MIDWEST MARATHON--Day 4

Milepost 1304.7--Arrival in Kansas City with an outside air temperature of 48 degrees accompanied by a bit of drizzle.  It's cold here and I have definitely brought the wrong clothes.

The big event of the day is Granddaughter Molly's graduation (with a Masters, no less) from the University of Missouri.  I'm not sure where she inherited her propensity for good grades and excellent study habits, but it wasn't her grandmother.

At her age, I would have been all over this.

Among a number of unwritten Mizzou rules, a student must "Ride the Tiger" before graduation, so Molly just checked that off her list.

Although a little more low key, Molly's parents are every bit as excited as Molly regarding her graduation--perhaps even more so.  One graduated, one to go.

It was a great day full of family, fun, food and great excitement.  CONGRATULATIONS, Molly.

MIDWEST MARATHON--ABQ to DDC

9:28 a.m.--Pushback in Albuquerque, NM.  In contrast to yesterday's haze and low gray clouds, today was crisp, clear, brilliant blue sky and a bracing 48 degrees.  Today's trip will take us through the remainder of New Mexico, diagonally across the panhandles of Texas and Oklahoma, then eventually into Dodge City. 

2:33 p.m. and Mile 762.4--Stratford, TX, with a stop at the local Dairy Queen for a shared hot fudge sundae.  On a typical mid-afternoon, Stratford looks like this.  This model is so popular, that the style has spread across all of Texas, Oklahoma and Kansas. But, don't think the little towns are interchangeable--each has its own personality.

Tummies full, we forged through the west Texas/Oklahoma/Kansas wind and reached Dodge City about 6:30 p.m.  Since Dodge City was home for many, many years and is about eight hours from Albuquerque, it's a good stop for us.  But on this particular trip, we're here to watch Granddaughter Quinlan perform with her Eighth Grade Drill Team.  They're touring schools to strut their stuff and, I'm sure, begin recuiting for future members.

Mile 940.3

Thursday morning, Lincoln School, Dodge City...Quinlan is toward the front with red pom-pom held high.

The Drill Team Leaders performed a few numbers by themselves.  Miss Quinlan is on the right.  Her Grandpa is pretty proud of her precision and form.

One last dance for the leaders before moving on to their next school.  It's going to be a long day for them, but we're hopping in the car and heading east to Kansas City. 

MIDWEST MARATHON--PHX to ABQ

9:11 a.m.--Mile 0:  Pushback from the driveway.  Lights off, water off, garage door down.  Checklist complete.

10:24 a.m.--Mile 86.5:  Co-Pilot/Navigator has to pee.  Unscheduled pull off at Camp Verde's McDonald's for requested relief stop and, while we're at it, a Caramel Mocha.

Sidelight:  When you leave Surprise (elevation 1,100) you will climb, over a period of 2 1/2 hours (depending on whether or not you follow speed limit advisories) nearly 6,000 feet to reach Flagstaff.  Initially, the terrain is a series of climbs and descents.  Signs read: 3,000 feet, 4,000 feet, 3,000 feet, 4,000 feet, (yes, it's redundant), then 5,000 feet, quickly followed by 6,000 feet and climbing.  We began the journey in an area of  Saguaro cactus, spring green grasses and scattered bushes, then climbed to a grassy plateau, passed through an area of  increasingly thick Juniper trees (they look a bit like Kansas and Oklahoma cedars) into a beautiful Ponderosa Pine and Aspen forest.  The pines become thicker as you approach Flagstaff but, sadly, show more and more signs of the decade long drought and the subsequent virulent bark beetle.  Today we saw too many dead and dying trees.

The San Francisco Peaks from I-17.  It's snowing on the peaks this morning and much too cloudy to see how beautiful they can be.

12:22 p.m.--Mile 178.5:  The pilot has to pee, so we stop at my favorite Arizona Rest Area.  It's carefully sited in an area  surrounded by reddish rocks and multiple signs warning of poisonous snakes, but it is relatively new, clean and scenic.

Rest area just east of Flagstaff on I-40.  This doesn't do it justice.

1:18 p.m.--Mile 196.2:  Stop at Winslow, AZ, for lunch--Pilot and Co-Pilot/Navigator are hungry.  McDonald's once again.  Did I mention we are way too disciplined for junk food, so we eat our salads while deeply and frequently inhaling the wonderful french fry scents wafting from our neighbors' tables.

Eastern Arizona...And they say Montana is Big Sky Country!

The eastern edge of Arizona and western edge of New Mexico on I-40...with a little rear view mirror thrown in for effect.  This, to me, is the beginning of Navajo country.  If you grew up with the Santa Fe Railroad, this was what you saw...only it included a mile long train in the background and a beautiful little Navajo girl in the foreground.  I always feel as if we're driving into a calendar at this point.

Here's the Navajo Hogan which appears to be wired.

Overkill I know, but I love this area of western New Mexico.

5:46 p.m.--Mile 459.3:  Wheels down in Albuquerque, NM.  Actually, if you're a New Mexico native it's 6:46 p.m.  Even though Arizona and New Mexico are both in the mountain time zone, Arizona doesn't believe in daylight savings time and so they're on Pacific time for a few months and....oh, never mind!  We work it out twice a year.

VERMONT FINALE

Our scheduled visit in Vermont sailed by much more quickly than we had expected, leaving a few "to do's" undone.  We quickly learned that the Vermont terrain and two lane, 55 mile per hour roads severely limited our far-flung travel plans.  If there is ever a next time, I'd rent in two or three areas of the state for a few days each and thus spend more time visiting and less time driving.  I know this same scenario will play out in Ireland, so we're planning for that and mapping our route accordingly.

I'm definitely glad we made the trip.  It was different than our normal attempt to cover and see all the territory possible in the shortest time. The opportunity to simply enjoy our location, the lake, the peace and quiet and Vermont Public Radio was most welcome.  We're hoping to find the happy medium in Ireland between the classic "If this is Dingle, it must be Tuesday", and regrets over missing some square inch of the island.

Our highlights were many--Tanglewood comes to mind immediately and its location in the Berkshires.  That deserved much more time than we could give it because of the distance.  Ditto Lake Placid and the Adirondacks in New York state.  Rain was a factor when we toured the Shelburne Museum and Farms, but it was well worth the visit.  The cruise of Lake Champlain out of Burlington was fascinating and a definite must do.  Ben & Jerry's is a textbook experience of being steamrollered by crass commercialism dished out (along with tiny samples of new flavors of ice cream) by young, high energy tour guides.  Maple syrup tastings were available along every highway in our area and most of the local breweries were happy to offer a bit of their beer.  Fudge was big; jellies, jams and marmalades huge and, if you planned carefully, it was possible to taste your way from one end of the state to another as long as you were comfortable with small bites and relatively itty-bitty sips.   

What wouldn't I do again?  Place my camera on the trunk of the car, shed my jacket, hop in and drive off!!!  That happened one drizzly evening in Burlington near their Church Street Marketplace where cars were backed up for a block urging us (somewhat rudely) to leave our parking space.  I didn't even think about it until we were 90 minutes down the road and by then it was obviously too late.  So...the few pictures you've seen in this series were taken with a $10 blue plastic 35mm camera designed for...who knows?  It broke within days, but in the meantime I had taken one roll of film, not realizing that the front of the camera was a sort of transparanty blue plastic lens cover.   It's not like I left a high dollar DSLR smushed on the damp street.  It was simply a small Canon point and shoot, but I was becoming very fond of it.  Like all things that happen for better or worse, its loss led me to the camera I'm now learning to use for this blog and the Sun City Grand Photo Club which has been a tremendous source of information and I have great appreciation for the talent and hard work of its members.

We're leaving tomorrow morning for our annual trek to the midwest--we call it our Midwest Marathon and we're sure to add at least 3,000 more miles to our faithful oldish Toyota.  I'm hoping to practice for our Ireland trip and work out the kinks of blogging from the road.  I guess we'll enjoy or regret together!  

SUNRISE IN VERMONT, Part 2

Scattered among a beautiful Saturday spent with the Boston Symphony Orchestra and Chorus at their summer home in Tanglewood, Massachusetts; repeat trips to Burlington, Vermont, home of the University of Vermont; and a challenging day of navigating the Wine Trail (in French, no less) in southern Quebec, Canada, we squeezed in a day here and there to simply stay put at the cottage doing a bit of reading, writing, relaxing and, for BC, attempts to catch the big one or, in a pinch, anything with fins.

The cottage had its own small canoe and row-boat, and telling BC that he would be able to fish every day had seriously helped me convince him that two weeks in Vermont would be the best vacation of his life.  Considering how the trip had started, and how sweet he was about it all, I knew he would have permission to fish anytime he wanted.  So, the first day we spent at the cottage he decided he would fish from the canoe.  We hiked to the shore, turned over the canoe, found the oars and carried it to the water, flopping it in none too gently at my end.  Figuring he was set, I started back up the hill stopping mid-step when he suggested that I might enjoy a canoe ride.  "Don't canoes tip over easily?", I asked.  "Not if you know what you're doing," he corrected.   "I've never been in a canoe," I offered, "I'm not really big on boats."  Here it comes:  "But every fellow wants to take his best girl for a canoe ride."  He really said that and  I was stumped for a comeback.  I was trapped.

I followed his instructions to the letter.  I stepped in to the canoe as directed.  I carefully worked my way to the front seat, sat in the exact middle, didn't move, didn't lean, didn't breathe.  (Bear in mind, the canoe was alternately floating and scraping bottom in a few inches of water.)  He stepped in, pushed off with an oar, and we headed to sea...or is that to lake?

At my request, we stayed relatively close to the shore (I'm also not big on swimming in lakes), and I sat still as a statue while he rowed earnestly behind me.  Finally, after I offered a number of times to help row (the man is not a spring chicken) he handed me an oar, called out succinct instructions, and much to his surprise as well as my own, I turned out to be a natural born rower.  As long as I could row on the left (port side) of the boat I was really good.  The starboard--not so much.  Despite my winning form, I seriously lacked stamina, so it was soon time to take her to shore. We managed that, if not gracefully, at least successfully.

I quickly learned BC was just warming up.  He immediately put the rowboat in the water--canoes are more tricky when the wind comes up (which it had) and there is only one person inside as this apparently throws the weight and balance calculations completely off.  Rowboats must be more forgiving.  It was a beautiful day and from my vantage point higher on the hill I could see a couple of wind surfers playing with the breezes, a canoe slowly making its way from the New York shore, and numerous fishing boats roaring by sending out wakes that smacked against our shore.  

 I settled in with my laptop, Kindle and camera, occasionally glancing out toward BC and trying to remain calm as he rowed  farther from shore.  He would row, cast his fishing line, drift gently, then repeat the cycle.  Suddenly I heard him call and, thinking the worst, jumped up to see him gesturing and shouting that a canoe had just flipped over and he was off to the rescue.  I hurried to the shore and spotted the upside down canoe with a wind surfer closing in on it.  Farther north, BC had turned his boat around and was rowing like a crazy man toward the action.  I (have I mentioned my glass has always been half empty?) within a split second had written the conclusion of this event in my head.  BC will have a heart attack rowing to the canoeist, who will prove to be an Olympic swimmer after he safely reaches the New York shore from whence he came.  The wind surfer will vainly attempt to apply CPR to BC but, since his certification has lapsed, will be unsuccessful. I, despite my grief, will be sued for negligence since I  forgot to dial 911...but wait!  I can't dial 911...there is no cell phone reception within miles of the cottage.  I'm helpless here and beginning to stress. 

Having lost everything, I looked up again.  A large chartered fishing boat was quickly approaching the upended canoe complete with canoeist clinging on tightly, and the wind surfer.  BC was ten or fifteen feet from them all, still rowing like crazy. I watched as the fishing boat hauled in the canoeist/swimmer and tied onto his craft.  BC pulled close to the fishing boat and the wind surfer glided to his side. The guys on the fishing boat cracked open beers and they all drifted and shot the bull for the next thirty minutes.  Another successful manly mission. It was one of BC's favorite vacation days.

SUNRISE IN VERMONT, Part 1

Despite last night's drizzle and hysteria we did sleep and awakened early the next morning to a bright and beautiful sky, steeled ourselves for the day, bathed in front of God and everyone else in the neighborhood (did I mention the front door was glass?), gulped massive quantities of coffee, and attacked our cleaning project.  When BC accepts a mission, he becomes quite detailed--often to the point of obsessiveness--but two hours later, the fridge looked like new, Mr. Coffee was stain free, and every horizontal surface, while not exactly gleaming, was scoured.  The floors were swept, the sink cleaned, the trash emptied and there was happiness in our souls.  Unfortunately, it was only at this moment that I noticed a note on the fridge asking that only "natural" cleaning products be used in this cottage to protect the lake.  Uh Oh!  I'm normally pretty environmental so, obviously, I felt rather badly for a moment or two, but after promising not to repeat the mistake we moved on to the rest of the day.

As a reward for our efforts, we gathered our AAA books and maps plus a few other essentials and hit the road for Middlebury, VT.  Over the course of the next two weeks, we visited Middlebury frequently.  It was an easy twenty minute drive, and proved to be our quintessential Vermont town.  Yes, there was a steeple on the Congregational Church.  Yes, there were colonial homes here and there plus streets lined with historic buildings.  Shady parks with walking paths, a delightful creek, and a nearly 200 year old inn added atmosphere galore.  Middlebury College is a large presence in the community.  The trees on its picture perfect campus were just beginning to turn toward autumn as students were moving into dorms accompanied by teary-eyed moms and heavily laden dads carrying box piled on box.  If you're obsessed by New England as I am, it was a portrait of my daydreams. Vivaldi's "Four Seasons" echoed in my ears as we walked here and there while luxuriating in the atmosphere.  Well, maybe it was only me luxuriating in the atmosphere.  BC said it was pretty but, in reality, he was hungry and looking for a restaurant.

When we travel, we're big on substantial, late-ish lunches.  That generally holds us for the day although we might break down and snack a bit in the evening.  Over the course of our various lunches in Middlebury, we sat up very straight and used our best manners among the well-dressed patrons of the 187 year-old Middlebury Inn.  We kicked back and relaxed at the Storm Cafe located in an old mill on Otter Creek...much more a river than a creek in my eyes.  And finally, BC found his favorite of all favorites for the entire trip when we happened upon The Farmers' Diner.  There, we simply gorged ourselves on meat, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, chocolate pie and whatever else was put in front of us.  He was so happy, he was giddy for the rest of that day.

Middlebury was also home to the nearest large grocery store, so we stopped in to shop.  We bought cereal and fruit, then snuck into cheese, crackers, various dips, chips and nuts.  We moved farther down the "low fat" scale when we approached the frozen pizza.  Honest to God, we had never before bought a frozen pizza.  We bought two.  We moved on to ice-cream, popcorn and other forbidden items before finally pulling up to the check-out stand.  With only a slight bit of sticker shock (rural Vermont is not urban Arizona), we hurried back to the Nest so that nothing would melt or spoil, then unloaded it all--with great pleasure--into our sparkling refrigerator.  This had turned into a good day and it was actually about to get better!

The sun was just beginning to set over New York's Adirondack Mountains. Our Lake Champlain (viewed through the trees) was smooth as glass (trite but true) and reflected the setting sun perfectly.  We hurridly sliced cheese, set out crackers and dip, poured a little wine and moved out to our tiny deck. The evening became quieter and more peaceful  as the sun fell below the horizon and  conversation flowed effortlessly.  Vacations are definitely a different time.  Even though we're retired (vacation every day...right?) we are very busy with activities, classes, meetings, housework and all the etc's. that populate life.  This was pretty close to heaven.  The magic came from many sources, but as the water gently lapped against the shore and the light gradually faded we began to feel this trip to Vermont had really been a good decision as had the renting--am I really saying this?--of our cozy quirky little cottage.