the adventures begin

What I did during my summer vacation.  (originally posted to facebook nov, 2013)

I recall in school the teachers would always have us write what we did during the summer vacation.  I think this was as much a soft landing for them as for us, but anyway, for several reasons I found myself traversing the USA this summer.  In fact, I made three road trips across the country in total. I am sharing some of my thoughts to encourage you to share your summer vacation or comment on mine. Facebook offers us an opportunity to share beyond food and party details or just forwarding what others have written, even though those are interesting at times.  

The trip from Arizona to Virginia is 2280 miles and it crosses a wide variety of geography.  There is one thing for certain about the USA: it is one big country.  (For proper effect read the following in a slight nasal  snarky voice in your mind) From your very big Sierra Nevada mountains through your also big central plains and even into the big, but not so big as the Sierras, Appalachian mountains, basically hills to those of us who live on the west coast but mountains to those who who ain’t ne’er seen a real mountain, this country is one BIG place.

I have come to a conclusion that it is this geography which is, at least partially, responsible for some of the recent disconnects in our government and our public dialogs, Both East and West Coasts are separated from the prairie states by mountain ranges. We learned this in elementary school, but what was not taught is the understanding of what this separation creates.  The coastal areas are introduced to other countries and other cultures on a daily basis because of the trade and entry ports that dot each coastline. The coastal areas are also more densely populated than the middle of our county.  This paucity of  people and an isolation from the daily interactions with a cultural mélange seems to contribute to the us vs. them that is now permeating our society; even though the “them” is really “us”.

The people I met in the Midwest and Southern states were genuinely nice.  They were interested in offering help with directions, facilities, menus, just about everything. One RV park manager stayed late to check us in since we had encountered some accident traffic delay.  They, like me, were concerned about the price of gas, the crummy roads, and heavy traffic through cities. There was also a homogenous texture to the people.  A single dialect instead of the mixture found on both coasts.  The reliance on electronic sources for news, not many local papers left in business as I discovered, has contributed to a reduction of the intellectual challenges of alternate views.  This, coupled with the lack of diverse national news broadcasts in many rural areas, promotes a singleness of thinking.  I found it amazing how a small church can support a 50,000 watt broadcast station spreading their teachings 24/7 while NBC, CNN, NPR or even Fox cannot deliver the national and international news into the same areas. Audio books became my BFF.

Towing a camp trailer was an immediate opening for conversations about the merits, or lack thereof, of various “rigs” (never refer to a “trailer” as such; it is always your “rig” which includes the trailer and the tow vehicle).  Rigs come in two varieties, tow behinds, or “tagalongs” and fifth wheelers and you use either “gas” or “fuel”, i.e. diesel.  The relative merits of each can be discussed and argued for what can seem an eternity, errh, I meant a reasonable time to agree that everyone has their opinion. Almost forgot my manners there.

The geography of this country provides some of the most beautiful views available anywhere on earth. The canyons, peaks and pines of the Sierras fade into the broad expanses of the deserts, dotted with scrub bushes and occasional cactus, which in turn splash  like rivers onto the rolling hills of the South that feed the tree covered mountains of the East Coast.  This is the country where sunrises and sunsets compete for the honor of being the brightest display of colors and the forested valleys argue the merits of red and yellow and green with the sienna and ochre painted canyons.

In the middle of this country, the cities are more compact than on either coast. There are large expanses of open land between the congregations of people.  The fields tilled for crops of various plants and the acres fenced for livestock  run on for miles.  When compared to the seemingly endless cities on both our eastern and western edges these clusters of humanity appear and disappear with amazing speed.  Some of these towns are divided by rivers or state lines and those who live there define themselves by which locale they call home.  Ask someone in Southern California where they live you are likely to get just a city name or perhaps even a county designation.  In the Midwest it was “east” this or “west” that for location; more defined, more specific.  I think this closer tie to a location may be the result of the distance between these communities.  One night, after dinner, I walked over to a local DQ (that is a Dairy Queen ice cream shop, although it is never referred to by its full name) and talked to the woman who worked there while eating my sundae (slow night and I think she welcomed the company).  She mentioned that she had just moved back to the town. I asked from where and learned that the move was only from about 30 miles away.  I commented about how it wasn’t too far and was told that it was in fact a long distance and how the people “there” weren’t like they are “here”.  I did not mention that my commute to work was often more than 30 miles. “This is where I grew up and I belong here.” She told me.  Home is truly where some people belong.

I was able to see the impact of the “Great Depression” as it is now called.  Both large and small buildings now sit empty.  Businesses that once supported workers and their families are no longer there.  Some buildings echo with equipment and inventory still in the yards silenced by for sale or for lease signs.  There were some signs of returning prosperity that raised themselves.  In towns and cities, there were help wanted signs, mainly in retail businesses. Trucking businesses seemed to be forever looking for drivers; company drivers, teams, owner/operators all needed; 40 feet long trailers acted as moving sign boards advertising the need for drivers; “Make more money with us, get more miles” “Be home weekends” all designed as lures to attract drivers. If driving a semi is at all like driving my F150 with trailer (doubtful I know), I understand why the need.  Long haul driving quickly wears down the body and the mind and trying to meet a delivery deadline while staying within the laws affecting professional drivers certainly must exacerbate the problem. 

My opinion about Elvis Presley has changed.   A visit to Graceland, Elvis’ Memphis home, was a part of one trip with some British hippies (son-in-law’s nephew and wife – Okay, maybe not hippies but friends nonetheless).  My initial thoughts were glitz, phony, gaudy, and all the negatives that surround the public persona of Elvis Presley.  I was wrong.  The house was not the gaudy ostentatious display of conspicuous consumption I anticipated. It was decorated in the style of 1970’s but not over blown.  The displays of gold records, community awards and stage costume were presented in a rather low-key manner without neon lights or loud music.  The section devoted to his charitable contributions was greatly understated, even though he gave many thousands of dollars to charity and needy people.  Elvis’ numerous contributions and charities were relegated to about a 10-foot display case. Graceland must have humility in the water.  That being said, a new management company was named last week and placed in charge of Graceland which could (will?) change the atmosphere.  CKX Co., the new managers, have talked about adding “Attractions”.  Elvis, you can never go home again.

Jack Daniels distillery is in this folksy small town of Lynchburg. Well, actually, the distillery is the town; if you don’t work for Jack Daniels, you work to support it.  The tour of the facility takes you through the whole process starting with making the charcoal that filters the sour mash brew that is the basis for the whiskey over to the distillery plant that delivers 30 gal per minute and ends in one of the 30+ barrel houses, most scattered around the county, where the whiskey ages in oak barrels, each labeled and dated waiting to be siphoned into bottles and shipped to every state in the union and many countries.  There is a room dedicated to those who have purchased a full barrel of whiskey.  Many of the names have multiple small barrels to indicate more than one was purchased.  Jack Daniels is the self-proclaimed highest selling whiskey in the world.  Jobs are passed from father to son and on through the generations.  There are no employees in suits and the parking lot is filled with trucks equipped with gun racks.  As a perk, all employees are given two bottles of Jack Daniels per month with their paychecks.    Interestingly, Lynchburg is in a dry county, so no alcohol can be sold in it, meaning you can’t buy whiskey at the distillery.  American ingenuity was never stalled by silly rules and so what you can buy is a commemorative glass bottle, which they will gladly fill with complimentary whiskey.  Here is a company town, making good whiskey, living within the law, treating its employees well and proud of it.

We ate lunch at a small café in Lynchburg. Near the entrance were several rows of paper bags with the tops neatly folded over, rather like the lunch sacks I used to take to school.  In fact, they were lunches for the workers at the distillery.  As I mentioned if you don’t work for Jack, you support his operation.  Our waitress was very nonchalant about them, “Yeah, we make a bunch of them and they come get one on the way to work.”  Business as usual.  The café produced good food.

As I mentioned, I made three trips and on each, I discovered something unseen on the prior trip.  I visited the “Devils Rope Museum”  a moderate sized building devoted to barbed wire and the taming of the prairies.  I traveled a portion of the “Mother Road” Highway 66 and saw how the Interstate freeway system killed some towns. I stopped at rest stops that overlooked acres of wind generators and others that overlooked miles of open land.  I saw the damage a tornado passing through a wooded area can cause.   I saw a row of Cadillacs buried nose first in the ground.  I stopped at towns on an American Indian reservations that had stores selling “Indian jewelry” made in Bangladesh.  Towns surrounded by homes that sorely needed unaffordable repairs.  I watched long 100+ car trains labor up inclines and then race the commercial trucks down grades and on to destinations on both coasts.  I learned that all “free breakfasts” are not the same.

I recall taking what seemed like long family trips for vacations as a kid,.  I don’t recall enjoying those trips near as much as I did this summer’s.  I guess age and experience have ways of elevating your senses and permitting you to see, and understand, more of the landscape and people on a trip.

It’s been a while and I think I am ready to gas up, hook up my rig and hit the road, again. There are a lot more things to discover. See you down the road.