November 15: Portland to the California Redwoods. Starting mileage: 36,776.
We left Portland in a heavy rain. Today, we were headed for the coastal redwood trees in California. I couldn’t wait to see those giant, ancient beings–straight and tall–lining our road.
As we drove along, we saw fields of crops–labeled for city people like us. We called out the names on the signs and admired the plants as we passed: broccoli, hazelnuts, clover, forage, fescue, rye grass, and winter wheat.
Welcome to California
After a little while, we came upon a “Welcome to California” sign, followed by an Agricultural Inspection Point with a sign reading “All vehicles must stop”. We pulled over, and were quickly waved through by the ranger, “Have a good afternoon ladies!” Soon, there was a tunnel, and not long after, the first redwood. Unmistakable…the presence of those surely sentient trees, waiting along the road, welcoming or watching. We were in the Redwood National and State Parks.
Just a photo from behind the steering wheel as we drove into the first in the string of Redwood National and State Parks. My skin tingles every time I get a first glimpse of the Redwoods. There is no comparison! I was excited for Mama Lucy to see them. Redwood National Park.
November 16: Crescent City to Eureka, California. Starting mileage: 37,113
The next morning, we started out early. We’d drive slowly south, weaving around and through the various parks that make up the Redwood National and State Parks system. What a moody day as we drove into a deep fog cloud, then a misting rain, and a hard rain–driving among the giants.
About to enter the fog cloud, California.Seeing the redwoods in the rain and fog…it’s like driving into an ancient fairy tale.Fog in the Redwoods. Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park, California.Mama Lucy dwarfed in the Redwood Forest. Redwood National Park, California.
About the Redwood Tree
Coastal Redwoods are some of the oldest living things on earth, 1,200–1,800 years or more, with one estimated to be 2,200 years old. They are tall–the tallest living things on earth at 375+ feet. Coast redwoods can reproduce from tiny seed cones or by sprouting from a root crown, stump, or even fallen redwoods. Despite their great height, the roots only extend down six to twelve feet. But the roots can extend up to 100 feet from the tree’s base, intertwining with the roots of others, all holding on to each other, which greatly increases their stability. These groves are like families, and for this reason, redwoods are often in a line or fairy-ring circle.
A fallen giant redwood spouts ferns, moss, and other trees. Redwood National Park.Fallen redwoods often sprout other trees. Redwood National Park.
Sequoia sempervirens (redwoods) are only found on the Pacific coast, from southern Oregon through central California. They can not live more than 50 miles inland because they need the fog and precipitation from the incoming moisture off the ocean. The tallest and oldest trees are found in deep valleys and gullies, where rainfall is high, year-round streams flow, and fog is regular. The redwoods drink fog: ~40% of their water intake is condensed fog.
Walking in the rain in the Redwood National Park. Fog and rain suit these forests.Moss grows on a Redwood. Coastal Redwoods in Northern California.Mama Lucy walking through the redwood forest.Mama Lucy in the redwood forest.
John Steinbeck’s Redwood Encounter in Travels with Charley
“The redwoods, once seen, leave a mark or create a vision that stays with you always. No one has ever successfully painted or photographed a redwood tree. The feeling they produce is not transferable. From them comes silence and awe. It’s not only their unbelievable stature, nor the color which seems to shift and vary under your eyes, no, they are not like any trees we know, they are ambassadors from another time.
They carry their own light and shade. The vainest, most slap-happy and irreverent of men, in the presence of redwoods, goes under a spell of wonder and respect…. One feels the need to bow to unquestioned sovereigns. There’s a cathedral hush here. Perhaps the thick soft bark absorbs sound and creates a silence. The trees rise straight up to zenith; there is no horizon…. The green fernlike foliage so far up strains the sunlight to a green gold and distributes it in shafts or rather in stripes of light and shade. To me, there’s a remote and cloistered feeling here. One holds back speech for fear of disturbing something–what?
And only these few are left—a stunning memory of what the world was like once long ago. Can it be that we do not love to be reminded that we are very young and callow in a world that was old when we came into it?
― John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley: In Search of America, 1962
A few photos to try and show the magic:
Redwoods drink condensed fog.Such a magical place of fog, rain, and these kind, sentient giants. Redwood National Forest.The soft, cushy forest floor at the foot of a redwood.
Their one-foot thick, soft fibrous bark makes them extremely fire-resistant. They are also extremely resistant to insects and rot. Indeed, it is said that their number one enemy is humankind. Redwoods are listed as endangered because of declining populations due to urban development and logging. Since logging began in the 1850s, 95 percent of old-growth coast redwoods have been cut down (source: Sempervirens Fund). Today, the four parks in the Redwood National and State Parks system, together, protect only 45% of all remaining redwood old-growth forests, totaling about 39,000 acres. Redwoods are listed as Endangered on the IUCN Red List because of decreasing populations.
Lumber facility along the coast near the Redwood National Park. Redwoods are endangered because of urban development and logging. Wild Elk warning. Animals thrive in the redwood forests.
Reverence
I am not religious. But I do believe in something greater, a spirit bigger than our individual selves. These trees embody that. The stillness, the rain, the very presence of the trees, inspire an awe and reverence that I cannot articulate. We are here now, among these divine spirits. How patient they are with the often greedy, cruel humans who are just a moment in their long lives.
I’m drawn to them, and could happily lose myself walking among their trunks in the fog and rain. We walked in silence around them, on a path through a quiet forest with only the sound of dripping rain. I held one of their tiny seed cones, less than one-inch long. And they held me in their midst, among their groves. I took some silence, some calm, some hope with me that day.
November 12: Roslyn, Washington to Seattle. Starting mileage: 36,363.
Today, we began a three-night whirlwind across the Pacific Northwest. We left Roslyn for one night in Seattle, one night at the Pacific Ocean, and one night in Portland. Despite the overcast skies and the frequent rain squalls, it was not enough time in any one of these places.
Over the Snoqualmie Pass to Seattle
We drove out of Northern Exposure’s Cicely heading west over the Cascade Mountain Range, and passed over Snoqualmie Pass just before a snow storm. First, we would spend a day in Seattle with my step-brother seeing the views from Columbia Center Tower and the Space Needle, riding the Light Rail and Monorail, and catching up over a couple of meals.
Passing through precipitation in Snoqualmie Pass, Washington. We loved these vistas of water, trees, and the snowy, fog-covered mountains. Trees hug the road as we passed through Snoqualmie Pass, Washington.Looking West into Elliott Bay and Puget Sound from Columbia Center Tower. Seattle, Washington.Looking North at the Space Needle and Puget Sound from Columbia Center Tower. Seattle, Washington.Looking East at I-90’s floating bridge across Lake Washington to Mercer Island. From Columbia Center Tower, Seattle, Washington.Mama Lucy walking the hills of downtown Seattle, Washington.Mama Lucy at the Space Needle, Seattle, WA.The Space Needle, Seattle, WA.Neon Monorail sign. Seattle WA. Neon looks extra special in this grey, rainy, foggy environment. More NEON Seattle! More NEON! 🙂Walruses decorate the Arctic Club Building, in Seattle, Washington. It was built in 1916 for the Arctic Club, a social group for those who gained wealth in Alaska’s Klondike Gold Rush.Seattle, Washington’s Light Rail tunnel.
November 13: Seattle to Ocean Shores, Washington. Starting mileage: 36,445.
Early the next morning, Mama Lucy and I stopped by Pike’s Place Market for a walk around and a stash of food: savory potato and cheese pirogies from Piroshky Piroshky, light, fluffy and yummy chocolate croissants from Le Panier, and hot coffee from the very first Starbucks. It’s no wonder Starbucks sprouted in Seattle. Hot coffee tastes extra special in that rainy, foggy environment.
Cargo containers lined the side of the interstates around Seattle. Washington. Fascinating to see so many of those cargo ships coming/going from Seattle’s port. Seattle imports furniture parts, aircraft parts, and car parts and exports civilian aircraft, soybeans, and corn. The top three trade partners of Seattle Port are China, Canada, and South Korea (according to USTradeNumbers.com).Neon inside Pike’s Place Market. Seattle, WA. Mama Lucy at Public Market – Farmers Market – Pike’s Place as the sun tries to come out. Seattle, WA.At last, blue skies! Public Market neon sign in a nearly-clear sky at Pike’s Place. Seattle, WA.
We left a partly sunny Seattle. Next, we planned to stay an afternoon and night at the Pacific Ocean. I’d researched carefully to find a hotel as close to the ocean as possible so that we could enjoy a walk on the beach and the sounds of the Pacific at night. However, weather reports told us we were driving into a storm.
Ocean Shores and an angry Pacific Ocean
The further west we drove, the darker the skies became. Soon, the wind and the rain came. By the time we reached the northern peninsula separating Gray’s Harbor from the ocean, the wind gusts were punching the car. We marveled at how much the trees lining the road could bend, and drove cautiously past blue signs noting this was a “Tsunami Hazard Area”, and we were on a “Tsunami Evacuation Route”. The Pacific, sometimes visible between houses and forests, was angry, tossing waves high and hard into the shoreline. We pulled in to an empty parking lot at the Best Western Lighthouse Suites Inn. The wind nearly blew the door off the car when we got out. Thankfully, we were able to check in early and we tucked in to our cozy room to watch the storm.
Wind swept the grasses; white caps were visible in the fog and mist. This was not a pacified Pacific, but a wide, wild expanse of fury. We sat in our little living room, picnicking on our Pike’s Place market pirogies and croissants. Despite the storm charge in the air, it was a quiet, relaxing afternoon. We read, did laundry, journaled, talked, and daydreamed. We were two of just eighteen guests at the hotel that day. Later, I’d dreamed of waves and flying over mountains like a bird.
Trees and rain, driving into the storm from Seattle to Ocean Shores, WA.Pouring rain at the Pacific Ocean at Ocean Shores, WA.
November 14: Ocean Shores, WA to Portland, OR. Starting mileage: 36,596.
Bad road to an angry Pacific Ocean. Ocean Shores, WA.
The next morning, the rain seemed to have tapered, but the wind was still raging. Regardless, I walked to the beach to pay respects to the Pacific Ocean…and to thank it for not coming for us during the night. The waves were syncopated, nearly constant and loud. The sand skidded and swirled across the beach. Seagulls sat in forlorn groups near dunes, soaked and caked in muddy sand. I took photos and tried to avoid the sand blasting my eyes and my camera. Sand stung my cheeks, stuck to my hair, and blew into my mouth. The seagulls came closer–one in particular looked like he was asking for help. I wished I’d brought bread. As I took a photo of him with our hotel in the background, the rain returned. There was lightning. I couldn’t hear the thunder for the roar of the Pacific. Turning my back on the wind (but not the ocean!), I pushed my camera into a bag and said “Goodbye” to the Pacific and “Good Luck” to the seagull. I was soaked to the skin by the time I got back to the room.
An angry Pacific Ocean. Ocean Shores, WA.Soaking wet seagull at the Pacific Ocean. Best Western Lighthouse Suites Inn in the background. Ocean Shores, Washington.
Storm at the Pacific Ocean
Turns out, this windstorm was extremely powerful. Winds were sustained at 30-40 mph and gusted to 60 mph. There was a high surf advisory and “significant beach erosion and wave run-up was possible”. Trees were falling. Power lines were coming down. Heavy rain was coming. We didn’t know all that at the time, and went about packing up and loading out. Mama went down for the luggage cart while I changed into dry clothes. And then, the power went out. A pop, a flicker, then silence.
Oh no, Mama would be in the elevator by now! I grabbed the key and ran out of the room towards the elevator, yelling for her. The place was eerily quiet. I heard no other guests, just the wind whipping the flags and the windows. The hallways were lit only by window light. Doors were closed in places I had not even noticed had doors. The stairwell emergency light was on. Just as I hit the darkened lobby, Mama walked out of the elevator. She’d been stuck in the dark elevator for about two minutes. Thankfully, she’d rung the bell and the receptionist got her out on the ground floor right away. They told us that the power was out because of a lightning strike, and just how bad this storm was. Fortunately, the power was out for only about 30 minutes.
Lobby lit by the windows and an emergency lantern during the power outage. Best Western Lighthouse Suites Inn at Ocean Shores, WA.
On the road to Portland, Oregon
As we drove out of Ocean Shores, we marveled at the raw power of nature, and the fine line this community lived on there next to the powerful Pacific Ocean.
This area of the country has such a fragrant, fresh, stunning beauty because of the trees, mountains, and the rain. However, the logging of trees provides income to the residents. As a result, it is common to see fresh-cut tree logs piled high on semi-trucks, and logs and lumber stacked high at roadside factories. I wondered if the trees along the roads mourned their fallen kin.
Fresh air and forests line the drive from Ocean Shores, WA to Portland, OR.Alas, this frequent sight, a log-carrying truck in Oregon.…And, a logging facility in Oregon.Hairnets for the mountains. Portland, OR.
Finally, we were in Portland for one big reason…to see our friend Tonya and eat at her pizza place, Via Chicago. She makes the pizzas from scratch. If you’re in Portland, you won’t regret stopping by for a tasty Chicago pizza pie.
November 10: Nampa, Idaho to Rosyln, Washington. Starting mileage: 35,946.
We trekked across the northeastern corner of Oregon and north into Washington in a misty fog and rainy snow. We passed Christmas tree farms, wind turbines, signs warning of “Severe Sidewinds Ahead”, and so many trucks carrying logs. This is the Great Pacific Northwest or Cascadia–an area known for environmentalism, coffee drinking, grunge music, and weather-induced depression.
We were headed for a mythical town: Cicely, Alaska from Northern Exposure.
In real life, the town is called Roslyn, Washington and it is where the TV series, Northern Exposure, was filmed from 1990-1995. The program was quirky, intelligent, kind, funny, full of special people with astute observations, and had so many wise and magical moments. There was Chris Stevens broadcasting from KBHR, Holling Vincouer and Shelly Tambo at the Brick, Indian filmmaker Ed Chigliak, out-of-place New Yorker Dr. Joel Fleishmann, pilot Maggie O’Connell, retired astronaut Maurice Minnifield, quiet Marilyn Whirlwind, level-headed Ruth-Anne Miller, bombastic Adam and Eve, mysterious One-Who-Waits, Chris’ twin Bernard, The Brick’s Dave, Ruth-Anne’s Walt… These people, their town, and their eccentric ways enchanted us. It was as if we knew them, spent an hour in Cicely with them every week. Even today, putting in a Northern Exposure DVD is like sitting down with dear, old friends. What a profound, exceptional, and beautiful place literally and figuratively. The town of Roslyn was Cicely. And the town exists.
Roslyn Cafe in Roslyn, Washington, more often known as Northern Exposure’s Cicely, AK. Cue the music and the moose.Dr. Joel Fleischman’s office in Cicely, AK (Rosyln, WA). Mama Lucy heading down the hill into Roslyn’s Main Street.
Pilgrimage
We arrived in the late afternoon and checked in to the Huckleberry House on the hill. It was a no frills room–in a no TV, no internet, no breakfast “Bed and Breakfast”. But there was a shared coffee maker and refrigerator and it was just a 3-minute walk to great breakfasts at Rosyln Cafe. We spent our time there walking around the buildings featured in the show. We had meals in the Brick and at Village Pizza. Mama Lucy wasn’t a Northern Exposure viewer and missed having a TV and the internet in the evenings. Regardless, we enjoyed the time to walk, reflect, and get some of that fresh mountain air.
I expected to see Holling Vincoeur and Shelly Tambo behind the bar in the Brick. Rosyln, WA aka Cicely, AK.Ruth-Anne Miller’s Grocery Store. Rosyln, WA aka Northern Exposure’s Cicely, AK.Playing Trivial Pursuit at Village Pizza on a Saturday night in Roslyn WA, aka Northern Exposure’s Cicely, AK.
Let go of that cow, and fling something
As I walked around Cicely/Roslyn, I imagined seeing Chris sitting in the KBHR booth, or that I’d see Shelly running across the street to Ruth-Anne’s, or maybe Ed would come around the corner with a smile. And I fell in love with the cozy colorful homes, with the plumes of smoke coming from chimneys over tin roofs. I imagined tucking in to a sweet little house with books and a dog or two. Maybe things would be different here. More creatively stimulating. More thoughtful. More there in the moment. Maybe just more life.
It’s been such a strange few years. We’ve felt a little lost. And while some changes may be good for us, some changes just suck. There is no map to figure it out, to see how long the bad roads will last, or which way to go to smooth it out. We wander around until we wander out. Or maybe I just need to fling something.
The Fling…From the episode “Burning Down the House”
Chris:“I’ve been here now for some days, groping my way along, trying to realize my vision here. I started concentrating so hard on my vision that I lost sight. I’ve come to find out that it’s not the vision, it’s not the vision at all. It’s the groping. It’s the groping, it’s the yearning, it’s the moving forward. I was so fixated on that flying cow that when Ed told me Monty Python already painted that picture, I thought I was through. I had to let go of that cow so I could see all the other possibilities.
Anyway, I want to thank Maurice for helping me to let go of that cow. Thank you Maurice for playing Apollo to my Dionysus in art’s Cartesian dialectic. And thanks to you, Ed, cause the truth shall set us free! And Maggie, thank you for sharing in the destruction of your house so that today we could have something to fling.
I think Kierkegaard said it oh so well, ‘The self is only that which it’s in the process of becoming.’ Art? Same thing. James Joyce had something to say about it too. ‘Welcome, Oh Life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience, and to forge in the smythe of my soul the uncreated conscious of my race.’
We’re here today to fling something that bubbled up from the collective unconsciousness of our community. Ed, you about ready? The thing I learned folks, this is absolutely key: It’s not the thing you fling. It’s the fling itself. Let’s fling something, Cicely!”
Northern Exposure’s KBHR radio station. Cicely, AK (Rosyln, WA). The Totem Pole in Roslyn, WA“Explosives”, church, and horses. Roslyn WA.
If you are a Northern Exposure fan, you’ll probably like these links.
First, put on some music. Because of music rights issues, the original tunes didn’t always make it to the DVDs. But some good soul has pulled together a lot of the music into a Spotify Playlist.
Read more about each episode at Moosechick. Really, a fantastic resource.
Also, there’s recent news that a return to Cicely is in the works. Will they really reboot it? Will it be great, like the original?
A little pink shotgun house in Roslyn, Washington.Fall in Cascadia. A house in Rosyln, WA.Green House, Red Tin Roof, Picket Fence. Rosyln, WA.Pink House, Red Trim, Lace Curtains. Roslyn, WABrown and blue house. Roslyn, WA.November cozy in Roslyn, WA.November cozy in the mustard yellow house with chimney smoke, Roslyn WA.Snow on the roof and a wooden fence. Rosyln WA.Huckleberries on the ground at Huckleberry House in Roslyn WA, aka Northern Exposure’s Cicely AK.Fallen apples in Roslyn, Washington.Seen from the road on the drive out of Roslyn Washington.
My mom and I were on a seven-week road trip across the USA. We were now headed north from the desolate, high desert of Utah, and west into the lush area known as Cascadia and the Pacific Northwest.
November 8: Moab to Ogden, Utah. Starting mileage: 35,334.
When we left our brand new hotel in Moab, workers were finally hanging the sign. It was windy, and red sand scattered across the road like snow. We were so happy about seeing Arches National Park yesterday. And though the poor car was still a dusty mess, we were leaving Moab with clean clothes and great memories.
Today, the plan was to drive north, mosey through Salt Lake City, and then drive over the seven-mile causeway out to Antelope Island in the Great Salt Lake for a meal before going to our hotel in Ogden.
Leaving Moab’s Desert
The day started on a high desert, two-lane road with frequent turn-outs near Arches and Canyonlands National Parks. Red cliffs surrounded us on this otherwise empty desert plateau. We saw a raven dive down and carry off what looked like a squirrel. We started keeping a weather eye open for cows on the road after seeing a sign warning drivers of “Free Range Cattle”. And when we saw a sign that Green River would be the last services for 110 miles, we pulled over there for gas.
Red hills and blue sky as we drove North on 191 out of Moab, Utah.
Americana in the Book Cliffs
The landscape became scrub grass on hills, sometimes with mountains like wrinkled grey elephant legs standing in the background. Empty land stretched for miles, with a high ridge of cliffs running beside the road. In a few hours, we passed through Wellington. The 50 & 6 Diner was closed, a school bus sat “for sale” on the roadside, several shops had “for rent” signs, service stations were boarded up, and ragged houses sat close to the road like they were about to thumb rides out of town.
Later we’d pass through Helper, Utah: a railroad / mining town with modest little houses stuffed into the land between the railroad tracks and the road. The traditional main street was empty. The playground was empty. Stores were closed. Old-fashioned Christmas decorations hung from light poles on Main Street. Were they recently hung, or had they been hanging for since the 1950s? A town fading into a ghost town. Or was it? The delightfully-named Pick and Rail Supermarket was open. What must it be like to live in this small, old town? How I’d love to spend some time in these old towns, exploring the buildings, the history, and what once was.
LaSalle Hotel and Fine Food Family Restuarant. Classic Americana found on the empty streets of a railroad town called Helper, Utah.We saw many grey houses with yellow trim, and grey horses with black manes and tails. Maybe they mimicked the colors of the grey mountains and the black cows hidden in yellow sage grass along the roads. Just south of Salt Lake City, Utah.
Salt Lake City and the Great Salt Lake
Our plan was to do a slow, scenic drive through Salt Lake City before having a late lunch at a restaurant on Antelope Island in the Great Salt Lake. We drove around Temple Square and the Mormon Tabernacle, the Utah State Capitol, and stumbled upon the Family History Library where FamilySearch.org lives. I’ve done a good bit of family research, and this is another place I would love to park for a few days to explore.
The Great Salt Lake is big…75 miles by 35 miles. I’ve seen it from the air, an awesome size, at the foot of the mountains and outlined in white and green brine. The lake is similar to the Dead Sea, so salty that swimming is like floating. While fish can’t live in the lake, the surrounding wetlands support thousands of migratory and nesting birds. We wanted to stand on the shores of the lake and see it’s expanse. Antelope Island was the place to do that.
We turned left at Syracuse, and headed towards the causeway out to the island. Antelope Island State Park has dry, native grasses that support herds of bison and bighorn sheep. The island has limited facilities, and is accessible via a seven-mile causeway into the lake. We were the only car on the road to the toll booth, and learned that “everything out there is closed for the season.” Before paying the $10 toll or park entrance fee, we pulled over to consider our options. We were hungry. While we had a few snacks in the car, we were running low on water. It would be at least a two, maybe three, hour excursion–driving out there, site-seeing around the deserted and desolate island, and driving back. We decided to skip it in favor of getting to our Ogden hotel before dark.
Buffalo statue at the entrance to the Causeway out to Antelope Island, Great Salt Lake, Utah.
November 9: Ogden, Utah to Nampa, Idaho. Starting mileage: 35,623.
In the morning, we drove out of Ogden, Utah past the top part of the Great Salt Lake. Today’s road would take us kitty-corner across the bottom of Idaho’s L towards Boise. It was a day of driving through land that looked uninhabited. But the roadside signs suggested times could get interesting around here:
“Dust storm area”
“Game Crossing”
“Deer Migration Area”
“Report Wildfire”
“Frequent High Winds”
“Blinding Blowing Snow”
“Drowsy drivers – Pull off ahead”
The Great Salt Lake as seen from I-15 North.Clear skies and an old barn in North Utah.Sometimes we’d see black cows nearly hidden in the miles of tall blonde grass under wide blue skies. Utah.Near the border of Utah and Idaho, clouds gathered over fields and hay barns.We watched for potato fields along the desolate roads in Idaho.
Hey Idaho, where are the taters?!
Now, I’m a big fan of potatoes–perhaps their biggest cheerleader. I love potatoes any way they’re prepared and swear I could eat them day-in and day-out, morning, noon, and night. Add a little cheese and a cup of coffee, and well, that’s about all I need to survive. So I was pretty excited about having a few potato dishes when we passed through Idaho. Unbelievably, this was not to be.
We pulled over for a diner lunch after seeing a sign for the Fudge Factory Cafe in Glenn’s Ferry. My mouth was already watering, as my brain vividly imagined a homemade cheesy hash brown casserole or a twice-baked potato loaded with cheese and veggies. This was another of those quiet, ghosted little towns sitting along railroad tracks. We drove around empty streets until we found the Fudge Factory Cafe, which also looked eerily empty. Nope. We kept moving.
Old building in Glenn’s Ferry, Idaho.
Just about an hour later, we pulled into the Black Bear Diner in Boise, Idaho for a late lunch. Would you believe they didn’t serve baked potatoes until after 5 p.m.? In IDAHO?! We sadly went to bed that night…potato-less…in Idaho.
November 10: Nampa, Idaho, through the northeast corner of Oregon, and on to Washington state. Starting mileage: 35,946.
We got back on the road in the morning in a dense fog, or maybe it was smog from the Ore-Ida factory near the border of Oregon. Silly me, only then did I realize where the frozen hash brown king gets the name! On this 39 degree morning, four people sat smoking on a front porch of a tumbling down house near the border, a tiny neighborhood street stuck there amidst the factory setting. Like so many places we’d see on this trip, we relished seeing the different landscapes–sometimes empty land for miles with hard rocks and ridges for textures, or soft, colorful fields cloaking the hillsides and valleys. And sprinkled throughout, these old houses and old Main Streets sit, with old ways of life slowly fading away.
Hills and valleys of Oregon and the Pacific Time Zone. We crossed the 45th Parallel just after the quaint little town of Baker City, Oregon. We were halfway between the Equator and the North Pole.Blonde grass in Oregon at the Cabbage Hill / Deadman Pass Lookout area. Those are clouds *below* us, covering the valley.Grass, rocks, and clouds in the valley below. At Cabbage Hill / Deadman Pass Lookout, Oregon. Our road continued down through those clouds and into a fertile valley of corn and hay, and into Washington State.
Soon, we’d pass through a beautiful pass with blonde grass in Oregon, high above the valley and high above the clouds. We could have stayed up there for hours watching the wind ruffle the grass and listening to the silence.
November 6: Grand Junction, CO to Moab, UT. Starting mileage 35,144.
Back in Denver, we’d gotten advice on places to see and things to do. One strong recommendation was to fill up the gas tank as often as possible once we got out into the more remote areas of the wild west. Like the possibility of snow in Rocky Mountain Novembers, this wasn’t something I’d thought about, but of course, it made sense. So, near the turn-off for Moab, we pulled into Papa Joe’s for gas…and quickly pulled out again. $4.99 a gallon! That was more than $2.00 a gallon higher than anywhere else we’d seen so far. Outrageous!
No worries, we soon found a reasonably-priced filling station and continued on into Moab. We stopped first thing in Arches National Park Guest Center to get familiar with what to see and how to see it. We decided that given the time and our hunger, we’d save the park for tomorrow. But we did whet our appetite by pouring over the postcards, picking up park maps, and watching the introductory video. This place was going to be amazing!
Finding our Brand New Hotel
After dinner at the Moab Grill, we went to check-in at our second Springhill Suites by Marriott Hotel. We had an address for Siri, but she never said a word. We drove out of Moab. Where was the hotel? It was supposed to be the closest hotel to Arches National Park. We drove back in to Moab. Nothing. We turned around and drove more slowly back the other way, out of Moab. And, back in again. What the heck? We pulled in to a parking lot and made a phone call for directions. The lady on the phone described the building, and the turn off just past the river. The hotel had only been open for four days, and they hadn’t put the sign up yet.
A few minutes later, we pulled into the right parking lot and drove around the unmarked building looking for a lobby door. Lucky for us, check-in was easier than finding the place, or the door to get in. The fireplace was lit in the lobby, and we lingered there for a minute before finding a luggage cart to take our bags up. We’ve never stayed in such a new place! Our room had never been slept in. Everything smelled new and clean–from the woodwork, dry wall construction and fresh paint, to the brand new sheets and towels, and spotless carpeting. What a treat!
Thank goodness hotels have coin-operated laundry rooms and vending machines of detergents.
Doing Laundry on the Road
We had left Chicago and Nashville about 10 days ago and we were running out of clean clothes. Thankfully, the hotel had a coin-operated laundry room for guests. For $10.00, we did two loads of laundry, while catching up on journals and photo downloads. Not a bad way to spend an evening, considering the crazy days of driving we’d had recently.
November 7: Arches National Park. Starting mileage 35,264.
We were up and out early the next morning. Today, we were using our National Park Annual Pass for the first time. Arches would be the first of many national parks we’d see on our road trip.
National Parks
In 1872, President Ulysses S. Grant signed a bill that created our first national park, Yellowstone. The National Park System was established 44 years later by The Organic Act of 1916: “to conserve the scenery and the natural and historic objects and wildlife therein, and to provide for the enjoyment of the same in such manner and by such means as will leave them unimpaired for the enjoyment of future generations.” Today, the U.S. National Park system contains 60 National Parks and a number of national monuments and historical sites.
Our National Parks are treasures. They are sweeping and majestic scenery preserved for us, and native animals. They are history saved and remembered for us. And as Ken Burns and PBS say, they are America’s Best Idea. An annual pass is just $80 and allows a carful of people to enter any of our national parks. I cannot recommend the parks or the pass enough.
Arches National Park
We proudly showed our National Park Annual Pass to the Park Ranger at the entry gate that morning. I smiled and stared at his Smokey the Bear hat as he handed down a newspaper map with the formations, roads, and trails. And then we began our drive into the park…up, up, up. The road twisted and turned, doubling back on the mountain’s ridge as we climbed into the park and the Ranger’s station got smaller and smaller below us.
Originally named a national monument in 1929, Arches was re-designated a full-on National Park in November 1971. In its 76,000 acres, Arches National Park contains more than 2,000 natural sandstone arches and unique rock formations with descriptive names like Balanced Rock, the 3 Gossips, and Sheep Rock.
On the morning we entered, the sun turned the rocks orange against a blue, blue sky and a full white moon lingered in the horizon just above the rocks. Arches was a complete surprise to us. We hadn’t planned to be here and we were blown away by the place. Just a few minutes into the drive, Mama Lucy asked that we stop to clean the windows for better viewing opportunities.
Moon over Arches National Park.Near the entrance to Arches National Park, the moon sets over mammoth rocks and sandstone formations.Mama Lucy cleans her window for better viewing. Just inside the entrance to Arches National Park.
A Day in Arches National Park
It appeared that we were the first car into the park that morning, because when we pulled over at La Sal Mountains Viewpoint, all we heard was the wind in the desert. The sun warmed us as we looked out at stone formations called the 3 Gossips, Sheep Rock, The Tower of Babel, and The Organ. My-oh-my, what an astonishing view!
We spent the day like this…driving a little way, hopping out to walk a bit and photograph a lot, and gawking and expressing our happiness that our changed plans had allowed us to see this place. The park is easily accessible and you can see a lot from the car, or from short, easy walks. There are longer and more intense hikes for people who can do it. Overall, we were thrilled that Mama Lucy could experience so much without very long or too strenuous walks. Another reminder of what the National Parks System has done to preserve and to share the nation’s great beauty for all of us to see and enjoy.
The Three Gossips and Sheep Rock, in the Courthouse Towers area of Arches National Park.Mama Lucy sitting under Balanced Rock, Arches National Park. It is said that the rock is the size of 3 buses. We looked with awe and a little fear at the boulders sitting around us. From which rock pedestal had they fallen? A man in one of the double arch windows in The Windows Section of Arches National Park.
Walks, Lunch, and Taking Care of the Parks
We took short, easy trails to sit beneath Balanced Rock, to walk on the eyelids of the windows that form the Double Arch, to see the sand dunes arch, and to have a picnic lunch among the scrub jays, crows, and tiny chipmunk-like critters near The Devil’s Garden.
I was glad we’d packed lunch and could sit in the sun to eat. We had left over croissants and fruit from breakfast, plus salty snacks, and fresh water in our own Rubbermaid water vessels filled up at the Park’s visitor center. We were very careful to dispose of trash in the ample trash bins along the park’s main road. The parks are a brilliant reminder of how pristine the land can be when humans take care.
Everywhere you look in Arches National Park, there’s a dollop of rock dotting a ridge, or a window opening to a wide vista.A vista on the road north into Arches National Park.Cloud formations over the Fiery Furnace Area in Arches National Park.A road through Arches National Park. This part seemed like an intermission, or a palate cleanser before moving on to the next course.Arches National Park is on top of an underground salt bed. At one time, a mile-thick layer of rock covered the salt beds. But over time, the unstable salt beds repositioned under the weight, causing rock fins to jut up. Faults and erosion on these fins or ridges resulted in the arches and formations we see today.Melted, pancaked rocks along the walk to Delicate Arch, Arches National Park.Salt Wash Creek runs near Wolfe Ranch in Arches National Park.Carol walking to the Delicate Arch, Arches National Park. Thanks to the elderly lady on the trail returning from Delicate Arch who stopped me for a photo. She carefully composed this shot, asking me to turn and walk on in an “active moment.”
At the end of the day
As the day wore on, we wore out. We crammed in as many of the short trails as we could muster. The temperature warmed up and the light changed so that the formations we’d seen in the morning looked different by afternoon. And of course, we had to stop again for more, different photographs.
Follow me. A pilot car escorts us through an area where road work was happening. Arches National Park.The bird-beak Sand Dune Arch in Arches National Park.Vista to the Landscape Arch area in Arches National Park. At the time we were there, this trail was closed.The Organ, in the Courthouse Towers area of Arches National Park.Park Avenue from the Viewpoint. Near the entrance to Arches National Park.Near Park Avenue Viewpoint and Trailhead, Arches National Park.Cloud and rock detail, Park Avenue in Arches National Park.
Late in the afternoon, we stopped back by the Visitors Center to buy, write, and mail postcards from Arches while we were still in the park. We’d decided on a car wash and dinner at McStiff’s –both seemed an appropriate splurge given our and the car’s busy and physically exhausting day. Alas, neither was available…no car wash to be found in all of Moab, and McStiff’s was closed “for 2 days for Rest and Projects”. We ended up at Moab Diner, and not long afterward, fell into our brand new bedsheets to sleep like babies.
November 2: New Orleans to Dallas. Starting mileage 33,391.
Today, our plan was to drive across Louisiana into Texas, and spend the night near Dallas. We pulled out of New Orleans just before 9 a.m., weaving our way out of the city past the SuperDome, Lake Ponchartrain, and into a landscape of bayou swamps punctuated with stick trees. By the time we turned off I-10 West onto I-49 North the view had changed to pine trees and miles and miles of sugarcane fields.
Any day beginning with Cafe du Monde’s fresh hot beignets and coffee in New Orleans is a good day. Add a lunch stop for Louisiana home-cooked veggies and pie, and well, it’s a grand day! In keeping with our Road Trip lesson #6, we wanted a diner lunch. Now, this is not always easy to do when traveling on the U.S. interstate system. Sure, Cracker Barrels and McDonalds are everywhere. But how often do you find a local diner when on the interstate? Lucky for us, as we were nearing Alexandria, we saw Lea’s Diner listed on one of those blue services sign. The exit took us far into a rural area. Was the sign old? Was Lea’s gone? Just as we were thinking of turning back, we saw Lea’s–a large white building with a huge–and nearly full–parking lot. Turns out that Lea’s in Lecompte is “The Pie Capital of Louisiana”. So, in addition to a wholesomely delicious vegetable-plate lunch, we left with two pieces of pecan pie to go.
We were full from the healthy servings of vegetables at Lea’s Diner. But at the Pie Capital of Louisiana, one has to order the pie. So…pecan pie to go please! Yum!In keeping with our Road Trip lesson #6, we ventured off the highway for a diner lunch. Lucky us that we found Lea’s.
Texas, sassy Siri, and the Grackles
We crossed into Texas around 3 p.m. Everyone knows that Texas is a big state, but we were a little overwhelmed to see an exit numbered 635!
Sassy Siri
Since Washington D.C., we’d been using Siri for directions. Always a reserved travel companion, her calm voice gave us 10-mile and 2-mile exit reminders, and advised us on the lane we’d need to be in to make needed turns. About the time we were thinking of stopping for gas, she suggested a detour off the highway because of an unnamed hazard ahead, helpfully telling us the alternate route would save us six minutes. We took it.
We were driving along a back road, chatting about who-knows-what, when Siri interrupted with a sharper-than-normal voice, “I don’t know who your mother is. In fact, I don’t know who you are.” Well. Hello Siri! Mama and I laughed until we cried, amused and shocked that she had chimed into our conversation with such sass!
Only in Texas
We pulled over at an Exxon near Longview, to dry our eyes and fuel up. I stepped out of the car, surprised by the number of black birds walking around the busy fuel pump area. My chosen pump was broken and I had to go inside to prepay. Waiting in line, I noticed a tiger posed in a display case–dead and stuffed. Other majestic wild animals–now dead and stuffed–ringed the room. Sickened, and filled with growing fury that someone had hunted and killed these animals, it was, all of a sudden, my turn at the counter. I was not going to spend a penny to support this place. Nearly tongue-tied with sadness and anger, I think I said something along the lines of “Nevermind. I’m not shopping here because of the dead animals,” and left.
These moments in Texas were some of the strangest of our trip with Sassy Siri and the Grackles. Sounds like a pop-rock band.
Grackles
Back in the parking lot, more black birds had gathered. They flocked around the cars, hopping between the pumps and making the strangest, loudest sounds I’ve ever heard from birds. Two sat by the driver-side door as I came around. They stared without moving–maybe they were looking to see what they could grab out of my hands, or how easy it would be to peck my eyes out. They–and their parking-lot gang–sounded off like slide whistles or car alarms as I jumped in the car slamming the door. One bold and steely-eyed bird flew up to stand on the hood of the car as I put the key in the ignition. I didn’t want to run over his friends who might follow me now, and possibly into the afterlife, so I started moving very, very slowly. He sat there on the hood, staring back at me as if I was car-jacking his ride. It was only when I reached the street that he flew away, thankfully leaving us with the windshield wiper.
Later in the safety of our hotel room, I did a little research and found out these brazen birds are Great Tail Grackles, notorious for their array of “songs” and likelihood to be found hanging out at restaurants and convenience stores.
Until the cows come home?
We drove and drove and drove that day, through a surreal Texas landscape of smiling brown cows in fields, oil derricks shading picnic tables, and a sad truck carrying live chickens. A truck blew a tire right beside us. The sun went down and we were still on the road. Siri once again advised a detour to save three minutes. We declined, and ended up waiting in traffic to pass through an accident area with multiple fire truck and police car lights. Policemen motioned a single file of cars to drive with care through a mass of gravel on the highway. As we neared our hotel for the night, Siri took us off the highway onto backroads lit by the moon and bordered by golden fields and cows still grazing. Apparently, the cows don’t come home at night.
November 3: Dallas to Kansas. Starting mileage 33,911.
We were up early for the hotel’s free breakfast buffet and drove into Dallas just after the Friday morning rush hour.
Dealey Plaza
Back in D.C., we had visited John F. Kennedy’s grave. Today, our first stop was Dealey Plaza, where JFK was assassinated in November 1963. Like 9/11 or Pearl Harbor, “the day Kennedy was shot” is one of those days people remember. They remember exactly where they were, and what they were doing when they heard the news that he’d been shot in Dallas and had died. And today, almost 54 years later, we were standing at the scene of the crime.
There it all was, just like we’ve seen in movies and in the Zapruder film–the grassy knoll, the book depository, the turn on to Elm Street, the overpass. A green X on Elm Street marks the spot where Kennedy was hit. Signs tell us where Zapruder stood to make his infamous film, and where witnesses heard noises and saw smoke. Anyone can stand in that plaza and look at the X, and the 6th-floor window of the Book Depository behind it, and see for themselves what an impossibility it was. Plus, Zapruder’s film shows Kennedy’s head going back–as if a bullet had come from in front of his car, from the grassy knoll. Call it what you will. But having stood there, there’s no way there was just one shooter. I’m not the only non-believer. Other people were there too, most photographing, and one measuring and making notes. Mama and I walked around slowly, looking more than talking. Absorbing.
Dealey Plaza in Dallas, Where John F. Kennedy was assassinated in 1963. The turn from Houston to Elm and the Book Depository in the upper left.Fencing on the Grassy Knoll, Dealey Plaza, Dallas TX.The Book Depository, Dallas TX.A green X on Elm St. in Dallas, TX marks the place where a shot hit John F. Kennedy.
Oklahoma
We drove north out of Dallas, headed through Oklahoma to see Alex in Kansas. Wind farms, cows, birds gathered on bleachers and wires, and flat land for miles. Later, fog. Siri took us off the interstate as the sun was going down. We drove backroads that changed names, directions, and included a 3-mile stretch of gravel before returning to streets that, at least, looked inhabited. We found Alex’s house just inside the Kansas state line and enjoyed dinner with him.
Oklahoma Wind Farm.
November 4: Kansas to Denver. Starting mileage: 34,308.
There’s nothing like a thick fog to start a day of driving. And my-oh-my what a day this one would turn out to be. After breakfast at the hotel, we wound our way north on little roads until we caught up with I-35 just before Wichita. The fog was heavy for a long while. There still wasn’t much to see when it lifted beyond Kansas’ crop fields, windmills, cows, and an occasional flock of birds murmuring.
Fog lifting in Kansas.A million birds making in-flight designs in Kansas.
Warning Light
Hours later, somewhere around Colby, Kansas, the change oil light came on. We’d driven the car 5,000 miles in just over two-weeks. Of course, it deserved an oil change. We pulled into a truck service station and they kindly told us they could change it for us, but we’d have to go to another place to buy the filter and oil. At the other place, they told us that if a Chevy dealer didn’t change the oil, it could void Mama Lucy’s warranty. I searched on the phone. The nearest dealer was in Denver. It was Saturday and the dealer would close at 4 p.m. MST. It was 1 p.m. MST now, and we were three hours from Denver. The race was on.
Mama called ahead. “Of course we can change your oil if you arrive by 4 p.m.,” the dealer in Denver said. Meanwhile, I drove fast–let’s just say it was a little over the speed limit. The interstate was practically empty, and though it was getting windy, the sun had come out.
It was a fine day for a drive….until the tumbleweeds
We were humming along. A little tense, but confident we’d make it to Denver in time. The Kansas fields were golden, cows grazed by windmills–bucolic, pastoral, bread-basket land. Around the Kansas/Colorado state line, I began noticing tufts of straw balls gathered in little piles along the road side fences. “Ah! They must be tumbleweeds that got stopped by the fences,” I said as I noted to myself that the piles seemed to be stacking higher. And then…crossing the road just in front of us was a tumbleweed on the move! It was about the size of a basketball and bounced across the road and off to the shoulder to join others in the fence pile. We chuckled that we’d gotten to see a real, live tumbleweed. Neat! They’re not just in Texas or Arizona or where the Westerns and the ghost towns are!
And then, here comes another one. This one was closer, and more like the size of a suitcase. We missed it. And another one, two, three backpack-sized ones–now tumbling diagonally across the road toward the car. We hit one and heard the sound of brittle sticks breaking beneath the car. A minute later, a large one–about the size of an ottoman–rolled right between the wheels. We heard dings and scraping just before the stick-breaking sounds. This went on for several miles. I felt like I was in a video game–trying to avoid the tumbleweed obstacles, while staying in my lane with my swerving and the wind pushing, and still hauling because of the time limit.
The clouds were clearing as we neared the Colorado border, just before the tumbleweeds started.
Denver and the Oil Change
This story has a happy ending. We arrived at Bozarth Chevrolet in Aurora right at 4 p.m. It was the whitest, cleanest mechanic shop I’ve ever seen. They welcomed us and got started. A mere 25-minutes later, they had finished changing the oil. We barely had time to use their facilities and got some snacks in the waiting room. I think they even gave Mama’s Chevy a car wash and must have picked the tumbleweed straws out of the grill. Lesson #8 of the trip: Always take care of your ride.
The car getting an oil change and spa treatment in Denver.
October 30: Memphis to Tupelo and Louisiana. Starting mileage 32,852.
On the Natchez Trace
We left Tupelo on the Natchez Trace, a 444-mile highway that follows old Indian trails from Nashville, TN to the Mississippi River in Natchez, MS. Since we are Nashvillians, we know about Natchez Trace. Years ago, my father was obsessed with the building of its bridge over Highway 96 at Birdsong Hollow. And I’ve had many meals at the Loveless Cafe not far from where Natchez Trace starts. I’ve driven short distances on the two-lane road, always feeling reluctant to exit it, and wondering if I might still see Indians or settlers passing by in the thick woods along the road. It is protected land: a living history of what the American “West” looked like in the early 1800s. You’ll see no gas stations, McDonalds, Walgreens, or strip malls on it.
High Cotton
Instead, Mama and I saw deer, and a coyote. Cedar, cypress and pine trees lined the quiet road, and in the distance, fields of cotton stretched for miles. We left Natchez Trace to get fuel and cut over to I-55 via a small road through farms and acres of high cotton. White bits of fluffy cotton balls lined the road. When we pulled over for photos, I picked up a bit of cotton from the road. Mama and I sat in the car for a few minutes feeling the incredible softness of this little piece of cotton, amazed that ages ago someone, somehow, figured out how to take this little miracle from a puff, to thread, to clothing.
Cotton field in Mississippi.
October 31: LaPlace to New Orleans. Starting Mileage 33,303.
After a night in LaPlace, Louisiana, we were ready to go see some plantations before driving into New Orleans for a two-night stay. These Louisiana parishes are known for growing sugarcane. In its heyday, The Mississippi River used to be a grand boulevard through here, when more than 300 plantations radiated out from every bit of river shoreline from Baton Rouge all the way down to New Orleans. Today, few of the grand old houses remain. Many of those that survived are open to tours and/or have restaurants and bed and breakfast accommodations. But for me, this was all about those magnificent trees.
Louisiana Plantations: Oak Alley
For years, I’ve seen photos of the ancient oaks at Oak Alley Plantation and it was our first stop. As we drove down River Road, we heard the church bells of St. James Parish. Suddenly, there they were, 28 massive oak trees partnered as if for a reel and lined up back to a big house.
In the early 1700s, an unknown French settler placed 28 oak seedlings in two evenly spaced rows from his modest house down to the river. The settler eventually left and his house fell into ruins, but the trees continued to grow. In 1837, a French sugar planter, Jacques Roman, built a mansion at the end of the allée of oaks where the original house had stood. Oak Alley Plantation, as seen from River Road. In the old steamboat days, seeing this allée of oaks from the river meant you were halfway between Baton Rouge and New Orleans. Naturally, the giant oaks at Oak Alley Plantation are the stars here. These trees have lightning rods to protect them during storms, and are well-maintained with liquid fertilizer and regular trimmings.Oak Alley Plantation, Louisiana. Spared during the Civil War, the house was unable to avoid disrepair during Reconstruction. In 1925, the property was purchased and restored, and in the 1970s put into a trust for preservation. Only a handful of plantations remain. Most have been knocked down–too broken to repair, too costly to maintain, and no longer income-generating. Instead, mostly chemical and oil refinery plants line the Mississippi River now.
Southern Hospitality
At Oak Alley Plantation, we learned that a pineapple served whole on a guest’s breakfast tray meant it was time to go, as in: “You’ve overstayed your welcome. Here’s a pineapple for your trip home.”
We had lunch at Oak Alley, an old four-square building with one fireplace in the center of the building and shared via corner openings into each room. Genius design. They served a delicious Po-boy fish sandwich with rice and beans, and sweet mint tea, made even better by the location among those old oaks.
The Mississippi River Levee
Later, we walked over to see the Mississippi River from atop the levee. These levees were built after the 1927 floods, and are nothing more than ridges topped with dirt and concrete. I don’t know what I expected of a levee, but this wasn’t it. We did enjoy a few minutes of breezes at that height and the view of the wide, muddy Mississippi.
On the porch at Oak Alley Plantation, looking towards the Mississippi River. At the end of the walk, past the little gate and the River Road, is the shore of the river. Today the levee is built high enough to protect the area from catastrophic flooding. And though all the antebellum homes face the river, their view of the water is obstructed. The levee blocks the view of the Mississippi River. The remaining plantations cannot be seen from the river.Mama Lucy on the Mississippi River levee.Mama at Evergreen Plantation.
Louisiana Plantations: Evergreen
Next, we stopped at Evergreen Plantation, about 15 minutes from Oak Alley, towards New Orleans. This Creole farmhouse was built in 1790 before the Louisiana Purchase brought them and their land into the USA. It is the most intact plantation in the South with 37 buildings (including 22 slave cabins) on the National Register of Historic Places, and also holds landmark status for its agricultural acreage. Today, Evergreen Plantation is still a privately-owned, working sugarcane plantation. In fact, trucks were busy harvesting and trucking cane from the fields while we visited.
Evergreen Plantation, a Creole plantation built in 1790, renovated in 1832, it continues to be a working sugarcane farm.Even today, Evergreen Plantation continues to grow sugarcane. This is the front yard of the plantation. Across the street, trucks harvest sugarcane. This Mississippi River is beyond the tree line.Spanish Moss drips from trees on the Evergreen Plantation grounds. Louisiana.Also, Evergreen Plantation has 22 former slave cabins, later used up until 1947 to house sugarcane workers. They are in an allée of 82 live oaks leading down to the fields.Evergreen Plantation’s 102 oaks lining a red dirt road to the sugarcane fields behind the house.Sugarcane grows beneath a puffs of clouds in Louisiana.
October 31 – November 2: New Orleans, Louisiana.
After the plantations, we spent two days in extraordinary New Orleans, mostly wandering the French Quarter and eating–Po-boy sandwiches with seasoned fries, beignets and chicory coffee at Cafe du Monde, and red beans and rice and a Pimm’s Cup at the Napoleon House. We saw the Mississippi River at Jackson Square, mules in horses’ harnesses, saxophone players on the streets, wrought iron balconies dripping with ferns and decked out for Halloween (or Mardi Gras?). Of course, we saw beads in trees, beads on balconies, beads on the streets.
Beads & a fern on the sidewalk. New Orleans, Louisiana.Beignets and coffee. Cafe du Monde. French Quarter. New Orleans, LA.Lucy at Cafe du Monde. NOLA.New Orleans sign for Hotel Monteleone.New Orleans. Old and New.The Royal Pharmacy. Haunted? Maybe! I liked the neon. New Orleans, LA.Old door detail. New Orleans, LA.Sassy little shotgun house for rent. NOLA.Beads in a party tree. NOLA.Stay Puft Marshmellow Man and a Hearse. Only in New Orleans, LA.Beads on a balcony. New Orleans, LA.
October 23. Washington D.C. to New York City. Starting Mileage 30,757.
We woke up to a dense D.C. fog. After a light breakfast, we loaded the car, and hit the road for New York City. We had the handy-dandy road atlas, but stillgot tangled in the rainy, foggy morning traffic out of D.C. Even a pull-over for a longer look at the map didn’t help us. Unless you know where you are, it’s difficult to get where you want to go.
Mama’s car was equipped with OnStar and she buzzed them for help. But even they had trouble locating us. While on hold, I opened my iPhone maps and immediately saw where we were, and the road we needed to be on. Duh! The phone! Why hadn’t we been using this all along?! I typed in the address of our next destination, saw the options for directions, chose one, and hit go. And calm, cool, collected Ms. Siri joined us as navigator. Siri did not disappoint–her directions were accurate, and included ample warning for upcoming exits, and even which lanes to use. We learned over the next few days that she was also psychic–knowing where there were hazards, accidents, and traffic and offering us go-around options on the fly. Lesson #5 of this trip: Trust Siri.
It was a day of tunnels, bridges, turnpikes, tolls, and checking off new states. We drove through Maryland eating clementines, and passed under Chesapeake Bay in a long tunnel. After a few short pit-stops / photo-opps in Maryland and Delaware, we entered Pennsylvania and the outskirts of Philadelphia.
A Philly Cheese Steak in South Philly
Several places fell so close to our route that it would be stupid not to go. The first one was the home of the Philly Cheese Steak in Philadelphia.
Mama Lucy loves getting a Philly Cheese Steak at the mall. So, why not stop and get a genuine cheese steak in Philly? We’d read that the inventor of the “cheesesteak”, Pat’s King of Steaks, and their chief competitor, Geno’s Steaks, were close together in a working-class South Philly neighborhood. Thanks to Siri, we drove through Passyunk, where the boxy, row house doors came out onto the sidewalks without stairs or porch accessories, and straight to the scissor-X corner of Pat’s and Geno’s. It was a busy corner. Both places are open 24/7, famous, and popular. We found street parking, the overhead menu, and two windows to order in a time-honored Philly ritual.
At the first window, a tall man leaned down to talk to us. An army of young men were behind him in a cloud of steam, churning out meat sandwiches and fries–the only things on the menu.
“Wit or wit-out?” he asked (for onions).
“Whiz?” (for the cheese choice).
“Just one?” he asked.
“Yes, but two fries and two cokes please.”
“Second window,” he nodded to his right, “$11. Cash only.”
Stepping over three feet to the second window, we ordered two fries and two cokes.”$12, cash.” Done. We waited only a moment and took our tray to the end of an enamel-red picnic table. Mama Lucy said it was the best Philly Cheese Steak ever.
Stopping at Pat’s King of Steaks in South Philly to get Mama Lucy a genuine Philly Cheese Steak.Philly Cheese Steak corner in Philadelphia: Geno’s and Pat’s face each other on a crazy busy corner.The Philadelphia neighborhood, Passyunk.
The Atlantic Ocean and the Atlantic City Boardwalk
We took a hard right in Philadelphia, heading out I-76 to the Atlantic City Expressway, and southeast to the Atlantic Ocean. In just a couple of hours, we were standing in front of the Atlantic Ocean. The ocean called to come closer. We walked off the Boardwalk, out across the dry sand, to the wet sand, to where the birds were sifting around in the surf. And there she was, the great Atlantic Ocean on a windy, cloudy day, roaring and splashing and gray.
When we returned to the Boardwalk, the wind eased up. Miles of the wooden boards stretched ahead of us. I had imagined the Boardwalk as it must have looked in its heyday, with a Zoltar to tell me “your wish is granted.” Instead, like so many places around the world, the old is not treasured, taken care of, or protected. Progress plunders on. Development happens. Casinos and modern strip malls replaced many of the beautiful old buildings. These days, rows of cheap souvenir shops and lackluster ice cream parlors line up on the Boardwalk, facing off against the ocean and the beach for tourists’ attention.
There she is, Ms. Mama Lucy at the Atlantic Ocean in Atlantic City, NJ.The Atlantic City Boardwalk, New Jersey.
Into New York City
Our agreement for this road trip was that Mama Lucy put in her car, I paid for the hotels, and we split gas and food. I wanted to take care of her car–who, along with Siri, was becoming a major character in our story. I’d searched and searched for the unicorn hotel–a clean, safe place in the budgeted price range, with parking, and close enough to public transportation for a 79-year-old to walk. This is no easy set of criteria. I struck gold in New York with the Best Western Long Island City in Queens. I’d called to confirm there was parking and the hotel clerk had advised me to call on the morning we’d be arriving and they would make sure one of the eight spaces was saved for us. They were true to their word, and after a long day of driving, some shocking toll tallies, and a tense twilight drive on busy, narrow lanes into New York City, we pulled into the hotel’s last skinny parking spot. I think I heard the car and Siri exhale their relief.
The trusty car, 2nd from the right, parked in a tight valuable space at our New York hotel.With a little help from the hotel desk clerk, we figured out the NYC subway lines.
October 23-25. New York City.
First, we took the F train from 21st Street Queens Bridge station to W. 4th at Washington Square where we switched to the E train and to the last stop near the World Trade Center.
The 9/11 Memorial
The morning was brisk, but sunny. We walked around the footprints of the twin towers, now a memorial of waterfalls into waterfalls into a black abyss. Wind sprayed water. White roses graced the engraved names of those victims who would have celebrated a birthday today. We touched the cold marble of the 9/11 memorial, tracing a few names with our fingers. Sixteen years before, this space had been under a heap of debris and disbelief. Today, it was quiet, powerful and peaceful.
Inside the Oculus, New York City. The modern transit hub near the World Trade Center looks like ribs, though others have described it (as seen from the outside) as the clipped wings of a dove.Freedom Tower and clouds. NYC.The water falls and falls, down into an abyss where no bottom can be seen. Ground Zero, World Trade Center memorial.
Times Square in the Rain
Later in the morning, it began to rain. We stumbled into a cozy little Italian Place for a comfort food lunch before catching a train uptown. The rain may have dampened the day, but it made the lights of Times Square glow. Leave it to Mama Lucy to find an empty folding chair under a construction awning in Times Square during the hardest rain. Huddled there with other tourists and locals, we once again enjoyed an unexpected break–this time under the bright lights, with the big city views.
Lucy at Radio City Music Hall. At 5’8″, she’s the perfect height to be a Rockette!Lucy & Carol: Times Square, NYC.Lucy hurrying to get out of the rain in Times Square.
Finally, some maps of our route from Washington D.C. through Maryland and Delaware to Philadelphia PA, Atlantic City NJ, and into New York City.
Route from Washington D.C. through Maryland.Mapped route through Maryland and Delaware.The route into Philadelphia.After Philadelphia PA–we headed southeast to Atlantic City NJ, and then north to NYC.Last, our route into New York City…a $39.25-toll day.
