Tucumcari Tonight!

On Friday, I couldn't keep to my self-injunction to stay on Interstate (or the equivalent). I did follow the Purchase Parkway/I-155 through the rest of Kentucky and the northwest corner of Tennessee, but then took secondary roads through Missouri and much of Arkansas down to Conway (just north of Little Rock). However, I did restrain the impulse to check out the nature of towns with such promising names as Wingo (Kentucky), Obion (Tennessee) and Possom Grape (Arkansas).

I-155 brought me across that great dividing line of superlatives (everything is the biggest/oldest/best-tasting this or that side of the Mississippi). I then took Route D (a number of Missouri roads are designated by letters instead of numbers) to 164, which is about as far south as one can get in Missouri (in the SE bootheel). As soon as I was across the Mississippi, the land became very flat, with huge fields. Many had an unharvested brown grass of some kind (winter wheat??); unlike KY, many of the fields were not yet planted, although some had the beginnings of green something growing in standing water (rice?). The trees no longer were a dense border around the fields, but had space between them and were only one tree deep. In Steel MO, I had to stop to take a picture of a Piggly Wiggly. That grocery chain was in New Mexico when I was a small child, and even then I knew it was a very silly name for a store, which of course made me fond of it. Piggly Wiggly was gone from NM by the time I was a teenager, but has hung on in parts of the south.

164 connected to 412, which I took west to Walnut Ridge, Arkansas, turning southwest there on 87. This took me alongside a busy train route. The roadside wildflowers at some point became Queen Anne's lace and some low purple thing. At Beebe, I turned west on Rt 64 to Conway. The land became hillier. I had chosen Conway as the stop because it occurred to me that for Friday evening of Memorial weekend, I'd better have a reservation, and, according to the woman at 800-DAYSINN, the only rooms available in Arkansas were in Conway and Little Rock. I was on a strip of Anywhere, USA, but this enabled me to walk to a nearby Target and do my Duty to the Economy by purchasing a folding chair (for the raft trip I'm going to go on in Colorado -- stay tuned to this channel), a boom box so I can listen to music in motel rooms, and, finally, a digital camera. I promise, I will figure out how to get pictures onto this blog, maybe before my trip is over. :) [OK, trip over. Still haven't figured it out. How long does blogspot keep this blog up?]

Saturday I awoke early and champing at the bit. I did finally keep to Interstate (I-40) with just a couple small excursions. That felt almost like coming home, because I-40 goes through my hometown of Albuquerque. I did jump off onto Rt. 64 at Clarksville, in order to cross Lake Dardenelle on a causeway (versus bridge with high rails) and to have a few glimpses of the Arkansas River as I traveled west. Back on I-40, just short of Ozark, I pulled into a rest stop that advertised free coffee. The VFW was there, providing coffee, tea, lemonade and cookies, as a Memorial weekend service. The fellow I spoke to said it also gave him something to do.

At Alma, a sign announced the Rt 71 scenic loop through the Boston Mountains. I turned north just far enough to get a taste of the curves and the mountainous scenery, then took I-504 back to I-40 and entered Oklahoma. I pulled into the rest stop at Sallisaw, which had a nice visitor center with maps, motel coupon booklets, tourist attraction brochures, free coffee, friendly staff, and a Will Rogers memorial lounge. Sign on the wall with a Will Rogers quote: "There is no argument in the world carries the hatred that a religious belief does."

Speaking of religion, there were indications I had entered the Bible Belt. Most of the churches were for Fundamentalist faiths (Church of God, Bible Church, Free Will Baptist). Somewhere in Arkansas, instead of the "last chance for water" I was familiar with from the desert, there was a sign that said "Last chance for liquor for 100 miles," I assume because the road entered dry counties. In Oklahoma, I passed a bright yellow Mustang with red flames radiating from the front fender across the door. Above the flames was the word Jesus. I was amused to see that the driver was a small, white-haired, tough-looking woman.

At Shawnee OK, I turned south on 102 and west on 9 so I could see Lake Thunderbird. Years ago I worked on an Environmental Impact Statement for an upgrade of Norman's wastewater treatment plant. One of the issues was what development around Lake Thunderbird (stimulated by extension of sewerage) would do to the quality of the lake, which was Norman's water supply and a prime recreational area. So I knew Lake Thunderbird intimately on paper, but had never seen it. I stopped at the Nature Center, which had lots of live snakes in aquariums (many curled up in their water bowls against the record-high heat) and the only exhibit of scat I recall ever seeing, before driving to the lake with the intention of eating my sandwich by the water. But there wasn't a square inch of space due to all the people camping there, and it was very windy, so I didn't stop. The water that I saw was below band of red soil exposed by the drought that has afflicted Arizona, New Mexico and Oklahoma, and the water itself was a reddish muddy.

Back onto I-40 and then a stop at the Texas rest stop. The rest stop in Arkansas had had picnic tables under tasteful wood canopies reminiscent of mountain cabins, and a modest brick building with rest rooms. The Oklahoma rest stop had picnic tables under tasteful metal canopies reminiscent of teepees, and a modest brick building with rest rooms. The Texas rest stop had picnic tables under soaring, futuristic metal canopies, topped with metal renditions of the lone-star Texas flag. The building with rest rooms was fronted by a high arc of stone masonry wall, and the back side had soaring white concrete pieces punctured by star shapes. The interior of the building had soaring ceilings, a glossy exhibit of Panhandle history, and WiFi. In front of the building was a large patio with a silhouette of Texas and a huge star in the concrete. Stars were incorporated everywhere. It was big, bold, new, expensive, friendly, self-absorbed -- very Texas.

From Arkansas through Oklahoma into Texas, the trees had become progressively smaller and shrubbier and rarer, and the grass drier, with more and more soil showing, until finally there were no trees at all in Texas -- just endless brown fields in all directions. Somewhere west of Elk City, OK, I looked at the columns of cumulous cloud building on the horizon, and suddenly realized I was in Big Sky country -- truly in the West.

Finally the expanse of flat was broken by a drop off into land with escarpments and junipers, and soon I was in New Mexico. I was filled with joy. New Mexico was my home from birth to age 35. I had not driven into the state (as opposed to flying) since I left 17 years ago. Suddenly everything looked right -- the (very few) trees were the right kind, the grass was the right kind, the soil was the right color. It's not that they were more beautiful than any place else, but there is something about things being the way you first encountered them in life, when you were wired to accept your environment as the Way Things Are. New Mexico's rest stop was back to modest canopies over the picnic tables and a modest brick building. A series of signs demanded no pets in the restrooms, keep pets on leash, and watch for snakes.

At Tucumcari I stopped for the night and had a delicious enchilada dinner at Del's Restaurant (since 1956). New Mexican cuisine is as different from Tex-Mex and other Mexican cuisines as is Greek from Italian or French from German, and for some reason has never moved out of New Mexico, and it is one of the things I miss most.

After my screed against Interstates, I was amused to open up USA Today and find a tribute to the system (50 years old this year), with articles on 5 scenic Interstate stretches. However, they also gave the quote from Charles Kuralt: The Interstate system makes it possible to go from coast to coast without seeing anything or meeting anybody.

Two other notes on the past two or three days: 1) The maximum speed limit through Maryland, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana and Kentucky was 65. At Tennesse and through Arkansas, Oklahoma and Texas it was 70. At New Mexico it became 75. My mileage went from 52 mpg to 30 (strong winds the past 2 days may have contributed to that). Westerners chaffed greatly under the 55 speed limit -- when the road is straight and empty, the weather clear, and the distance to be covered great, 55 feels next to a standstill. The 55 limit was instituted in response to the energy crisis of the '70's. It is interesting that, with the current gas prices, we are discussing higher CAFE standards, alternative fuels, and opening the Arctic wilderness, but I've heard nothing about lowering the speed limit again.

2) I've passed many small cemeteries heavily decorated with flowers. I guess many people decorated the graves of loved ones ahead of time, perhaps so they could then have their weekend at the beach or the lake or the mountains. A Happy Memorial Weekend to all of you, and Happy Summer!!!

Over Hill and Dale

From Bloomington, I headed straight south on Route 37. From Paoli on, this kept me within the Hoosier National Forest. The road got curvier and curvier and hillier and hillier. Went through lots of little towns that were no more than a few houses and a church and, if a real metropolis, a gas station or country store. [My favorite little town name so far has been Gnaw Bone, which is between Columbus and Bloomington. I passed through there Wednesday, and only this morning discovered I should have stopped for the famous Gnaw Bone Tenderloin sandwich. See http://www.gnawbonetenderloin.com] The ubiquitous Methodist churches began to be replaced by Baptist churches. Everything was green, green, green with trees and grass, except for the fields of yellow flowers and the roadside shows of white and purple wildflowers and full-bloom iris gardens. From time to time, the road would top a ridge and there would be a breathtaking centerfold vista of forested hills.

Finally, at Tell City, the road dropped to the flat of the Ohio River valley. After all that very-low-density rural country, the road turned right, and Pow! -- straight ahead about 1/2 mile was a factory or power plant with three tall smokestacks, and about 1/4 mile in the distance a huge smokestack spewing a white plume (probably condensing water vapor) that arched in a frame over the other smoke stacks. Instant industry.

I crossed the very wide and muddy Ohio River and turned right on US 60. This was nostalgic for me, because US 60 is the Main Street of the little West Virginia town in which I spent an idyllic year working for a judge and exploring the country roads of Greenbrier County. Perhaps it was then in the spirit of nostalgia that I stopped at the Happy Days drive-in in Lewisport KY for a cheeseburger and shake. The back cover of their menu asked how many pictures of '50s celebrities you could identify and, unfortunately, I could identify most of them.

On through Owensboro, and then onto the Audubon Parkway for 5 miles before cutting southwest on 56 to the Edward Breathitt Parkway (AAA scenic route). The drop south was evident in that nearly all the fields were already planted -- I saw one field with corn about a foot high. I stopped in Madisonville to take advantage of the facilities of a McDonalds (Bless you, McDonalds). Given the current debate about immigrants, it was interesting to see that, here in the Heartland, there were signs at the McDonalds in both English and Spanish. (Incidentally, having grown up in a state with both English and Spanish as official languages, I find the attempts to declare English as the official language ridiculous. It is the de facto official language throughout the world as it is. And nearly all of us in the US have some ancestors that never spoke fluent English, but their children did. I think we all should be required to be bilingual -- it increases flexibility of mind and learning skills. Oh, oh, I'm getting political. Well it is a blog. But back to travel.)

Next, west on the Wendell H. Ford Parkway until Eddyville, and then onto 641, which crosses the Cumberland and Tennessee Rivers just below their respective hydropower dams. The two rivers are very close at that point, and their respective long, narrow reservoirs close in a 3-mile-wide strip of land that is the Between Lakes National Park. Glances to the north at each river revealed distant smokestacks and cooling towers.

Next onto the Purchase Parkway, and then a stop for the night at a delightful Days Inn in Mayfield, KY. I thought about finding a quaint motel on the lake, but was not confident any such thing would have wireless Internet access, not to mention cable TV, free breakfast, etc. I've been co-opted by the Anywhere America conveniences.

The day had been clear and sunny, but as the sun got low, clouds filled the sky. A flash alert warned of potential tornadoes to the east. At about 8:15 pm, the TV program was interrupted by a severe thunderstorm watch "in the following counties: Graves". That is the county I'm in. There was indeed a lot of very close thunder and lightening and rain, but Friday morning has again broken sunny and clear. I woke early to a diverse cacophony of birds. That has been true for the past few days; I know I am going to miss the abundance of song birds out west.

Now I really need to make time -- will probably do Interstate from here to Albuquerque. I don't like that -- the Interstates are their own separate state, two unvarying ribbons of pavement. In the East, they are bordered by walls of trees, in the West not. But otherwise it is the same grouping of franchises at the exits, the same mix of cars and semis on the road, all in a rush, the same monotony of not-too-steep of grades, not-too-sharp of curves. You miss the old storefronts and courthouse squares of the little towns, the status of the growing season, Stella's Diner, Hoosier Lumber, the odd things people put in their yards (yesterday one house had a 4-foot replica of the Statute of Liberty), the beautiful gardens others have planted, the blackbirds and swallows playing chicken with your oncoming car, the things that make the given state unique. You also miss seeing the signs of economy that are not tracked by the Dow or NASDAQ -- fields reverting to forest, shutdown motels and restaurants in tourist areas, roads in need of resurfacing. (Speaking of the Dow, the radio here reported commodity prices rather than the Dow!) But they (the Interstates) do get you there fast.

On that cheerful note, this unemployed traveler will speed off.

Erie to Eaton and Interesting Introduction to Indiana

After blogging and emailing, I left Huron at about 11 am Tuesday. It was my intent to take the main highway to Port Clinton and immediately head south to Fostoria. But it was a stunning blue day –- perfectly clear deep blue sky, and matching blue water when you could glimpse Lake Erie. And the road sign said “Great Lake Circle Tour.” So I had to follow it into Sandusky. I missed a turn and was channeled onto the causeway to Cedar Point (a big theme park), but was rewarded by being in the midst of the blue water of a finger of the bay and by seeing tiny goslings -- little puff balls -- clumsily but oh-so-cutely waddling behind their Canadian goose parents in the grass strip by the road.

Back across the causeway, through historic downtown Sandusky, across the bay bridge, and then it was time to head south. But the sign pointed to the Marblehead lighthouse, and the AAA book had noted it was one of the oldest lighthouses in continuous operation on the Great Lakes (built in 1821), and the water was so blue. So I had to drive out to the tip of Marblehead peninsula to see the lighthouse. When I got there and saw the picnic tables scattered on a the lawn, right next to the blue, blue lake, I had to drive back into the little town of Marblehead to get a sandwich to go, and then eat it, with the help of a couple blackbirds, at one of the picnic tables. I took a picture of the lighthouse (which includes construction equipment because they are doing rehab work) and then headed south to Fostoria. On the way, I saw a number people standing waist-deep in the Sandusky River, fishing. Then in Bettsville I saw a line of soda vending machines on the sidewalk. I pulled over to get a diet coke and discovered the first vending machine in the line dispensed live bait!

I had checked on switchboard.com for potential relatives in Fostoria, and found a few with my maternal grandfather’s name, but none with my maternal grandmother’s maiden name. In historic downtown Fostoria, I went to the Glass Heritage Gallery, a long narrow space lined with cases beautifully filled with examples of various lines of glass from the companies that produced glass in Fostoria. I learned that the period of glassmaking in Fostoria had been brief –- the Fostoria Glass Company was there only from 1887 to 1891 –- one company hung on to the early 20’s. Turns out abundant natural gas had been found at Fostoria –- so abundant that the town gave it away to lure the glass manufacturers there. But the gas then ran out, and the factories moved to sites with more reliable energy in West Virginia and Pennsylvania. A cautionary tale. Let me use this as an opportunity to make you aware that the US, which accounts for 25% of the world’s natural gas consumption, has only 4% of the world’s known natural gas supply. The US chemical industry, which had always been a net exporter of product, in 2002 became a net importer. In large part this is due to the dramatic surge in the price of natural gas –- a major feedstock for the chemical industry. Natural gas has been heavily promoted because it burns cleaner than coal, but we cannot continue to expand natural gas use without importing it.

A woman at the Glass Heritage Gallery told me a woman at the card shop across the street was married to someone with my grandfather’s name. I went over there and she called her mother-in-law, who is into genealogy. Turns out we were not from the same line, but it was a pleasant conversation. No one I spoke to knew anyone with my grandmother’s maiden name. I thought about looking for the cemetery, but decided just to move on. However, my route took me right past the cemetery, so I went in and drove around slowly, reading the tombstone names. I’d all but given up when I saw a gravestone with my grandfather’s last name. Then, just a few yards away, I found a series of gravestones than included by grandmother’s parents. So I wasn’t remembering wrong – they had lived there, but apparently any and all progeny keeping the name have moved elsewhere. Though I’d never met them, I found something concretely satisfying about being at the gravesite of my great grandparents.

From there I went west on 613, past fields with cornstalk stubble, or green hay, or freshly plowed dirt. There were many red barns, most dilapidated, many overgrown with vines. Numerous blackbirds played that weird game of chicken that is popular on rural roads everywhere –- they fly across the road right in front of the car, appearing suicidal, but always pulling clear at the last second. The fields were relatively small, so that there were always lush walls of trees in the near distance.

At 127 I turned south. 127 runs north-south near the western edge of Ohio. It was not Anywhere, USA. No car dealerships. Hardly any franchise fast food. Not a Starbucks anywhere in sight. No bars on the cell phone. Soon after entering Darke County, there was a memorial at the side of the road to Annie Oakley. She had been born there and lived in a cabin on the site of the memorial. At the time, it was all virgin forest, and Annie shot and trapped wildlife to pay the debt on the property. This is how she acquired the remarkable marksmanship that made her the darling of Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show. A little beyond was a sign pointing to her gravesite, which I passed up.

There was still daylight, but I was getting driving-stupid and pulled into the Econolodge that appeared right after crossing I-70 and was the first motel I’d seen in miles and miles. A pork chop dinner at the TA, sitting between the truckers, and bed.

Wednesday broke still sunny and warmer. It was just a couple miles to Eaton. Shortly after passing through it, the topography became hilly. The road was lined with lots of trees white with some kind of blossom (not fruit trees –- something more the size of an oak or elm) [have learned they were black locust]. There were segments of road lined with a beautiful purple wildflower. After driving through the Hueston Woods State Park, I came to Oxford, where my mother’s cousin had lived as an adult. We had visited when I was little –- the only thing I remember is swimming in the city pool. This shows I had no taste at the time, because it is a very attractive little college town. Miami University was founded there in 1809. It is a beautiful campus, with stately red brick buildings surrounded by grass and trees. The main street is lined with historic buildings that are now the kind of shops and restaurants you find in college towns and, yes, a Starbucks.

The next leg was northwest to Connersville, Indiana, the town where my cousins were in high school. From there I went south along the Whitewater River, with a detour to visit the Mary Gray Bird Sanctuary. I decided to turn left instead of right at Route 52 to check out the Whitewater Canal State Memorial. I was expecting a modest building or concrete monolith or such, but discovered the delightful historic town of Metamora. The state has restored 14 miles of the canal, and it made a serene ribbon of water through the middle of Metamora. The Department of Natural Resources provides rides along the canal in the Ben Franklin III –- a replica of a canal freighter, pulled by draft horses. The town consists of many historic houses, all now shops with crafts and tourist food, but each with a plaque discussing its original use (confectionery, print shop, Masonic lodge, etc.) The weather was lullingly soft –- clear, sunny, warm but not hot, and I lingered quite a while, feeding the ducks, eating ice cream, looking into some shops. In contrast to the Ohio & Erie Canal, which pulled Ohio from near-bankruptcy to great prosperity, the Whitewater Canal was a financial disaster for Indiana. There are some political and economic lessons in the contrast, no doubt.

180 degree turn and west to Columbus. Passed many fields that were a blanket of yellow flowers. Columbus is home to a number of public buildings designed by foremost architects of the 20th century, but two story-scale versus the skyscrapers they’ve done elsewhere. (I read that architects would turn down commissions in places like Los Angeles to instead do a project for little Columbus, IN.) From http://www.answers.com/topic/columbus-indiana:

"Columbus is a city known for its architecture. J. Irwin Miller, owner of the Cummins Engine Company, a local concern manufacturing diesel engines, instituted a program in which Cummins would pay the architects' fee on any building if the client selected a firm from a list they compiled. The plan was initiated with public schools. It was so successful that Miller went on to defray the design costs of fire stations, public housing and other community structures. Columbus has come to have an unusual number of notable public buildings and sculpture, designed by such individuals as Eero Saarinen, I.M. Pei, Robert Venturi, Cesdar Pelli, Richard Meier and others. Six of its buildings, built between 1942 and 1965, are National Historic Landmarks, and 60 other buildings sustain the Bartholomew County capital seat's reputation as a showcase of modern architecture."

You can see some pictures of the architecture at: http://www.architecture.uwaterloo.ca/faculty_projects/terri/gallery.html (scroll down to Indiana).

Finally, on to Bloomington, home of Indiana U. The road was very curvy and hilly through the Hoosier National Forest, the speed limit often only 45 mph. I drove a little around the impressive limestone campus and lively downtown, then went a little nuts finding Motel Row, and finally checked into a cheap motel to watch TV and write this entry. While at dinner, thick black clouds moved in with that eerie cast that threatens tornadoes. Sure enough, the TV showed a Thunderstorm Watch, and the 11 pm news announced there had been tornadoes to the southwest. I went to sleep to thunder, lightening, and rain.

But now this morning is bright and sunny, and it looks like I am finally going to experience summer temperatures. Need to plot the next leg of the journey –- straight south to Louisville, or diagonally to St. Louis? Are there any other Louie's to consider? In any event, while I’ve been having a lot of fun on the back roads and discovering places like Metamora, it’s time to lay down some miles to reach NM by Sunday.

Cleaving from Cleaveland

Did you know Cleveland was originally Cleaveland (after surveyor Moses Cleaveland)? It was changed to Cleveland when the editor of The Cleveland Gazette and Commercial Register needed to drop a letter for the masthead to fit across the page.

Anyhow, I cleaved or cleved away yesterday, driving south to Akron to tour sites of historic significance for the founding of Alcoholics Anonymous and the 12-step program that has helped millions around the world, not only with alcoholism, but also with the psychic disturbances the spouse, sibling, or child of an alcoholic experiences, and with drug addiction, gambling addiction, overeating, co-dependency, and over 100 other dysfunctions for which there are 12-step programs. First stop was the AA Archives, which has exhibits of photographs, letters, and other memorabilia of the history of AA. It also has a bookstore that includes reproductions of the very early AA literature. I like the little card that lists marks of an emotionally mature person -- including not expecting special consideration from anyone, controlling temper, accepting responsibility for one's actions without trying to "alibi", and outgrowing the "all or nothing" stage. Perhaps something to share with certain politicians and celebrities.

The archives provided a map to significant sites, and I used it to find the Mayflower Hotel, where Bill Wilson made the phone call that led to his meeting with Dr. Bob Smith (the two are credited with founding AA), Dr. Bob's home, the Gatehouse for Stan Hywet Hall (the Seiberling -- as in Goodyear Tire & Rubber -- estate), where Henrietta Buckler Seiblerling brought about the meeting of Bill and Dr. Bob, and Dr. Bob's grave, where several people had left their sobriety medallions.

As I looked at the map to contemplate visiting Sandusky Bay, I saw the little town of Huron. I wondered if I had confused Hudson with Huron, and so called called my siblings. My sister didn't know, but thought Huron sounded more familiar. My brother was sure our mother had lived in Hudson. Mother is overseas, or I'd ask her directly. [Have now consulted with Mother. It was Hudson she lived in.] To cover all bases (having been to Hudson -- see last entry), I decided to drive to Huron on Route 18, which is Market Street in Akron. At first it was divided highway that looked like Anywhere, USA (car dealerships, franchise fast food, etc.), but then it narrowed to a two-lane country road. It went around the square of Medina (county seat of Medina County), with a classic bandstand and historic storefronts, and then through historic Wellington. I had to stop there to photograph the 1885 town hall with surreal Russian-like white turrets.

Then north on 250/13 to Huron, which appears to be a summer-home type place on Lake Erie. Lots of white clapboard houses with neat lawns. I found a gazebo at the end of a lane, which appeared to be public, but it was too windy and cold to sit and watch the herons flying along the shore. So I instead found a hotel with good Internet access! As Anne pointed out, I had spent all day to end about 1.5 hours west of Cleveland.

Perhaps will make better westward progress today. My brother has suggested a neat route through Amish country in NW Ohio, then south to Oxford, where a relative lived, and west across Indiana. Will let you know all about it!

Still in Cleveland

Sorry to have so few posts for any of you who might be checking. Partly it's because I've been moored in Cleveland, so have no travels to write about; partly it's because y'all have kept me busy replying to emails.

Cleveland has been having a wonderful run of rainy weather -- almost constant since I arrived. However, Wednesday afternoon was clear, sunny and beautiful. Anne and I used it to visit the Cleveland botanical gardens, which are next to the Museum of Art, near Severance Hall (for those of you who know Cleveland). They were redone in 2003 and are just beautiful. There is an herb garden that incorporates old millstones into the pavement and layout; a children's garden with child-size trellis gates and a fabulous tree house; a Japanese garden with a fantastic rock "waterfall" surrounded by azaleas; several other lovely theme gardens. A Baltimore oriole drove us crazy with its call before we finally spotted it way up in a tree, and a grey catbird let me faintly hear its "meow" call. Indoors there is a huge glass house, one side of which is a Madagascar desert with a huge baobab tree (which I've always wanted to see since reading Le Petit Prince), the other side of which is a Costa Rican rainforest. The latter had zillions of Costa Rican butterflies flying everywhere, and we saw some ruddy quail-doves and a red-legged honeycreeper (which, apart from the red legs, is blue). A telescope let one get a close look at leaf cutter ants transporting pieces of leaves up a tree trunk. (Ant trivia: They can carry up to 50 times their body weight. And those are females, incidentally.)

Thursday, Chuck of Oatey Corp., whom I, as a lawyer, was helping with a chemical issue, treated me to lunch at his beautiful country club in Elyria, and to a tour of the Oatey facilities. Your house plumbing is probably replete with Oatey products -- it was really neat to see how they are made and packaged. We were joined by D'Lane, whom I knew from the Phthalate Esters Panel and who is the reason Chuck called me for help with the chemical issue, and by Jeff, another Oatey employee and maven of the Health, Safety and Environment world.

This afternoon the sun has finally appeared again; perhaps I shall do something else to write about. I must stop dawdling in Cleveland, as Anne is flying to New Mexico on the 28th to meet me there. So there should in any event be more Annventurer entries this coming week. 'Till then. --Ann

The Adventure Begins

It was a dark and stormy night . . .

Well, basically it was. I left DC at 4:30 pm on Thursday, May 11 -- just in time for rush hour traffic. :) Not only that, it was starting to rain, which always paralyzes traffic in the DC area. This enabled me to enjoy one of the great perks of having a hybrid (a Toyota Prius I bought for this trip and to have in California) -- I got to use the HOV lane and zip past the parking lot of the non-HOV lanes on I-270.

While I was ordering a filet-o-fish in Frederick, MD, the skies opened up. For the next several miles it was rush hour traffic in a torrent that made visibility about 10 feet. The skies pulled back to just rain that lasted until New Staunton, PA, and then alternated rain and dry to Cleveland. It was night and it was raining or overcast -- I saw little besides the lights of the semi's. This leg of the journey was straight through (aided by a triple-shot latte) because my cat, Venus, was mewing pitifully in a carrier on the passenger seat. She is going to be at Camp in Cleveland (home of my beloved, Anne) while I meander toward the West Coast.

I'm in Cleveland for a few days, visiting Anne and addressing tasks that were not accomplished in the effort to leave DC. A wonderful aspect of this is that I get to experience spring again. DC had gone full-on summer foliage by the time I left -- Cleveland is just in the height of dogwoods and azaleas.

Saturday, Anne and I drove to Hudson, which is just south of Cleveland and is one of the places my mother lived while growing up. It is a cute little historic town, with a clock tower that is on the National Register of Historic Sites, a band stand, shops and restaurants in the historic buildings on Main Street and American mall standards (Jos. A. Banks; the Gap; Ann Taylor loft; etc.) on 1st Street. We went to Mary & Ted's for lunch, and learned that Mary and Ted had moved to Hudson from Albuquerque in 1951 -- the same year my parents moved to Albuquerque.

After touring Hudson, we drove to a heron nesting site on the Cuyahoga River, in the Cuyahoga Valley National Park. Three large trees were chock full of nests, many of which were populated by young blue herons with their prehistoric-looking parents standing watch. We then went to a spot along the Ohio & Erie Canal (Lock 26 to be precise), purportedly to take a walk. Little walking happened, because there was just too much to see. The air was thick with songs and calls of birds. In the space of a few hundred yards, we saw a white-crowned sparrow pecking delicately in the grass, swallows and a blue heron flying overhead, a cardinal chasing a blue jay, a yellow warbler, a Baltimore oriole, three wood ducks -- one a male with a stunning crest, blackbirds, grackles, a cat bird, a beaver, and a number of unidentified birds. There also was an unconfirmed sighting of a flying squirrel. The canal is no longer functioning, but had low, still water covered with water lilies and other green water plants. Everything was incredibly lush, with all sorts of wild flowers blooming. At one point we followed a trail toward the river and were stopped by a large field of yellow iris growing in treacherous-looking mud. Having grown up in the desert, and even after 16 years in DC, I find all this green and color and conspicuous life just astonishing.

My task now is to plot out the next phase of my journey. To be determined, but I'm pretty sure the first destination will be Fostoria, Ohio, childhood home of my maternal grandparents. It is my intention to update this blog every day or two, so check back in!