off the golf course to get their ice creams again and again while I cooled my heels waiting for all the kids in the outing to be served. On the other hand, it was amusing to watch the various kids experiencing both eagerness and indecison simultaneously, interesting that some want to know the limits and others wanna make a deal. The cruiser doesn't have a windshield, so it was less fun to ride than my old 1973 R75/5. I vaguely remember some other glitch unexpected in a new bike, perhaps an acceleration hesitation or a low speed wobble or maybe a shift glitch.
My goodness, this is going to be a long travelog. A lot of activity was packed into these ten weeks.
Wednesday, Aug 25th
I have a receipt from Baltic Mills, an Amish mill run by Alvin and Esther Miller. The ride from Lee's to Baltic, Ohio is very rural and pleasant, and the prices at Baltic Mills are very reasonable, so I always stock up on my nuts & seeds there. (I think I'll send them a postcard to see if they will mail me a package; phone 330-897-0522)
Friday, Aug 27th
Lee and I enjoyed another few scenic rides until Friday afternoon when Walt & Pam arrived with his R1200GS strapped onto his new, huge motorcycle trailer. We loaded my tired, old R75/5 and luggage on beside it and crammed me into the rear seat and off we went to Charlotte, North Carolina to help Walter's daughter, Sevy, move in from the D.C. area. The surprise for me was that Walter's son, Glenn, and his wife, Jill, were also there helping as was their daughter, ??. It was quite a treat to see them all doing well, especially since they are young and active and had already unloaded most of the U-Haul. There were only about two big objects left for more muscle to help move. That evening, Lee's daughter, Amy, showed up with a couple of college friends in time to join us at a restaurant. With all those tired visitors, Sevy's apartment was rather full, and I was quite happy to find a lovely spot to sleep out that night under the stars a couple of hundred yards from the building ... almost a minature pasture beside a brook, an oasis surrounded by multi-story apartment buildings. It wouldn't do to be spotted there by any early risers from their apartment balconies, so I arose at the first signs of dawn.
Saturday, Aug 28th
Walter was also up early, so we made a shopping run for coffee, bagels, and hardware while everyone else slept. Immediately after breakfast, we were back on the road towards Jacksonville, Florida. Pam's son, Jamie, agreed to meet us there to effect a transfer of his computer & TV. He got hung up in traffic, so the exchange occurred at a Cracker Barrel restaurant about 50 miles further south. Jamie and his buddy got a good meal along with the household items. This being the weekend before the start of classes in Fort Myers, the kids had decided upon a road trip to check out the beaches in Ft. Lauderdale. Jamie looked good and was very excited that he had met Shaquelle O'Neal the evening before. He repeated over and over that Shaq is huge. He shook Jamie's hand and his grip simply engulfed Jamie's.
That done, Walter turned us around and drove the rest of the way back to North Carolina to Ironhorse.com motorcycle camping and lodge west of Fontana Village at the foot of the infamous Dragon's Tail - also known as Deal's Gap or old U.S. Highway 129. This road claims 316 turns in 11 miles in Tennessee, and it is a very nice motorcycling challenge. In the last miles approaching Ironhorse.com, I noticed several spots to investigate for my preferred free outdoor sleeping accommodation, so I stayed at the campground until well after dark. Walter is a planner, and contends that planning trips is half the fun. Despite his exhaustion, he stayed up another couple of hours planning our next day's ride and programming the "way points" into his GPS. When he finished and was ready to stagger off to bed, I discovered that my bike's battery no longer started the bike. Fortunately I was still able to push start the bike off any hill ... and that was how I started the bike for the rest of our time in the Smokies.
[For the mechanics among you, I later determined that the battery was simply too old to hold a charge. In preparation for this trip I had continued to do motorcycle maintenance and had overfilled the battery with water a day or two earlier. No, I did not intentionally overfill the battery, but it does not sit level in the bike and the fill lines are useless. However, there are long "splash tubes" that extend down into the battery, and appear to extend to the level of the fill lines. Later, when I took the battery out of the bike, I discovered that I had overfilled it significantly.]
Walt and Pam slept in the cabin at the campground, but I found a lovely homesite (for sale) on a hill overlooking a pretty little lake. The rather steep driveway up to the homesite was overgrown and little used, so I felt that this was the perfect hideaway and slept beautifully under the stars. However dawn revealed a fleet of broken-down houseboats moored in a nearer cove which ruined the scenic appeal. I rode back to the campground and waited on the porch of the cabin until Walter surprised me by returning from the Lodge ... up early as usual. Maybe Walter can tell me the roads we took and the sights we saw during those two delightful days. I do remember riding Deal's Gap twice - the road surface is very smooth and the turns nicely banked. Obviously the state of Tennessee has realized that modern motorcyclists bring money just like other tourists.
The owners of the lronhorse lodge were pleasant to me despite knowing that I was not staying there. Two of their customers were memorable. Ara is a professional chef who cooks individual meals for very rich clients in Naples, Florida for six months every year. He then rides his BMW GS motorcycle the other six months. Ara was very entertaining, unconventional, philosophical, and witty besides having an European accent. I believe that Debbie was the name of the other memorable customer. She rode her Harley from Ohio alone, rebuilds her own vehicles, and is a very down-to-earth girl.
By coincidence on the second afternoon, Walter, Pam and I came to the northern end of the Deal's Gap mere seconds behind the group from the campground including Ara & Debbie. We all stopped and chatted at a scenic view of the river, and I hustled up to follow Ara and Debbie as we left. We rode along at a pleasant, fast clip until we caught up to another Harley riding two up and proceeding far too slowly. By this time I had seen Debbie go into a turn too shallow once and scrape her floorboards, so when Ara suddenly passed the first Harley coming out of a turn, I passed Debbie first going into the turn and the second Harley immediately after coming out ... which placed me directly behind Ara for all of five minutes. Over the next 50 turns I was slowly losing ground until suddenly Ara simply disappeared. Fooey. I decided that he had overpowered me on an uphill stretch of slight turns. Once the disappointment faded and I realized that there was no hope of catching him, I slowed down to wait for Debbie. She soon caught up and I proceeded to try to lead her into better lines through the corners.
The closest town was Bryson City, North Carolina where Walt & Pam ate dinner one evening. I just watched since I adhere rigorously to my diet unless exceptional ice cream is available. As we left town we rode by the old steam railroad station and I was suddenly struck by the enormous coincidence that this was the new home of Jack Moberg's Lionel model train collection. I wasn't able to stay that day, but did visit the museum on Sept. 1st. It was quite a treat to see the large and beautiful new facility, with lots of room, a much bigger layout, and even a separate room for the "Moberg Collection." Jack and Alice would be pleased. The owners were delightfully pleasant and were interested to have a recent update about the Mobergs. (Jack's layout was not as large, nor was the scenery as "finished," but his operation was much more interesting to watch with much, much more activity than this new one.) Tim Cooper at www.smokymtntrains.com
Our riding vacation ended far too soon. Fun, fun, fun. We packed up the motorcycles onto the trailer in the early morning, and Walter resumed marathon driving behavior. We phoned Lee en route to let him know that he could ignore any midnight commotion at his house when we exchanged me & my bike for Walter's 1000C cruiser. Walter drove the entire return trip and looked awfully tired by midnight, but assured me that he was fine to continue for another hour back to Cleveland.
Again, maybe Walter and Pam can fill in a few dates & details for me.
Saturday, Sep 11
I have another receipt from Baltic Mills. Lee has lived in the Dover/ New Philadelphia area most of his life and knows nearly everyone within a 30 mile radius. He's also been in the carpet business even longer and is known for good work and cheap prices, so it is interesting to go with him when he measures houses prior to ordering carpet. This was probably one of those trips, to measure a family room for a sister of a friend of Lee's sister, which friend I had met recently at Bill and Cheryl's country cabin cookout.
Lee and I rode most evenings until one day my bike's tappets became loud quickly. Since I had adjusted the valve clearances before the trip with Walter, I imagined that I hadn't tightened one of the lock nuts tight enough. Since my priority was the Rambo book, I ignored the motorcycle problem, especially since Lee had a couple of spare Honda 750s in his stable. We got the Hondas out and I tested both. One missed radically at higher revs, and the other worked "beautifully" except for the starter and turn signals. Whenever Lee wanted to go riding, I could put miles on his "good" Honda. (You meet the nicest people on a Honda.) Incidentally I must say that Lee's riding style has changed radically since he traded his Harley in for a BMW GS. In the past when Lee was riding a Harley, I had all the time in the world to gawk at the scenery and float leisurely through the turns. Now that Lee is riding a Beemer, I have to pay much more attention to the road and even find myself pushing to keep pace through tighter turns. On the Honda, all these problems were magnified since it was unfamiliar to me and because I expected it to fail at any moment.
Most of every day was still spent typing Rambo genealogy diligently until I actually finished data entry entirely. Hurrah! Now I can start to reclaim my life.
Saturday, Sep 18th
After finishing data entry, the next most important project was motorcycle maintenance (the Zen-less variety). When I opened up the valve covers I expected to find a loose nut, but instead found a broken pushrod. The local BMW shop had recently moved and couldn't find any old-style pushrods. They recommended Re-Psycle, a used BMW parts place that does mail order business. I called and ordered two (2) pushrods at a very reasonable price ($30) so that I'd have a spare. Five days later the pushrods arrived and I was able to replace the broken one and continue motorcycle maintenance. Lee's brother-in-law, Bill, had an old spare battery sitting on a shelf that he seemed happy to let me have although he wouldn't take any money for it. Jeff drove me over to a neighboring town where the welder expertly repaired my broken fairing mounts. [As I pondered the unusual broken pushrod, I realized the it might be a by-product of all that push starting. The times I didn't have enough momentum to start the bike, it would sometimes come to a bucking stop. I imagine that was hard on the pushrods.] (Re-Psycle, www.re-psycle.com, 614-837-1160, 240 W. Columbus St.; Lithopolis, OH 43136-0359.)
Saturday, Sep 25th
As I left Dover, I decided to drop off some English motorcycle magazines (thanks John) at Gene's BMW shop there. It amuses me to show the guys my bike fully loaded for endless travel. One of the mechanics commented that I could use a new tire. I cheerfully countered that I expected it to get me to Minneapolis and back. My receipts show that I also stocked up at Baltic Mills one last time on Sept 25th. Baltic is conveniently located only 6 miles off Ohio route 39 that I enjoy riding towards the northwest from Lee's. Route 39 is a pleasant, bucolic road through Amish country and similar croplands.
Lee recommended that I drive straight through Mansfield on my way to Van Wert, so I did. Soon after ignoring my normal detour, traffic became more annoying as the road turned into a truck route in an industrial city without relief. Then there were stop lights and the town square to circumnavigate with more traffic and tardy turn lane signs and ... And all that activity requires focusing attention to the roadway while excluding the scenery. What a waste! My pastoral detour on the smaller roads south of Mansfield is scenic, peaceful and very pleasant besides avoiding all that traffic. True the detour is confusing and I need written directions: turn south on Ohio highway 3 just north of Loudenville. Follow Ohio 97 northwest past the Clark Fork Reservoir to Bucyrus, Ohio.
My favorite route towards Van Wert from the east is old U.S. Highway 30. It doesn't suffer from over-use and has remained a lightly travelled, pleasantly rural route, and an enjoyable ride. I decided that it would be fun to surprise Gloria by dropping in at the Genealogical Society Building in Kenton. (Never mind that I had no idea whether it would even be open.) The detour south along Ohio highway 67 towards Kenton was also pleasant, rural, and much shorter than expected.
I rode into Kenton, expecting to surprise Gloria, but instead I was greatly surprised that the building was closed, locked up tight, and the sign was gone. Wow! It was unimaginable that the society had dissolved, but the building had seemed like a "permanent home" so I rode out of town disoriented and confused.
I returned to U.S. 30 by riding northward on Ohio route 235 through Ada. Ada is where Jim & Gloria grew up and I always think pleasant thoughts while riding through that small town. For the next 40 miles to Van Wert, I wondered what on earth could have happened to cause the Hardin County Genealogy Society to close. At Jim & Gloria's house no one was home, but it seemed inhabited as formerly. The RV park had also changed radically, not for better. The entrance kiosk had disappeared, signage changed, and worst, the substantial surrounding woods had been decimated. The previous feeling of shelter and privacy promoted by the woods had vanished. Their trailer was in the same spot in the RV park, the sign still announced "Motters," but no one was home.
This was one totally disorienting return. Fortunately a neighbor at the RV park told me to check at the house. I returned the mile to their house and knocked, but no one was home. Since my bike was parked out front to announce my presence, I tried the doors and let myself into the house to wait (as previously, emphatically instructed). I didn't wait long until I heard the garage door and walked out to say hi. After our joyful greeting, Gloria and Jim told me the story of the lawyer who donated a building in downtown Kenton to the Genealogical Society ... and about laboring day and night to restore the building to habitable. Indeed the next day we drove to the Genealogical Society building Kenton. It is an old building and they obviously had lots to do to fix it up as nicely as it is. Now they have room to display their entire collection and room to grow. Very nice. My receipts show that I went to eat with Gloria and Jim on Sept. 27th.
I had been calling Bill frequently, and felt that we were maintaining contact even though I was so far away, but it came as a complete surprise one day to find a message on my cell phone from Pat saying that Bill was now in the hospital, that his breathing had become very laboured after taking some DMSA as a chelating agent. I called the hospital and Bill told me to continue my trip, that they were taking good care of him, and that there was no need for my presence. He insisted that I should go to see my relatives as planned since I was so close to them & far from him.
In fact, since it was so warm and pleasant in the early fall, I had decided to risk a northward trip to visit my sister-in-law Carolyn in Minneapolis. Knowing that pleasant weather would likely last longer in northern Indiana, I decided to spend a brief day at the genealogical library in Ft. Wayne, IN, an afternoon with Kenneth and Jewel in Elkhart, IN, and then to proceed to Minneapolis the next day, preferably passing through Chicago around 3am. Afterwards I could visit relatives in Iowa and Illinois and return to northeastern Indiana later in the fall. Now you know the plan, but that isn't the way things happened.
Another surprise awaited me after I rode the familiar highway and streets towards the Allen County Public Library. Two entire blocks were cordoned off and the building was gutted. I had heard that rennovation was planned, but wasn't expecting this. Obviously the collection had moved, but I couldn't find any signs to tell me where. After circling the block, I asked a pedestrian who pointed to an office building three blocks away. There was convenient parking immediately outside the door which made me happy, and I entered the temporary quarters with a feeling of relief. I had heard that the library would have "open stacks", but I was unprepared to see so very many miles of shelving and books. Their genealogy collection contains nearly a million books and magazines, and that is a staggering sight. For half an hour I browsed awestruck through those stacks. When I tarried too long perusing a book selected at browse, a librarian informed me politely that I should take the book to a reading table. Those unfortunately are not conveniently spread throughout the stacks, but are all located in a cluster under the watchful eyes of the staff.
I was immediately hit by the impossibility of my desires. I had far too little time to make even the tiniest dent in my wish list of 80 titles or more. I mentioned this to a librarian I recognized from prior visits and asked how he liked this new arrangement and if the remodeling plans met with his approval. He was enthusiastic and optimistic in regards to both the temporary and permanent situations. As it turns out, the one book I most wanted to review in my limited time was missing pages 5 through 13, pages most important to my interests. I mentioned that to the librarian and left the book with her, Bankston Cousins by Anne Haigler.
I departed from the library at noon and discovered that the trip to Kenneth and Jewel's was going to take longer than I thought. Fortunately I had a good idea of the route since I'd used Mapquest.com for planning. This route took me up old U.S. Highway 33 almost to Elkhart, then around it on Indiana route 15 to Bristol, Indiana, due east of their house. Then I could avoid the city, and approach their house through the countryside on Indiana route 120. Execution of this plan worked beautifully since the route from the east had little traffic and paralleled the scenic St. Joseph River. The only glitch is that I ended up on the south side of the river and their house is on the north side.
It was so very good to see Kenneth and Jewel again. They seem to be holding up well - much better than most 89 and 90-year-olds. They are living at home, taking care of themselves and helping invalid neighbors. We enjoyed a nice visit and reminisced about many things. Kenneth was the third genealogical cousin I ever contacted, and one of the most helpful and motivating. He is an animated talker with lots if interesting stories, so our times together are always enjoyably spent.
I stayed for dinner since their normal meals are in perfect harmony with my self-imposed healthy-heart diet. However towards bedtime I excused myself to travel a few miles before retiring. I've found that I cannot get an early start unless I get on the road and sleep out for the night. It was a chilly ride south on Indiana highway 19 to U.S. 20 west, and I didn't have any particular goal, but decided to look for a place to sleep after I had bypassed South Bend. Indiana Highway 2 narrowed from four lanes to two and I soon discovered a quaint Grange hall where I slept by the sign announcing "Hall for Rent." As always when sleeping anywhere on private property, I walked all around the vicinity to see if I would be noticeable to any passers-by. My chosen spot seemed perfect, especially since I arose before daylight to get moving. This might have been the night I watched a very bright meteor flash across the sky until the head of it actually broke into five visible pieces before disappearing. I found myself waiting to hear a loud BOOM, but it never happened.
Friday, Oct 1st
I didn't have a clock, and consequently arose way too early. I thought I felt rested, and I thought morning traffic was increasing, but I didn't expect to ride for 1/2 hour in total darkness. I usually run through an inventory in my mind as I ride in the early morning about my plans, preparations, and activities. As I was doing this, I suddenly realized that I didn't remember picking up my old groundcloth as I packed. Sure enough, I had ridden off without it. Now it was an old, decrepit, tar-stained cheap blue tarp (thanks Janie), but a replacement would cost $10 or $20 and returning would cost me an hour and $2 in gas. So I returned for the tarp and found it right where I had slept on it. And I realized that I was still very tired. Too bad I couldn't have stayed asleep that extra hour. After packing the tarp I repeated those pleasant miles in the dawn's early twilight.
Now that it was early morning, I decided to avoid the congested Chicago area by a wide detour to the south and west, so I stayed on highway 2 all the way to the Illinois border. I was also a bit nervous about the amount of rubber left on my rear tire. In the darkness it didn't look very thick, so I stopped to check for problems every fifty miles.
As I rode through Kankakee, Illinois I kept my eye out for a motorcycle shop. I had decided that Gene's crew was right and I needed a new tire soon. However, there were no motorcycle shops along Illinois Highway 17. By now, about 8:30 am, daylight was finally fully functional so I stopped in front of Reliable Radiator after passing entirely through town, and examined my tire thoroughly. I was pleased to see that there appeared to be more "meat" on the tire than had appeared in the dark. I pulled the bike back a foot at a time and examined each segment of the tire carefully until I noticed a tiny white line on the final segment. The white line didn't brush off, but rather the black tread lifted away from it. The tire was worn through and I was looking at the tiniest little bit of its innards. This is not good ... but I bet you knew that.
You know that I'm not bashful, and Reliable Radiator had two mechanics on duty and no customers, so of course I asked them if there was a motorcycle shop in town. NO, but there was one in the town 30 miles north toward Chicago. They had a phone book, but when I called the number, it was no longer in service. I figured that I could safely ride the bike up to a couple of hundred miles, but obviously the sooner I replaced the tire the better. Two hundred miles might get me to Madison, Wisconsin, but by then the tire would be dangerously thin. There were no other towns likely to have even a motorcycle shop on my chosen route. It seemed that I might have to ride into Chicago for the tire - a noxious prospect. The guys at Reliable suggested that I go back into Kankakee to talk to the owner of Stevenson Auto Repair who also runs a used car business that occasionally sells used motorcycles. Although he probably didn't have an inventory of tires, he might know a mechanic.
True enough, he didn't have a tire, but sent me out of town a couple of miles onto some local roads in search of a mechanic who runs his shop from his garage, Ray's Engine Repair. When I found him, his shop was indeed a professional, one-man business repleat with two motorcycle lifts and a special motorcycle tire changing machine. Best of all, by luck he had ordered exactly the tire I needed for another customer who had not picked it up. I was very lucky! He finished the work on the Harley on one lift in half an hour, then immediately changed my tire for me before noon. He wasn't cheap, but neither was he expensive. He was professional, thorough, and pleasant; and our conversation was easy and agreeable. Ray likes to restore old Indian motorcycles and had a couple of beautiful examples in his garage. He was planning to leave soon with a couple of buddies to ride to Deal's Gap, so I was able to share my experiences there with him. I was amazed at this stroke of good luck just when I needed it; mechanic AND tire AND exactly when my old tire was wearing through, totally used up. (Ray Cyrier (Ser-e-a) 3922 N. 5000 W. Rd.; Kankakee, IL 60901; 815-939-7894.)
I felt so good about this stroke of luck that I rode back into town to give $10 to the kids at Reliable Radiator and to Mr. Stevenson. (He said he'd use it to buy donuts for the shop tomorrow.)
I rode northward on Illinois Highway 47 nearly to the Wisconsin border, just pleased as punch with my luck. Later in the afternoon I felt the need for lunch, and espied a lovely town park with a lake, picnic tables, nice grounds, and pleasant scenery. I enjoyed my usual breakfast of oats and seeds, wrote a few postcards and sauntered around a bit, thoroughly enjoying the afternoon respite. I have not a clue where that was although it was pretty enough to return.
I resumed riding northward, and soon found myself rapidly approaching very dark and foreboding clouds. I stopped a library to see if I could look up the weather on the internet. Nope, their policy was to allow only their patrons to use the internet computers, but they were nice and did pull up www.weather.com for me so that I could see what the color radar indicated nearby. I crossed into Wisconsin thinking that the skies could open up at any minute and dump buckets of rain on me. I stopped again at the library in Walworth, Wisconsin because the rain clouds looked very threatening indeed. This time the color radar showed that I was surrounded by rain to the north and west with precious little time to avoid it. The librarian was cute and I capitolized on an opportunity to exchange some innocuous flirtation before leaving. Outside I jumped into action because it was already raining and getting my unprotected gear wet.
The librarian had said that there was a motel to the east, so I headed that way, but soon sought shelter as the rain was fairly strong. After it seemed to abate, I tried to proceed again, but soon was getting wet and saw a sheltered picnic table at the far edge of a huge Catholic church parking lot. This time I pulled out my postcards and started writing while waiting more patiently for the rain to stop. It didn't. Finally the light was beginning to fade as darkness approached and I decided that I could sleep here for the night. No one had noticed me. I was not close to the road, so no one would see me after dark and I should be undisturbed until morning. About that time a car pulled into the lot and slowly headed in my direction. It turns out that these were parishioners who had noticed my motorcycle and stopped to see if I needed help. I told them that I had come this direction looking for a motel, but had happened upon this sheltered picnic table just when getting too wet for comfort.
They said that the motel was just across the street from the church ... and confided that it was an expensive motel since this was a resort community on the shores of Lake Geneva. I admitted that I didn't afford expensive motels, so would prefer to sleep right where I was beside the picnic table. They then suggested that I should knock on the side door of the church to see if that arrangement was OK with Father Don. Even though I fully expected Father Don to reject my appeal for permission to sleep under the shelter for the night, I agreed with them and knocked on the door they indicated. After I knocked the second time, Father Don appeared and gave me his permission to spend the night. As a matter of fact, he even said he was glad to be of assistance and delighted that I could make use of the facility. Another pleasant surprise. Thank you Father Don.
That night I slept on the concrete long and comfortably, even though the temperature dropped to 30 degrees and the rain and drizzle continued late into the night. I was surprised in the morning to find that the pavement was damp, but not frozen. By the time the rain stopped and the darkness faded, it was too late to consider taking the river road to Minneapolis. Instead I hopped onto nearby I-90 and continued on I-94 straight into Minneapolis where I stopped at the welcome station to get directions: west on I-94, south on I-35E, west on highway 110, west on highway 55, and left on highway 62 to the 28th Ave. exit. I knocked on the door at 12:10. Carolyn was surprised practically speechless because I was exactly on time. My being on time is not entirely unprecedented, but it is rather unexpected.
For years Carolyn has been insisting that her ten purebred cats are enough and that she cannot accommodate any more, ... so she gave me all the details explaining why she now has 11 cats and might even have another one coming. You see, the cat breeder has become a good friend and stays at Carolyn's house whenever she comes to Minneapolis to the cat shows ... so of course Carolyn goes to the shows too. This breeder had placed a kitten with a couple, but the kitten proved to be difficult, and the couple didn't enjoy it, so the breeder took the kitten back ..and she offered that kitten to Carolyn for free since Carolyn's household full of cats would be perfect for the difficult kitten. Carolyn initially replied that she couldn't handle one more cat, but had gradually convinced herself that it would probably be OK when another cat show came along ... and Carolyn fell in love with the cutest little kitty at the show. The new kitty was the most active and friendly of all eleven during the weekend I visited. It didn't seem like there were 11 cats in the house since I seldom saw more than three or four at once and there were a couple of cats that stayed permanently hidden from me for the entire weekend. Carolyn and I played a couple of board games (I even won a game of "Merchant of Venus"); walked around the neighborhood park across the street; and enjoyed lots of good conversation. The one radical departure from usual is my strict diet ... so Carolyn didn't cook anything and did not buy a tub of ice cream in preparation.
I joined Carolyn going to church on Sunday morning and was very impressed by the minister's message. Their church has a very active missionary program and the African head of the African mission was present. The minister had six members from foreign countries on stage and each repeated the same Bible verse in their native language. It was so strange to hear the familiar verse in English followed by the several unintelligible, radically different repetitions.
Monday, Oct 4th
Carolyn works a swing shift, so we enjoyed more conversation and cats until early afternoon. Although I usually try to get on the road early, I enjoyed believing that an afternoon ride would be much warmer. The overnight temperatures had been near freezing both nights in Minneapolis. My receipts show that I stopped at the Post Office at 2pm on Oct. 4th. I decided to ride the "River Road" along the Mississippi for as long as it pleased me. It pleased me for a long way. I did get confused trying to leave Minneapolis on old U.S. Highway 61, but rejoined that route at Hastings, MN and rode through Red Wing and south along the river. In mid afternoon, as the road skirted Frontenac, Minnesota, I saw about five silver trees. They were large and marvelously beautiful and as silver as if they had been dipped in the shiniest silver paint. It was a wonderous sight and vindicated my choice of route, although next time I believe I'll try riding the river road on the Wisconsin side since it is a smaller road.
I have a note in my outline: pyramids. At this late date, the solitary word pyramids brings nothing to mind. Maybe Carolyn can tell me what that means.
I had expected to see vivid fall colors in Minnesota, but was apparently a bit too early for the fall colors there. Rather than go into Wisconsin, I rode south on Minnesota highway 26 into Iowa; and on Iowa highway 364 through Harpers Ferry; and on highway 76 to highway 340 through Guttenburg, IA. It was quite a surprise to see much better fall colors in Iowa, especially in those few places where the "River Road" actually got close to the river.
I stopped at a grocery to pick up water just before dark, and a motorist in the parking lot told me that a freeze was expected. By the time I was out of town the light had dwindled, making it very difficult to pick out a good place to sleep. I was now traveling on old U.S. Highway 52 and decided to settle for anyplace at all with a good hill to bump start the bike if needed. As I started down a steep hill, I espied a dirt road along a farmer's field that would do. The farmhouse appeared to be out of sight behind a wooded ridge, so I continued a half mile on the highway and doubled back to reconnoiter. Passing headlights did not appear to illuminate the dirt road, so I turned onto it uphill for only about a hundred yards until it took a sudden roller-coaster dip. Since my battery was still an untested unknown, I stopped before the dip. I like to be farther from the highway, so I parked and walked back to and along the highway. As each vehicle passed, I scrutinized the hillside for a telltale reflection or view of the motorcycle. It was all but invisible from the highway, so I was ready for bed. The stars that evening were very bright, crystal clear and lovely.
Tuesday, Oct 5th
28 degrees was forecast, and indeed I woke up covered with thick frost in the morning. I packed before sunrise, the motorcycle started without undue problem, and I was moving as the sun peeked above the horizon. That was one cold start to the day. It convinced me that I'd gone far enough north and far enough westward for this year.
As I rode the river road that morning, one particular highway sign was memorable. It was thickly coated with frost, but backlit by the bright morning sun, and steaming. Envision this again: bright morning sun - eclipsed by a frosted road sign - which is steaming briskly. It is one of those rare moments of ironic beauty. I decided that the river road was pleasant and enjoyable, so continued south of Dubuque on U.S. Highways 52 and 67.
In places, the entire Mississippi valley was a huge bowl filled with fog. I kept dreading the time that must be coming when this "river road" would descend down the bluffs into that cauldron of impenetrable mists. One of the ironies of this "river road" is that it seldom descends close to the river. In fact you seldom see the river from the road. It is another of those peculiar misnomers rife in modern times. The river road parallels the river on the bluffs safely away from the hazards of the river. There are smaller roads that would afford frequent, closer views of the river, but those roads would be forced to close during high water, so they are not improved and not the thorofare.
It was a very chilly ride, so I was quite happy to stop for breakfast at a lovely little riverside park in Bellevue, Iowa. There is a dam below the park that creates a wide flat lake beside the park. The sunshine was bright and warm, so I unpacked my frosty sleeping bag and hung it out to dry. I took my time eating oats and watching the fog swirl and melt and lift. It was most interesting because the fog had completely lifted at the park but was still hanging over the river to the north of the park. The sunshine was warm and welcome and very nice. My sleeping gear dried completely, so I repacked it all and started moving again. It was very cool, but I wanted to continue on the river road and get to Davenport and Bettendorf to visit Aunt Jeannie before noon.
Gene and Jeannie had mentioned Capt. Rambo and the town of Le Claire, Iowa previously, so when I passed the sign announcing Le Claire city limits, I decided to stop at the library to see if they had anything of interest about riverboat Capt. Rambo. The librarian was very nice, but told me that everything of that nature would be at the historical museum on the riverbanks. I didn't want to spend much more than an hour in Le Claire and the museum had an entrance fee of $5, so I decided to stop there another day when I was willing to spend more time.
Thanks to the cell phone, Gene was expecting me, and we were able to go straight to the hospital to visit Jeannie. Her health has been a problem for years, and now the cumidin she needs for her heart had caused caused part of her intestine to hemmorhage. The doctors had operated and removed 18 inches of her large intestine. She looked very frail at 85 pounds, but was happy to see us. That evening Gene called his son, Mike, and treated us to dinner: me, Mike, and Mike's daughter, Stephanie. 14-year-old Stephanie had to endure quite a constant shower of concerned parental disapprobation and advice about her current 17-year-old boyfriend. "After all, boys are only after one thing." I spent the night comfortably warm in Gene's side yard where the motorcycle was also parked.
Wednesday Oct 6th
Again thanks to the cell phone, my sister, Carol, was aware that I was at Jeannie's and was informed that Jeannie was in the hospital. Carol had visited a couple of more-distant Iowa relatives on a picture-finding mission, but finished up her picture scanning in time to drive four hours to Bettendorf to meet me at Gene's. I delayed my departure and enjoyed visiting with Carol and Jeannie at the hospital. Carol had reservations to stay that evening at the Hotel Manning in Keosauqua, so we headed south just before dark.
As I led Carol out of Bettendorf I lost my way and improvised to get back to the parkway along the Mississippi River through Davenport. There was so much to see. The river was a huge expanse to the left as the roadway curved through a miles-long semicircle. The magnificent old mansions and estates were to the right upslope above us. And of course the traffic was heavy and fast and demanded attention. I promised myself to ride that stretch of the river at dawn some weekend morning to see the scenery without all the traffic.
I had intended to find a nice quiet place to sleep as soon as we were out of town, but reconsidered after remembering that my sister has difficulty seeing well while driving after dark. I decided that she would probably be relieved to simply follow my motorcycle all the way to Keosauqua, so that is we did. We stopped for gas in Fairfield, a smaller town than I expected. Apparently business has withered there in the last decade since a religious sect purchased and converted Parson's College.
We got to Keosauqua early enough and checked Carol into the Hotel Manning. After I helped her with her bags we ate a late snack at the one local restaurant/bar open that late. I slept in Purdom Cemetery where my ancestors are buried. I don't actually sleep amongst the graves, but instead pick an unused spot on the periphery. It was quite a surprise to see that much of the woodlands surrounding the cemetery have been chopped. There is a huge difference in feel between a cemetery enclosed by woodlands and one open to the winds and weather.
As it turns out, this weekend was the annual Fall River Days Festival. Keosauqua used to be a struggling farming community since the poor soil does not support abundant crops. In our modern hustle bustle world, Keosauqua has discovered itself to be a quiet backwater that attracts city dwellers and their money to "get away from it all." It also has the Des Moines River and a couple of nearby lakes. Now it attract tourists to several successful annual events.
Thursday, Oct 7th
I rose before sunrise, but Carol was already AWOL from the hotel, so I stopped at the beauty shop to see cousin Laura. She was busy as usual, and is always interesting. She can work and carry a conversation simultaneously without any difficulty at all. I believe I also stopped at the library as my next "usual" stop in Keosauqua. Hmm, my pile of receipts is deficient. I should have gas station receipts for all those stops between Dover, Ohio and Keosauqua. I wonder where those receipts are. Oh well, I have only a receipt for bananas bought at Archie's on Oct 7 at 4:46pm.
Carol and I enjoyed a nice dinner with Uncle Rex, Aunt Eleanor and Marvin. Rex and Eleanor have slowed down considerably now that they are in their mid-80s. Marvin's three boys are gainfully employed and all living elsewhere except Phillip who is a long-haul truck driver, and has recently paid off the loan on his own semi.
Friday, Oct 8th
On the way to the cemetery that night, I noticed a minivan at the house that had belonged to Grandmother Rambo, so I stopped and visited with cousin Scott briefly. He had to leave for Illinois, but told me that he and Nadine were building a house nearby and encouraged me to stop in to see his mother. I enjoyed a nice short visit with Aunt Margaret. She seems nearly fully recovered from the stroke earlier in the year, athough she isn't quite as mobile as previously. It was fun to see her many pictures of her grandchildren and great grandchildren.
I don't remember the ride to Carol's house in Illinois, but her Christmas letter reminds me that I stopped at my storage locker in Edwardsville first to get the "cradle" I needed to put my PDA back in use. Finally I had all the requisite parts to hook up my PDA to the computer and download all the information again. [Now that the battery went dead yet again, I think I've found a way to re-synchronize the two devices without all those parts.] Carol's new boyfriend, Tom, is quite a character: talkative, philosophical, and just full of advice. The three big dogs that bark madly while charging at visitors are just big babies that like to be petted.
It was a pleasure to see Eric and family although I arrived late in the evening and baby Kyle was already asleep. Apparently he heard the voices and started squalling, so mama Denise picked him up and brought him into the living room. As soon as he saw me, he stopped squalling and just stared at me speechless & spellbound. I slept in Eric's backyard and arose early because I needed to write something nice on the (belated) birthday cards for the girls. I added money for a present and hid one bill inside a false pocket in one card. However Eric and family are used to my antics and calmly hunted up every bill without difficulty. (I'll have to be trickier next time.) My receipts show that I left Edwardsville for Trenton on the 10th. My notes also say that I stopped at the QuickTrip gas station/ convenience store in Edwardsville to see if they carried Blue Bell ice cream. (No such luck in Illinois yet, although QuickTrips usually carry Blue Bell where ever it is sold.) My receipts show that I bought a $3 bottle of red wine, one of my heart "medicines," in Highland, Illinois.
I enjoyed a quick visit for one evening with Don and Ann Stalcup, but felt that I needed to hustle back to Florida because Bill was out of the hospital but still not doing well. Don and Ann are thriving in retirement, especially since they have a grandbaby to spoil only 15 miles away. I had planned to return to Ohio to visit Kenneth & Jewell again, to spend more time at the genealogical library in Ft. Wayne, to enjoy Gloria & Jim's company again, to ride a few more days with Lee, to see Walter & Pam again, to visit Ruth Renton near Pittsburg, and especially to visit the Mobergs in Marietta. It was a sacrifice to miss all those people, but Bill was doing poorly, so I headed straight southeast on I-64 to I-57 to I-24 to I-75 and into Atlanta. Sorry, but I don't remember much about those miles, except that ...
Monday, Oct 11th
My notes say that I was now traveling with only $22 in cash in my pocket. That means that I started using my credit/debit card for all possible purchases. Those notes also remind me that I stopped to fill up with gasoline at a 76 station where I left my "wallet" on top of my bedroll when I started riding. It fell off the back of the bike. As usual I was inventorying my activities as I started riding, so I realized that I hadn't properly stashed my wallet a couple of blocks later and returned to recover most of it where it had fallen onto the roadway. I ended up losing a couple of receipts & $2. I do remember circling back to find the wallet, cash, & receipts in the wee hours of the early morning when the roads were totally deserted. Seems to me I might have done that twice this year.
The real surprise of this trip came as I travelled though Tennessee and saw the most beautiful fall colors. This year's experience with fall colors was so strange. Minneapolis was mostly green; Iowa was more colorful, especially along the river; Illinois was even more colorful; and now Tennessee was the most brilliant. And here I thought that the leaves turned sooner in the north ... silly me. By the time I got to Georgia and South Carolina, the leaves were again green.
I called Bill every evening, and he suggested that I be sure to stop at the Gowdy's in South Carolina to pick up some computer gear. He said that he was feeling a little better, so I went that way, especially since I thought it was only a four hour detour. HA !
Tuesday, Oct 12th
When I arrived at the Gowdys', the grass was mowed and the yard looked nice. I guess all my weed pulling and grass transplanting had done a nice job after all. I decided that I could now cut down a couple of 40' trees at the corner of their house. It took me quite a few days with a handsaw to cut them into 4' lengths to go to the dump. I also transplanted quite a few plugs of centipede grass from the edges of the lawn into other locations that needed help. My receipts show that I bought two half gallons of Blue Bell ice cream and four pints on the 13th of October, then bought another half gallon and another pint at Walmart the next day. The 17th must have been Sunday because I picked up the tab for breakfast at Lizard's Thicket. (Yes, that is the name of the restaurant.) I bought another half gallon of Blue Bell on Monday and one more half gallon and a quart of Starbucks ice cream on Tuesday. My only ice cream regret is that I didn't buy the half gallon of Blue Bell Georgia Peach Cobbler Ice Cream the one time I saw it.
I also managed to get to the South Carolina Archives a couple of days to find a particular Rambo paper of interest to cousin Pat Bezet. I was very surprised that my cousin-in-law who works there remembered me from my visits a year earlier. My next important genealogical project at the SC Archives was to transcribe Revolutionary War pension applications, and I was surprised by the additional information I found in those files.
I made a special trip to Augusta, Georgia one morning because I wanted to go to the historical society to check out the old issues of the Augusta Chronical in their library. Their website gave directions and hours, so I was very disappointed to discover that their library was closed for air conditioning repairs for nearly a month. I sent the website manager a note complaining that their website neglected to tell prospective visitors of that huge inconvenience. On the up side, it turns out that the public library also has access to those newspapers on the web, so I was conveniently able to find everything possible from those papers at the library. I checked www.weather.com frequently since rain was forecast, but didn't get away quite early enough and rode through light rain until I eventually decided to wait under an underpass for a while to let the rain pass.
Thursday, Oct 21
Bill was saying that he was not having any more unusual difficulties, so I decided to ride up to Virginia while the weather was still good to look for early Rambos in Augusta County. I left in the late afternoon, figuring that I would get to Virginia close to dark and could sleep in some out-of-the-way corner of the Blue Ridge Parkway. Sure enough, it was getting just a shade too dark when I stopped at the Virginia welcome center on I-26, but the next exit would take me to the parkway at Fancy Gap. Terrific ... until I started climbing into the deep fog approaching the parkway. The fog was overwhelming, a dense pea soup with 5-foot visibility. I literally could not see the roadway in front of the motorcycle! This was beyond my ability to cope. I turned around and was incredulous that a few local motorists were driving in that mess. I couldn't imagine how they were able to stay on the road.
I returned to the old highway in the valley and found someplace to sleep before long. I imagine that I slept near a church, but don't have a distinct memory any more. Now that I look on the maps, I am surprised to report that this was also U.S. Highway 52 which was the Mississippi River Road in Iowa ... and the same road that passes through Kankakee, Illinois. I know I arose again before sunrise and was again on the interstate early.
Friday, Oct 22
As I rode forth in the early AM fog, I espied a thick plume of smoke rising over a nearby hill, in an unlikely rural location for business or industry. At first it was difficult to decide whether I was seeing thicker fog or smoke. As the road wound closer and closer it became obvious that the smoke originated very close to the road indeed. By now traffic had slowed to a crawl, so it was obvious that the smoke portended an accident of some sort. As the fog thinned, the smoke thickened until the road turned the final corner and I saw a tractor-trailer rig lying on its side entirely blocking the southbound lanes of the interstate with the trailer blazing flames thirty feet high. The north bound lanes were not physically affected, but not one car remained in the left hand lane. Everyone merged into the right hand lane to edge by. The heat was impressive, the flames were impressive, ... and I cannot imagine what must have been in that trailer. It hadn't exploded, but it was burning incredibly hot.
There were firemen and police already on the scene, but ten miles later I saw fire engines rushing towards the scene with their sirens screaming. The fog continued lifting.
I arrived in Staunton (pronounced Stanton) towards noon, and parked near the police station. staunton is one of the oldest towns in the Shenandoah, and it looks much like you'd expect for an old Virginia county seat in the mountains. I found the documents I wanted in the courthouse without problem and perused every other appropriate book. I transcribed a couple of deeds and a couple of entries from an old Parish register that dates back to the Angelican era before the Revolutionary War. After I finished at the courthouse, I went to Waynesburg since their library stayed open later than any others in the vicinity. Their collection was a bonanza, huge and complete concerning the locality. They also have internet access and the helpful librarians steered me to a website containing Chalkley's book.
After the library closed, I stopped on the way out of town at a Subway for a healthful (and free) half sub. The workers were interested in technical stuff, so I enjoyed a good conversation with them. I liked the library and decided to return, so I rode north out of town on old U.S. Highway 340 looking for a nearby place to sleep. Eventually I came across a church on the outskirts of a neighboring town where I could sleep in the shadows without much likelihood of being found. Two neighborhood cats darted among the shadows as I was setting out my sleeping gear. Everything went well until sometime in the middle of the night when a dog started barking at my sleeping form. Fortunately he gave up and moved on after ten minutes or so. In the wee hours of the morning before any hint of dawn I started packing my sleeping gear and was greatly surprised to see a couple of people out walking along the street nearby.
Saturday, Oct 23
I headed back into Waynesburg for another day at the library. But first I called Harry Long to inquire about Rambo neighbors. I've come to the conclusion that I need to know the neighbors to the Rambos in order to find "missing" Rambo daughters. I said this to Harry and he told me that he had all that. Immediately I changed plans and arranged to meet Harry at his office across the street from the Post Office in New Market. Consequently I reversed direction and again rode north on highway 340 covering the same miles I had ridden south earlier that morning. I had the road to myself most of the time, so the 45 miles to New Market were very pleasant, scenic, and fairly twisty. Harry's genealogical collection is pretty amazing and Harry is one very nice guy. He showed me plat maps he had created himself from the legal descriptions in the early land patents (very akin to a giant jigsaw puzzle).
In the afternoon Harry took me on a tour of the countyside to show me the early Rambo locations, an early Bird residence, Craney Island where the millcourse ran, and a path across fields that might have been the old Rambo road. Harry also showed me properties that he owns. That part of the Shenandoah Valley is a beautiful area. The Mons? Bird home was the most interesting because a back door was open and we toured the abandoned house. Apparently the foundation is giving way and termites have infested the structure, so the house will probably be razed rather than restored.
Harry offered me the use of his office throughout the night, so I stayed and copied materials all night long. He had been concerned that his computer system might be infected with spyware, so I learned a bit about it and examined his system for any obvious traces. I didn't find any, but I need to learn more about it since it is a growing concern for everyone. Being a computer geek has its advantages. I was able to convert a file and run an application for Harry that bought me a lot of goodwill and trust. Harry showed me a couple of web sites that have early Virginia plat maps and Shenandoah County assessment plats.
New Market is another very old Virginia town in the Shenandoah Valley that formed early along the Great Philadelphia Wagon Road that carried the great masses of immigrants from Pennsylvania into the South. New Market has developed a thriving tourist industry that capitolizes on its history by marketing arts and crafts goods to the tourists. My visit coincided with the biggest fair and market day of the year with complete with streetside vendors and tourists blanketing main street.
Throughout that night, I wanted to use my cell phone to make calls, but was frustrated that it seemed to get reception erratically. In some spots I had a fine signal for a few minutes but no connection whatsoever only a few feet away. Eventually I found one little sandbox-sized area that worked consistantly and called Verizon to ask about this problem. I was neglected on hold for half an hour before I was told to call *228 to update my roaming feature with new towers. That fixed my problems.
Sunday, Oct 24
The next morning Harry found me still looking through his files. I was so enthusiastic about his maps that he hunted up spares to give me. Despite being rendered speechless, I did manage to thank him. We found a long mailing tube and wrapped it in duct tape to protect it from inclement weather. Harry came to be interested in local history through his 30 years as a real estate developer. He researched the titles for properties he bought and became interested in the original owners and their neighbors. His own ancestor, Andrew Bird, lived next door to Jacob Rambo and owned the mill at Craney Island. Eventually Harry tackled the problem of locating all the properties and owners and mapping their properties onto modern USGS topographical maps of the area.
Monday, Oct 25th
I made a second trip to the courthouse in Staunton to look for a few more property records and parked again a block away from the courthouse. As I left Staunton the second time, those lovely maps slid right through the pocket of my coveralls and onto the road. I turned in a hurry to retrieve them and was delighted to see a mechanic from an adjacent garage picking them up unharmed from the roadway. Thankfully, he handed them to me gladly instead of demanding ransom.
I spent the remainder of the day at Waynesburg again, and was very surprised that the librarians had actually looked at my web site. Their genealogy collection in Waynesburg has a wealth of material, so I decided to stay another day. I returned to the same Subway and slept beside the same church north of town. It started raining late at night, so I moved underneath an entrance to keep dry ... and decided that the shadows of that entrance were probably more private than where I had been beside the church. Fortunately the wet weather had ended before sunrise when I packed up and returned to the library for another entire day. There is still more for me there, so I'll have to go back again. That evening, I rode south out of town on old U.S. 340 looking for a place to sleep and soon found another church on the outskirts of another small town. This church was above the road with a wooded lot behind it, so I slept soundly between the church and the woods until the first glimmer of dawn.
Wednesday, Oct 27th
Again I arose early and headed south on 340 until I could get onto the interstate highway. I stopped for the afternoon in Washington County, Virgina where another branch of the Rambos had settled. As I looked through marriage records in the courthouse, I realized that Beverly Rambo had actually visited this courthouse because these were her husband's ancestors. The local library also had a good genealogical collection although they were missing their copy of an obscure reference that Beverly had used for her book.
Thursday, Oct 28th
That night I rode into the early morning although I can no longer remember why I was in such a hurry to get back to Columbia. Perhaps this was the time Greg needed another driver to leave a car at the repair shop. My receipts show that I bought another half gallon of Blue Bell ice cream Thursday, two half gallons Friday, two half gallons of Publix ice cream Sunday and a final half gallon of Blue Bell Monday. Sunday morning breakfast with the Gowdys and Gregorys was enjoyable as always. I always order fish and grits. By now the date of Bill's appointment at the Facial Pain Clinic in Gainesville was fast approaching, so I mapped out a schedule that allowed one last day at the Archives, one day at the Caroliniana Library downtown, and one day in Edgefield, SC where a branch of the Rambos had lived during the Revolutionary War.
Wednesday, Nov 3rd
When I told the librarian at the old Edgefield District Genealogical Society library that I was interested in Lawrence Rambo, she was quite familiar with the name and explained that her best friend was writing a book about the Revolution in Edgefield and had been researching Rambo as had a local lawyer, Bettis Rainsford. Her girlfriend was busy with company, but she called Bettis to see if he was interested in meeting me. Bettis is a big man. I'm 6'2" and 180 pounds and not a lot of guys impress me as big. Bettis must be 6'5" and 250. Funny that I didn't ask if he ever played basketball. We talked of Lawrence Rambo and Bettis demonstrated why genealogists benefit from historians. Since Bettis is interested in everything about the Revolutionary War in Edgefield, he has read widely from histories, pension applications, diaries, etc. concerning all Edgefield participants in the Revolution. Consequently he has read many anecdotal and incidental accounts of aspects of Lawrence Rambo's life that would never be found by a genealogical approach which focuses on family and neighbors. Bettis and I were amused to discover that we had both gone to school in Boston, me to MIT and Bettis to Harvard.
I had promised another Rambo cousin, Sharon Bell, that I would stop in Hilton Head to meet her, so I left Edgefield at noon with some regrets. There was so much at that library that I still wanted to see ... oh well, at least now I know that I want to spend more time there. One hears about Hilton Head being a resort area, so I thought it would be fun to see it. The most direct route between Edgefield and Hilton Head is old U.S. Highway 278 which winds along as much slower road than I imagined. It was also very pretty. First it passes through Aiken, SC where I was delighted to find a health food store in the very same shopping center as an AAA travel office. This was terrific since I needed several maps and lots of nuts and seeds. The rest of the road was unhurried and very pretty.
However, once I crossed I-95 and started approaching Hilton Head, the road widened and the traffic became dense. This was quite a surprise for me because I think of resorts as small towns. I guess ocean resorts are different. The crush of traffic lasted miles and miles. Fortunately I found a Walmart and two more pints of Blue Bell ice cream as I came into the area. My only miscue was minor: I missed the entrance into cousin Sharon's gated community. Soon after I drove by that entrance, the highway narrowed and turned residential, and it was obvious that Sharon's directions didn't cover such an occurrance. I reversed direction and started paying more attention and asking people occasionally until I found the correct community and stopped to pick up a visitor's pass. I was allowed to ride my motorcycle through a public part of the development, but was required to leave it at a guard station leading into cousin Sharon's subdivision. Apparently no one back there owns a motorcycle.
Cousin Sharon showed up at the guard station to meet me in a convertible and is one lively and active person, a regular bundle of energy. We hit it off famously and enjoyed talking too much to get much into genealogy. Her husband, Hugh, is a retired cardiologist who wrote the book on cardiac care. Amazing that they retired from Shawnee Mission, Kansas, close to Roeland Park where I lived with Marsha for 8 years. They are such nice people and I thoroughly enjoyed my visit. Another cousin had come over for the afternoon to meet me, but I was just too slow getting there from Edgefield. Sharon and Hugh both said that I reminded them a lot of their son, Quint, so I'm looking forward to meeting him one day before long, especially since Sharon pulled out an air mattress and let me sleep out on Quint's balcony overlooking the moonlite breakers on the beach under bright stars. (Surprising that the moonlight didn't wash the stars out of the night sky.)
Thursday, Nov 4th
The next morning I drank way too much coffee before time to leave, and I did show Sharon those wonderful maps that Harry Long had given me. As we left the house to drop me off and to get Hugh to a doctor's appointment, I realized that I hadn't brought the air mattress inside and that it might explode when the sunlight heated it up. Hugh insisted on getting to his doctor's appointment on time, so the air mattress was left out in the sun. (I worried about it all day and called to remind Sharon to pull it inside as soon as they returned. She later reported that it survived without trauma.)
I rode out of their community and was a mile down the road performing my mental inventory of all my gear when I suddenly realized that I didn't remember putting the maps in place. With a panic, I realized that the maps were not on the bike. When Hugh and Sharon had dropped me at the guard station, I had set the maps atop my sleeping gear without lashing them in place. I had then checked with the guard on foot and returned to the bike without realizing that the maps were unsecured ... and I had ridden off. I turned around and scanned the roadside for the maps all the way back to the guard station. No one had mentioned them to the guard, so I returned to the main security desk to inquire for lost and found and to leave my phone number and address in case anyone turned them in. I again retraced my path to the guard station and finally resigned myself to the idea that I'd lost that wonderful gift of Harry's. As I rode down the main road again, I was quite pleasantly amazed to see that duct-taped tube lying safely on the shoulder of the road at just about exactly the place where I realized the loss and turned around. They had bounced or rolled out of harms way and were entirely intact.
What a relief! I was so relieved that I returned to tell the guard and to retract my lost & found posting from the security desk. The trip out of Hilton Head was only a little better than the trip into it. The traffic is terrible, but I stopped at a Publix for a pint of Blue Bell ice cream to help my spirits. I wasn't ready for the interstate this morning, so I followed South Carolina Highway 170 towards Savannah, Georgia. This was a quiet little road without much traffic, but led to a big surprise: the huge bridge that climbed and climbed into the sky before descending into Georgia. Once I got over being giddy, the view from the bridge of the shipyards & naval vessels was terrific. I had gone up the Carolina side of the bridge expecting to stop at the first Georgia exit to put on the accursed motorcycle helmet required by Georgia law, but in Georgia all the exit ramps were high speed interchanges with other expressways, so I found myself growing more and more nervous as I rode deeper and deeper into Georgia without the stupid helmet on my head. After passing about five interchanges, I finally decided to stop alongside the roadway to dig the helmet out of my gear and get it on. In doing so I pulled the maps out and again forgot to secure them. A mile later, I realized that they were again missing. Again I circled back and again the maps were intact, lying beside the road exactly where I had stopped. My hopes for a pleasant, mellow mood was destroyed by those two panics, and I was a bit edgy all day.
The rest of the ride to Jacksonville on the Interstate went smoothly although traffic was heavy. I exited according to plan and followed my directions to Dunns Creek Road without incident. My memory was that cousin Mona lived a long way down the road, so I rode nearly to the end of it before I realized that I had always previously approached her house from the south and consequently had passed her house almost immediately after I got onto Dunns Creek Road. I backtracked and enjoyed a wonderful visit with Mona and her son Wayne. She is 89 years old and still getting about and taking care of herself without undo difficulty. It was really quite a treat to see her looking so well.
Since I needed to get to the Keys the next day to help Bill to his appointment in Gainesville, I left that evening and rode through the night. It was a long ride as I ran into showers several times and stopped at rest areas to let the showers pass. At 1:30am I stopped at a WalMart for two pints of Blue Bell ice cream, thinking that the road would dry out better as I ate it. Just as I was finishing the second pint, the skys opened up and the rain poured down for twenty minutes. It is tiring to sit and wait for the rain to stop and the roads to dry at that hour of the morning. Eventually I found myself approaching West Palm Beach just before daybreak, but totally worn out and in need of a rest. I had wanted to get through Miami and into the Keys before stopping, but I was too tired and decided instead to find a spot to nap. I exited the roadway onto a smaller highway that didn't look promising until I found a church beside a wooded lot. The lot wasn't densely wooded and I was able to ride the motorcycle out of sight into the woods and lie down for an hour or two to nap.
By the time I resumed riding, the traffic was miserable. It was a long slow unpleasant trip through West Palm Beach and Miami into the Keys, but once I started crossing the bridges in the Keys, the scenery was again magnificent although the heat was uncomfortable since I was still dressed too warmly. My trip was over although I did extend the vacation from the diet to enjoy a half gallon of Prestage Chocolate Almond ice cream (which was disappointing). On the 7th Bill and I drove north to Orlando and then on the 8th to Gainesville for his doctors appointment at the Facial Pain Center on the 9th. ======== next trip
There is a sequel.
The day before Thanksgiving, my sister called to tell me that my Aunt Shirley had died and the funeral was to be held on Saturday in Keosauqua, Iowa. My map says that is 1300 miles from Big Pine Key, Florida, but I decided to avoid the frustration of making endless calls to the airlines to try to find a seat on any flight to St. Louis over the Thanksgiving weekend. Instead I immediately began packing the motorcycle and was on the road four hours later. This trip turned into quite an ordeal.
Speaking of Georgia, this trip I rode into downtown Atlanta on a Sunday morning and called Bill from Peachtree Street. He professed to feeling better and encouraged me to detour to South Carolina to see the Gowdys and to pick up computer gear that I had left there but now needed in Florida. That sounded fine to me, and I enjoyed the amusement of calling the Gowdys from a place where they used to live. I was within a mile of the Georgia Tech campus where Greg went to grad school.
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