tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64291282519544112822024-03-12T19:19:21.531-07:00Out Spokin'All the specialized bikes and speeding cyclists out there make it easy to be intimidated by just the idea of getting on a bicycle. Don’t be. Summers in West Virginia my brother and I would take off on our bicycles for long rides around the county. Sweating and swearing, we’d push our 3-speed English racers up one endless hill after another. No one had ten-speed bikes back then. Or clipless pedals. Heck, if toe-clips were around we had no idea. I'd ride barefoot on my rubber pedals. Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.comBlogger178125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-11240030737983633882022-04-06T08:18:00.000-07:002022-04-06T08:18:02.402-07:00New Blog and New Adventure!<p> If you have been following our adventures, please go to <a href="http://eppichriding.com">eppichriding.com</a> as we continue the trip we began in 2019 that was cut short by the pandemic. We'll be riding up the east coast in April/May of 2022.</p>Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-78789154129616676372021-09-30T18:43:00.002-07:002022-04-06T08:15:15.493-07:00On the Road Again (Finally!)On Friday, September 24, Rob and I began our first bicycle tour since the pandemic began. We are cycling a loop from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh to DC and back to Philly. Sadly, I put off updating this blog too long and when I went to write something the night before we left I found out that the editing interface had changed out from under me. So I've started a new blog on WordPress. I'm still struggling to figure it out. You can at least follow our progress and hopefully I'll get some pictures up soon. My son has suggested that I bite the bullet and pay for a real website usiing SquareSpace and I think he's right but that won't happen until we are finished with this adventure. So, for now, check out <a href="eppichriding.wordpress.com"></a> <a href="eppichriding.wordpress.com">eppichriding.com</a>Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-78313421668100761552021-02-24T21:16:00.000-08:002021-02-24T21:16:34.773-08:00Cycling as a Way of Life<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Covid has given me time to sort through everything, everywhere, in our house. In the basement are boxes of old letters and Christmas cards, mementos from my childhood, music and recital programs from my violin teaching days, old school papers. And a newspaper article from the <u>Boulder Daily Camera</u>, Friday, December 16, 1983: "The Stencil Man: Business is looking up for bicycling painter Larry Boyce."</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">June, 1980, I was less than a week into what would be a 3000-mile adventure from Boulder, Colorado, to San Francisco. I was traveling alone, and struggling. I'd blown out my knee trying to climb over Trail Ridge Road, in Rocky Mountain National Park, without training. I had to hitch a ride to the top. I'd already had a flat tire. I was carrying way too much stuff, including books for my entire summer's reading. I hitched a ride to meet a friend somewhere in Wyoming and took a day off to ice my knee. My friend dropped me off south of the Tetons. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When I got to Jackson Hole I met another cyclist. He told me where he was camping inside the national park and to look for the site with the bicyclists. I rode into the campground and easily found the group of cyclists who were all very welcoming. I probably had my tent set up when two other cyclists cruised in, one of them saying, very confidently, "Here are the cyclists." He had that air of the experienced cyclist and he captured the attention of all of us younger, less experienced riders.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He told us he was a traveling painter and his partner was a bicyclist who he had recently recruited to work with him because, "I got tired of partners who didn't want to bicycle with me so I decided to find a bicyclist who would paint with me." His partner was carrying a pot of beans that had been soaking all day on the back of his bike. And they both were riding while listening to music on their walkmans, a novelty in those days. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I don't know if I would have remembered this fellow's name if not for the newspaper article that I noticed several years later. And I don't remember his partner's name. But I always remembered Larry Boyce with his air of confidence and the pot of beans his partner carried on the back of his bike so they could cook them up for dinner that night.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I don't know why I saved that 1983 article, but so many years later I pulled it out to read, before putting it with so much else of what I had found in those boxes, in the trash. Then I thought, why not google Larry Boyce and see if he's still riding around the country painting Victorian houses?</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><u>Collector's Weekly</u>, on Sept. 7, 2018, published an article on Larry Boyce, his work and his life. If you are an artist, a bicyclist, have an interest in home decor, or just like a good story, you'll enjoy this: <a href="https://www.collectorsweekly.com/articles/paint-pedaler/">https://www.collectorsweekly.com/articles/paint-pedaler/</a> </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sadly, Larry Boyce passed away from AIDS in 1992.</span></p>Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-30782527792476196002020-11-03T04:53:00.001-08:002020-11-04T04:50:34.250-08:00Fallen Leaves<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5adAHG2S1qWrBVrO9KmOlBMebDK8G07j0-QYkpMDfelxCRDGdT9brA_QfZ6J6ASGus8ERiIOiLTsuvoQGNbpW9XpXEAS2zPrpH6Uhb4Wnwnx8WORNuWzopEj8rRhdxYUixRHR09qydjBC/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5adAHG2S1qWrBVrO9KmOlBMebDK8G07j0-QYkpMDfelxCRDGdT9brA_QfZ6J6ASGus8ERiIOiLTsuvoQGNbpW9XpXEAS2zPrpH6Uhb4Wnwnx8WORNuWzopEj8rRhdxYUixRHR09qydjBC/w480-h640/image.png" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Autumn in New England is arguably one of the most beautiful scenes anywhere in the world. Every year I feel like I’m seeing it for the first time. Walking in the woods, looking out my living room window, going for a bike ride, I am constantly bombarded with brilliant splashes of color that take my breath away. I never tire of it.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">All too soon the leaves fall to the ground, get raked up and put onto compost piles, or noisy leaf blowers scatter them into the woods, leaving only barren, gray trees waiting for the first snow.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">But, happily, there’s another stop along the way between the awe-inspiring artistry of a horizon resplendent with luminous red, yellow, orange, rust, and green, and the drab, neutral tones of approaching winter. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Last week, Rob and I were traveling along a two-lane highway through the New Hampshire countryside, on our way to buy a new car. Rob was driving; I was looking out the window. It was a cloudy day, past the peak of the foliage, and the deflected sunlight brought out the richness of the colors of the leaves still hanging on. But it was a tree with only a few remaining stragglers that caught my eye. Not the tree really, but the pile of leaves that lay in a circle underneath, leaves that still sparkled with brilliant colors. That barren tree overlooking a pile of myriad colors struck me as incredibly beautiful.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I said to Rob, “There has to be a metaphor in the beauty of the leaves s</span><span style="font-size: large;">itting under that tree.”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Not surprisingly, I thought about death. </span><span>Rob’s mother had passed away the previous week. Because of the pandemic, he was unable to visit her in Wisconsin, nor will he be able to go out for the burial of her ashes. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I said, “Each one of those leaves is like a memory of the person who died. You can pick one up and examine it and remember something special.”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">That evening we were working in the kitchen together. I was preparing a roast chicken dinner and Rob was making apple crisp for the first time. He said, “My mother used to make apple crisp. I remember she would tap dance around the kitchen when she was cooking.”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I said, “You just picked up a leaf and found a memory in it.” </span></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvuLbg-hxvPRs0S9Cgo1hyphenhyphen0dxaQQIju_MsbgdllBoLh1HJ4vq3YEYayTVWeFdqhQ2RmpgUy9r6S5o7kitM1pzMyHWWh708n300JOHPxLwPrcID4aNtGmXIryONNYu5LmzA8LlD02tT1JfY/s2048/IMG_4151.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvuLbg-hxvPRs0S9Cgo1hyphenhyphen0dxaQQIju_MsbgdllBoLh1HJ4vq3YEYayTVWeFdqhQ2RmpgUy9r6S5o7kitM1pzMyHWWh708n300JOHPxLwPrcID4aNtGmXIryONNYu5LmzA8LlD02tT1JfY/w480-h640/IMG_4151.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">This isn't the tree I saw while we were driving, but hopefully I captured the idea.</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMnjvKDvwaxy9tu2sffjnDcf3bdHc3zpLic4lwlbNptZ9bB_lS6FnCoZ3gGQpxRXKg2wnA2d3Dcjk9Rio3raTQkv2udjVaLW_YCE7n5cxnUQA21LJPZIDszToQr2nKlDG98CBIIjYc0O-A/s2048/IMG_4152.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMnjvKDvwaxy9tu2sffjnDcf3bdHc3zpLic4lwlbNptZ9bB_lS6FnCoZ3gGQpxRXKg2wnA2d3Dcjk9Rio3raTQkv2udjVaLW_YCE7n5cxnUQA21LJPZIDszToQr2nKlDG98CBIIjYc0O-A/w640-h480/IMG_4152.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">All these leaves come from one oak tree in our front yard. After I took this picture, Rob raked them all and the yard was clear. A week later it again looked just like this picture. <br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I guessed that falling leaves can easily lead to a death metaphor. I wanted another one.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I said to Rob, "The tree with the leaves on the ground is our bike trip."</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">For many years our bike trip circling the United States was just an idea, a sapling that grew into a full-grown tree when we took off last June, heading west from New Hampshire, then south along the Pacific coast, and east to Florida, where, on St. Patrick's Day, the pandemic cut it short. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Something we’d looked forward to for so long, now completed, that tree has lost every one of its leaves. But there they are, lying on the ground still with all their brilliance, each one a story of an adventure we didn’t know we’d have.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The recent news of wildfires throughout California had us reliving our memories of three beautiful days in Mendocino. We had worried about wildfires, especially after our daughter was hiking on the Pacific Crest Trail in 2018, saw a fire start, and hiked off the trail to find herself in an evacuated area. But we were lucky. One fire inland from us and a shutdown of electricity in two counties left us stranded in Mendocino. We had plenty of food and a comfortable place to stay in a historic town with a stunning coastline. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Even this story has so many stories within it - how we found a place to stay; our dinner at a fine dining restaurant celebrating an anniversary when the generator failed; the woman at the bed and breakfast who Rob charmed - she gave us two bottles of wine; talking our way into the hot tub after the electricity went out only to have to share it with a very large man wearing nothing at all; Rob borrowing a guitar and the hummingbirds coming to listen while he played outside. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Since returning from our trip we've run into people who want to hear more about it and we tell them that we'll do a presentation once the pandemic is over and we can do it live. But how will we choose which stories to tell and which to leave out? </span><span>The memories from Mendocino alone would take up at least a dozen of those fallen leaves. </span><span>We'll have to pick just a handful of leaves out of that giant pile and say, "These are the stories we will share with you."</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">+ + +</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">When I was a young child, I remember picking up the most brilliantly colored and perfectly shaped leaves, taking them home and pressing them, in a book or between sheets of wax paper. Happily for us, we don't have to choose which "perfect" memories we'll save. They may fade over the years, but between Rob and I will hold onto at least as many stories from our trip as there are leaves under one of those trees.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">After the leaves have been cleaned up, and winter has made the world outside go dormant, spring will come and new buds will form on the branches of our tree while we make plans for our next adventure. </span></div><p></p>Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-4405932792525636892020-06-01T15:04:00.001-07:002020-08-12T12:51:54.138-07:00Circling the U.S. Chapter 81: Our End Date That Wasn't the End Date<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;">Today was the day we should have finished our bicycle ride circumnavigating the continental United States. We were on track to do it, too, arriving in New Hampshire the way we left, by bicycle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">For months, then weeks, then days up until our departure date, even though we talked about it, and planned for it, we still didn’t believe it would happen. Bicycle for an entire year? No way. Something will go wrong. Rob has lung disease and heart disease. In January, 2019, his knee starting hurting and the orthopedist said he needed a knee replacement, but go ahead on your trip, bicycling is the best thing for it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">If some health problem didn’t do us in, something else would We didn’t know what; we just both had a sense of disbelief that we were actually going to make our dream happen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then, on June 7, 2019, we got on our bikes and one day followed another. When we were in New York, on the Erie Canal, the west coast seemed so far away, San Diego even farther. Rob said, “I still can’t believe we’re doing this.” I felt the same way. After several months, Rob said, “I still can’t believe we’re doing this.” But by then we were on the west coast, thousands of miles behind us. We were doing it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">There were times when I thought about quitting but Rob never did. And there was always the next unknown adventure to look forward to. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Two days after leaving San Diego in early December, Rob had an episode of atrial fibrillation. He checked into a hospital, his heart rate returned to normal, a cardiologist prescribed some medication to keep his heart rate in check, and the next day he was back on his bike After Austin, Rob’s knee started hurting when he was riding. He kept going. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Of all the things that could have forced us off our bikes, we thought it would be something that would happen to us – an injury, an accident, a stolen bicycle, some tragedy. But a pandemic? In the middle of March we arrived in Florida as the Covid-19 crisis hit full force. We rented a mini-van and drove home to New Hampshire.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But I’m a planner. I have to have hope. As we drove home, through Georgia, South Carolina, North Caroline, Virgina, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, and Massachusetts, I thought, if this is resolved by May 1, we’ll take a train to somewhere in New Jersey and we’ll finish our trip, then do the missing piece in a couple years. I didn’t want to believe the news that we were heading for a new normal, that this wouldn’t be over in a couple weeks, or a couple months.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But here we are. After over two months we’ve settled back into our house, unpacked everything we stored away, cleaned up our yard, tried to find some routine with an uncertain future. We’ve revisited our favorite local bike rides along the coasts of Maine and New Hampshire and around nearby lakes. Instead of celebrating our anniversary on Nantucket which we'd hoped to do, we bicycled to Ogunquit, walked on the beach (the Maine beaches were open, not New Hampshire, and going into Maine we were supposed to self-quarantine for 14 days, so we probably broke the law), and cooked lobsters for dinner. Rob made chocolate chip cookies for the first time.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Today we drove north into the White Mountains and hiked along the Pemigewasset River to Franconia Falls for a picnic lunch. Rob ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I had cheese and crackers and dried fruit and peanuts and chocolate, all reminiscent of our lunches on the road. It was a beautiful drive and a peaceful hike; we passed few people, a young couple out backpacking, a family. three older women wearing masks. The trail is an old logging railroad bed; the ties are still there. It was wide enough to pass people safely..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We are making do, grateful to have our health and, for now, financial stability.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm_GCQjcq1onWMqKO5ChPo0R6obY5638IJst9xLNjz8TeJEGDNhkucNVxSi7ZWgA__ES8kbAJkICgVRb0jl681bvBCoFZZpwRWzXmstGipesJaGH_fCqN5DLLt1dPgpy4bTSKlqyDL1X-F/s1600/IMG-3935.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm_GCQjcq1onWMqKO5ChPo0R6obY5638IJst9xLNjz8TeJEGDNhkucNVxSi7ZWgA__ES8kbAJkICgVRb0jl681bvBCoFZZpwRWzXmstGipesJaGH_fCqN5DLLt1dPgpy4bTSKlqyDL1X-F/s640/IMG-3935.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">On Easter we rode into Maine. The beaches were closed; being on a bicycle we had unobstructed views.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQrXtiyiJNO4SnfDTZgMXd1Y1cX7885uyNMI1mJGcsUH_4GuQhKKBxwpIeLHb05kSepkJxVszthE1Rf2UMiUb0jvzQkFNMFlN4dnnepHgGyal9eNYufKSIDZQUtve-fc0F_UvMCZSEgwQ/s1600/IMG-3938.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQrXtiyiJNO4SnfDTZgMXd1Y1cX7885uyNMI1mJGcsUH_4GuQhKKBxwpIeLHb05kSepkJxVszthE1Rf2UMiUb0jvzQkFNMFlN4dnnepHgGyal9eNYufKSIDZQUtve-fc0F_UvMCZSEgwQ/s640/IMG-3938.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Several times we rode down the New Hampshire coastline. We stopped for lunch on one of these benches overlooking Wallis Sands State Park. The beaches were clearly closed and all parking was blocked off. But there wasn't a sign in front of these benches saying no trespassing.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">On one of our rides we stopped at Prescott Park in Portsmouth. The bridge connects Maine and New Hampshire, over the Piscataqua River. At night it's lit with colored lights.<br /><br />During the summer we enjoy musicals and concerts here, with the only cost a recommended donation. In 2017 they performed the new <i>Mary Poppins</i> musical. In was so good I saw it three times. All performances are cancelled this year.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We've done a few jigsaw puzzles. In the past I'd always done them alone, The pandemic has given us something new that we share. I only tackle ones that are 500 pieces; this one is not as hard as it looks. I gave Rob another one for our anniversary, one of a lighthouse. It's turning out to be a challenge.<br /><br /></span></td></tr>
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Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-50068857881062261282020-05-31T13:24:00.003-07:002020-05-31T13:24:39.968-07:00Circling the U.S. Chapter 80: The End (But Hopefully Not)<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Sunday, March 15 - Thursday, March 19, 2020</b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">First thing Sunday morning we rode ten miles </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">into Cedar Key to see the town, </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">find a coffee shop with wifi, </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">and make a decision, whether or not to end our adventure. If we were going to quit riding, we had to have a plan for where to go. Our home in New Hampshire was rented until June 1, and our daughter was living in our Boulder condo. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Cedar Key is a charming historic town filled with tourists. We easily found a coffee shop with internet.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Our last shared breakfast on the road. The owner had a limited menu, even more limited on this Sunday morning because the day before had been so busy he'd run out of many key ingredients. (Pandemic, what pandemic? People in Florida were in full vacation mode as folks elsewhere around the country were hunkering down.) But he was able to put together a delicious omelette with a potato side dish for us. No one seemed concerned about socially distancing in line where we waited to put in our order. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">While Rob read the article Kylee had sent us the night before, I checked my email. I had one from our tenant in New Hampshire saying she could move out if we wanted to return home early. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rob and I both realized we'd been putting off the inevitable. I said, "I think we have to go home," fighting back tears. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rob said, "I agree."</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We decided to go back to New Hampshire, where we could spend the extra time moving back into our house.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Two or, more likely, three days of riding would get us to Orlando. I looked up Amtrak schedules and sent an email to friends in Orlando letting them know we were on our way, hoping they'd be home. I called our kids to let them know our change of plan. Tim sounded relieved. "Mom, I know how much this trip means to you, but you've done so much, and it's better that you're safe."</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We headed to Dunellon, 50 miles of hot, boring riding, nothing to see except Florida forests and the highway, with only an occasional convenience store along the way. It was beginning to feel like Texas with long stretches of nothing.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We had a pleasant dinner at the restaurant next to our motel where we overheard the coronavirus talked about as something in the news, something annoying, but not a worry. The server complained about having her kids home from school.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then back at the motel we made plans for our return to New Hampshire. Amtrak, without a direct connection, wasn't going to work. Southwest Airlines had $54 one-way tickets from Orlando to Boston. That worked. We'd have to get our bikes boxed. And we'd have to stay healthy on the plane and in the airports. Up until now we had mostly not been in crowds (except for Mardi Gras, but that was over two weeks ago.)</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">On <b>Monday, March 16</b>, our plan was to get as close to Orlando as possible, about 90 miles away. With many towns dotting the map along our route we figured we'd have no trouble finding a cheap motel when we were ready to stop. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The day started out fine with 20 miles on the Withlacoochee</span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.870588235294118);"> </span>State Trail. We passed waterways and birds and elderly cyclists on trikes. I thought it funny that cyclists are now ending their riding careers the way they started, on tricycles.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We saw dozens of recumbent three-wheelers on this bike path, but this one was the best. It reminded me of the children's book <u>Mrs. Armitage and the Big Wave</u>, by Quentin Blake, where this old lady (Mrs. Armitage) is on her surf board with her dog and while she's waiting for the big wave she makes one trip after another back to shore for an inflatable island for the dog, an umbrella, a drink, something to eat, etc, until she's surrounded by an entire flotilla of paraphernalia. Then the big wave comes.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The riding deteriorated after we got off the bike path. It</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"> was hot and boring with nothing other than desolate convenience stores. At one stop, we sat and ate lunch, sharing a table in the shade with a scruffy middle-aged man eating takeout. He said he worked the carnival circuit and they were hanging out in a nearby parking lot waiting to see what was going on with the coronavirus.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We had long stretches of not much except that we did see some patches of brilliant wildflowers.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">As we got closer to the Orlando area we stopped at a McDonalds to look online for a motel. After 60 miles riding in the heat we were ready to stop. But the only thing that came up was a Rodeway Inn five miles out of our way. We had no choice but to go for it.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Some time earlier I had mentioned to Rob that I wondered where all the orange groves were. We found them on our way to the motel. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">When we arrived, it turned out that there was not a single restaurant or grocery store nearby. Fortunately, next to the television in our room, we saw a</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"> menu for a pizza place that delivered. We didn't have great expectations so we were pleasantly surprised when both the pizza and salad were delicious. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We firmed up our plans for our return to New Hampshire. Our friends in Orlando were out of town. Calls to Warm Showers people for help getting our bikes boxed and to the airport were fruitless, so I booked a rental van for one day. We figured we'd find a motel near the airport once we got there.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">But </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">I woke up at four o'clock <b>Tuesday</b> morning, <b>March 17</b>, stressing about our flight home. What if travel within the United States were shut down? What about keeping social distance on the plane? Would Southwest cancel flights because of too few passengers? </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">As I lay in bed, not able to sleep, worrying, I had an idea. How about when we got to the Orlando airport, we just picked up a van, threw our bikes in, and drove to New Hampshire? We could maybe stop for the night at Rob's cousin's house just south of the Georgia border and then on Wednesday put the pedal to the metal. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">I got up, took my tablet into the bathroom, looked up car rentals, and found a mini-van with Alamo that didn't have a drop-off fee, just charged $60 a day. It would cost us significantly more than flying, but the peace of mind would be priceless. I booked it and went back to bed. Rob was awake and I tried talking to him about my idea, but he didn't want to hear it. I was too wired to go back to sleep. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">When Rob finally got up and listened to my idea, he agreed with me. He contacted his cousin, Larry, to see if we could spend the night. Larry and his wife Sue were totally fine with our change in plans, happy to have us. I give them a lot of credit for their flexibility. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">First we were going to visit at the end of the month, then not at all, then that evening. I'd only met Larry and Sue once many years ago, so it felt like we were having the opportunity to continue our adventure just a little longer, making yet two more new friends.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Starting out we had ten miles of pleasant riding on a bike path, then busy roads with lots of traffic as we got into the Orlando metro area. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We'd heard that Florida has the most bicycle fatalities of any state. People joke and say it's because of all the old people. I don't think so. I came very close to being hit by a young woman in a pickup truck. She started pulling out of a parking lot just as I was heading in front of her. I yelled. Had her window not been open, I would likely be dead.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Back roads with little traffic took us to the airport, past parking lots that weren't half full. After 44 miles we arrived around two o'clock, picked up a mini-van, and a couple hours later pulled into Larry and Sue's driveway in Fernandino Beach.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The first thing Larry said to us was, "The mayor just issued an order prohibiting out of town guests."</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yes, he was joking. Then he said, "You're allotted three squares of toilet paper."</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0zQ9StGnJzpJmTlCm1j9mBJcZU-drE1xdcGIVnDYWEdbXS7ad_walaXHDCMCGeLxr-4m3fzxVmsuSVnKPyZb2DondD5uJa6ENQg-JP_djNzUK0FIZPMB7YZgPa7DHSEufvVSsQEAFiRPj/s1600/P3183323.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0zQ9StGnJzpJmTlCm1j9mBJcZU-drE1xdcGIVnDYWEdbXS7ad_walaXHDCMCGeLxr-4m3fzxVmsuSVnKPyZb2DondD5uJa6ENQg-JP_djNzUK0FIZPMB7YZgPa7DHSEufvVSsQEAFiRPj/s640/P3183323.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Staying with this hospitable couple in their brand-new Florida home took a little of the sting out of having to end out trip early. Now we can look forward to seeing them again when we return in a few years to finish what we began last June.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sue and Larry had only recently moved to Florida, choosing Fernandino Beach over other areas because of its northern location and three seasons of weather changes. Wednesday morning they took us on a tour of the community and we were able to walk on the beach that hadn't yet been closed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We hit the road after lunch. The radio station was set to a Christian talk show. Rob wanted to change it, but I was intrigued and insisted we keep it on. The show was <i>Let's Face the Issues</i> hosted by Dr. Gene Youngblood. People were calling in saying how grateful they were for the coronavirus because it shows God is at work and if we turn our wicked ways he will heal our land. They said that this was God's way of punishing Democrats for trying to stand in the way of the work of Donald Trump. Nobody expressed any concern for the pandemic but rather had these things to say:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"This is time to praise God."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"We need to call upon the Lord in faith not fear."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"We're seeing the hand of the Lord at work."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"He's fully aware of all our needs in the midst of this coronavirus calamity."</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">[</span><span style="font-size: large;">I doubt the families of the over one hundred thousand Americans who have died, or those who can't pay their or buy food, believe that God is doing a great job. But a</span></i><i><span style="font-size: large;">s I write this, on May 29, </span><span style="font-size: large;">64% of Republicans believe the threat of the coronavirus has been exaggerated</span><span style="font-size: large;">.</span></i><i><span style="font-size: large;">] </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Not expecting much traffic, we were surprised to hit one logjam after another. (That was after I took over the wheel.) Whenever we stopped, all food was takeout only. We were able to use a bathroom at a McDonalds but not at a Subway (where we picked up sandwiches for dinner). Exhaustion determined our stop in Weldon, North Carolina, just south of the Virginia border, where we saw that we would have a healthy selection of cheap motels. But the first one we stopped at had a long line in the lobby. At the next one, a Days Inn, I asked the young man at the desk why it was so busy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Everyone from Canada is going home," he said. "Usually they go home through March and April, but now they're all going home in one week." The U.S. Canadian border was shutting down Friday at midnight.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In the morning we went to a Waffle House for breakfast. The day before, when we'd stopped for a cup of tea at one in Florida, they had every other table and stool closed off. At this one it was takeout only.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In Maryland, the flashing highway sign said, "Save Lives Now...Stay Home." That's exactly where we were headed.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Not the ending we had planned, but still, 9500 miles around three-quarters of the United States was a journey we'll hold onto for the rest of our lives. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We'll return to complete our journey, someday.</span></td></tr>
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Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-13536649845592923242020-05-28T16:16:00.001-07:002020-05-28T16:16:37.359-07:00Circling the U.S. Chapter 79: After Tallahassee<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Thursday, March 12 - Sunday, March 15, 2020</b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">After leaving Tallahassee the riding on <b>Thursday, March 12</b>, was easy, if a bit boring. No wind was a nice change; we had good shoulders and light traffic. But there was no place of interest to stop which made the day seem long without a good reason to take a relaxing break. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE3OY8Ue0oBh2n7KbYz87rgjO54tqEaXz8fmPnLiubMd0YwIVNL9BxnAnjvRHGEIR2URW9FHQcKU_sS1erUVjBqbtW10R3MXePk6Hc2wacP_q9nwT5_QvGK8vvyqGmiBnByPDQOKvqBWv1/s1600/P3123269.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE3OY8Ue0oBh2n7KbYz87rgjO54tqEaXz8fmPnLiubMd0YwIVNL9BxnAnjvRHGEIR2URW9FHQcKU_sS1erUVjBqbtW10R3MXePk6Hc2wacP_q9nwT5_QvGK8vvyqGmiBnByPDQOKvqBWv1/s640/P3123269.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We'd heard about this bike path running about 20 miles from Tallahassee to St. Mark. It lived up to its reputation as a pleasant ride. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was aiming for a free camping spot next to a motorcycle shop past the town of Perry. Rob was aiming for a cheap motel in Perry. But </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"> we came to Rocky's RV Park and Campground first and found out it only cost $14, a nice change from our last camping night that had a price tag of $68. A</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">fter 61 miles I was ready to stop. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">I said I was tired of cheap motels and the weather was pleasant enough to spend a couple hours relaxing outside. Rob, being the agreeable soul he is, gave in.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The only catch was we had nothing for dinner and we were in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a convenience store. They at least had salads, chicken wings, and fruit cups, so we made do with that. After dinner the bugs came out and sent Rob into the tent. Maybe next time he'll get his cheap motel.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "times";">Meanwhile, I was obsessed with the coronavirus news and stayed up glued to my tablet searching out whatever information I could find. I felt badly about all the events that were cancelled, events I knew my friends in Colorado and New Hampshire look forward to every year. When I read that the virus can lead to pneumonia followed by liver and kidney failure, I thought, that's how my mother died. I didn't want that to happen to Rob. He has lung disease. Every winter he gets sick, often with bronchitis, but not this year. So far. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">But I thought we were probably in the healthiest place, being away from crowds, pretty much in the middle of nowhere. And Florida had only seen a few cases.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "times";"><b>Friday, March 13</b>, we thought we'd start the day with a second breakfast in Perry. I'd done some research and we easily found the Backdoor Bistro and Coffee Shop. We were the only customers. We needed to charge our phones and my tablet so we found a table in the back with outlets nearby. There was music playing which I didn't pay much attention to as I worked on my blog while waiting for our food. But as we were eating, the words to the music rose to my consciousness and I realized we were in another "Christian" coffee shop.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "times";"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;">When we were getting ready to leave, I was waiting for Rob to finish in the bathroom. The owner was sitting nearby, folding napkins. I said, "I couldn't help but notice that you are a Christian business. I've also seen a lot of Trump signs in this part of the country. Do you, as a Christian, support Trump?"</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;">She said, "Oh, yes. I could never vote for a Democrat. We have to protect unborn babies."</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;">"How do you feel about Trump's treatment of immigrants?"</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;">"He's protecting my interests."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;">That was as far as the conversation went because Rob came out of the bathroom and we had many miles to cover. But obviously nothing I could have said would ever change this woman's vote.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "times";"><span style="font-family: "times";">The day's riding wasn’t challenging, just again long and boring. I had a sore butt and it was hot, in the eighties. </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times"; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We passed a baby alligator sunning itself on a cement culvert. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times"; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times"; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">This was now a couple very hot days in a row. I couldn’t imagine doing this trip later in the spring. I was looking forward to starting to ride north in a couple weeks and watching spring unfold. Already we’d been enjoying lots of blooming azaleas and magnolia trees. The wildflowers alongside the road were multiplying, with colors of white, red, yellow, and purple. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "times";"><span style="font-family: "times";">Sixty-eight miles brought us to </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times"; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fanning Springs State Park which turned out to be a real gem. L</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times"; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">ocated on the Suwanee River, with no campgound, primitive camping is allowed for anyone arriving without a car - kayakers, hikers, and cyclists. The park ranger who checked us in said few people stay overnight. Once the park closed for the night we had it to ourselves. I especially appreciated not having internet access.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times"; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We set up our tent in a big field next to a band stand then went for a swim in the spring fed pool adjacent to the river.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times"; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;"><br /><b>Saturday, March 14</b>, we had a beautiful morning. We rode about 10 miles to Manitee Springs State Park where we rented a canoe for a couple hours and headed out of the spring area to explore the Suwanee River. The river was much wider than I expected; we stayed close to the shore in the hopes of seeing wildlife. But it was back in the spring-fed area where we saw piles of turtles sunning themselves on a rock, a couple turtles swimming and a small alligator becoming one with the muddy island in the middle of the water.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Manitee Spring is one of many natural springs in Florida that feed into larger rivers.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Cypress knees are outgrowths from the roots of the cypress that help stabilize the tree growing in wet conditions.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Some of the knees get really big.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">We came out of the spring into the Suwanee River.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"> We saw wildlife upon our return to the spring. There's an alligator tucked into that tiny island.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Too many turtles to count.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times"; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sadly the afternon was not nearly as pleasant as the morning. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times"; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We headed to Cedar Key, another old fishing town that had been recommended to us.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times"; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"> It was out of our way, but we figured it would be worth a detour on what looked to be quiet roads off the beaten path. But it was hot, the scenery was uninspiring, and there were again no places along the way to stop for a break. Then, it turned out that the campground Rob had picked out was not in Cedar Key as he'd thought, but about 10 miles before it. A couple phone calls told us that we probably wouldn’t be able to find an affordable room if we kept going into town. It was the beginning of spring break for the public schools; everything was booked. We wouldn't be able to spend the evening wandering around a quaint old fishing town as we'd hoped. We were disappointed but we knew we had no choice. We decided to check into the campground and spend the following morning exploring Cedar Key.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times"; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">When we arrived at the campground it was full, but the manager found us a spot, asking a gentleman with a camper van if he wouldn’t mind sharing. He didn’t. The campground cost $10 but the manager wouldn't take any money from us, so we split the cost with the other fellow. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times"; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The campground sat right on the Gulf, a favorite spot for fishing and running noisy airboats. After dinner we found a short trail along the shoreline. We didn't realize when Rob took this picture that this would be our last night on the Gulf.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The campground was packed, large groups sharing campsites, kids running around, people gathered around barbecues. The manager told me he'd never seen it so busy. "The movie theaters are closed. Schools are closed. People have nowhere to take their kids."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I said, "This coronavirus is pretty scary."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"You can't believe everything you hear," he said. "The media is making the virus look worse than it is just to make Trump look bad."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After we were in our tent, Kylee called. "Mom, Boulder is shutting everything down. Libraries are closed. Denver schools are closed. CU is going online. People are working from home." </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">She didn't suggest we quit, but she sent me an article that described what was going on in Italy, how they didn't have enough ventilators, and that was where the United States was heading. That scared me. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Rob has two chronic lung diseases, pulmonary hypertension and asthma. He has heart disease. He's over sixty. For people like him the coronavirus can easily lead to pneumonia and organ failure and death. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I realized then that our trip was over.</span></div>
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Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-18753532774859798232020-05-27T13:51:00.001-07:002020-05-27T13:51:54.459-07:00Circling the U.S. Chapter 78: Tallahasee<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Tuesday, March 10 - Wednesday, March 11, 2020</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We took a couple days off in Tallahassee, not so much because we needed the rest but because we wanted to take the opportunity to catch up with old friends. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rick and Rob were in graduate school together. When I met Rob, Rick and Linda were already a couple. As often happens with long distance friendships, after years of sending Christmas cards we'd eventually lost touch. But we ran into them a few years ago at a scientific conference and knew that Rick was still working at Florida State University. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fortunately the timing worked out as Rick and Linda had been out of town until Monday night. We arrived at their home Tuesday morning and after a short visit Rob and I walked to the free Florida History Museum where we spent a couple hours being surprised by much of Florida's history. Spending most of our lives in the northeastern part of the country, Rob and I have a picture of U.S. history as beginning with English settlements, fighting against the British for independence and then everyone lived happily ever after. (Obviously neither of us are history buffs.) It has been fascinating for us as we travel around the country to learn about all the other influences on American history and how many of the states were bounced around from belonging to first one country, then another, and again another, before becoming part of the United States. (I still think the most fascinating piece of history was learning about the Pig War on San Juan Island.)</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">When I was growing up my family always vacationed at the same family resort in New Hampshire, only venturing as far south as Myrtle Beach one year during a spring break. I thought Florida only became famous as a tourist destination with the advent of air-conditioning and Disney World, so I was surprised to find out that Florida's tourism industry dates back to the earlier years of the last century.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2lYGnUKbeIA16VoTSBJTnlkSUUTD9-ebag0q8o-mbC_-UDkLmt7LKmypJftUwr7pgD6LRMAGbIeUqeW4cEqtnq-TqpG9U-DQSgMMstBmuddmEm8LJTVwecIVIAu6lXvnq-3sCQsZsHXqf/s1600/P3103211.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2lYGnUKbeIA16VoTSBJTnlkSUUTD9-ebag0q8o-mbC_-UDkLmt7LKmypJftUwr7pgD6LRMAGbIeUqeW4cEqtnq-TqpG9U-DQSgMMstBmuddmEm8LJTVwecIVIAu6lXvnq-3sCQsZsHXqf/s640/P3103211.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The original RV was called the Tin Can Camper. Check out the pictures below to see how it opened up to include a bed that sat over the steering wheel</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwjBFMNL-WG_5QZT6IP8O8t_qwupURI5mpHK2acw21Yuroks4XhZilX9no12zeD6MC0NW0qVwTDfi4zakzwFuT7qJosynsozAf0pRoQ1PrOOxAjBKkrSUhNrgTKfAjuUl0NKkU48Zy4LZb/s1600/P3103212.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwjBFMNL-WG_5QZT6IP8O8t_qwupURI5mpHK2acw21Yuroks4XhZilX9no12zeD6MC0NW0qVwTDfi4zakzwFuT7qJosynsozAf0pRoQ1PrOOxAjBKkrSUhNrgTKfAjuUl0NKkU48Zy4LZb/s640/P3103212.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5TTpV_MEG47_nyz32Im9ELx_g8JY-eEHbTu7JQ-K3zEr1304_qf6yJl1NinjNVp3moobSgYcP74b0j70hC1NoAonmDuquvGlR45khRlPskZJMR317nUpPMkLNZ2Zp3hrWscPnBjJtAgGs/s1600/P3103213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5TTpV_MEG47_nyz32Im9ELx_g8JY-eEHbTu7JQ-K3zEr1304_qf6yJl1NinjNVp3moobSgYcP74b0j70hC1NoAonmDuquvGlR45khRlPskZJMR317nUpPMkLNZ2Zp3hrWscPnBjJtAgGs/s640/P3103213.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioDIFxRnDlgop2ozt0qbTtj6jv0L7rmADqFhTvZh1IXf3u6lZVQMeCtV7BE3CuHsi52XqBuEOyjbshrInkkCj1_SV3tgdviQ36_P9BGIZHMUMHBua8VRabfxQntZvCBDkgIODRXtCQHDZn/s1600/IMG_20200310_192835136.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioDIFxRnDlgop2ozt0qbTtj6jv0L7rmADqFhTvZh1IXf3u6lZVQMeCtV7BE3CuHsi52XqBuEOyjbshrInkkCj1_SV3tgdviQ36_P9BGIZHMUMHBua8VRabfxQntZvCBDkgIODRXtCQHDZn/s640/IMG_20200310_192835136.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Rick and Linda took us out for a taco dinner Tuesday night at El Cocinero, a short walk from their house. They were truly generous hosts; it was amazing to find we had so much in common after so many years.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">On <b>Wednesday, March 11</b>, we drove with Rick and Linda to Wakulla Springs State Park. Edward Ball purchased the springs in 1934 and developed it as a tourist destination with a lodge and swimming area. But he also had the foresight to preserve its natural beauty. The only boat allowed on the river is the tour boat which takes visitors downstream from the spring for about a mile and after that no boats are allowed for the next two miles. The boat ride and the guide were outstanding. We saw about 20 alligators, countless birds and turtles, and two manatees.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-H_l_vaqgliEKyXda_B_ZTLId9De8W0lyOdpIvMM9vymTgJ6UFH0E4bv3nlQYEBXThTm-cfwLORs_mFFXClc6zWo7OuKAIqPdtsXYs2uLrafQ6S5iIs5JBTbK4I5jblRU2_AOXdKRxYLy/s1600/P3113216.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-H_l_vaqgliEKyXda_B_ZTLId9De8W0lyOdpIvMM9vymTgJ6UFH0E4bv3nlQYEBXThTm-cfwLORs_mFFXClc6zWo7OuKAIqPdtsXYs2uLrafQ6S5iIs5JBTbK4I5jblRU2_AOXdKRxYLy/s640/P3113216.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">This swimming area is located at the beginning of the spring. Supposedly the alligators don't eat the swimmers. At least it hasn't happened yet.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWy-ek8JyieK-T_-8_9LGqa2t_thMkP0V06-YPJHiSIUmVPXofPaE48wtHNfci3mLgYR8rvirwHbdzhxlwg3DQ7pq_yIUp95bLzQBGmaWNRTTGTxrhSwqp1qnX8AyUP14Hiu8iVLhBuLmH/s1600/P3113224.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWy-ek8JyieK-T_-8_9LGqa2t_thMkP0V06-YPJHiSIUmVPXofPaE48wtHNfci3mLgYR8rvirwHbdzhxlwg3DQ7pq_yIUp95bLzQBGmaWNRTTGTxrhSwqp1qnX8AyUP14Hiu8iVLhBuLmH/s640/P3113224.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">We began our journey heading downstream.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbka1wofiiyziH6mflU-J1WrHvYlLNvVjB4_Hk7qDwj4xEe9tV6RLonzk6tT5lunM5o5LxO-YQkvvhrfjy4MrhyphenhyphenP1mUdnKTnndtT-Dsrj2uHjOxgAZFVZU4GpOjeAuSVsBXkovThdLO8zi/s1600/P3113227.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbka1wofiiyziH6mflU-J1WrHvYlLNvVjB4_Hk7qDwj4xEe9tV6RLonzk6tT5lunM5o5LxO-YQkvvhrfjy4MrhyphenhyphenP1mUdnKTnndtT-Dsrj2uHjOxgAZFVZU4GpOjeAuSVsBXkovThdLO8zi/s640/P3113227.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Common Moorhen</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwrjfRhuQTn9kvHkqhVcPBbLs5bEw-wqQRusJNYYYLY4aA1x78Iw3GBo0c99LPjQCU5uAPP3AEqf-m2WbDh6kE-gb1UgLXZHnwgI96xzZkjrf4J-ESvi5r_c5OFCYNEv8lIKHjyduu6a2-/s1600/P3113229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwrjfRhuQTn9kvHkqhVcPBbLs5bEw-wqQRusJNYYYLY4aA1x78Iw3GBo0c99LPjQCU5uAPP3AEqf-m2WbDh6kE-gb1UgLXZHnwgI96xzZkjrf4J-ESvi5r_c5OFCYNEv8lIKHjyduu6a2-/s640/P3113229.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Anhigas</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji5ih-udHqeq5h0scWHMm6qUXJDT1U5IRk-WhU_-QEgvzR6K0KMTReQr4rc5ZdBv6pGD7PzNYQKvappAIf0ksZlrhCNaEkUzIl2WZn07IXLvzMGONVmz8OwRIJEyNvDWKkKssCPdHTtdsY/s1600/P3113231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji5ih-udHqeq5h0scWHMm6qUXJDT1U5IRk-WhU_-QEgvzR6K0KMTReQr4rc5ZdBv6pGD7PzNYQKvappAIf0ksZlrhCNaEkUzIl2WZn07IXLvzMGONVmz8OwRIJEyNvDWKkKssCPdHTtdsY/s640/P3113231.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Alligator, one of many</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNwVBAFLu2oF1C03Ll-GYVcp9AyZf2m-RumddIsVCf21bsff9bmc35gZZGgnrYJP8uaJ3c0LCIsPTp8F5Ywf86NXIrIMX6a3ctPzVewyPAqRLyiZu6F2L4l5LUYFbXcq6BNQ9Dm9SImlG2/s1600/P3113237.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNwVBAFLu2oF1C03Ll-GYVcp9AyZf2m-RumddIsVCf21bsff9bmc35gZZGgnrYJP8uaJ3c0LCIsPTp8F5Ywf86NXIrIMX6a3ctPzVewyPAqRLyiZu6F2L4l5LUYFbXcq6BNQ9Dm9SImlG2/s640/P3113237.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">White Ibis</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVuFdnLUPIrwVWxSFR34ZzyA1pw_92gO7TIh2VrKUucSbTVj5G6nsetR-qs9fQJ3txavLDQrLrSZqt4jkKpU_ekRTXZNPmvd5D26snaq5DQ66a9mY6o7cMh42jYGGm5xVgjJsyl_jdWGQW/s1600/P3113245.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVuFdnLUPIrwVWxSFR34ZzyA1pw_92gO7TIh2VrKUucSbTVj5G6nsetR-qs9fQJ3txavLDQrLrSZqt4jkKpU_ekRTXZNPmvd5D26snaq5DQ66a9mY6o7cMh42jYGGm5xVgjJsyl_jdWGQW/s640/P3113245.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Another Anhigas</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ZSEZfx2A6DylVNpqPl_K7Br8m4yIQXARQsTgr-JWWAiO46Ew3bskjZP9NAmAFJKt8oq4l6d9Ax6M48t-5wvDoCbsiA30kakqvYx7Uocg8hg4Fj9fN56iq3fzX5JSwBapo67RoImChlcj/s640/P3113251.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Another Alligator</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVwCOLkvhbWmFylEvi5dQn_4r-653AGdEq9pPF1flX2yhN8T_WI2la06NcF_qycKv2PLaALMw5pK81UHdyL00FgaqbQQWghJoLBvmj7tWe8cxFifkqXmJEiIxlR_nI8_LbuyHpk7gg-X-3/s1600/P3113259.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVwCOLkvhbWmFylEvi5dQn_4r-653AGdEq9pPF1flX2yhN8T_WI2la06NcF_qycKv2PLaALMw5pK81UHdyL00FgaqbQQWghJoLBvmj7tWe8cxFifkqXmJEiIxlR_nI8_LbuyHpk7gg-X-3/s640/P3113259.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Babies</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj13iFR5n6odwyKZ10jybK4R3xDSlVNMZTJg1lNBzKDi9G7OTfehQ3l5tFU74gSoxzomkA2QxhggzKmSxLG7sEyWFa9YIpVGckg0ryhyphenhyphen-OR9Q4hPKGJ6Ka7nBa4xkBSxCtN_O6z_wmpHM5V/s1600/P3113258.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj13iFR5n6odwyKZ10jybK4R3xDSlVNMZTJg1lNBzKDi9G7OTfehQ3l5tFU74gSoxzomkA2QxhggzKmSxLG7sEyWFa9YIpVGckg0ryhyphenhyphen-OR9Q4hPKGJ6Ka7nBa4xkBSxCtN_O6z_wmpHM5V/s640/P3113258.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Some scenes from <i>The Creature From the Black Lagoon </i>were filmed here.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9tXN6tD4GCVnxoHbn7F_2Mx9x_9RTQzvEZ1ZEsOS_R8Yd1bXy_IHTsQHh11oXRkmjZbXmd0xI68iDM7olDxVWNeGCcD5CQ2mvZyB6YzecvmySsB-WS5_frg8rhsy2IQhQanWmA948M83b/s1600/P3113261.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9tXN6tD4GCVnxoHbn7F_2Mx9x_9RTQzvEZ1ZEsOS_R8Yd1bXy_IHTsQHh11oXRkmjZbXmd0xI68iDM7olDxVWNeGCcD5CQ2mvZyB6YzecvmySsB-WS5_frg8rhsy2IQhQanWmA948M83b/s640/P3113261.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We were lucky to see manatees. They generally hang out here in the winter because the water is a constant temperature of about 70 degrees, but in the spring they travel downstream to the Gulf.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4q5IqYnXL7BQ2tfwaGLDCpnXxXdACE3Iq2cBYrVxD5DiSSVLNyaKire0m1IlzRyXclEMALfGIfYtsp3_K0RCh3hGD-L3S7fy5xwj7ylrG6iEch5KyTcASyLGjrvAKdjBdGnARVT_mgRMF/s1600/P3113267.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4q5IqYnXL7BQ2tfwaGLDCpnXxXdACE3Iq2cBYrVxD5DiSSVLNyaKire0m1IlzRyXclEMALfGIfYtsp3_K0RCh3hGD-L3S7fy5xwj7ylrG6iEch5KyTcASyLGjrvAKdjBdGnARVT_mgRMF/s640/P3113267.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The historic lodge. You can still book a room here if you'd like. Inside they have a snack bar with a very long marble counter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Over dinner Wednesday night we talked about the coronavirus. Rick had gotten the word that once students left for spring break they wouldn't be allowed back on campus and classes would go online. Linda went to a meeting for a spring arts festival that hadn't yet been cancelled. We talked about the likelihood of it happening. [It was cancelled the next day.] Disneyland in California had closed. It still hadn't occurred to us to quit riding.</span></div>
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Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-90823338147481390392020-05-21T12:12:00.001-07:002020-05-21T12:12:05.661-07:00Circling the U.S. Chapter 77: The first week of Florida<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Tuesday, March 3 - Monday, March 9, 2020</b></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Following our ride through Gulf State Park we crossed the border into Florida.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We fairly flew through the miles on Tuesday, easily leaving Alabama behind and looking forward to a long stretch in Florida where we had friends and family to visit. Our plan was to follow the west coast down to the Keys, then begin the final leg of our journey north along the Atlantic Coast.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Every time I looked at my odometer it registered 12-15 mph, a good clip for us. With our usual short stops and two long ones it took us 8 1/2 hours to ride 69 miles. Rob asked me how I felt about the riding. I said, "We must have had a tailwind. I feel like we've been riding downhill all day. I'm hardly pedaling." He admitted that he was working hard to keep up with me, but keep up he did. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The scariest riding on our trip has to be bridges. You never know how they will accommodate cyclists. Is there a dedicated bike lane? Is there a shoulder? Are bicyclists even allowed? A bicyclist heading west warned us that the bridge from Pensacola to Gulf Breeze does not yet have its bike/pedestrian lane complete so we would have to ride in the emergency lane, in the center of the bridge, separated from the rest of the traffic only by orange posts. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We arrived at the bridge and didn't see any emergency lane. There was no shoulder and two lanes of traffic were moving at rush hour speeds, everyone eager to get home. We flagged down a construction worker coming by in a truck on the other side of the jersey barrier. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">"How do we get across?" I yelled.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">"You have to ride in the emergency lane."</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">"Where is it?"</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">He said, "It starts just ahead." </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Too scared to ride, we walked our bikes and, just around a bend in the road we saw the emergency lane. There was no traffic light and no pedestrian crosswalk, no way to safely cross two lanes of speeding traffic to get to it.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Pressing ourselves tightly against the jersey barrier, we had no choice but to wait for a break in the traffic.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"> We looked with pleading eyes at the driver of each car racing by. Finally, we must have looked desperate enough. A car in the closest lane stopped; then one in the inside lane gave us a break and we were able to cross over. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The emergency lane was filled with debris, perfect for a flat tire, but then it cleared up and the riding wasn't too bad. As I approached the top of the bridge, my single thought was, "I hope a car doesn't come flying down this lane right at us." But the only thing that came down the lane toward us was another bicyclist. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The next challenge was getting back across the two lanes of traffic, which we were able to do easily when there was a long enough break and a pullout on the other side. When we were safely across I said to Rob, "Well, that was fun." </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="white-space: normal;">Then we were in Gulf Breeze and on our way in search of the home of Emily, the older sister of one of Rob's closest high school friends. When we found her neighborhood we were stopped by a locked gate, a gated community with no gate keeper to let us in. We thought we'd have to call Emily for the key code, but then we realized, it's just a gate across the road and there was no fence. We got off our bikes and walked around the gate. Any burglar on a bicycle would have no problem here.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Every house in this part of the world has a hurricane story. Emily's parents once lived in a house right here, but it was destroyed in one of the hurricanes that came through around 2003. They sold the property but then Emily and her husband bought it back and built this house with an elevator so that her parents could live with them. (They are now deceased.) The elevator is in the center of the house. If a hurricane comes through, they would take their cars, leaving the garage door and the golf cart door on the opposite wall open. When a storm surge comes, it will push out the walls, leaving the house standing. The windows are all graded for 180 mph winds. Anything higher than that would blow off the roof. With all those protections Emily said their flood insurance is only $400 a year.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The forecast for <b>Wednesday, March 4</b>, called for r</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">ain and flooding so it made sense to take advantage of a beautiful place to stay and great company to wait out the bad weather. Emily was extraordinarily gracious, taking us on a driving tour into Pensacola and feeding us terrific food. Unfortunately, we didn't get to meet her husband, Larry who was out of town on business. It was nice to relax after three long riding days.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Emily is a professional pianist, making her living teaching and accompanying choruses. After dinner Rob dug through her piles of music and we sang old familiar songs. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We woke to rain <b>Thursday, March 5</b>, so we hung out in the morning, waiting to leave until after noon. Even then, it was still foggy and a bit drizzly. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">One high rise building after another towered over us on both sides of the highway as we shared the road with an abundant amount of traffic. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Florida is making efforts to be bike friendly. We rode along for a good many miles with well-marked bike lanes. Still, it would help if the drivers were educated on both courtesy and appropriate passing distance. </span><span style="font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Cars and pickup trucks honked at us for no reason at all, many of them passing with only inches to spare.</span><span style="font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Whenever a car passes too closely I try to make a mental note of it in case I can catch up and have a conversation with the driver. The opportunity presented itself when, at a stoplight, I caught up to just one of those. I knocked on the window, scaring the bejeezus out of the older woman at the wheel. She was alone. I said, very politely, “I know you didn’t mean to, but you passed me way too close back there.”</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">She replied, with a lovely southern accent, “Well, I got as far away as I could but there was a car on the other side. I had no choice.” </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">I said, “You could have held back and waited for a safe distance to pass.” </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh, but I had to go.” </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">I can only hope that she’ll think about it when she next comes across a cyclist. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The riding was still terrific. We flew along, clocking 15 and 16 miles an hour. It must have been the tailwind. And there was not a single hill. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">As we passed a small park in Fort Walton Beach some sculptures grabbed my attention. I had to stop and take some pictures.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Forty miles brought us to Henderson State Park in Dentin, and a "Campground Full" sign. But Rob had spoken to someone that morning who said we could camp in a primitive campsite and didn’t need a reservation. The staff on duty knew nothing about that. Did Rob remember the person’s name? No. The park ranger went off to make a phone call and came back to say they had a site for us but not to expect anything at other state parks. Which was a bummer because it was March, Spring Break Month, and crowds were packing the campgrounds.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">For the record, the following states will not turn away bicyclists, even if they are full: Vermont, Michigan, Wisconsin, Washington, Oregon, and California. Other states don’t care. They’ll send you packing. Or you can beg and plead and they might find a spot for you.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">As it turned out, the primitive campsite was perfect. It was the site of a former playground, a large open area covered in wood chips, right off a path to the beach. It even had a picnic table.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">While we were registering for our campsite another cyclist rolled into the park, a young guy. I talked to him a bit. He was from Pennsylvania, had been on the road since the end of January but was planning to go back home in a few days because he wanted to see his grandmother. He was worried that she might get the coronavirus. I applauded him for being so caring, even as I thought he was being a little extreme in his concern. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCgNkGNU4sFOtctk2dChcB1drKiWCR0Ps1SHDsTAEqWb8AxCHY8nPGRozMx2fScqE-NbJWUBQWa-USmOZClisVpPiKNmm8d7fwulivYHBWBYS9GG3Mhtc6UalGMOuTljb6ZFQPn0nyP6Ic/s1600/P3063191.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCgNkGNU4sFOtctk2dChcB1drKiWCR0Ps1SHDsTAEqWb8AxCHY8nPGRozMx2fScqE-NbJWUBQWa-USmOZClisVpPiKNmm8d7fwulivYHBWBYS9GG3Mhtc6UalGMOuTljb6ZFQPn0nyP6Ic/s640/P3063191.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We began the day on <b>Friday, March 6</b>, with a walk on the beach at Henderson State Park.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Because our mileage is often determined by lodging availability, we had a short, relaxing day on Friday, only 28 miles to our Warm Showers host in Seacrest. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Our riding took us on an 18 mile bike path through very well-heeled waterfront communities where we bicycled past young retirees out for their morning stroll. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We spent</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"> almost two hours sitting outside a coffee shop trying to figure out lodging for the upcoming two nights along the way to Tallahassee. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Just a few days into Florida it was beginning to look like finding affordable places to stay would be a challenge. Florida is definitely not a friendly place for budget travelers. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Q7kxgk4oJBT_COtEredoYdEuaHto1sp4tTOGTOgLtckRnApduZZg0wGwzOr_iGT766Y0Gec4aLgM67N5ILbjA0BupOvMlLVyfm5XT-5_T4smksGobbukX-D1HcTBrDU3kIAZMVOEpN-d/s1600/P3063193.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Q7kxgk4oJBT_COtEredoYdEuaHto1sp4tTOGTOgLtckRnApduZZg0wGwzOr_iGT766Y0Gec4aLgM67N5ILbjA0BupOvMlLVyfm5XT-5_T4smksGobbukX-D1HcTBrDU3kIAZMVOEpN-d/s640/P3063193.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Allen Lake is one of 15 named coastal dune lakes along Route 30A in South Walton. Coastal dune lakes are only found in Madagascar, Australia, and South Walton. Located within two miles of a coastline, a</span><span style="font-size: large;"> special marine ecosystem forms as a result of the intermittent exchange of freshwater and saltwater that occurs when one of the lakes overflows.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We stopped for a picnic lunch on a beach and Rob went for a swim. Not being a particularly hot day I decided to pass, figuring I'd have plenty more opportunities to swim in the Gulf. If I'd seen into the future maybe I would have gone in with Rob. But then, who would have taken the following pictures? </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeoiFlL0RBwY0muCZKxHQ2g5BS-oF_QuW9VwJ2gtusfOskkjHD-ALrFW-hObbwO_bqzFag-t-s49BNiNSY9X2aGimMZj8YTGDp14Uo9-Nbc3PXgii4F932gRLvM8beBjjFoB5UoRNM5JLD/s1600/P3063195.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeoiFlL0RBwY0muCZKxHQ2g5BS-oF_QuW9VwJ2gtusfOskkjHD-ALrFW-hObbwO_bqzFag-t-s49BNiNSY9X2aGimMZj8YTGDp14Uo9-Nbc3PXgii4F932gRLvM8beBjjFoB5UoRNM5JLD/s640/P3063195.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYKYopS98H3p6mekwzdWbWvc1DEdN457t7AbNFYxtMJqjO0q9RyMpeqUzvjbd-4_khkOML4FVO29FkrZr8YL-9_y-wUBY2NKvLjg4A7hv2fzpl4sz8ydgcx81l-T7h0tseKGVczo73nSvA/s1600/P3063196.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYKYopS98H3p6mekwzdWbWvc1DEdN457t7AbNFYxtMJqjO0q9RyMpeqUzvjbd-4_khkOML4FVO29FkrZr8YL-9_y-wUBY2NKvLjg4A7hv2fzpl4sz8ydgcx81l-T7h0tseKGVczo73nSvA/s640/P3063196.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWQbYJVwuPXHd-ZGRECJlllQowPeE4kWQqIRVkeGWEyO3k5q_Nk8CjuzmGsbJ-RRnWK_IA1Bz7NQqqBflcN3KNsEuBm0QWcu-GsVZuCG2V6SnmWk02yLnpohuWfnVfSwl3SMb7xdu0p-6o/s1600/P3063198.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWQbYJVwuPXHd-ZGRECJlllQowPeE4kWQqIRVkeGWEyO3k5q_Nk8CjuzmGsbJ-RRnWK_IA1Bz7NQqqBflcN3KNsEuBm0QWcu-GsVZuCG2V6SnmWk02yLnpohuWfnVfSwl3SMb7xdu0p-6o/s640/P3063198.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyqDPE6kAg1jW4YAx0_Nhru4-bhpsnElF5bYEg_3UWWE86z3QVsrynsERbWJD_3i2gMM4mWkfjgI9XKPBBU1yewsMwzfKBCHe6Avl8URYwx_5cjPrkgnh__psVMjtkmofKInRgt7FKr0A2/s1600/P3063200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyqDPE6kAg1jW4YAx0_Nhru4-bhpsnElF5bYEg_3UWWE86z3QVsrynsERbWJD_3i2gMM4mWkfjgI9XKPBBU1yewsMwzfKBCHe6Avl8URYwx_5cjPrkgnh__psVMjtkmofKInRgt7FKr0A2/s640/P3063200.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">It had been a very long time since either one of us had gone for a swim. Rob was a happy guy.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We know it's going to be a good night when, just after we arrive, our host asks us if we want a beer. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Joey was hands down the friendliest Warm Shower dog we've met on this trip, jumped right into my lap and snuggled. We also enjoyed dinner and conversation with Marty, who invited us to join him and Joey for a short walk on the beach in the morning.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Saturday, March 7</b>, we had 68 miles of </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">pleasant riding on a state highway (98) that doesn't see much traffic as it winds through the Tyndall Airforce Base and along what is called the Forgotten Coast, with several small communities on the Gulf. We saw a dolphin swimming while we ate our lunch. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgahOB9fa6gAx3Mo05RrBc4la_qibgyYSNFJvk-KVYpdpcjt4To_QlS3kaV0ffWCq3lElGXV7GOOyxHp-gojv9ubwcWJc-6_tN27x1XuqImu09WQsL-M2urqhgbbWcV6IPH7XqYLwoiyMKw/s1600/P3073204.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgahOB9fa6gAx3Mo05RrBc4la_qibgyYSNFJvk-KVYpdpcjt4To_QlS3kaV0ffWCq3lElGXV7GOOyxHp-gojv9ubwcWJc-6_tN27x1XuqImu09WQsL-M2urqhgbbWcV6IPH7XqYLwoiyMKw/s640/P3073204.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We passed fields of trees that had been mowed down by hurricane winds.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Who can remember all the hurricanes - sometimes several in one year - that have devastated parts of the Gulf and Atlantic Coast communities in this century alone? I know I can't. As we've been cycling through these areas and seen hurricane damage I've tried to figure out how long ago the last hurricane came through. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">In Mexico Beach there were many new homes built up on stilts. But there were also many destroyed buildings that hadn't yet been cleaned up. I said to Rob, "My guess is that this is from a hurricane in 2018."</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">"You think so?"</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">"I don't think the houses could have been built so quickly if it came through last fall, and the damage looks pretty recent. Besides, I don't remember hearing about any hurricanes this year."</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was right. Hurricane Michael hit the area hard in October, 2018.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;">We rode by a piece of beach front property with a for sale sign - $39,000. The building on it was a pile of lumber and what beach there was looked like it would be taken over by the ocean in a few years. I thought, "Good luck selling that."</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The long day was determined, again, by lodging availability, and this time all we came up with was a very expensive campground, </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Presnell's Bayside Marina & RV Resort in Port St. Joe,</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"> costing $64. Rob tried to talk the owners down in price several times - all we had was a tent, after all - but they wouldn't budge. At least this campground was nicer than the equally expensive one we stayed at in Ontario back in July. The campsite was roomy and we had a view of the Gulf and the sunset.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We had stopped at a Piggly Wiggly to pick up something for dinner; they didn't sell beer and we were too tired to hunt down a liquor store. But, leave it to Rob, I came back from my shower to find four cans of Stella Artois, my favorite beer, sitting on the picnic table. He is not shy when it comes to asking our neighbors for beer. Rod and Annette - from Ontario - were spending the winter months in Texas, Louisiana, and Florida, They insisted we join them around their propane campfire after dinner. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Because we crossed over a time zone - our last one - and because we "sprang ahead" into daylight savings time overnight, we gained two more hours of daylight at the end of the day, when we need it most. To celebrate we went to sleep without setting an alarm. I didn't crawl out of my sleeping bag until eight o'clock the next morning.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Our next destination, on <b>Sunday, March 8</b>, was the old fishing community of Apalachicola, only 25 miles away. Emily, back in Gulf Breeze, had recommended that we stop there. Rob did the research and found us a place to stay right in town, the Coombs Inn and Suites. We looked forward to an easy morning. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">But we hadn't counted on an unrelenting headwind. Thankfully Rob was able to stay with me, but sometimes his nonsensical prattling got on my nerves as I was just barely holding on. I didn't even have the energy to tell him to shut up.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We arrived at the inn around one o'clock and they were nice enough to let us check in early. We had lunch on the porch, showered and relaxed, then set out to explore the town. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We stopped first at the <a href="https://www.floridastateparks.org/parks-and-trails/john-gorrie-museum-state-park">John Gorrie Museum State Park</a> located right next door. It turns out that John Gorrie was a pioneer in developing an air conditioning system; he received the first U.S. patent for mechanical refrigeration in 1851. We weren't that interested in spending four dollars to find out more about this particular history, but we were the only ones in the small museum and we got talking to Tom, the park ranger, asked him a few questions and he wound up giving us a 45-minute history lesson on this fellow who was a doctor interested in finding a way to keep patients cool in order to treat them for yellow fever. I'm not sure what impressed me more, the story or Tom's ability to tell it so well.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">As so often has happened, we arrived in town on a day when most restaurants were closed. On a Sunday, no less. So as we wandered around town our mission included finding a satisfactory dining spot. Along the way we discovered The Old Time Soda Fountain serving ice cream sodas and milk shakes. Of course we had to indulge. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYb6ptkJdC07gBgLa-IsUdc62XmGScZSoM8dDzElJrtHUjd7ITBua_ekPzfsnfxUK1yTUf_RK73XYl6msG5iOtqhTTfc74p1xTdGw2gtwOFGugxBzSp0G7nuypYBtVQ6PJODcPyhO81yG5/s1600/P3083208.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYb6ptkJdC07gBgLa-IsUdc62XmGScZSoM8dDzElJrtHUjd7ITBua_ekPzfsnfxUK1yTUf_RK73XYl6msG5iOtqhTTfc74p1xTdGw2gtwOFGugxBzSp0G7nuypYBtVQ6PJODcPyhO81yG5/s640/P3083208.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I neglected to take any pictures of downtown Apalachicola, but I did catch these fine pelicans as they hung out on the water.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We found a casual place for dinner, <a href="https://www.upthecreekrawbar.com/">Up the Creek</a>, where we sat at a wooden counter overlooking the water and enjoyed beer and flounder and crab cakes. As we were finishing up and Rob went to the rest room I began talking to an older woman sitting alone next to us. Rob came back as she was giving me advice on the best way to ride to Tallahassee and we all chatted a bit. We got ready to leave and she introduced herself as Karen and Rob said, "Karen Berkeley." She and I were both taken aback. Rob said, "I interviewed at Florida State back in the eighties. I remember you." </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">There are a couple of </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">weird aspects of that chance meeting. One was that, as I was</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> fighting the wind that morning, I happened to think that we were due for a another random meeting. The other is that</span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"> these random meetings have happened in the corners of the country - the San Juan Islands (father of our son's baseball teammate), San Diego (graduate student from UNH), and now Florida. When I mentioned this to Rob he said, "Well, we're sure to meet someone we know in New Hampshire." </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Monday, March 9</b>, we had a hard riding day - 76 miles - into Tallahassee. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Our route took us over a bridge from Apalachicola to Eastpoint lasting several miles with a relentless headwind which didn't die down as long as the road hugged the coast for the first 20 miles. We were able to maintain nine miles per hour, but we feared we would be struggling all day. I'm always doing the math in my head, and nine miles an hour meant over eight hours in the saddle, not a pleasant thought. But the wind died down when we turned inland, heading northeast, and we picked up our pace to 13-15 mph. We had a flat, decent shoulder riding through pine forests with glimpses of tiny purple and yellow wildflowers and giant violet thistles, some three feet tall with three or four flowers atop them. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">No quaint little towns dot the landscape in this part of Florida. When we needed a break we stopped at a convenience store in Medart because that was all there was, but a diesel pickup truck was sitting outside with its engine running so we stayed just long enough to use the bathroom and share a chocolate milk. Six miles down the road was Crawfordville with nothing but a Hardee's. Rob wanted a strawberry shake and I wanted fries. When we got inside I decided I had to have a cheeseburger, too. Nine months on the road, and this was my first fast food cheeseburger; I just had to have one. I knew that as soon as I said I was having one then Rob would want one, too. And I was right. At least I didn't get a milkshake so I was one step healthier than Rob. I got iced tea. I like the southern sweet tea, but sometimes it's just too sweet, so I mix it with the regular. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Every time I eat trash food like this, I think how my son, Tim, would be thoroughly disgusted if he knew. But I thoroughly enjoyed every bite. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was thrilled to arrive at our Warm Showers home where we were served a totally healthy vegan meal of a kale salad and chickpea/brocolli patties, the perfect antidote to our junk food binge.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rob fell asleep easily while I stayed up following the news of the coronavirus on my tablet, finding emails about my adaptive ski program shutting down early and our chorus cancelling rehearsals and concerts. Nobody in Florida seemed concerned.</span></span><br />
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Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-76150023868399690372020-05-09T16:06:00.000-07:002020-05-09T16:06:55.142-07:00Circling the U.S. Chapter 76: Two Days, Two States<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Sunday, March 1 - Tuesday, March 3, 2020 </b></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8h_mxu9n0WOzpFdz5Kp560sgFa7ntvlYCWtwX1iCZWV5M40Agx96lR6QfnAPCGevR5yMsAlEQEi56LXzT-eW4cf4mgh7AQnGyT6v44nPVfvQ7s2ZhK7ApyHS6H2a4B3ceNzozFJNptKee/s1600/P3013154.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8h_mxu9n0WOzpFdz5Kp560sgFa7ntvlYCWtwX1iCZWV5M40Agx96lR6QfnAPCGevR5yMsAlEQEi56LXzT-eW4cf4mgh7AQnGyT6v44nPVfvQ7s2ZhK7ApyHS6H2a4B3ceNzozFJNptKee/s640/P3013154.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We'd heard that the riding along the Gulf Coast in Mississippi was gorgeous. I can't imagine why. There were no stunning rock formations or spectacular dunes. It was just a narrow beach with white sand. The water didn't even look all that clean. We were on U.S. Hwy 90 which ran next to the shore. The road had no shoulder and none of the drivers got the memo to leave three feet between their car and a cyclist. It was unnerving how close some cars passed, so unlike all down the west coast and other roads we'd been on where there haven't been shoulders. I don't think drivers in Mississippi have ever seen a cyclist. A couple times Rob had drivers on bridges yell at him to "Get the f- off the road!"</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">At least we had another option, which was to ride on a sidewalk next to the beach. It wasn't my idea of choice riding - it was bumpy and narrow - but at least I didn't feel like my life was in danger.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSjgMDUs7aiRHpusC8zG6EWknN5Em0daY7Z1eC4wm0SK2Wb1yk0fUhu4FDGuO4JeM4wN1b8xiiEUaIrTLOtqniVPLzdpykgBtULoZ_KKGyMTtOtKFZdj0R1gyTF1B-2h9hjJDTKjE50ngX/s1600/P3013156.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSjgMDUs7aiRHpusC8zG6EWknN5Em0daY7Z1eC4wm0SK2Wb1yk0fUhu4FDGuO4JeM4wN1b8xiiEUaIrTLOtqniVPLzdpykgBtULoZ_KKGyMTtOtKFZdj0R1gyTF1B-2h9hjJDTKjE50ngX/s640/P3013156.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The history of the Gulf Coast is almost synonymous with the history of hurricanes. Expand your view of this picture to read the story of how this tree saved lives.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT9XKe9IGDnHv_et7D1S_8ngyzoSFN8P56aN4dMXIDQHCLsHZxdbPPUER4AvYQB4POqEBXw18PkGIO_-CoZEIsAexWuOfqB-00igT_zXOkPxDHR3zaHbN6GutXViY_hZMQUjRVnfBw0wFN/s1600/P3013158.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="903" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT9XKe9IGDnHv_et7D1S_8ngyzoSFN8P56aN4dMXIDQHCLsHZxdbPPUER4AvYQB4POqEBXw18PkGIO_-CoZEIsAexWuOfqB-00igT_zXOkPxDHR3zaHbN6GutXViY_hZMQUjRVnfBw0wFN/s640/P3013158.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We could have stopped near this tree for a snack, or there was a restaurant nearby where people were sitting outside. It was all very inviting but we weren't ready for a break and, besides, I told Rob, "I'm sure we'll find some other nice places to stop." We didn't.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fifty-two miles out of Slidell brought us to Biloxi, Mississippi, where we spent the night at the Southern Comfort RV Park. If this is the definition of southern comfort, then the south is in trouble. The campground was right in town, on the highway, sandwiched between fast food restaurants and a vacant lot. All for the bargain price of $30. At least we didn't have to resort to the fast food restaurants for dinner, as we'd stopped earlier in the day at a grocery store and were well-supplied. If the ambience wasn't worthy of five stars, our three-course dinner was: </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">hummus and chips with beer; sautéed vegies and ravioli with a sprinking of olive oil; and chocolate chip cookies with chamomile tea. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We got an early start </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">on </span><b style="font-size: x-large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Monday, March 2</b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">, leaving at 7:20 in the morning. I was aiming to stop after 20 miles but at 17 we came to a Waffle House. We've been seeing them a lot lately and it occurred to me that we should probably check one out before we wouldn't see them anymore. When I stopped and asked Rob's opinion, he said, "I was thinking the same thing." That happens so much with us. That's probably why, after nine months of being together 24/7 we're still getting along great.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Waffle House didn't disappoint, if only because our server was determined to make us repeat customers. When my home fries didn't come with the tomatoes I'd ordered, she quickly brought over a new order. But by then I'd realized my over-easy eggs were over-medium. I said, "I'm okay with this, but you might want to mention to the cook that the eggs are over done." </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">She said, "I'll fix that." </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">I said, "No, that's too much trouble."</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">She said, "My job is to make you happy."</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The same thing happened when I realized that the cook short-changed the butter on my toast. I think he hadn't woken up yet. But t</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">he pecan waffle Rob and I shared was delicious, even if it didn't come with real maple syrup.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We found out that Waffle Houses are a thing throughout the south, as ubiquitous as Starbucks. The food was affordable, tasty, and unhealthy.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBCAREwGiSUFAoB_50bkv6oqEJAYURtN8fWg937K5Ig6pL2cX7PiJqHu3V9HH9yTuDTI8MbdxG3HhoUGtyZCTF8Yu8irhIK7AD4fzntkk8fREzHUf4SSyhW77xz6TbQBHymxD1UI7DufD2/s1600/P3023161.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBCAREwGiSUFAoB_50bkv6oqEJAYURtN8fWg937K5Ig6pL2cX7PiJqHu3V9HH9yTuDTI8MbdxG3HhoUGtyZCTF8Yu8irhIK7AD4fzntkk8fREzHUf4SSyhW77xz6TbQBHymxD1UI7DufD2/s640/P3023161.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">After barely 24 hours in Mississippi, we were in Alabama.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsAgUs8FDl-bkgB9pgoSMUa1qPs-xQf2HbTSYPpyRfA7qpvrT2P26AR33-NShZqA_0ufnS-OmAmbJ6H9DDZ5vCb198pledBF_A9-cW50WKEoxG5mhzB90TV0XgkvP-AXOz24l_fgu_gFqD/s1600/P3023163.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsAgUs8FDl-bkgB9pgoSMUa1qPs-xQf2HbTSYPpyRfA7qpvrT2P26AR33-NShZqA_0ufnS-OmAmbJ6H9DDZ5vCb198pledBF_A9-cW50WKEoxG5mhzB90TV0XgkvP-AXOz24l_fgu_gFqD/s640/P3023163.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">A miles-long bridge took us to Dauphin Island.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Lots of miles - 68 of them - went by easily enough, mostly on lightly trafficked highways with smooth wide shoulders. But 68 miles is still 68 miles and at our elderly pace it was still six hours in the saddle. Chuck, our Warm Showers host in Tucson, says that 40 miles can make for a good day's ride. Certainly by 50 I'm happy to stop. The problem is that 40 or 50 miles doesn't always bring us to anywhere worth stopping at. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">So we'd continue riding, embracing shorter days when the opportunity presented. We might have been tempted to stop and explore Dauphin Island, but the other major factor always coming into play is the weather. Rain was on the way in a couple days and we had a place to stay in Gulf Breeze, Florida, in 70 miles. We could get there by tomorrow, and take a rest day on Wednesday.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">So it looked like another long day with a rest day to look forward to. We were happy for those. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Our bodies weren't being kind to us. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">My hands hurt. Doubling up my handlebar tape helped, but not enough. Sometimes I woke to one or both of them numb. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">My legs worked just fine while I was on the bike, but off the bike they were always sore. I especially had a hard time walking anything more than a mile or two. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rob's biggest complaint was his knee. He was diagnosed with arthritis, bone on bone, over a year ago, but the doctor said bicycling would be good for it. Up until Austin it hadn't bothered him riding, only hurting when he walked. But now it hurt all the time. He was toughing it out.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We were thankful for the flat riding, even if sometimes it got a little boring.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We spent Monday night at a pleasant campground on Dauphin Island, which had a shelter with internet access. While we were hanging out after dinner, our daughter, Kylee, called. "Have you been following the news about the coronavirus?" she asked. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">I'd already seen that an adaptive skiing event scheduled for late March, for wounded veterans, had been cancelled. I'd volunteered at it last year and was sorry to miss it this year. When I saw it was cancelled I thought, what a bummer for all the people - instructors and veterans - who look forward to it all year. I also thought, thankfully we're not impacted by this coronavirus.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">I assured Kylee that we were fine, being mostly out in the middle of nowhere, and that whenever we stayed in a motel we turned on the news and would keep up to date.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Tuesday, March 3</b>, we took the first ferry off the island - five dollars each.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">This was only one of several oil rigs we passed on our way back to the mainland.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Our riding included 12 beautiful miles on a bike path that took us through Alabama's Gulf State Park with marshland, woods, benches, and our first alligator sighting. Many other cyclists were out enjoying the great weather, a surprising number for a weekday. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We took advantage of one of the many benches along the trail to enjoy our lunch. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">That grayish thing across the water in front of the trees is an alligator.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then we rode on to high rises towering over the beaches along the coast, and Florida.</span></div>
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Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-30471502524618668852020-05-03T16:18:00.002-07:002020-05-03T16:18:18.516-07:00Circling the U.S. Chapter 76: New Orleans<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Thursday, February 27 - Sunday, March 2, 2020 </b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;">We had easy riding for 63 miles on <b>Thursday, February 27</b>, into New Orleans, with little wind and flat terrain. The fun part of the ride was about 20 miles on a bike path along the top of the Mississippi River levee. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;">As we approached New Orleans we had no idea where we were going to spend the night. We hadn't received any replies to our many Warm Showers requests. But as usually happens, Rob and I followed the same line of thinking. Oftentimes our Warm Showers hosts don't live directly in a city, which makes sightseeing, especially at night, a bit of a challenge. So, by the time we were eating lunch on the levee, overlooking the Mississippi, we came to a quick agreement that, rather than follow up our Warm Showers requests with phone calls, we would try to find a hotel room in the French Quarter. We were banking on the hope that the prices wouldn't be too bad after Mardi Gras.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Riding on the levee was fun; crossing the bridge over the Mississippi was not so fun with speeding traffic and a trash-filled shoulder. If someone were to ask what was the most challenging part of this trip, I would have to say bridge crossings. Some are fine, some are not much fun, and some are downright dangerous. This one clocked in somewhere in the middle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When we entered New Orleans proper we easily found St. Charles Avenue and the heart of the French Quarter. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJQMxzbtyR7-itMrRlCY9w_3KHsAK92UtJha3b1dtRsR-tCfgB-P38u_SBWB0YaPjsP5MNdl-f_gvxzDPRz056EXRRt2SvlYY2uX2cuAZcOmQPh17n4HrixWfLNcktmxYH-Y_Ax47lMCik/s1600/P2273120.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJQMxzbtyR7-itMrRlCY9w_3KHsAK92UtJha3b1dtRsR-tCfgB-P38u_SBWB0YaPjsP5MNdl-f_gvxzDPRz056EXRRt2SvlYY2uX2cuAZcOmQPh17n4HrixWfLNcktmxYH-Y_Ax47lMCik/s640/P2273120.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">St. Charles Avenue is a dangerous street to bicycle on only because I wanted to look at the beautiful mansions rather than pay attention to the traffic and keep my eye out for parked cars. The street was pretty much cleaned up after the Mardi Gras parades, but colored toilet paper still clung to the trees. Someone told us that during the Katrina clean up they took literally tons of beads out of the sewers.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We stopped at a library and did some research, finding a reasonably-priced historic hotel for under $150 a night, the Lamothe House. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">This was the view of the enclosed courtyard from our bedroom door. There was also a pool and hot tub. They didn't serve breakfast but had a bowl of fresh fruit available. I would definitely stay here again.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Before going out to dinner we wandered around the French Quarter checking out different music venues. Many of the bars don't have a cover charge, but they require that you order a drink. There was a mix of rock and roll and traditional jazz. Some of the bars were so crowded we couldn't find a seat, or they didn't have any seats. After dinner we found a bar playing excellent traditional jazz, with plenty of seating.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Friday, February 28</b>, we set out to explore the French Quarter.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG-YoNoN6IQZiPDU4qsT4_F4JNfqeoD9wWnCrd8QYGrnbz8ZbXvJAukvTlPLIRxKLbiNEY8dE1Qr551dFtlpvRrmUeyUdAmnY9BpGwW9a6rdmUBjORjAkHkglZvXJYul9NRTblRce3eIqi/s1600/P2283121.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG-YoNoN6IQZiPDU4qsT4_F4JNfqeoD9wWnCrd8QYGrnbz8ZbXvJAukvTlPLIRxKLbiNEY8dE1Qr551dFtlpvRrmUeyUdAmnY9BpGwW9a6rdmUBjORjAkHkglZvXJYul9NRTblRce3eIqi/s640/P2283121.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">These signs were just across the street from our hotel. This is the history I'm most interested in.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Street Art</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Rob and I always enjoy walking tours of a city. Online research brought us to a free walking tour, pay what you like, $15 suggested. The reviews looked good.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizLuctiO0WSOfrXlr7KmZi6ZdsUPY48KZM-luNCU_fYUaCGdinTno0_fqk6cfsTsTCvLmkTtVlL3CeodbqaABks0v3Kmeqomb_QjRrHw7bWOVHAgii9LWOqeVb_rsteC5TM3k8u14V2iB7/s1600/P2283128.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizLuctiO0WSOfrXlr7KmZi6ZdsUPY48KZM-luNCU_fYUaCGdinTno0_fqk6cfsTsTCvLmkTtVlL3CeodbqaABks0v3Kmeqomb_QjRrHw7bWOVHAgii9LWOqeVb_rsteC5TM3k8u14V2iB7/s640/P2283128.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We arrived early at the meeting place in front of the cannon in Washington Artillery Park. Given the umbrella, we had no problem finding David, our tour guide. If his lack of personal grooming and disinclination to chat with early arrivals were any indication, David has lost his enthusiasm for his chosen career. His tour was filled with many interesting historical facts which he shared very quickly and, in case you weren't paying close enough attention and missed something, he answered your question with an impatient edge in his voice. The history was mostly about the rich people who built the buildings in the French Quarter, nothing about the slave trade.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2vpNWZxeThQ2kRpU6sUokwN_8WmY7efLLYDHh4aiQ3Hqynxgw7EO7oEJYprTQRyQCAv3fTuvbqHRs6RRYilgG2ze3zyy00rdf9rHjEwJSLsNC0zvSeybV5vjzUuhO7B6QhGJFhJsKFijV/s1600/P2283129.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2vpNWZxeThQ2kRpU6sUokwN_8WmY7efLLYDHh4aiQ3Hqynxgw7EO7oEJYprTQRyQCAv3fTuvbqHRs6RRYilgG2ze3zyy00rdf9rHjEwJSLsNC0zvSeybV5vjzUuhO7B6QhGJFhJsKFijV/s640/P2283129.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jackson Square</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Faulkner House Books where William Faulkner lived during his time in New Orleans.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The St. Louis Cemetery is the place every tourist visits so we were glad we weren't left out. It is so popular that you can only enter if you are with a tour guide. All the graves are above ground. One will be used for an entire extended family. When you die, you get the top shelf. After a year and one day, the heat and humidity has caused your body to decay enough that you can get relegated to the basement of the crypt with all your ancestors.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">After lunch we poked around some art galleries, popped into a free history museum, listened to some live jazz over tea and beignets, then returned to our hotel for a hot tub and nap.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We found this great band hanging out in front of Cafe du Monde. As I've said, music was everywhere.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLrxyssxALJFObLHn6EhVAJkd7qdm0iAtSF7KYJjlLng3oIftts46PjH-lx1XkA7oy-7NnQb-wQpEMxzmlTO78f4o1eK4pfQHCLoN4pBS5dZOUKIlQKwEX90IDAZpoxm9lpquCOHUXhen4/s1600/IMG_20200228_190644033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLrxyssxALJFObLHn6EhVAJkd7qdm0iAtSF7KYJjlLng3oIftts46PjH-lx1XkA7oy-7NnQb-wQpEMxzmlTO78f4o1eK4pfQHCLoN4pBS5dZOUKIlQKwEX90IDAZpoxm9lpquCOHUXhen4/s640/IMG_20200228_190644033.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Rob was interested in jazz; I was interested in Cajun music. Saturday night we went on a long walk to <a href="https://mulates.com/">Mulates</a> for dinner and Cajun music. We enjoyed the food and the dancing and the music was pretty good, even if they didn't have a fiddle and nobody played the washboard that was sitting around. However, by now I was feeling pretty pissed off that, throughout our Texas and Louisiana music experience, we had seen only a handful of women performing. I cannot imagine that they are all home taking care of babies. Where are they?</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Two nights and one day were not nearly enough time to soak up all that New Orleans has to offer. But our budget wouldn't let us stay longer and the road was calling. We had miles yet to ride. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Saturday, February 29</b>, we headed out of New Orleans for Slidell where we had plans to visit an old friend. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We left our hotel around 8:30 in the morning, aiming to get through the city before everyone got out of church. But we didn’t get very far, just a half mile, when we passed a small neighborhood bakery/cafe, and decided it was worth a stop for a pastry. When we saw the menu, we decided it was worth a stop for a second breakfast. We had no trouble agreeing to share a crab, spinach, and brie cheese omelette.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIlsmf2zGElQkeI-PASx3lhjGn53MY-O6FIRweVDcYnQpADKzC3Ke48bHg8vT-4_4xVO5Q6Rfp5-p73f4H8DRRBeHG9ZSSWE4Na1cVP_0USthUFgYOGVXmqu7sXauIS_iYis00rpHJ8E6w/s1600/IMG_20200229_094125026_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIlsmf2zGElQkeI-PASx3lhjGn53MY-O6FIRweVDcYnQpADKzC3Ke48bHg8vT-4_4xVO5Q6Rfp5-p73f4H8DRRBeHG9ZSSWE4Na1cVP_0USthUFgYOGVXmqu7sXauIS_iYis00rpHJ8E6w/s640/IMG_20200229_094125026_HDR.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">A donut with breakfast or a cupcake for a dollar at a bakery known for its cakes? Should we flip a coin or get one of each?</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_r3_QzyYPyU4lrUCahvmlIYFOegojjiHeVla_byjMtQqlR8VfX2cAelO28Dy5W_s_zNexL5uNZ_tlpjGEeBg8lPe3qjEH_Uxl3QQw0KphhLG5xqqdoQ9el8ToTs19RfR9mODebNY3C7XL/s1600/P2293144.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_r3_QzyYPyU4lrUCahvmlIYFOegojjiHeVla_byjMtQqlR8VfX2cAelO28Dy5W_s_zNexL5uNZ_tlpjGEeBg8lPe3qjEH_Uxl3QQw0KphhLG5xqqdoQ9el8ToTs19RfR9mODebNY3C7XL/s640/P2293144.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">While we were waiting in line to place our order, I got to chatting with the woman behind me who was clearly a local who frequented the restaurant. She told us that we could order a cupcake for just a dollar since we were ordering a meal. “They’re known for their cakes,” she said. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then the man in front of us said, “The frosted donuts are my favorite. They’re cake donuts.” </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Too many choices,” I said. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">But then the choice was made for us when the man in front said, “I’ve paid for a donut for you.” That donut was up there with the best we've had.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The crab, spinach, and brie cheese omelette was incredible, too, and it came with a homemade biscuit. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">When people ask what was our favorite part of this trip, I might have to say that it is finding secret gems, always a surprise, whether it's a tea shop, a local cafe, or a beautiful campground.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We'd heard that heading east out of New Orleans would be a challenge because of the water we'd have to cross. One of the bridges was on the interstate, bicycles not allowed. (And this could be strictly enforced. We'd heard that the police might not let you just get off the next exit but will make you turn around and go back the way you came.) Another bridge was closed for construction. When I finally called the state police I found out that the bridge on U.S. Route 90 was legal and shouldn't be a problem for a bicyclist. When we got to the bridge, it was another case of worrying for nothing.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The riding to Slidell was lovely. We took U.S. Route 90 all the way to Slidell and it was mostly just a quiet country road, past Lake Catherine, even over the bridge.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We met a young cyclist heading west from Wilmington, North Carolina. Twenty-four years old, he’d never been out of Wilmington and decided it was time to see the world and was thoroughly enjoying himself. He warned us about the bridge out of Pensacola in Florida. It's a new bridge, but the bike lane isn't finished so cyclists have to ride in the middle where there's an emergency lane. He said it was pretty scary riding with traffic speeding on both sides and no barriers. After retiring one bridge worry I had another to take its place. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We passed many homes with signs indicating they were vacation "camps" for fishing.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4B7dRpw6nkoi0SQYUBhxHKQVWKZt7RSRmGy36zBxarZhGh6FUXI4R6cYPcI0W-i-BeXKcY27YpsEanJw14WW5Jg0gVTQ26c7x38u99vLAMFKnwnzxsbAcy2AZ7r320IA7JRRQX25T_apy/s1600/P2293149.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4B7dRpw6nkoi0SQYUBhxHKQVWKZt7RSRmGy36zBxarZhGh6FUXI4R6cYPcI0W-i-BeXKcY27YpsEanJw14WW5Jg0gVTQ26c7x38u99vLAMFKnwnzxsbAcy2AZ7r320IA7JRRQX25T_apy/s640/P2293149.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Back when we entered Louisiana Rob had encouraged me to look up the parents of one of my former violin students. I had taught RJ for a number of years. During that time Rob and I enjoyed sharing some special occasions with his parents Charles and Donna. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Charles grew up in Slidell and had kept the family home. He and Donna would visit Slidell often, sometimes staying for several months. Their dream was to retire there. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">After I stopped teaching RJ we lost touch with his family so I didn't have any recent contact information. Sadly, an online search uncovered Donna's obituary. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">I always enjoyed spending time with her. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">She was one of those people who follow a strong moral compass, overwhelmingly generous. I am so sorry to have missed saying good-bye to her. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">I did finally get Charles' phone number, called him, and found out he was in Slidell, just north of New Orleans. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: transparent;">Thirty-five miles brought us to Charles' home in Slidell where he is spending his retirement. He and his lady friend Jill</span> insisted we spend the night and we enjoyed a dinner out at their favorite local restaurant. Charles told me that he was glad we stopped by and shared stories with Jill from his life with Donna and the years spent bringing up their children. I guess those memories come alive more readily when shared among several people. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Charles grew up in a house down the road. Katrina destroyed it. He and Donna rebuilt, then sold it and bought this one. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Slidell would be our last stop in Louisiana. </span></div>
Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-63964065950424599292020-04-30T10:57:00.002-07:002020-04-30T10:57:31.168-07:00Circling the U.S. Chapter 75: Mardi Gras Beads<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Monday, February 24 - Wednesday, February 26, 2020 </span></b><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">What do you think of when you hear the words "Mardi Gras?" New Orleans, right? </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">I guess I never thought about it, but it never occurred to me that Mardi Gras would take place anywhere else. We quickly found out that </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mardi Gras is celebrated throughout Louisiana in the weeks leading up to Fat Tuesday.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"> In fact, people told us that the first Mardi Gras festival in the United States took place in Mobile, Alabama. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We talked to people, trying to get advice on where we should go to get the best Mardi Gras experience outside of New Orleans - larger city or small town? We decided to go with the smaller towns and, after researching the parade schedules of the towns and cities in this part of Louisiana, we settled on one in Patterson scheduled for Monday and then another one in Morgan City, on Tuesday (Mardi Gras). </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Our plans made, with only 20 miles to Patterson, we enjoyed a leisurely morning before saying our good-byes to Russ and Paul.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjhHFdcXDbdFBh-ZOWN4Z3ykqGg-6o_Hz2bPfWGySmC3CIOMS3DCRcnIEW7GfAOKVPwiqqlU1qhW4CS1ZK0jO7dRtIGymqC90t23a0U445aGemRvj7zgU4NqmDueZclzbMGf-gmoZEjGiw/s1600/P2243046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjhHFdcXDbdFBh-ZOWN4Z3ykqGg-6o_Hz2bPfWGySmC3CIOMS3DCRcnIEW7GfAOKVPwiqqlU1qhW4CS1ZK0jO7dRtIGymqC90t23a0U445aGemRvj7zgU4NqmDueZclzbMGf-gmoZEjGiw/s640/P2243046.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The only hills in Louisiana were on the bridges. (You can see it in the background.) Otherwise, we rode along quiet, flat country roads. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYL4JOj9AtjlJSoBFueJvuGVTUsSDX1StKb75yETS6Ibhg0UT9AH0i1jL9otN2sTENRAZMLvmky2yxGUgy6Ljwz8O4YCaTq33GkVrbE-4QbLaViQwKum3RW8pkohBxy9Oz3kXwA-aY57bO/s1600/P2243047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYL4JOj9AtjlJSoBFueJvuGVTUsSDX1StKb75yETS6Ibhg0UT9AH0i1jL9otN2sTENRAZMLvmky2yxGUgy6Ljwz8O4YCaTq33GkVrbE-4QbLaViQwKum3RW8pkohBxy9Oz3kXwA-aY57bO/s640/P2243047.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The countryside was occasionally marred by industrial plants. Many of them processed liquid natural gas. With so many jobs based around the oil industry you can understand why people here don't embrace a green economy.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We arrived in Patterson around noon, just as vendors and a band were setting up in the town park. The parade was set to begin at two o'clock, but didn't get to us until three o'clock.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We walked around the small town, mostly residential with just a few businesses. The park had a new playground overlooking the river. Kids of all ages were out and about, on vacation for the week of Mardi Gras. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The band was terrific, playing great Zydeco music. While we listened to the music and waited for the parade we shared a plate of fried catfish and french fries, and an order of boiled crawfish with corn on the cob and boiled potatoes. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Trying to fit in, we had our beads and Mardi Gras colors on. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Every parade is put on by a different krewe, which is a club that you join by paying dues and you pay money to ride in the parade. Every krewe has a king and queen. This was the Krewe of Amani parade. The queen is sitting in the back of the float.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">And here comes the king.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Drinking appears to be a large part of the celebration.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The parade took about an hour to get to us and lasted about half an hour. It consisted mostly of floats playing loud music with people on board throwing out beads and other paraphernalia.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Rob's packrat genes kicked into high gear these two days when he grabbed every string of beads he could get his hands on. If not for me, he probably would have left Louisiana with at least an extra ten pounds of Mardi Gras memorabilia in his panniers. (Since I always have to wait for him, and I carry more weight anyway, I've appointed myself the gear czar. He's always trying to sneak extra junk into his panniers, but eventually I find it and make him throw it overboard. Some guy in a KFC gave him a metal belt buckle in the shape of a bicycle. That had to go.)</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Plenty of beads don't make it around people's necks. Throughout Louisiana we would see them on the shoulders, even on highways, where I doubted parades would have been. Were they thrown out of car windows? </span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We heard there was a block party after the parade where the Zydeco band would be performing so we went to check it out. We found it on a residential street crowded with people hanging out around barbecues and drinking beer. Music blared from speakers. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We were the only white people in the crowd but no one looked askance at us.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The band was set up next to a bar in an enclosed garden. We would have had to pay to sit and listen. Because it was getting late and we still had some miles to ride, we decided to pass. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">As we were walking our bikes through the crowd</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">, a young woman came running up to us. "Y'all didn't hear us calling you," she said. "Come and have some chicken." We'd been sitting next to her family at the parade. We walked back and were introduced to her aunt and other family members. They served us just about the best barbecued chicken I've ever eaten, and beer to wash it down. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We spent the night at a Days Inn in Morgan City and talked about our plans for the next day. After enjoying a small town parade, we decided to press ahead to Houma which promised a bigger affair. We'd have to ride 40 miles to get there. The parade began at one o'clock, but we figured we could get to the later part of the route so we'd have enough time. I made a phone call and confirmed that we had a place to stay with a Warm Showers host outside of town. We'd have plenty of time to get to their place before dark. Little did we know.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>Tuesday, February 25</b>, Mardi Gras, I had King Cake on my mind. On our way out of Morgan City I was heading straight for a donut shop at a T in the road. I had to stop. Rob, my accomplice, didn't complain. We shared a King Cake donut. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I was taken aback when I saw the sign for this development: "Waterproof Plantation Estates." I asked Rob, What word do you think of when you hear the word "plantation?" He said, "slavery." Okay, maybe that's a northern bias. Maybe in the south people have moved beyond that history. So I asked a number of people that question and, in my informal survey, most people answer as Rob did. So why would anyone use a word that has such negative connotations to name a housing development? Or want to live there? Maybe, just like the confederate flag and statues, it is so much a part of the culture that people don't even think about it.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We passed a number of beautiful homes with azaleas blooming. I looked forward to seeing spring open up before us as we made our way up the east coast in the next few months. Although we were following the coronavirus news. at that point we didn't think it would impact our trip.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We arrived in Huoma at 12:30 with plenty of time to spare. Someone told us the parade wouldn't get to us until three o'clock. We found a place to watch it right in front of the queen's reviewing stand. A police officer told us it was a good place. We thought so. We locked our bikes, set up our chairs, and wandered around looking for something to eat and watching people. It was a giant street party.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">When I saw Charlie's jacket I knew I had to get a picture of him. We had great fun visiting with him and his wife Amanda while we waited for the parade. They spend their retirement working as bit actors in movies. Charlie had to show me pictures from all the movies he's been in.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Their granddaughter was one of the queen's attendants for that day's parade. That's her picture.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I heard someone say, "The first drunken casualty."</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4P6i9t-SIwU-B_Ec0RbY7DwzkrX3jOeWaNFYZW1o4xpOakET0juU8LSmjRg92zOZVuYSx8jMA7bxG1lfUeVyD9reqhqC08kJYJ8ulJpQxAIbIFZa8o9Sjqo3HE6E40Z3986rmL82rgs1V/s1600/P2253095.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4P6i9t-SIwU-B_Ec0RbY7DwzkrX3jOeWaNFYZW1o4xpOakET0juU8LSmjRg92zOZVuYSx8jMA7bxG1lfUeVyD9reqhqC08kJYJ8ulJpQxAIbIFZa8o9Sjqo3HE6E40Z3986rmL82rgs1V/s640/P2253095.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">In this parade, the queen doesn't ride in a float. Rather, she waits with her attendants for the king to arrive.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIXhznkaYiBovcR10xv4jL7OHCQSqelmGZ5jf4OCqAtflXARSiqVLPHeFSmWowlY9tsFDfeI5cP-ZDnMIGIDDq8UXcJ-9Vu2nJSWkvTR3D1snC1weRF2IP_XwEtF9Y_B34T80l6g_DH4BB/s1600/P2253096.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIXhznkaYiBovcR10xv4jL7OHCQSqelmGZ5jf4OCqAtflXARSiqVLPHeFSmWowlY9tsFDfeI5cP-ZDnMIGIDDq8UXcJ-9Vu2nJSWkvTR3D1snC1weRF2IP_XwEtF9Y_B34T80l6g_DH4BB/s640/P2253096.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The queen will use the ramp to join the king on his float.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPSFGX18ekDQg8IWHl_zXRz-VEbMfaXqF4k4vvnr-ZhUyQaA6D5I2dUmE2DyDWK32N-aBniopxVPJxqH66z4KFzTZ43d9jCgP1EApN8q0fL8z2QPixJIE9MUC0V3_mVn2925W6HC5jvDGb/s1600/P2253097.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPSFGX18ekDQg8IWHl_zXRz-VEbMfaXqF4k4vvnr-ZhUyQaA6D5I2dUmE2DyDWK32N-aBniopxVPJxqH66z4KFzTZ43d9jCgP1EApN8q0fL8z2QPixJIE9MUC0V3_mVn2925W6HC5jvDGb/s640/P2253097.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">While the parade had started hours earlier, it didn't get to us until after five o'clock. Someone said a float had broken down. They said it happens all the time. Fortunately, we'd been in touch with Ray, our Warm Showers host, who said, not to worry about riding in the dark, he'd come get us.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKArdUO6MX_E2OlX6MGV7dWvE9ssZY41hyphenhypheneelU9OlSIBPi5QQkUP4VzrBIQ8Dq5JmP6r1jZN8YX5GEI2LDnnCKaeuvZdWez2mWMhQgwH27hDajdfoW_sb8LQ5KbRxprs9NX5o2cFfo1hF9/s1600/P2253098.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKArdUO6MX_E2OlX6MGV7dWvE9ssZY41hyphenhypheneelU9OlSIBPi5QQkUP4VzrBIQ8Dq5JmP6r1jZN8YX5GEI2LDnnCKaeuvZdWez2mWMhQgwH27hDajdfoW_sb8LQ5KbRxprs9NX5o2cFfo1hF9/s640/P2253098.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The king arrived, the queen joined him, and there was a ceremony of some sort. We had no idea what it was all about.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij2uBHrvCYW_8Vh55-E_VF-liV8upgOGXfw0E_0kub2PqnOFf-RwvjSbyjd-rM7ZVTD_P8cLIupIdaM5GaqiELm0X9eJDq6s5S0kEkFEWo8brQqu0Zdl-1IIqheSG8uEEIbanhGF49CX5h/s1600/P2253101.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij2uBHrvCYW_8Vh55-E_VF-liV8upgOGXfw0E_0kub2PqnOFf-RwvjSbyjd-rM7ZVTD_P8cLIupIdaM5GaqiELm0X9eJDq6s5S0kEkFEWo8brQqu0Zdl-1IIqheSG8uEEIbanhGF49CX5h/s640/P2253101.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The parade continued as darkness settled around us. Towards the beginning was a college band that stopped to perform, putting on an excellent performance, even as many of the musicians and dancers looked exhausted and hot. Then came many large floats with loud music and inebriated men throwing junk - mostly beads. Often, they threw bags of beads. Charlie told us that they hold back special things, like signature plastic cups and larger beads, for people they know. So he calls out a common name, "Hey, Michael!" Or Dave, or Tom. It worked at least once and a plastic toy came our way.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKPu3jhIK2HHjgWslnoEEnvrDz2xHT9OVEQHb7i7AV14on6-JyMXFUQVGwienKwOBm4LqCqUyUdGIlNhwUNbzDq-3T8EIirhGpKYYOrBqEodnnEc_IcnVevuPC8IaLbtkKrcLo1kWRlod6/s1600/P2253105.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKPu3jhIK2HHjgWslnoEEnvrDz2xHT9OVEQHb7i7AV14on6-JyMXFUQVGwienKwOBm4LqCqUyUdGIlNhwUNbzDq-3T8EIirhGpKYYOrBqEodnnEc_IcnVevuPC8IaLbtkKrcLo1kWRlod6/s640/P2253105.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">People told us that it can cost a couple thousand dollars to ride a float, and you have to bring along your own supply of beads. So what people do is they go to numerous parades where they pick up as many beads as they can - it's not hard to literally get piles of them - then they don't have to buy any. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcXWu3jiuH4gOFenVFiZgcxZ84-9DfTOVSt0iBYAKU8UbO6VpIZEqWLdhvvQHA7_5wwlVXS4gr9PxFzBY2HXQnmuaftZiKUdu_StDUlVSF4ZMHJyLIHkiSiwOcKXGpPtRzXOfNLZClZVHh/s1600/P2253107.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcXWu3jiuH4gOFenVFiZgcxZ84-9DfTOVSt0iBYAKU8UbO6VpIZEqWLdhvvQHA7_5wwlVXS4gr9PxFzBY2HXQnmuaftZiKUdu_StDUlVSF4ZMHJyLIHkiSiwOcKXGpPtRzXOfNLZClZVHh/s640/P2253107.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I was not impressed with the floats. Someone told us that the floats are often only slightly different from year to year. They just didn't seem all that creative or beautiful. Amanda said that we should come back, stay with them, and they will drive us into New Orleans for the Mardi Gras parade there, which is the real thing. Maybe some day.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuU6t-ALThTeUn6TR28MPtJdpVh9k58SWHVje39kdYxzxBie3OPgx0mbJKcj68FcC61plD4fdbBao61hkFzhy0C4lVcprY4UQVdVCHeInsQZVT3E9zDHDd5oSU7D8DkIUaUXkKet_N_rlJ/s1600/IMG_1062.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuU6t-ALThTeUn6TR28MPtJdpVh9k58SWHVje39kdYxzxBie3OPgx0mbJKcj68FcC61plD4fdbBao61hkFzhy0C4lVcprY4UQVdVCHeInsQZVT3E9zDHDd5oSU7D8DkIUaUXkKet_N_rlJ/s640/IMG_1062.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I admit it. I thought the parade was a disappointment. But I'm glad we were in Louisiana for Mardi Gras and able to experience the holiday, from tasting the varieties of King Cake, to meeting people and seeing how they get so into dressing for it, and watching as Rob got caught up in the excitement of catching as many beads as he could get his hands on, and then helping one of our spectator neighbors fill her coffers of beads for the next year's celebration.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">True to his word, when the parade ended Ray came and picked us up. The following day, <b>Wednesday, February 26</b>, we spent the morning working out our route into New Orleans and the afternoon wandering around Houma. We stopped by the post office to send home a box of beads. (We also left a pile for Ray and Vanessa's neighbor to use when she rides in a float next year.) We especially enjoyed the Finding Our Roots African American Museum located in the former Black high school.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9UQ-9NTk7wD9v55Dk2lRxk-Mjvz5GA-tCVCuHQaKt3GrfyMQkPO3C0F_cAbPht_y8q2Gw_uMqomLfWKg0vlSp1BNciewsnm19VhYWNZeyFCVCn-q4iVgKKTrV2bJ8-vCdHtOGDXF_AqBp/s1600/P2263111.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9UQ-9NTk7wD9v55Dk2lRxk-Mjvz5GA-tCVCuHQaKt3GrfyMQkPO3C0F_cAbPht_y8q2Gw_uMqomLfWKg0vlSp1BNciewsnm19VhYWNZeyFCVCn-q4iVgKKTrV2bJ8-vCdHtOGDXF_AqBp/s640/P2263111.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the evening Vanessa and Ray entertained us with tales of their many RAGBRAI (Ride Across Iowa) adventures traveling on the bus that Ray outfitted especially for that event.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ray and Vanessa live in a tiny house about five miles outside of Huoma. They sleep in a loft above the living room and their daughter has a loft above the kitchen and bath. The bathroom has a full-size bathtub and tiny washer and dryer. The house was custom built with repurposed lumber and exquisite craftsmanship. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was too cold and windy to sleep outside. I slept on the couch and Rob got the twin-size air mattress. It worked great.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZChkwjpg4ciKFyK4h7EUfNnyxjcgSl9jtYGQtqK3gEBJt0yqy6jETqjTiH7haxYn-pCgNyIu6xVAf79JSaaWn7HZeyj3gdh8zgOoPMTqDw8a_dvyY4-jPLfidT3Pj6oHuUJzwNhDEcCNd/s1600/P2273112.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZChkwjpg4ciKFyK4h7EUfNnyxjcgSl9jtYGQtqK3gEBJt0yqy6jETqjTiH7haxYn-pCgNyIu6xVAf79JSaaWn7HZeyj3gdh8zgOoPMTqDw8a_dvyY4-jPLfidT3Pj6oHuUJzwNhDEcCNd/s640/P2273112.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I've been curious about what it's like to live in a tiny house. Thanks to Vanessa and Ray's generosity we got to find out. It was very cozy.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #741b47; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="white-space: normal;">One of the first things Ray said to us was, "I wish I'd moved to Louisiana years ago. The people here are so friendly." It's true. Rob and I noticed that, unlike other places, people in Louisiana are more likely to say hello as we'd ride by their homes. When we were riding through one town, a car passed us really close and angrily honked its horn. Two people out in their yards called out, "I'm sorry."</span></span><br />
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Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-30152369430952285302020-04-29T04:49:00.001-07:002020-04-29T04:49:16.537-07:00Circling the U.S. Chapter 74: Louisiana Part 2<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #a64d79; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: large;"><b>Saturday, February 22 - Sunday, February 23, 2020</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #a64d79; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: large;">On </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: large; font-weight: 700;">Saturday, February 22</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: large;">, we had a short ride of 25 miles to New Iberia. Along the way I took the following pictures.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBDxBPtHlnOdlr2cEq9RBCH4NAYMC1lGJ4Mu2kudIqJcjjd5iMtO_gENnynH4iRj8hori9UiVvoWP1zumrlI_vQ4mxus9oh91NWdr7cpiLIFJaoAdJwQAqscXkwbj74BElvB1zIV8GYomi/s1600/P2223029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBDxBPtHlnOdlr2cEq9RBCH4NAYMC1lGJ4Mu2kudIqJcjjd5iMtO_gENnynH4iRj8hori9UiVvoWP1zumrlI_vQ4mxus9oh91NWdr7cpiLIFJaoAdJwQAqscXkwbj74BElvB1zIV8GYomi/s640/P2223029.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">For a number of days we saw these mounds of dirt covering people's yards everywhere and wondered what they were. They were too big to be mole holes. When we asked Father Thomas about them he said, "They're made by crawfish." And Rob and I both immediately had the same response, "I thought they lived in water." Father Thomas said, "They do. You have to realize that the water table is about a foot below the surface here."</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSymUs6W73fsQGZbrkZ7iwyMsuhyphenhyphenuz5G4ZQexLdyEPwXvgZXyhCLigHlk93WvxGGP-BBVeLEOO7OZj1Juf2gtVS2_rFZQBq8qfmyvnKzUbZNCHg5Ra_mcElzpE5dCm7W4txlTkCx1XaLtl/s1600/P2223027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSymUs6W73fsQGZbrkZ7iwyMsuhyphenhyphenuz5G4ZQexLdyEPwXvgZXyhCLigHlk93WvxGGP-BBVeLEOO7OZj1Juf2gtVS2_rFZQBq8qfmyvnKzUbZNCHg5Ra_mcElzpE5dCm7W4txlTkCx1XaLtl/s640/P2223027.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">In New Iberia we enjoyed lunch at <a href="https://acadianatea.com/">A Spot for Tea</a> where we shared crawfish soup and a shrimp and crab bisque, both delicious. Then we explored the Bayou Teche Museum, which turned out to be the best small-town historical museum we've visited so far. We learned that the Cajun area of Louisiana was also settled by the Spanish and I learned how sugar cane is grown and processed. I was impressed that, in one display describing who settled the region, even if they didn't have names as the white settlers did, at least slaves were counted as people. </span></div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCs-5XIcf3gj-bhmNiKrNHbNWj7Qh3HTHWM1gHvSaMcav0IINzqtQTyWKphrv3pcMVkWSiVAbrgQmIPfWM7yhV4NMznYMiXPMWFHMrtY_30zf_YWbvkNStDV1XopVQixlA1n5_w4NaJ1cl/s1600/P2223030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCs-5XIcf3gj-bhmNiKrNHbNWj7Qh3HTHWM1gHvSaMcav0IINzqtQTyWKphrv3pcMVkWSiVAbrgQmIPfWM7yhV4NMznYMiXPMWFHMrtY_30zf_YWbvkNStDV1XopVQixlA1n5_w4NaJ1cl/s640/P2223030.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">These two women at the Bayou Teche Museum were a joy. They let us keep our bikes inside while we went for lunch, recommending A Spot for Tea where they told us we would get great food, but to be prepared to wait for it. They were correct on both counts.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">A bicyclist we met in California told us that she always stops in art galleries because people who work there often have time on their hands and are happy to talk. The same may be true of the people who work, often as volunteers, in small town history museums. In New Iberia we got talking about the predominance of Catholicism in Louisiana. One of the women told us that it was very hard growing up Protestant where she was labeled "Not Catholic" by the other kids.</span></div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQMZrzBtRX3jmsO-1e43JlHpPgRpOIrz7QmmVsQiKsfGKXWijwgZOdNTeWCPMl6YbiPdr9ZjxsLtRv3wuL6r1Bct1xf-CsrRZSq8h4PumQOPjNAStpmJq-kuPWhdB9smCCKkZwey1zQS1A/s1600/P2223031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQMZrzBtRX3jmsO-1e43JlHpPgRpOIrz7QmmVsQiKsfGKXWijwgZOdNTeWCPMl6YbiPdr9ZjxsLtRv3wuL6r1Bct1xf-CsrRZSq8h4PumQOPjNAStpmJq-kuPWhdB9smCCKkZwey1zQS1A/s640/P2223031.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">King Cake is emblematic of Mardi Gras. Someone had brought one into the museum and the ladies shared it with us. This one was like a streudl, with layers of dough wrapped around a cream filling, rich and delicious. We were told that you can get a King Cake at any grocery store, including Walmart, but we found out that they are not all the same. A few days later we had one that was just a coffee cake shaped and decorated to look like a King Cake. The one commonality is frosting and green and purple sprinkles.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We passed this mural on the way to our Warm Showers destination, finding out later that the building houses an excellent restaurant.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxUFd9DWpNqKch5cBh7yjd_EWk_KR7dbW8vPu3nM-EQh0FIKxA2T7bFj5dhZqN6rLPcLmx0eiI4RkBMCKvZXdg7OfCu_eWLttC5S6gPVs0FnFxN37pqmGgfhwU_EkCaiLtAllu04Mu_AjF/s1600/P2233036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxUFd9DWpNqKch5cBh7yjd_EWk_KR7dbW8vPu3nM-EQh0FIKxA2T7bFj5dhZqN6rLPcLmx0eiI4RkBMCKvZXdg7OfCu_eWLttC5S6gPVs0FnFxN37pqmGgfhwU_EkCaiLtAllu04Mu_AjF/s640/P2233036.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Who knew people could get excited about antique fans? There are about 7,000 antique fan collectors in an international organization. Our Warm Showers host, Will, is a member. And it just so happened that we timed our visit with Will and his wife Kathy to happen the night of their annual "fan meet" that they host in New Iberia. A number of the attendees gathered at Will and Kathy's for the evening, some staying overnight. So we got to meet about a dozen other folks who get excited about old fans. There were not many women in attendance and at least one I talked to came as a supporting wife. However, there was a newly married couple who share a love of antique fans, having gotten to know each other through their attendance at fan meets.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Will is also an accomplished guitar player. We found out we have a common fondness for John Prine so he treated us to some John Prine songs after dinner. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>[As I write this on April 26, 2020, I will note that John Prine is, sadly, a casualty of the Covid-19 pandemic.</i></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>As we were riding through northern Wisconsin we passed countless American flags, usually pallets painted to look like flags, in front of people's homes. And whenever we did, one of John Prine's songs would inevitably come to mind:</i></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>"Oh, your flag decals won't get you into heaven anymore.</i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>We're already overcrowded from your dirty little war.</i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Jesus don't like killing, no matter what the reason for.</i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Your flag decals won't get you into heaven anymore."</i></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Early in our life together Rob and I enjoyed listening to John Prine in concert at Boulder's historic Chataqua Theatre. We share a love of his song lyrics and music.</i></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>John Prine, may your legacy live on in the hearts of so many people you've touched with your music.]</i></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Kathy and Will are both of Cajun ancestry. Kathy told us that she grew up speaking French first. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Kathy is a retired social worker and told us about a time when she took some of her elderly clients on a tour of the local historical plantation, <a href="https://www.shadowsontheteche.org/">Shadows-on-the-Teche</a>. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Kathy said, "One of the woman, an African American, said, 'My people built this house. I was never allowed inside.'</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">"I told her, 'Well now you can go inside,' and as she went in and looked around, there were tears in her eyes.'"</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Most of the folks hanging out at Will and Kathy's were southerners and I decided to throw out a question that had been nagging me for some time, but especially that day as I'd seen a Confederate flag flying in front of someone's house. I asked the group, "Why would someone fly a Confederate flag?" </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">One gentleman, about fifty years old, said that he grew up in Vicksburg, Mississippi, where they saw a lot of fighting during the Civil War. He said they would fly the flag out of respect for those who died in the war. There are monuments for both the Southern and the Northern men who gave their lives. But he also said that today he wouldn't fly the flag because of the hatred that some people express along with it. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Someone else said that, while he agreed that the Confederate statues should be removed from public parks, hed didn't agree with them being trashed. Rather, they belong in museums as part of the history of the region.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsgfeYVTApFa-XMBhxwJUlW8OD3gtHCWjpDsVEzF7vcrsoneQR9hX3_oN30KWfqRCJW83P1Pey7WLdM2twoWYjwbqTrkv7RZYrlPqekZfaiBHuhuzRmRCEsoXgiFO5PWyXTf5Nz5ZAkVFT/s1600/P2223034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsgfeYVTApFa-XMBhxwJUlW8OD3gtHCWjpDsVEzF7vcrsoneQR9hX3_oN30KWfqRCJW83P1Pey7WLdM2twoWYjwbqTrkv7RZYrlPqekZfaiBHuhuzRmRCEsoXgiFO5PWyXTf5Nz5ZAkVFT/s640/P2223034.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Will has no idea how many fans he has. His house is filled with them and so is the garage. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Will and Kathy are incredibly generous. In addition to their house, where the fan guests stayed, they have a cottage on their property, where Rob and I slept. They told us that they were spared Hurricane Katrina's destruction and when they saw people camped outside the local motel, they told them to come on over. They put up about 13 people. When Rita missed them a few months later they did the same thing. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPm1SyBMy3nB0zD8Yync8YIdvmCMVL8SCaQxGTW_7Qk7TPnfl0zBh6ixuONoXQnh4Eimgmm8rNTa984JZiULc6TV0nK3vjWhq6voEMDc0zEEwVec86hLvz09JktMl3dmfyXfyCjOtxtEyI/s1600/P2233039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPm1SyBMy3nB0zD8Yync8YIdvmCMVL8SCaQxGTW_7Qk7TPnfl0zBh6ixuONoXQnh4Eimgmm8rNTa984JZiULc6TV0nK3vjWhq6voEMDc0zEEwVec86hLvz09JktMl3dmfyXfyCjOtxtEyI/s640/P2233039.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">In the morning Will made pancakes for everyone. Kathy slept in, but was up in time to see us off.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Our disappointment after leaving Will and Kathy on <b>Sunday, February 23</b>, knew no bounds. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Will and Kathy recommended we stop in a bakery on our way out of town. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Will said, "They'll have a green light on if the bread is fresh out of the oven." We found the bakery. It was closed.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">They also raved about the food at a their favorite restaurant in Franklin, the Forest Inn, part of the Best Western Motel. It, too, was closed.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We stopped at a Burger King to use the restroom. It was empty except for a couple of older men sitting at a table. Rob asked them </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">if there were any restaurants open in town and they said, "Why do you think we're eating here?" Apparently the answer was no.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We decided to stay and do some work on the internet, as we didn't have many miles to ride. Fast food places aren't bad stopping places. They all have free internet. We'll usually purchase a milk shake or fries and then mostly eat our own food. (If there's a sign saying "No outside food" we ignore it. We try to be discreet. No employee has ever complained.) But we've become discerning. We don't like</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"> McDonald's because they have a buzzer going off every minute or so letting the kitchen know that the fries are done; drives me nuts. I don't like the shakes at DQ; KFC and Popeyes don't have shakes. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyV2zBIXtZSl7oUeCLA3MyYyQkWp-KLxXyMn2l6oKft9EPwsFkgm7KX5AERo_Fdm60xaUN1He-i9gkxI92cg3RVG4bMy5Jb6cCGOz5cO3F3nKotSoUDrsm7I2DF4u_4fd7XINSu2KXcOnY/s1600/P2233040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyV2zBIXtZSl7oUeCLA3MyYyQkWp-KLxXyMn2l6oKft9EPwsFkgm7KX5AERo_Fdm60xaUN1He-i9gkxI92cg3RVG4bMy5Jb6cCGOz5cO3F3nKotSoUDrsm7I2DF4u_4fd7XINSu2KXcOnY/s640/P2233040.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">After our education at the Bayou Teche Museum, we recognized the sugarcane growing in these fields.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj43hSdpI4xepP0BZwV9AqQ2czMauU1q12QeIboOb0FoZ3Hv1vTv-Te-9UskTUEqpuWIK9pdb7M_t-5Rk5-EotDX2eTOLAvXOX3UAfDLglRHwZHcvvsgcfxwb66JzaPFBDedkO2LDIg00Tf/s1600/P2233041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj43hSdpI4xepP0BZwV9AqQ2czMauU1q12QeIboOb0FoZ3Hv1vTv-Te-9UskTUEqpuWIK9pdb7M_t-5Rk5-EotDX2eTOLAvXOX3UAfDLglRHwZHcvvsgcfxwb66JzaPFBDedkO2LDIg00Tf/s640/P2233041.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The water table in Louisiana is so high that graves are partially above ground. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTxQo50YS-S_KYrDB1GyxgzXpq-DSgFLyAIsVTlwR-lg5HtlkDvU4OTsm28bmxQurhx7GZJZatNdN1YuffDgHroFRSM8MB1sZwUs5VUPL9EqDq2HuvhE4cVzZMLkKlknT2T_V4Sfq_PiRq/s1600/P2233042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTxQo50YS-S_KYrDB1GyxgzXpq-DSgFLyAIsVTlwR-lg5HtlkDvU4OTsm28bmxQurhx7GZJZatNdN1YuffDgHroFRSM8MB1sZwUs5VUPL9EqDq2HuvhE4cVzZMLkKlknT2T_V4Sfq_PiRq/s640/P2233042.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We passed many bayous. I had to take a picture of this swing that looked so inviting, a real change from all the fenced off properties in Texas.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWiglim9aTqb9Kd5LNCxJA_WHUUuitYFPHv0mMob1V-FOhcaiMjfPuFc4jH5tjXJmsKOktMVtDfgtSMW7gyZHVpeiXRdPGcN0Apl-hCNh_D1LzsR-IJ44qevderiiJRAbL_FdW-ih3pnia/s1600/P2233043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWiglim9aTqb9Kd5LNCxJA_WHUUuitYFPHv0mMob1V-FOhcaiMjfPuFc4jH5tjXJmsKOktMVtDfgtSMW7gyZHVpeiXRdPGcN0Apl-hCNh_D1LzsR-IJ44qevderiiJRAbL_FdW-ih3pnia/s640/P2233043.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Louisiana is flat. The only hills we had to climb were the bridges.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqKKDv4q2DLejnCHga1jP4jf9ryrfaYtlRu-1cvFhZb5mkvTSB7J0ySuc9xXq_X9JjE8vfe6jdhVsqLbmRDj1fvqNgwHwHESoS9sFWEMBVFxCGKbDAaAlrFdDJA6z2TXL1OE84VxSQ59dN/s1600/P2233044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqKKDv4q2DLejnCHga1jP4jf9ryrfaYtlRu-1cvFhZb5mkvTSB7J0ySuc9xXq_X9JjE8vfe6jdhVsqLbmRDj1fvqNgwHwHESoS9sFWEMBVFxCGKbDAaAlrFdDJA6z2TXL1OE84VxSQ59dN/s640/P2233044.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We again crossed the intracoastal waterway with its frequent barge traffic.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We ventured away from the main highway where our Warm Showers hosts live out in the middle of nowhere. Russ grew up on the land, a sugarcane farm that his grandfather bought in the 1930's and his father also farmed. Now the land has been divided among the heirs and the remaining farmland leased out for sugarcane. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Staying with Paul (left) and Russ (right) took us about nine miles out of our way, but it was so worth it. The countryside was beautiful and they were both very gracious hosts, generously sharing their love of good wine with us.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Russ and Paul's house has an interesting story. Once upon a time it, along with many just like it, was slave quarters in Franklin. Then it became housing for sugarcane field hands before sitting empty for a number of years. A developer realized the land these houses sat on, next to a bayou, would be suitable for high end homes. He offered to sell each house for $500 to be removed from the property. If the lot was completely cleared within 60 days he'd return $400. So the house cost $100, plus the cost of moving it. Russ did have to do some work on it after it was relocated. The result is a cozy two-bedroom cottage in a beautiful, peaceful location.
</span><span style="font-size: large;">Paul joined Russ about ten years ago and together they run a stained glass studio, also on the property, where they give classes and create stained glass windows. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>[On April 25 I received this email from Russ and Paul: </i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We are currently isolating and our business has been closed since March 18th due to the pandemic. Luckily we have a great place to isolate and it is more like a preview of retirement. We have some money set aside, so the lack of income is just a small inconvenience. I also saw this coming waaay before our president and started stocking up on non perishables and supplies back in January. So we are comfortable and content, only needing to venture out every couple of weeks for fresh vegies. My garden is just starting to bear, so we will be soon be needing to go out less often. I really believe this is no where near being over. The wine club helps with that aspect, I have a case arriving on Wednesday :)]</span></i></span><br />
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Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-18112079471325557462020-04-26T09:40:00.000-07:002020-04-26T09:40:20.429-07:00Circling the U.S. Chapter 73: Louisiana Part 1<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Tuesday, <span>February 18 - Friday, February 21, 2020</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Our worries about riding on Interstate 10 across the Neches River turned out to be unfounded. We saw not a single sign saying "Bicycles Prohibited." It took us only one exit to get over the river, then were on our way </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">to Louisiana.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhK5wG7JJZVFZsauZps4T4wngNeVXUHRpz_at3p6iBws_kGDTagMQElWI6REIhCUTZVx47_MnRa8YqWGNAUXuiP2q7mln-u8MQslBWUMrarXpXa7v8EbcLVrU5W1Tkhr5EuVbmFDsCqkYr/s1600/P2183004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhK5wG7JJZVFZsauZps4T4wngNeVXUHRpz_at3p6iBws_kGDTagMQElWI6REIhCUTZVx47_MnRa8YqWGNAUXuiP2q7mln-u8MQslBWUMrarXpXa7v8EbcLVrU5W1Tkhr5EuVbmFDsCqkYr/s640/P2183004.jpg" width="640" /></a></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times"; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Few cars passed us on quiet country roads, the peacefulness marred only by dogs coming out after us, looking for the fun of a chase. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times"; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">I noticed a smell like a vanilla cake baking. Magnolia trees were blooming, and trash littered the road - countless beer cans and a young child’s rain boot. (Did I see its mate several miles back?). We passed flooded marshland and tired homes surrounded by pickup trucks with rusted out engines, cars with flat tires, old bicycles, and several generations worth of random junk. The sound of birds singing and frogs chirping filled the air. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;">We'd heard countless stories from other cyclists about the friendliness of the people of Louisiana. But nobody told us about the dogs. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">In Texas, as much as I hated all the fencing around people’s property, at least when I heard a dog barking and saw it running toward me, I knew there was a fence protecting me from its teeth. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Louisiana has Texas beat for dogs on the loose. Only a couple hours over the state line we'd already lost count. The owners didn’t even appear to be home, leaving their dogs free to roam. Free to chase bicyclists.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times"; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rob complained to me, "You wake them up when you go by, then they come after me." That's probably true. Oftentimes I don't even see them, and then I hear barking and Rob yelling behind me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times"; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">I decided to try a new strategy. When two dogs, a big one and a little one, started barking and running towards me I immediately stopped and yelled, "Stay!" The little one, farther behind, gave up the chase right away. The bigger one kept coming, then slowed down, and stopped. Hanging its head, it turned around and walked back to the house. I imagined him thinking, "Darn, she doesn't want to play." By the time Rob caught up both dogs were out of sight.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Magnolias in bloom - signs of spring in February - greeted us in Louisiana.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times"; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">What a difference a few days and a couple hundred miles makes. Where it was so dry in Texas, now there was water everywhere. When we checked into Niblett's Bluff Park the woman in the office wasn’t happy about us pitching a tent, saying the ground was too soggy. But we found a dry spot, so it worked out. But i</span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times"; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">t was so humid the bathroom in the campground had water dripping down the walls and doors of the stalls.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times"; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">And it’s hard to believe we were too cold to camp less than a week ago. This afternoon it felt hotter than any day the entire trip. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Wednesday, February 19</b>, </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">we had a bit of rain in the morning while the temperature dropped, then it was just overcast and cold. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">With only a short riding day - 31 miles - we took our time over breakfast, stopped in Vinton at the library to do some trip planning, then had lunch at Kathy's Place, a local cafe/bar. I like to try local foods and there were a lot to choose from. Rob came along with me on this adventure. Together we tried fried alligator, frog legs, jambalaya, chicken and sausage gumbo, and crawfish pie. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The frog leg was very juicy and bigger than I expected. While eating it I couldn’t get the picture of an enormous frog out of my mind. How do you cook a frog? You must kill it first. How do you do that? How do you skin it? </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The alligator was like chicken nuggets but a little chewier. The taste of the crawfish in the pie was overwhelmed by the crust.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgglU05SNtGhWkwos_BrmZfdsZgtOQ40oz3cZhSdQ-iv2zBdXun_0ZPs4MqSBgfljoWuwpK_QOmRftOqfTT1jo-SGAfE83hlWrsz2U1yPFamCQrKPj7SKzglvtv4FPTktdTf2hsSIVdiYz2/s1600/P2193008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgglU05SNtGhWkwos_BrmZfdsZgtOQ40oz3cZhSdQ-iv2zBdXun_0ZPs4MqSBgfljoWuwpK_QOmRftOqfTT1jo-SGAfE83hlWrsz2U1yPFamCQrKPj7SKzglvtv4FPTktdTf2hsSIVdiYz2/s640/P2193008.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Frog legs and alligator look like they could be any kind of fried food. The frog leg was delicious, tender and juicy.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCJPvkPXhpkzUm3vgzfQQdnVg2ZuptIKF_0yKiDWmvV_3JZeiLJZ_IRxIUcGFTIGOHgIbX-Zv2zRUAWK6cmfXz933Qgzog9ipXvDYm1_CbmtpXroC4Zp2-wW91Y6GBf44oka-ydqVm01QH/s1600/P2193009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCJPvkPXhpkzUm3vgzfQQdnVg2ZuptIKF_0yKiDWmvV_3JZeiLJZ_IRxIUcGFTIGOHgIbX-Zv2zRUAWK6cmfXz933Qgzog9ipXvDYm1_CbmtpXroC4Zp2-wW91Y6GBf44oka-ydqVm01QH/s640/P2193009.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I didn't expect to see cattle in Louisiana.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiiQMo5tOIbyiHkhFXvpvuexYpyTLA0lg_YuOWAFzGeHgpAOblCSdY265wsA-8sOp_i8eHtXsg3pkapft9WdlKxv2d_aWnmUw3iRo-ZCNdwgMDs1AlFtCOKRzg7njwkF47Dfl8Sci1l61X/s1600/P2193011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="766" data-original-width="1600" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiiQMo5tOIbyiHkhFXvpvuexYpyTLA0lg_YuOWAFzGeHgpAOblCSdY265wsA-8sOp_i8eHtXsg3pkapft9WdlKxv2d_aWnmUw3iRo-ZCNdwgMDs1AlFtCOKRzg7njwkF47Dfl8Sci1l61X/s640/P2193011.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">These birds were sitting on a fence near a small local airport where we stopped for a snack. We saw a variety of birds in Louisiana, mostly large white ones that Rob thought were egrets. Rob has been saying he wants to get into birding, but hasn't really had the time. For now he just thinks every shore bird is either a snowy egret or a great blue heron. He could be right; I wouldn't know. But these birds were clearly neither. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG6-0F239GZxSwNWh1rIoBwec0BYdbXkSsJ6fAQi_-kocbMaM1IRG3NFFpfkMBViFoHRBdp_hB47pOBccmxgQ0xi1FcXgE1IP784UR6CaLxG08qtpICHBSfzFKpEGHuEB5glSPVCtQdbsa/s1600/P2193012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG6-0F239GZxSwNWh1rIoBwec0BYdbXkSsJ6fAQi_-kocbMaM1IRG3NFFpfkMBViFoHRBdp_hB47pOBccmxgQ0xi1FcXgE1IP784UR6CaLxG08qtpICHBSfzFKpEGHuEB5glSPVCtQdbsa/s640/P2193012.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">From here, and all along the Gulf Coast, we'd see houses up on stilts, protected from the storm surges brought by hurricanes.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzXaxLHbKCm0eD_R3kA9CfcMXMYIaPKYGXmbNuOOqeaAJj3TeuAR5zvZZh-GhjHSwadfiF-VrJDBHcsGpvag9cbq5a6KcfPz9MWGwRQ4olqHu5quqFezjzEmcv4WE7jqbwkDazLNA3Vg0C/s1600/P2193013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzXaxLHbKCm0eD_R3kA9CfcMXMYIaPKYGXmbNuOOqeaAJj3TeuAR5zvZZh-GhjHSwadfiF-VrJDBHcsGpvag9cbq5a6KcfPz9MWGwRQ4olqHu5quqFezjzEmcv4WE7jqbwkDazLNA3Vg0C/s640/P2193013.jpg" width="640" /></a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG_qV7AjUM-vMRTe7paien9TP2clCvODDG3hoXVKa4dcb_JssbBWAamtVQF0KSaKlkYfprfUSaLj3VlZnRj70trK92tP3xXWT5OzDCfsexCzzgtAqA9TuttUHXbLwqR2_saAL_owfvjKal/s1600/IMG_3324.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG_qV7AjUM-vMRTe7paien9TP2clCvODDG3hoXVKa4dcb_JssbBWAamtVQF0KSaKlkYfprfUSaLj3VlZnRj70trK92tP3xXWT5OzDCfsexCzzgtAqA9TuttUHXbLwqR2_saAL_owfvjKal/s640/IMG_3324.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: transparent;">Our route over the next several days would have us crossing the</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 12.8px;"> </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Intracoastal_Waterway" style="background-color: transparent;">intracoastal waterwa</a><span style="background-color: transparent;">y several times. </span>We spent the night at the Intracoastal Park, on a road that would take us to the Gulf. I thought it was great. It only cost $4. The showers were hot and we had a covered picnic table, protection for the rain that was coming.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We enjoyed watching barges going back and forth, pushed by tugboats, as we ate dinner. It was a lot quieter than the night before when all night we had to listen to the water pump that processed all the RV sewage at the campground. Then again, I’m a heavy sleeper; once I fall asleep it takes a lot to wake me. In the middle of the night I did hear some ratcheting and banging, but I went back to sleep. Not Rob. In the morning he said he hadn’t slept at all, between the traffic going over the bridge and the barges going back and forth and then around one o’clock a tugboat broke down right in front of the campground and the guys on board were yelling at each other and banging tools. (That was what I heard.) The tugboat was still there in the morning.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Thursday, February 20</b>, was rough. We kind of expected it. The forecast called for rain. It was correct. Add cold and windy.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We woke in the morning to light rain. Then as we got on the road it came down harder. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">This part of Louisiana was completely destroyed by Hurricane Rita in 2005. That was the one that came directly on the heels of Katrina, but people here don’t talk about Katrina. That wasn’t their problem. Rita wiped them out. They rebuilt and then Ike did it again in 2008. The clerk in the small grocery store in Hackberry, when she found out we were from New Hampshire, told us how grateful they were to two Methodist Churches from New Hampshire who came down and helped them rebuild. Rob said he noticed tears in her eyes when she talked about it.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The riding was fine for 25 miles, even in the rain. We sailed along, 13, 14 miles per hour, heading south with a tail wind to Holly Beach, a small town on the Gulf Coast.<span style="white-space: normal;"> </span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgii2LXohR_o3qWiTj_AeqTJaZBY-mGVNFSjuuAcCOJtGyq9kk_NgsT9y3B3V4YAXxcTBq_CkdSrHtm-a0ZzEOz_4IYnA4gIooqA_Fdu0KXu_Hf8gDO3VHsnyrT2fIh3_h6oBUJsjvDlzE_/s1600/IMG_20200220_105539771_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgii2LXohR_o3qWiTj_AeqTJaZBY-mGVNFSjuuAcCOJtGyq9kk_NgsT9y3B3V4YAXxcTBq_CkdSrHtm-a0ZzEOz_4IYnA4gIooqA_Fdu0KXu_Hf8gDO3VHsnyrT2fIh3_h6oBUJsjvDlzE_/s640/IMG_20200220_105539771_HDR.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Rob took these photos. We'd looked into staying here but a</span><span style="font-size: large;">ny affordable accommodations here had shut down after the hurricanes and never came back. </span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSoI3jIbOKIQVevPY1PBCqUa5915tiirpod8457z0YmY2jRIlO3UPloEpYlDTHeQH0ppQ2utHUwDeoN5NLzexX2Kdi6tqWiL7C3AGYpAD701_jTta35hXn79VfXZ5J_M01VhhORdxUDjDe/s1600/IMG_20200220_110000227_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSoI3jIbOKIQVevPY1PBCqUa5915tiirpod8457z0YmY2jRIlO3UPloEpYlDTHeQH0ppQ2utHUwDeoN5NLzexX2Kdi6tqWiL7C3AGYpAD701_jTta35hXn79VfXZ5J_M01VhhORdxUDjDe/s640/IMG_20200220_110000227_HDR.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We only caught a glimpse of the Gulf before turning due east. The wind got fierce, a crosswind coming from the north that kept trying to push me off the road. We had no choice but to keep going. There were no accommodations before our Warm Showers host, still 40 miles away, a priest who offered us a place to pitch our tent. I prayed he'd be willing to let us sleep inside the church.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We were hoping to see alligators crossing the road but when we stopped at the Holly Beach fire station to use the bathroom they told us that they don’t come out until it warms up in the spring. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We turned north, directly into the wind, to catch a ferry over the </span></span><span style="font-size: large;">Calcesiu River. On the other side was the town of Cameron where I was sure we'd find a restaurant where we could get warm and have something hot for lunch. Then I began to worry that the wind would shut down the ferry. I tried to second guess the cars that passed us. Were they coming from or going to the ferry? I knew the road ended at the ferry crossing, so that was a good bet. But then we passed a plant of some kind so maybe that's where the cars were going to and coming from. I worried. If the ferry wasn't running, we were screwed. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFtDYiIdmptizjp5sDUgq5EOwOndK8EN8bAzPhBXGZLFHoRZTyyicwcBF2KDcaxQw_-iju-gBqWWjHGKlmRyQMwbfpH1vDyMFtTvngXnle8IuqbmfbqYC56P_mfD-_6jGoaTFcpAEKNo4M/s1600/IMG_3325.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFtDYiIdmptizjp5sDUgq5EOwOndK8EN8bAzPhBXGZLFHoRZTyyicwcBF2KDcaxQw_-iju-gBqWWjHGKlmRyQMwbfpH1vDyMFtTvngXnle8IuqbmfbqYC56P_mfD-_6jGoaTFcpAEKNo4M/s640/IMG_3325.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The ferry was running. The ride took only about ten minutes, thankfully, because there was no cozy cabin where we could escape the rain. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmlnLyWA1CMPZvzkwyc77Z5tUEMPATdzk5zZhdLucCk4DBC9lIWY9-ZYsTGYbCnMDtDIoErkBYexkO59hUbYk0clse7z_02IQ8LbkW73huwrGJhEXw_kUO7ZQAryysMHPcL65LyAcwLw4i/s1600/IMG_3327.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmlnLyWA1CMPZvzkwyc77Z5tUEMPATdzk5zZhdLucCk4DBC9lIWY9-ZYsTGYbCnMDtDIoErkBYexkO59hUbYk0clse7z_02IQ8LbkW73huwrGJhEXw_kUO7ZQAryysMHPcL65LyAcwLw4i/s640/IMG_3327.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">An online review said, "<span style="font-family: inherit;">We saw so many birds and dolphins jumping out of the water while on the ferry." We saw not a single dolphin. Why would they want to be out in weather like this?</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh04h98xhYf6XKBwhF2TXTylpRAlyTnqcIsNiyHY00escFNeJ3HIrvhbt6X2yQUG-xuntwkmBqkLo2RUdcwzfrpu_j40vI5loM_JXmqAMNubRMyrKeLB3-Lyvg0xMVvaiJHCyTJ_P3DwwYB/s1600/IMG_20200220_122202277.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh04h98xhYf6XKBwhF2TXTylpRAlyTnqcIsNiyHY00escFNeJ3HIrvhbt6X2yQUG-xuntwkmBqkLo2RUdcwzfrpu_j40vI5loM_JXmqAMNubRMyrKeLB3-Lyvg0xMVvaiJHCyTJ_P3DwwYB/s640/IMG_20200220_122202277.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">No dolphins, but lots of pelicans.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Someone in Cameron told us the town used to have lots of great restaurants but they haven’t come back. We were wet and cold and the only place with indoor seating was a bar and grill with a couple pool tables, two picnic tables, a bar, and a strong smell of smoke. I waited inside while Rob locked up the bikes but as soon as he came in I said, "We can't stay." I could feel the smoke burning my throat. I knew with his asthma there was no way he could tolerate it.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The only other choice was an outdoor grill with seating enclosed by a tent. It wasn't warm but at least it was dry and out of the wind. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had fried catfish. Rob had the lunch plate special, beef with gravy and rice and blackeyed peas. It all came in styrofoam containers. Recycling has not come to this part of Louisiana.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We were pretty much in the middle of nowhere with nothing but wildlife refuges and liquid natural gas plants. We passed lots of marsh grass and cows sometimes up to their bellies in mud.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We had no choice but to persevere through the wind and cold. The rain had stopped and the dogs had the sense to stay inside and left us alone. We had a destination, a church several miles past the town of Grand Chenier. There was nothing in Grand Chenier but a library, that was closed. But, like many buildings, it was built way up high, and underneath was a picnic table where we stopped for a brief rest and a snack. I said to Rob, "This would be a terrible place to live if you had to use a wheelchair. Even if you had an elevator in your home, how could you visit friends? How do old people stay in their homes?" The library had an elevator and a ramp. The ramp was longer than any I had ever seen, with at least two turns to it.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wanted to get to the church around 4:30 or 5 because Father Thomas had said he would be saying mass at 4:30. I would be more than happy to attend mass if it meant being warm and dry. But when we arrived at </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">St. Eugene Catholic Church after 66 miles of hard riding, the mass was over. We found the Father in his rectory, surprised to see us, not expecting we would have ridden in the foul weather. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Father Thomas was a kind and generous soul. As he offered to show us where we could pitch our tent I asked if there was any way</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> we could sleep inside. He didn't even hesitate to think about it and took us inside the parish hall where there were couches we could sleep on and a kitchen for cooking our dinner. We were beyond thrilled.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The Father was busy during the evening with a meeting but around 8:30 brought us some gumbo and talked to us about Mardi Gras, and Cajun and Creole history. In the morning he brought us cups of hot tea, grits and sausage, and a pastry. He sent us off with a bag of food, including his own venison jerky,</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-nayJVPeIiupeejLid8cDz0XRt7u6WgSrLK1r9KSRqlWMYgr5fszo5XVmA88wFatk9gm0JgeYHBwgF6K9OeuZDh5_fBHuoHqd-Ns2vgJ2LTAIcJb1ZXOVKBri7YNZocPbS4PuisZK3e9r/s1600/P2213014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-nayJVPeIiupeejLid8cDz0XRt7u6WgSrLK1r9KSRqlWMYgr5fszo5XVmA88wFatk9gm0JgeYHBwgF6K9OeuZDh5_fBHuoHqd-Ns2vgJ2LTAIcJb1ZXOVKBri7YNZocPbS4PuisZK3e9r/s640/P2213014.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">St. Eugene Catholic Church was destroyed by one of the hurricanes and when Father Thomas came on board they had already begun rebuilding a church far too big for a parish of only 25 families. Many families who lost their homes will never be able to return as the cost of rebuilding to the new codes is prohibitive for those with limited means.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We were curious about the church being rebuilt on ground level but for some reason it was able to pass code.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY8Tfs0YJaHJkxc8pLLN5ZCQR2-eB9AxXQFmsZ7kiAQJlRn1mmpDHb92JzluyiSvSFyo9bhmxGE8sYDhPpPKcsE58GMTWaJrkl8RT2IJW-qnptyiFEDROfea1k3cWeKAYVnjFrXYyv4iNo/s1600/P2213015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY8Tfs0YJaHJkxc8pLLN5ZCQR2-eB9AxXQFmsZ7kiAQJlRn1mmpDHb92JzluyiSvSFyo9bhmxGE8sYDhPpPKcsE58GMTWaJrkl8RT2IJW-qnptyiFEDROfea1k3cWeKAYVnjFrXYyv4iNo/s640/P2213015.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Looking at the pictures I took on <b>Friday, February 21</b>, you might think it was a beautiful day. The sun was shining. But the day has to go </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">on the list of our most challenging days. After I checked the weather forecast we knew it was coming. Temps in the low fifties and wind from the north at 15 mph. We were heading east and north. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We were truly in Louisiana's outback.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimPdrK_sxq68Swy5jzBhe_r0JpdU5mkX43ReM2KNiVLtoURVSFwk1Pn0R0RYfhlT741gD1Z1P1idRg67GidtZK0JsY61FdJbJaKwfNjlIwfzPHF3dDbiBTh7sTaoQeWtolk9jvzGoaDv92/s1600/P2213020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimPdrK_sxq68Swy5jzBhe_r0JpdU5mkX43ReM2KNiVLtoURVSFwk1Pn0R0RYfhlT741gD1Z1P1idRg67GidtZK0JsY61FdJbJaKwfNjlIwfzPHF3dDbiBTh7sTaoQeWtolk9jvzGoaDv92/s640/P2213020.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We stopped here for lunch. It was just a pull off on the side of the road. The wooden bridge was blocked by a locked fence. After passing a Confederate flag, I was struck by the condition of the American flag.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">At least we had flat riding on quiet well-maintained roads until about the last 15 miles or so. The sun was shining and Rob was able to keep up and draft off me. Although I had the harder job, we kept each other company. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We changed our plan from camping to heading to a town with an affordable motel that would get us 10 miles closer to the next day's destination. It was definitely too cold and windy to camp. After 63 miserable miles (and over seven hours of riding time) we checked into a Days Inn in Abbeville.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We were on the cusp of the final weekend before Mardi Gras, which would fall on February 25. We had already realized that we couldn't make it to New Orleans by then, not if we wanted to spend time exploring the backroads and small towns of Louisiana. And we weren't even sure we wanted to deal with all the crowds that would be flooding New Orleans. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We found out that every town marks the celebration with at least one parade scheduled in the days leading up to Mardi Gras. We did some research online to figure out where we could see one or two parades and asked people where they thought we would get the best experience. No one had the same answer.</span></div>
Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-76189760264800742212020-04-19T14:13:00.000-07:002020-04-19T14:13:26.078-07:00Circling the U.S. Chapter 73: The Rest of Texas<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Thursday, February 13 - February 17, 2020</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">After leaving Austin our route took us on quiet country roads. Our plan to ride 50 miles and camp in Buescher State Park didn't take into account the cold windy weather on Thursday. Instead we stopped early, after 37 miles, in Bastrop, Texas, and checked into a Quality Inn</span><span style="font-size: large;">. Except for the dogs that came running out after us, too many to count, the riding was pleasant, </span><span style="font-size: large;">albeit with scenery that was less than exciting</span><span style="font-size: large;">. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrUh9c2cPxFqVpwlFtbbKPtDuF5yGnkQUQvGgcOi0Ar1MLKcp3C5m7iniE8BEunRJDM3U39_V5dZCqplKUU8EkHbaIixH0GFA6t_YiZYSmXveOcg9awqDAqSnAkjODEgke4YKwHNAdQsF3/s1600/P2132978.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrUh9c2cPxFqVpwlFtbbKPtDuF5yGnkQUQvGgcOi0Ar1MLKcp3C5m7iniE8BEunRJDM3U39_V5dZCqplKUU8EkHbaIixH0GFA6t_YiZYSmXveOcg9awqDAqSnAkjODEgke4YKwHNAdQsF3/s640/P2132978.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Historic downtown Bastrop, Texas</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZZhZTyPFlsgSn17ggb697lGhBpCHY9Fzb1akteYZoZztLX6h4hZ9KJq1YxLl8vUpJOuTr0Mgfj7U8azlkI10HklRq5Q57v3IrGifLVcLUtntf5ldMmzngevYeS2Lg1_lMNzewPSaTnH5m/s1600/P2132979.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZZhZTyPFlsgSn17ggb697lGhBpCHY9Fzb1akteYZoZztLX6h4hZ9KJq1YxLl8vUpJOuTr0Mgfj7U8azlkI10HklRq5Q57v3IrGifLVcLUtntf5ldMmzngevYeS2Lg1_lMNzewPSaTnH5m/s640/P2132979.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's not all about Trump in Texas.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Friday, February 14</b>, </span><span style="font-size: large;">began with almost 20 miles of relentless hills through Bastrop and Buescher State Parks. We pushed our bikes up the steepest ones. The scenery was pretty bland, young pine trees growing in a burnt forest. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Then, like a switch was flipped, the barren brown gave way to</span><span style="font-size: large;"> a real forest when we crossed into Buescher State Park. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">After leaving the state parks we enjoyed </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">green farmland and pleasant riding for 25 miles to La Grange.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We found a secular</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">coffee shop</span><span style="font-size: large;"> (i.e., no Bible sayings tacked to the walls or other Christian paraphernalia) in downtown La Grange where we stopped for tea and a snack.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPPvZ12J6MAt564RiKukAieNy2S_jS-VMpupnL1YBnS1Fsk6SKvlRoNLpmhscNmYIagBo73WNhUeiDzvRVmSZsCkOZUqVu8W_qIpiOC1-du-B3P3rnRGMj3RVPe9d78dOSR-fHEZYcEJJS/s1600/P2142982.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPPvZ12J6MAt564RiKukAieNy2S_jS-VMpupnL1YBnS1Fsk6SKvlRoNLpmhscNmYIagBo73WNhUeiDzvRVmSZsCkOZUqVu8W_qIpiOC1-du-B3P3rnRGMj3RVPe9d78dOSR-fHEZYcEJJS/s640/P2142982.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The towns in this part of Texas often had their downtowns designed around a square with the courthouse built on the central green.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After leaving La Grange we had 16 miles of terrible conditions - no shoulder, rough road, speeding traffic. The road was lined with signs advertising spaces for selling antiques. Evidently, for two weeks every spring, there is a huge antique sale that spans 17 miles of this highway.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">After 61 miles we arrived in Round Top where we found the Stone Cellar, a restaurant and dance hall. During the big antique show it is also an RV park and antique sale venue. The owner Rob, was very gracious in letting us camp since the only other campground in town closed down. He was going to charge us $10 but let us stay for free because, he said, "I admire what you're doing."</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjyFcnrSHwDfNUq3CAVuPm2cv471eJdyleJtnfR5iVorCeq_XZ7rfhccITt-ImT83msZR9VdKWDVAspdPeLQIladFtiVPewtLEAJtcrNwoPSdjwABFnQfwHfH4cJtUwDk4EWUJBU7ON48D/s1600/P2152984.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjyFcnrSHwDfNUq3CAVuPm2cv471eJdyleJtnfR5iVorCeq_XZ7rfhccITt-ImT83msZR9VdKWDVAspdPeLQIladFtiVPewtLEAJtcrNwoPSdjwABFnQfwHfH4cJtUwDk4EWUJBU7ON48D/s640/P2152984.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">After we cooked our dinner we went over to the restaurant to listen to some music and have a beer. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Before heading out of town on <b>Saturday morning, February 15</b>, we stopped in "downtown" Round Top, a quaint village with relocated historic buildings turned into shops and offices. A central green sported picnic tables and a fountain. It was all very inviting, a lovely place to enjoy a cup of tea or a picnic lunch, but, sadly, it was deserted, nothing open early on a Saturday morning. Some day, if we are on a driving trip through Texas, we'll stop by again, later in the day when the shops are open.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYBku-BoJngXzyCPUsMxQAM5lCk5hyphenhyphenLBwd6yGksbwFuRaIr7HhQv0-gk0nuBYF2EcD05eSI0MQ2T_CkrOeVQ_pSCrqkHLk8c59l3tjkh7GZJSpQNdcVuuKoUeRHMYx1Lr3KZnRwAC-I9VQ/s1600/P2152987+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="958" data-original-width="1600" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYBku-BoJngXzyCPUsMxQAM5lCk5hyphenhyphenLBwd6yGksbwFuRaIr7HhQv0-gk0nuBYF2EcD05eSI0MQ2T_CkrOeVQ_pSCrqkHLk8c59l3tjkh7GZJSpQNdcVuuKoUeRHMYx1Lr3KZnRwAC-I9VQ/s640/P2152987+%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The <a href="https://www.austinchronicle.com/columns/2019-11-15/day-trips-ellis-motel-round-top/">Ellis Motel</a> may have once been a motel, but today it is a lounge with limited hours.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtzF3SStBBEd-mBrIjFt3qeCspZVXicGXFORVmhzxoCgDfIC4l54fTDRaQ_wyG-VBNFi1lA1JwvuOornFYk7NLhBJ7858_2IZYMJBMKERQ790p4speDhCFOzMd7nmGfY-sMpH91C58lIK4/s1600/P2152988.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtzF3SStBBEd-mBrIjFt3qeCspZVXicGXFORVmhzxoCgDfIC4l54fTDRaQ_wyG-VBNFi1lA1JwvuOornFYk7NLhBJ7858_2IZYMJBMKERQ790p4speDhCFOzMd7nmGfY-sMpH91C58lIK4/s640/P2152988.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The sign on the building on the right says, "Norman Reynolds, Attorney." What an ideal place to have an office.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1tB16hk3N3bRbggKoDzP8U8WioXZI3aZlOaw-V6Tx0A6DlkhPvEDJrU5g7Go-TA19pPHJ5K4JP1T4eH0QXB1Kbwu-ja9Jz6hY2WJQfZkCYvSnd_N0aVd2kwXRtl45AoHrOkkGIT2EsCTd/s1600/P2152992.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1tB16hk3N3bRbggKoDzP8U8WioXZI3aZlOaw-V6Tx0A6DlkhPvEDJrU5g7Go-TA19pPHJ5K4JP1T4eH0QXB1Kbwu-ja9Jz6hY2WJQfZkCYvSnd_N0aVd2kwXRtl45AoHrOkkGIT2EsCTd/s640/P2152992.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Another view of the Stone Cellar, this one from the highway.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We stopped for a second breakfast in Burton, where we shared an eggs Benedict with salmon, spinach, cream cheese, and cherry tomatoes. It was absolutely wonderful. We've figured out that sharing a second breakfast helps the budget and also keeps us from stuffing ourselves to the point where we have trouble riding afterwards. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We'd gotten out of the habit of second breakfasts because the budget has been eaten up by our nights in motels. And there hadn't really been places to stop, so this was a real treat.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-hJ2B7gXdfEMM2Nbc6tLttdbYwNKRZ9vqMj2STx7HYpBGYXqN8y630zTMmWBDrC4s7CK0HEBwCKWqLfJYD0SyD0s2N0MnYBUn6w8HjRltq7nSr8t6pldPTGci684aR0nafEubP0Kc_Xnn/s1600/P2152993.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-hJ2B7gXdfEMM2Nbc6tLttdbYwNKRZ9vqMj2STx7HYpBGYXqN8y630zTMmWBDrC4s7CK0HEBwCKWqLfJYD0SyD0s2N0MnYBUn6w8HjRltq7nSr8t6pldPTGci684aR0nafEubP0Kc_Xnn/s640/P2152993.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">A couple about our age stopped to talk to us as they were heading inside and took this picture, They said the Blue Willow Cafe was "the place" where the locals ate. The woman asked what we did about injuries. I pointed to Rob and said, "He complains." Mostly he complains about his knee and toe. I'm sure they hurt, but obviously not enough to quit riding. Just enough to give me regular updates. I tell him he's only allowed one whine per day.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We enjoyed the day's riding on quiet roads with rolling hills and lots of green. I could almost believe we were in Vermont. Not really. There aren't enough hills. And there are prickly pear cactusesand cattle with long horns, neither of which you will find in Vermont.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3_ht1Mwhwy1l1KKp5C1TBzYl9vPe737Jmk8Vnuw9gFlkw2FnAy2Jm3Fs_GFfa1cAVivIzwXRYKzUP-SRMdfIYTl6EHipiOTda0Y9CsOPvTS-lQqdc4hEzFZKCm9UoidZLUFbJfNYQSpMs/s1600/P2152995.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3_ht1Mwhwy1l1KKp5C1TBzYl9vPe737Jmk8Vnuw9gFlkw2FnAy2Jm3Fs_GFfa1cAVivIzwXRYKzUP-SRMdfIYTl6EHipiOTda0Y9CsOPvTS-lQqdc4hEzFZKCm9UoidZLUFbJfNYQSpMs/s640/P2152995.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">This picture doesn't show off the abundant greenery, but it does give you an idea of how quiet the roads were.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We passed a number of these old mansions.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">After 51 miles we arrived in Navasota. The </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Adventure Cycling map said we could camp at the fire station. When we arrived, Wes, the fire fighter on duty, had just completed giving a tour of the station to two other bicyclists. Tyler and Bella were recent college graduates heading west. They had begun their adventure in St. Augustine, Florida. We were the first cycle tourists they'd seen. Bella told us that, as they started, they'd taken their bikes onto the beach and dipped their rear wheels in the Atlantic Ocean. This is a tradition lots of cross-country cyclists do. They then will dip their front wheels in the Pacific Ocean. "It was a real mess," Bella said. "Our bikes were clogged with sand." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Wes was the perfect host. He told us that no cyclists ever camp outside; everybody stays inside the station. He and another fire fighter, Bobby, would be on duty overnight, but neither of them use the beds upstairs so we were welcome to them. We just needed to know that if a call came in, we'd be awakened by an alarm and flashing lights. Some nights there were no alarms, but sometimes they went off every 15 minutes. We were also welcome to find a place to sleep downstairs where we would hear the alarm but no lights would disturb us. We opted to take a chance and chose to sleep upstairs. Bella and Tyler did the same. It would be an adventure. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We were also welcome to use the shower and kitchen, all at no cost. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We needed to get dinner so after cleaning up Rob and I set out to explore the town. We figured that we'd treat ourselves to a dinner out if we found a restaurant before we arrived at the grocery store. We didn't. Navasota did not appear to be much of a tourist destination. We cooked a dinner of noodles and sauteed vegies and afterwards sat down and talked with Bella and Tyler, sharing advice on what to look forward to.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>Sunday, February 16</b>, after a restful night's sleep - no fire alarms -we were in no hurry to get on our bikes as fog </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">engulfed the town. We</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> chatted with Bobby and Wes. They grew up in the area and we talked about race relations. They told us that Navasota has a terrible history with regard to segregation and racism but that things have gotten a whole lot better. Bobby said that while most people vote Republican, they're not necessarily straight party line voters and will have a conversation about the issues.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">From this point until the Florida Keys we would no longer follow any established bicycle route. Although</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> we could have taken a more scenic route through the Sam Houston National Forest, we were both ready to be done with Texas so we followed the state highway 105 which, after a few days would take us directly to Beaumont, our launching off point for Louisiana. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We had lots of traffic and around Conroe lots of strip malls, but the shoulder was smooth and mostly wide enough and we made good time, with easy hills to start and then mostly flat and slightly downhill. Tyler and Bella said that it would be flat all the way to the Atlantic coast. I wasn't complaining, looking forward to cranking up the pace and getting in some fast miles.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Rob wanted to ride 44 miles. I wanted to ride 63. I won.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As is our usual custom, when we found a bakery/cafe in the middle of the afternoon, we stopped for tea and a treat. Then, as we set out to leave the small city of Conroe, Texas, a curious thing happened.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We had to stop at a railroad crossing. At first we didn't think that was so odd, except that the train was stopped. We waited. It didn't move. I asked the driver of the truck beside us how long he'd been waiting. He said maybe ten minutes. I asked if he knew what was going on, "No idea." I checked my phone and all I found was that there is a ten-minute limit on how long a train can hold up traffic. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Traffic backed up waiting for the train to move. I took off my helmet and got comfortable sitting on the brick wall. I said to Rob, "In London the trains stop because someone jumps onto the tracks." We probably waited for twenty minutes. Some cars gave up and turned around, but as far as we could tell, there was no alternative route. Finally, the train began to move. We never did find out what caused the delay.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We did make good time, covering 63 miles in just over five and a half hours riding time. Even so, we were pretty tired when we pulled into a Best Western in Cleveland. Our routine is that, since Rob lost his driver's license months ago, I always take care of checking in while Rob stays outside with the bikes. Before I went into the office, I noted a Popeye's fast food fried chicken place right next door. That's what I wanted for dinner. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">When I came back out, room key in hand, I said to Rob, "That Popeye's is looking pretty good to me for dinner." He said, "I was thinking the same thing." Neither of us had the energy to walk half a mile to a Walmart Supercenter, or even a quarter mile for Mexican. After showering, we dragged our tired selves over and ordered chicken, fries, and cole slaw. It wasn't great, but it was good enough.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Monday, February 17</b>, we rode 66 miles to Beaumont, for our last night in Texas. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The riding was pretty good, all highway, but mostly decent shoulder and flat so we made good time. It was overcast and rainy all day, but not cold so the rain didn’t bother us. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Everywhere it was green again, with lots of trees lining the roads.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We started to see flowers blooming. I never did find out what these were.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Moss Hill is nothing more than an intersection along a highway. Redd's Grill & Cafe looked so rundown that at first I didn't even think it was open. But as I waited for Rob a truck pulled into the parking lot and three young men in jeans and T-shirts got out and walked inside. We decided to give it a try. Formica tables and boxes stacked along one wall served as the interior decor. I noticed fried Boudin balls on the menu. I wondered if it's like scrapple, a meat conglomeration made up of whatever is left over from the slaughtering of an animal.
"What is Boudin?" I asked the server. She had to think about it. An older gentleman sitting at a table by the door heard my question and said, "It's pork and rice and spices." I decided to give it a try. It was okay. Not something I’d make a habit of. Usually it's served as a sausage.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We'd ridden to Beaumont because that looked like that was the best way to get into Louisiana. But we blew it. Upon further study of some cycling notes I found on the internet, it didn’t look like the route we'd planned was such a good idea. It all came down to having to cross waterways and which bridge to ride over. The one I thought we'd take had a really bad review for cycling</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We shouldn’t have ridden to Beaumont after all. But there we were. None of the online cycling route planners we tried wanted us to ride over the river on Interstate 10, but we've decided to go that way anyway. Is it legal? We'll find out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-58722182822263259512020-04-16T17:27:00.000-07:002020-04-16T17:27:32.445-07:00Circling the U.S. Chapter 72: Austin, Texas<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>Friday, February 7 - Wednesday, February 12, 2020</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Rain and cold </span><span style="font-size: large;">kept us in Austin longer than we'd planned but we didn't really mind. Rob's knee, diagnosed with serious arthritis a year ago, had begun bothering him while riding (throughout this year it has only been a problem while walking) so he was happy for a few extra days to rest and ice it. I used the time to work on this blog.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> We visited a couple music venues, did some sightseeing, and checked out the food scene.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_cuH7JzFowNE6tp1FYRFaIuxSYsKqb7T21IMPClUjIUBSaW-hDZZngdJ9vFvzzDSXp3yMsfQrjQf44Xtwsiak8jc-GdE4XBzZvWukn4xqMaPBFkUCAhDAOlgXYNEq2WPjvYGV7XSwUNxp/s1600/P2072957.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_cuH7JzFowNE6tp1FYRFaIuxSYsKqb7T21IMPClUjIUBSaW-hDZZngdJ9vFvzzDSXp3yMsfQrjQf44Xtwsiak8jc-GdE4XBzZvWukn4xqMaPBFkUCAhDAOlgXYNEq2WPjvYGV7XSwUNxp/s640/P2072957.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The first thing we did upon our arrival in Austin proper on Friday morning was to seek out a bakery while we waited for a museum to open. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw9VA4tN-fwG_d4x9iYxa9-jnnqfU2WiHbiF5_XUKUt1DALYNTHJt1BbQEWo8UhUUNIkaMrTiG6mX5MU04pT1g_FPuMu-1RXRMfVKFV8R5434ju4B6N7xTtGWKwb7SZC1j9KGkay5vOUhL/s1600/P2072955.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw9VA4tN-fwG_d4x9iYxa9-jnnqfU2WiHbiF5_XUKUt1DALYNTHJt1BbQEWo8UhUUNIkaMrTiG6mX5MU04pT1g_FPuMu-1RXRMfVKFV8R5434ju4B6N7xTtGWKwb7SZC1j9KGkay5vOUhL/s640/P2072955.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Having done a solo bicycle trip back in my youth, I can appreciate the advantages of having a traveling companion, especially one as easy-going as Rob. When there are too many delicious-looking pastries to choose from, we order two and share.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After our bakery stop we visited the Elisabet Ney Museum, one of a number of Austin's small, free museums. Housed in Ney's former studio, the museum is dedicated to showcasing the life and work of Ney, a famous sculptor of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. What especially interested me was an exhibit explaining the various steps in taking a sculpture from its initial creation from clay to its final granite form. I was also intrigued by a reading room at the top of the tower that she designed where her husband could do his writing. It had a secret door leading to the roof top.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Friday afternoon we explored the University of Texas campus. First we visited the Harry Ransom Center, a research center with archives from an extraordinary number of writers and artists. In addition to an exhibit on Gabriel Garcia Marquez (author of <u>One Hundred Years of Solitude</u>) we saw the earliest photograph known to survive today, made in 1827, and a Gutenberg Bible, one of only twenty copies in the world.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">As we were leaving the Harry Ransom Center, a woman came up to us and said, "I have to ask, are you by any chance Alan and Lillian's friends?" As Rob likes to say, "It's a small world." </span> <span style="font-size: large;">(I often accuse him of using cliches.)<br /><br />Our friend Lillian grew up in Texas. Margi, above with Rob, had been a friend of Lillian and her sisters since at least high school. Margi recently retired after a career of working at the Harry Ransom Center and had been doing some freelance work there when she saw us heading out to our bikes.<br /><br />Lillian had contacted Margi about letting us stay with her. For a variety of reasons Margi couldn't host us, but as our stay in Austin stretched on, she arranged to meet us for lunch and invited a couple bicycling friends to join us. Then, in another example of "It's a small world," it turned out that Margi's friends' daughter-in-law had gotten her Ph.D. while working with a close graduate school friend of Rob's who is a professor of psychology at Florida State University in Tallahassee. Did you follow all that? Yes, it's a small world.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">After our surprise rendezvous with Margi, we followed a map of the UT campus in search of outdoor sculptures. Most were disappointing, but not this one. If you look carefully, you will see it is made of metal canoes, titled "<a href="https://www.austin360.com/entertainmentlife/20190627/you-gotta-see-this-uts-twister-of-canoe-sculpture">Monochrome for Austin</a>."</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We stayed in Austin six nights, four of them with Adam, a Warm Showers host who lives within walking distance of downtown in a residential neighborhood of modest houses. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Adam works as a community organizer and public space activist for pedestrian and bike infrastructure projects. One of his projects, putting in a new two-way bike lane on an important thoroughfare had recently come to fruition. He had organized a "grand opening" ride to celebrate on <b>Saturday morning, February 8</b>. Adam worried about having enough turnout and getting good press coverage. We decided the least we could do in exchange for his generous hospitality was to join the ride and show our support. And besides, throughout our travels what interested us more than the tourist sites was learning about what mattered to locals and their bicycle culture. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The youngest riders led the way.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYcG5z-6qw2XcSwW7WnWM95ka_9BB-XfJrDw_pr6is-J73IpkPUNfKZS0yAfZmgyBMidXDfOf5beEuBM-HT60K6lFCGStbVd2XchvwaugQHONS2bTnhO6PaIlsxnBm8ngDypAmWmZAuKGD/s1600/P2082962.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYcG5z-6qw2XcSwW7WnWM95ka_9BB-XfJrDw_pr6is-J73IpkPUNfKZS0yAfZmgyBMidXDfOf5beEuBM-HT60K6lFCGStbVd2XchvwaugQHONS2bTnhO6PaIlsxnBm8ngDypAmWmZAuKGD/s640/P2082962.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">That's Adam, happy with the turnout and ready to move onto his next project, trying to shut down parts or all of a central street in downtown Austin to car traffic, making it safe and fun for pedestrians.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi05zX5t2lJMCWk8m38hoauYll1LFkl56boCx-2hDxOq3lLFr4dXo7X5j32zVn41O0qadQEmKxP-m3mOC_Aui_mLarFJ4migmaF4cf1WtW4GI-sHDE5ih0j4fIpQUsIzyzVdMruKO79_klI/s1600/P2082965.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi05zX5t2lJMCWk8m38hoauYll1LFkl56boCx-2hDxOq3lLFr4dXo7X5j32zVn41O0qadQEmKxP-m3mOC_Aui_mLarFJ4migmaF4cf1WtW4GI-sHDE5ih0j4fIpQUsIzyzVdMruKO79_klI/s640/P2082965.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The new bike lanes were not without detractors, even in the bicycling community. The problem comes when cars on the opposite side of the road go to make a left turn and don't see the cyclist riding in the same direction. Safest is to have a bike lane on both sides heading in the same direction as traffic but in this case, residents fought the project, so this was seen as a compromise. Nothing is 100% safe for bicyclists. Drivers need to understand that bicycles have a right to be on the roads and it's their job to watch out for them.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHjU26H5bFrMfKi5wv32UAQqADIn_WiPhu1oZYMGvfSdhz6SeLOudIeX1esoVXZ5tjnMkuVINl411Ha7OagCclCvwJFE-U6c24k3KaMdtq45CJmxFyQ84vByaLUmPMaxrqZsBkCF2P3Ntg/s1600/P2082967.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHjU26H5bFrMfKi5wv32UAQqADIn_WiPhu1oZYMGvfSdhz6SeLOudIeX1esoVXZ5tjnMkuVINl411Ha7OagCclCvwJFE-U6c24k3KaMdtq45CJmxFyQ84vByaLUmPMaxrqZsBkCF2P3Ntg/s640/P2082967.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">After the bike rally, Rob and I went to check out the public library. It was bustling with activity on this Saturday afternoon, with people enjoying the cafe and the outside rooftop garden.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We followed the bike path along the river for views of the city.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Looking back, I think we hit a bit of a low point during our time in Austin. Maybe it was the weather, maybe we were tired of being on the road, maybe we just needed to recharge. Sunday it rained; we hung out at Adam's and went for a walk. Monday it rained; we visited the capitol. Tuesday it rained; we hung out and found a coffee shop to do some work. Wednesday it didn't rain but it was cold and windy; we went to the Bullock History Museum and met Margi and her friends for lunch.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">When we were in San Antonio we stayed with a young man who came to Texas to work with undocumented immigrants in detention. He was very well-read on Texas history and had given us a tutorial on how much of Texas' striving for independence from Mexico and then statehood was driven by the white American settlers' desire to own slaves. He said, "When you go to the Alamo you won't hear about any of that." And he was right. I began noticing how so much of the history was centered on the white settlers' experiences. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">At the state capitol we learned that Steven Austin came to Texas with 300 families. I asked, "Did they bring slaves along?" Yes, they did, but apparently the slaves didn't count as "families."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">There are other sculptures scattered around the State Capitol honoring African American history and the Tejanos, early Mexican Spanish settlers. But this one is front and center, honoring those who died in the Civil War. Here's what it says:</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">"<i>DIED for state rights guaranteed under the Constitution. The people of the South, animated by the spirit of 1776, to preserve their rights, withdrew from the federal compact in 1881. The North resorted to coercion. The South, against overwhelming numbers and resources, fought until exhaustion.</i>"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Evidently the Civil War had nothing to do with fighting for the right to own another human being.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After seeing so many historical sites that gave a white-centric view of Texas history, I was hesitant to spend money on the Bullock State History Museum. In the end I was pleasantly surprised with the breadth of the exhibits describing the contributions of all of Texas' early inhabitants, not just the white American settlers, but Mexicans and blacks as well. The museum is named for Bob Bullock, "</span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">the first elected official to adopt an equal opportunity program that ushered in an era of ethnic diversity, hiring and promoting record numbers of women and minorities."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Other highlights of our Austin visit were listening to jazz at the <a href="http://www.elephantroom.com/">Elephant Room</a>, a vegan dinner at <a href="http://countercultureaustin.com/">Counter Culture</a>, and lunch at <a href="https://www.waltonsfancyandstaple.com/">Walton's Fancy & Staple</a>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Given our low energy levels during our time in this vibrant city, we </span><span style="font-size: large;">left many stones unturned, so we'll probably have to plan a return visit. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We spent our last two nights in Austin with Brett and Nyssa and their two very energetic sons. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2akP6Z2NqHr0J-VvPjNXEhKwuIdLdKTo_-_aHfrokSTez5vX5JHjKIZ9vZs15B_LpYJMTBgcoBuM8U3QtiRbCb3lAdMsNvCnpckaWzHOsDOg8NApioHSZ8WSh90tTzAyuaSsz1_8UbsD2/s1600/P2122972+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2akP6Z2NqHr0J-VvPjNXEhKwuIdLdKTo_-_aHfrokSTez5vX5JHjKIZ9vZs15B_LpYJMTBgcoBuM8U3QtiRbCb3lAdMsNvCnpckaWzHOsDOg8NApioHSZ8WSh90tTzAyuaSsz1_8UbsD2/s640/P2122972+%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We've stayed with many Warm Showers hosts who are older empty-nesters. (They have empty bedrooms that they are looking to put to a good use.) We always enjoyed the rare opportunity to stay with a young family and bring back memories of the joy we had playing with and reading to our own children. </span></td></tr>
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Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-808552200144179032020-04-11T14:02:00.000-07:002020-04-13T05:42:18.833-07:00Circling the U.S. Chapter 71: Texas Hill Country<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>Wednesday, January 29 - Thursday, February 6, 2020</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Having met our deadline to connect with our kids in San Antonio, we now felt no time pressure so we decided to check out Texas' Hill Country. Adventure Cycling publishes a loop that starts and ends in Austin, that we could pick up north of San Antonio. But first we detoured to Seguin because a friend told me that her husband's cousin has a nutcracker museum there. We thought it would be fun to check it out and maybe meet the cousin. So on Wednesday, after visiting the McNay Art Museum, we rode 37 miles on more chip-seal highways to Seguin where we spent the night at a Motel 6, my least favorite cheap lodging.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>Thursday, January 30</b>, we started the day with a five-mile ride to Pape's Nutcracker Museum on the outskirts of Seguin. I'm always fascinated by people who have a unique passion. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8YVnTbBbP3oxXc1SZ2NXpJGuvZNZrRw163QfzoYoklyWCiuLZSF8IgzskN_75flBnharx3OefVBnm49y42tln8tWMcvKcj0cz_WmIRzPUeE6kRmLbQNp4a32JByWvW2qjBxQKNq4CbDpL/s1600/IMG-3346.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8YVnTbBbP3oxXc1SZ2NXpJGuvZNZrRw163QfzoYoklyWCiuLZSF8IgzskN_75flBnharx3OefVBnm49y42tln8tWMcvKcj0cz_WmIRzPUeE6kRmLbQNp4a32JByWvW2qjBxQKNq4CbDpL/s640/IMG-3346.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The museum and gift shop is part of a larger business that supports anything having to do with pecans:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://papepecan.com/about/">https://papepecan.com/about/</a></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSarZGvgkp7xgH6ogpiGgZNZWZaWikdhsFl_2PmfFBmLR8S_0WayTIYrxRf0HA1UGIIBiREQMaRMSqTKhfEvRRV94JzIMNpCIz383-zVPMj9mzxmYFkK_20c25L7VB3TnMAotKxy1vsHBf/s1600/IMG-3347.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSarZGvgkp7xgH6ogpiGgZNZWZaWikdhsFl_2PmfFBmLR8S_0WayTIYrxRf0HA1UGIIBiREQMaRMSqTKhfEvRRV94JzIMNpCIz383-zVPMj9mzxmYFkK_20c25L7VB3TnMAotKxy1vsHBf/s640/IMG-3347.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Kenneth Pape, the man who collected over 8000 nutcrackers, passed away several months ago from Parkinson's Disease. His wife has dementia and is in a nursing home and their son is deceased. James, a nephew on the wife's side of the family, runs all aspects of the business.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisV6q0ix4ikPKcj6yfQZhQVAwxfMV9PSBfh9nKPiB6WmvFe45RQVwLtfemiWOp6iHWKB6Rk0rdHSOpf_cb8uxoq2PuxWhGSyus5EltscHFgdCN58g6QvGHchkZ3kthXNbeyyK2RgfqxMbB/s1600/IMG-3355.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisV6q0ix4ikPKcj6yfQZhQVAwxfMV9PSBfh9nKPiB6WmvFe45RQVwLtfemiWOp6iHWKB6Rk0rdHSOpf_cb8uxoq2PuxWhGSyus5EltscHFgdCN58g6QvGHchkZ3kthXNbeyyK2RgfqxMbB/s640/IMG-3355.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Kenneth Pape's passion for collecting nutcrackers probably followed naturally from his pecan business. He would find them during</span><span style="font-size: large;"> his travels and on the internet and e-bay. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I had no idea there were so many different kinds of nutcrackers out there. </span><span style="font-size: large;">When I think of nutcrackers I envision the soldier that comes to life in Tchaikovsky's "Nutcracker Ballet."</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">We saw sports figures, cartoon characters, and nutcrackers dressed in traditional German garb.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I asked one of the store clerks, "Do these nutcrackers actually work?" </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">She said, "No. They are really just art, or craft pieces."</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlwb5EIyazjv0dtO1jhYHXvI_9Si1s764uGY1_snpb5-ZVK4K99M8XqMdxKHZ2T12jRE4uenoBZHiNjiM17_mkaAOaUEfbRA69NijkKp7Xr-XRJ54gOKbJBRmfIarGPrF0I0sp3n77YBgq/s1600/IMG-3352.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlwb5EIyazjv0dtO1jhYHXvI_9Si1s764uGY1_snpb5-ZVK4K99M8XqMdxKHZ2T12jRE4uenoBZHiNjiM17_mkaAOaUEfbRA69NijkKp7Xr-XRJ54gOKbJBRmfIarGPrF0I0sp3n77YBgq/s640/IMG-3352.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV16I2uIiGeIed4py_Kd6xEr9BbV002E53291KWDCA1A1vcLkYgKxQP_CGfZRYYxVlHiyJHpQbwhFurl1MLpCo-gtZcffgEytpYXFR1ztPYeo8YogohadPlZ4rt53GbgJUQlXYEwbWdwE9/s1600/IMG-3349.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV16I2uIiGeIed4py_Kd6xEr9BbV002E53291KWDCA1A1vcLkYgKxQP_CGfZRYYxVlHiyJHpQbwhFurl1MLpCo-gtZcffgEytpYXFR1ztPYeo8YogohadPlZ4rt53GbgJUQlXYEwbWdwE9/s640/IMG-3349.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">In addition to the 'art' nutcrackers, Kenneth collected hundreds of functional ones as well.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt-0YRqKzrNTjkBe4Hh3GgM7rvPVy3FWHdgRnv9XW3Seacbz8ajzhSKfn1nM2xcHCl5fk5iqKmTNiRhAo_523KtTMcPTifrqk1-lXFYyQucxKwAJCN6v2chCHdVWzFLchIO38-p0uGkGXS/s1600/IMG-3357.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt-0YRqKzrNTjkBe4Hh3GgM7rvPVy3FWHdgRnv9XW3Seacbz8ajzhSKfn1nM2xcHCl5fk5iqKmTNiRhAo_523KtTMcPTifrqk1-lXFYyQucxKwAJCN6v2chCHdVWzFLchIO38-p0uGkGXS/s640/IMG-3357.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_SZRJDmBHfsH4L8hbmsT2-XPe2NlgVGg9d7vqAtORyrTw6-sElNcGW5TvReglFgXrSP63or3AJNuS9HfejYVPYnMdXTFUHI1aPcRfNOXu25Y-9ZpkwmpUhScNYxuJU_tIVIjDhsTPokCc/s1600/IMG-3356.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_SZRJDmBHfsH4L8hbmsT2-XPe2NlgVGg9d7vqAtORyrTw6-sElNcGW5TvReglFgXrSP63or3AJNuS9HfejYVPYnMdXTFUHI1aPcRfNOXu25Y-9ZpkwmpUhScNYxuJU_tIVIjDhsTPokCc/s640/IMG-3356.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKZ_7TwBhyUrQSyQOHK5z7QHkoalNSbqdXuUcFvFsz8IfZferwyCmyLFOLn3Z0QvIodA8o1kd5eRPVz0_CF89NyZlBQ8K94KSYdOcHVP6Y3DruTdat3BenGd0PePiB-4gVya-5v3gxvXIN/s1600/IMG-3358.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKZ_7TwBhyUrQSyQOHK5z7QHkoalNSbqdXuUcFvFsz8IfZferwyCmyLFOLn3Z0QvIodA8o1kd5eRPVz0_CF89NyZlBQ8K94KSYdOcHVP6Y3DruTdat3BenGd0PePiB-4gVya-5v3gxvXIN/s640/IMG-3358.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I wonder, what happens when the driving force behind a passion like this passes away? Will James continue to keep the gift shop and museum open? One of the women who works in the store told me that they are a stop on the bus tour circuit. I can easily picture tourists lining up at the cash register to buy bags of mixed nuts and candied pecans. I convinced Rob that we had to buy a bag of dark chocolate-covered pecans.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">From Seguin we rode 19 miles to New Braunfels, settled by Germans in the mid-nineteenth century, arriving by lunch time.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXz57FyqoM_HOuA9_5xngagyKkidiz1JUFLg99y2lAAivCleTEn5Axj_OB5re3Izc9kjTJABZkcsBOoqvRqrxhlcTHCVSE-ySq1LJkfCTsv0KDkSFf-0z3_h1ttLFsttSlkuXp-YdB16od/s1600/IMG-3361.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXz57FyqoM_HOuA9_5xngagyKkidiz1JUFLg99y2lAAivCleTEn5Axj_OB5re3Izc9kjTJABZkcsBOoqvRqrxhlcTHCVSE-ySq1LJkfCTsv0KDkSFf-0z3_h1ttLFsttSlkuXp-YdB16od/s640/IMG-3361.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We stopped for a tour of the Conservation Village located several miles from downtown New Braunfels, where several acres have been set aside for the relocation and restoration of historical buildings from around New Braunfels. The Germans were cotton farmers and I was curious to know if they were also slave holders. George, our tour guide, told us they were not, but they fought on the side of the south in the Civil War because they were told that if the south lost their land would be taken away. I guess they had their own version of Fox News back then.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">By afternoon the day had turned gray, cold, and windy. Neither of us wanted to camp. A little bit of research and a phone call brought us to a lovely inn, the <a href="https://grueneriverinn.com/">Gruene River Inn</a>, in historic Gruene (pronounced "Green"). Gruene is actually part of New Braunfels, but sits about five miles from central New Braunfels, off by itself with a rural small-town feel. I spent the rest of the afternoon curled up in a window seat with tea and chocolate and a good book. Rob took a nap. Then we went out to dinner.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We spent many relaxing hours at the Gruene River Inn. Our room overlooked the river as did the dining area where we ate our breakfast. Tea and snacks were available at all hours.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Upon awakening on <b>Friday, January 31</b>, Rob declared that he wanted to see a doctor because his foot hurt. I said that it was arthritis and he wouldn't learn anything that he wasn't already told by the doctor six months ago in Wisconsin. But he was determined and the forecast was for another cold and windy day and I really liked where we were staying so I let him get his way. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTAsarT-rJsYGaB_3SCZOH2tgXrNUJiA8bA4PW4J7FGtvxiJOzS0npG7wmAbPl_mE5PUR4XOJtwFViXwniREdraEXeHcBu_H3a_ILKfO0Zqt43m3ZPA8yZswDpXaYgCoddc5afhrMI4LbR/s1600/IMG-3251.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTAsarT-rJsYGaB_3SCZOH2tgXrNUJiA8bA4PW4J7FGtvxiJOzS0npG7wmAbPl_mE5PUR4XOJtwFViXwniREdraEXeHcBu_H3a_ILKfO0Zqt43m3ZPA8yZswDpXaYgCoddc5afhrMI4LbR/s640/IMG-3251.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">While Rob went urgent care I bicycled to downtown New Braunfels, to check out its historic buildings and murals. It's a very bustling town, and has several museums, but a cursory tour sufficed for me. This mural celebrates the town's German heritage.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Friday afternoon we wandered around Gruene, which consisted of just a couple short streets with a winery, craft shops, and art galleries in historic buildings.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRYkiUg7izwOjBXygZwtdtTysz7uAvmQLFecCZPNmCPz5eUvxaEFISLSxXDeTnFkegq_hb4OXbsKMG5czcsgchrBy7zDBYdj0_dylHcI643ulTcoL9aPOVjk648OlGN3KG_5Kf79fSebBP/s1600/gruene.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="478" data-original-width="695" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRYkiUg7izwOjBXygZwtdtTysz7uAvmQLFecCZPNmCPz5eUvxaEFISLSxXDeTnFkegq_hb4OXbsKMG5czcsgchrBy7zDBYdj0_dylHcI643ulTcoL9aPOVjk648OlGN3KG_5Kf79fSebBP/s640/gruene.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvThEa8hNcZEFp6LqXv9DIpuseHyWEvKxboZ7rCB98CfdPzQVclRIEldaiK41VkwywBktAalRjJk1ugOL9hAJsmtXw9x8ZZ7NLB5icORiV0c3Cet98PEOHOHqrRcF3gvZReLq70QlNGRkv/s1600/IMG_20200131_154907212.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="549" data-original-width="732" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvThEa8hNcZEFp6LqXv9DIpuseHyWEvKxboZ7rCB98CfdPzQVclRIEldaiK41VkwywBktAalRjJk1ugOL9hAJsmtXw9x8ZZ7NLB5icORiV0c3Cet98PEOHOHqrRcF3gvZReLq70QlNGRkv/s640/IMG_20200131_154907212.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Gruene Hall, built in 1878, is Texas' most famous and oldest continually operating dance halls. Inside is a bar and large rustic dance hall, furnished only with long wooden picnic tables and benches. The hall hosts live music every night, often free.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The highlight of our day was a free evening concert in the historic Gruene Hall. Ezra Charles is an amazing pianist. I have no idea how old he is, but he's up there. Evidently he tried to retire. He's written many of his own songs and plays lots of stuff that was popular when he was young. He describes his music as Texas Boogie Woogie and Blues. When he came out of retirement he put together a band with an acoustic bass, trombone, and his son on drums, who is incredible. They played three sets. We stayed for all of them. Click below to see a a couple short videos:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We left Gruene shortly after nine o'clock in the morning on <b>Saturday, February 1</b>, and didn't get to Blanco until after five o'clock, after riding 51 miles. A head wind didn't help. Though challenging - they don't call it Hill Country for nothing - the riding was pleasant enough. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXJK5uvhUkl7M__UlZ-CUIBKx4qbXUuSkv_kvi2q_gNvCRCb7UQqYt5_JX0L8efCwst8MuCh1Y0swGlbA6UKXVN_p84CnFBaQqyDsNN29NfXlFYn9N6BFK4vUg-5LTHBkykfQ388mH7T7E/s1600/IMG-3363.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXJK5uvhUkl7M__UlZ-CUIBKx4qbXUuSkv_kvi2q_gNvCRCb7UQqYt5_JX0L8efCwst8MuCh1Y0swGlbA6UKXVN_p84CnFBaQqyDsNN29NfXlFYn9N6BFK4vUg-5LTHBkykfQ388mH7T7E/s640/IMG-3363.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We started out riding along a river that, during the warm months, is very popular for tubing. We saw several fishermen out in the middle of it.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Compared to other states, especially in the west, Texas has very little public land. My understanding is that they sold it all to pay off its debts after it was admitted into the United States. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSq5-dwM-2FVV0uKPT4i6nt1_geazj6CRKBzafqrhxzUNigxvPYMi7r2VuC5nIC8edUjBYpMeKocmRcCRdRLLQBrlZOohMPWxKSGA4md_NsLp9bVqx0Kh0GcTiAkpzNkq0EdEbnR5Ja1dg/s1600/20200322_213254.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="825" data-original-width="1600" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSq5-dwM-2FVV0uKPT4i6nt1_geazj6CRKBzafqrhxzUNigxvPYMi7r2VuC5nIC8edUjBYpMeKocmRcCRdRLLQBrlZOohMPWxKSGA4md_NsLp9bVqx0Kh0GcTiAkpzNkq0EdEbnR5Ja1dg/s640/20200322_213254.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We passed dozens of picnic tables along the river, all fenced off, and not a single public access spot until we arrived at Blanco State Park.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Barbed wire prevented us from stopping anywhere along the river and there was not a single public boat launching site. It appeared that anyone wanting to go tubing would have to pay one of the private property owners for river access. Same thing if you wanted to enjoy a picnic lunch or barbecue along the river on a beautiful summer day. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinKFKkZCPRQvZsC6PnflaW3GzAn1mK3oZNz5GGWGXCuyQtnjw6YefrELlTLQhocJT6TpLiEsoV_NJojIxJrTq_XetCLXumGfMLd8haeimiIWGBzuTjbdjozieoU_pRJaVZE5TPuKqY_bZ2/s1600/IMG-3365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinKFKkZCPRQvZsC6PnflaW3GzAn1mK3oZNz5GGWGXCuyQtnjw6YefrELlTLQhocJT6TpLiEsoV_NJojIxJrTq_XetCLXumGfMLd8haeimiIWGBzuTjbdjozieoU_pRJaVZE5TPuKqY_bZ2/s640/IMG-3365.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We stopped at this historic store in Fischer. A small farmer's market was set out in back where we were able to pick up a few vegetables from a tall middle-aged guy wearing a black T-shirt with a small picture of an assault-style gun on it. Underneath it said, "Go ahead. Come and take it."</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih0XJ9qklta2JnfPajfeIkZWBwb3ikaLnmgGFlLYQu999-m2palifL9ohmcFcAu1VLyn_04PNSAwRbZTc3II8yO9Qjga5TdRise9nOSZhOhq7Pqkg9Kz-rVLLCZenNsJs1_dSJOvI6Hlda/s1600/IMG-3366.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih0XJ9qklta2JnfPajfeIkZWBwb3ikaLnmgGFlLYQu999-m2palifL9ohmcFcAu1VLyn_04PNSAwRbZTc3II8yO9Qjga5TdRise9nOSZhOhq7Pqkg9Kz-rVLLCZenNsJs1_dSJOvI6Hlda/s640/IMG-3366.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">When I came to a cemetery by this small church, I thought it looked like a good place to stop for a rest. A young couple with their motorcycles was also there. They told me they were engaged and wanted to have their wedding inside the church but were getting pushback from the Catholic hierarchy. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji6aYWHctIRNIUTvL9pzD6CY3m_I90S1vlwdGZUG6FeV6EeBMEJ25D73EQQi1GG22PtRfdUzudvNgYV50mS2gIwmp-UekS-buu1L2YAPMB-TLIuDW0Uvduq7vp3LIzqgUbVR6sdoIBTuRg/s1600/IMG-3368.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji6aYWHctIRNIUTvL9pzD6CY3m_I90S1vlwdGZUG6FeV6EeBMEJ25D73EQQi1GG22PtRfdUzudvNgYV50mS2gIwmp-UekS-buu1L2YAPMB-TLIuDW0Uvduq7vp3LIzqgUbVR6sdoIBTuRg/s640/IMG-3368.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The church is no longer in use but was open and is beautiful in its simplicity. The young man's parents were married here. They are both deceased. He said it would really mean a lot to him to have the wedding here. I imagine that would be his way of having his parents take part in his joy. I suggested they just go ahead and do it. It's in the middle of nowhere. Who would know? I wished them good luck.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After the couple took off on their motorcycles, Rob and I enjoyed a snack, sitting on a bench outside the church. Like everywhere else in Texas, going to the bathroom presented a problem, likely the reason the young couple was having trouble getting permission to use the church for their wedding. No bathroom inside. As usual thoughout Texas, I had to count on the fact that traffic was scarce when taking care of business.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDVH_ls3A077LCDuVbkXKZtfx4PA_J6ms3Y10DdnNP4rmJpS2_Txuj6lMtCAT_ZSDOD-P-53M_pqjzJwbJcWGYhJUxzV6z9aJWAeKtsB9zym0ACCnrD1jwGOUHzAAGumf4GItF11A7SD2_/s1600/IMG-3369.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDVH_ls3A077LCDuVbkXKZtfx4PA_J6ms3Y10DdnNP4rmJpS2_Txuj6lMtCAT_ZSDOD-P-53M_pqjzJwbJcWGYhJUxzV6z9aJWAeKtsB9zym0ACCnrD1jwGOUHzAAGumf4GItF11A7SD2_/s640/IMG-3369.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We rode on a quiet back road that took us through, rather than past, some small ranches. Rob said it felt like we were riding on someone's driveway. We crossed a bunch of cattle guards. The lack of barbed wire lent it a peaceful mood.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We weren't worried about getting a campsite because s</span><span style="font-size: large;">omeone had told had us that they don't turn away cyclists at state parks in Texas. Someone was wrong.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When we </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">arrived at the state park a CAMPGROUND FULL sign greeted us. The office was closed. We rode through the campground looking for someone who might be willing to share their site. We stopped at the host's site where two older couples were sitting around a picnic table. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The campground host was, as is often the case, an older couple. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I explained our predicament, that we had expected to be able to camp. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I said, "We just need a small patch of grass to pitch our tent.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The wife began suggesting motels nearby. I ignored her; she clearly was not an ally. I looked directly at the husband and said, " Our tent i</span><span style="font-size: large;">s small; it doesn't take up much room." He hesitated, then said, "I guess you could set up over there," and pointed to t</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">he large grassy spot behind them. Then the other couple visiting offered to let us camp with them. Beverly and Gordan are full-time RVers from Maryland. They weren't using their picnic table, just warned us to watch out for the red ant hills. They didn't seem to be interested in visiting with us - just went into their RV and hung out there the rest of the night - but we were happy for their generosity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">After dinner we ventured out of the campground to explore the town but didn't see much worth exploring when we got back to the highway. But in the morning we found the historic downtown and were sorry to have missed it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Our destination on <b>Sunday, February 2</b>, was Fredericksburg, a small city I was looking forward to visiting as someone I hiked with said it was a great base for good cycling. Of course we had m</span><span style="font-size: large;">ore hills, no surprise there. We also had that west wind we'd been wanting so badly. The only problem was, now we were heading west. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIe8Z-o8MHR0H5fE2kb85JbUbCGfayaIg86dlFUV4kwxyMurlv15zZmB2wXSYo7Pzgf_oRrDGz-_tN-Sn4AZ_JIBi_odLEYnF5XQ6BqoHgbXFBH9v7B_LPZJJ0RkH9iCNvgezQFhoHKmd1/s1600/P2022933+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIe8Z-o8MHR0H5fE2kb85JbUbCGfayaIg86dlFUV4kwxyMurlv15zZmB2wXSYo7Pzgf_oRrDGz-_tN-Sn4AZ_JIBi_odLEYnF5XQ6BqoHgbXFBH9v7B_LPZJJ0RkH9iCNvgezQFhoHKmd1/s640/P2022933+%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">In rural parts of New Hampshire, often the only indication that you have arrived in a town will be the church. In this part of Texas it's the dance hall. There was nothing else in Albert, Texas, but we were able to sit at a picnic table and enjoy a snack and a brief rest.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3gTEo3Q03-DbbcMhsZeXa4EmryGY5q4D7kB1tlF3U3v9GeFndrdA9wcrW8-2_N4NZc4oZYn7vNH-GRcfJkVlITCErXv3GVMKRE9QPhAPSxsBKhkK8KI0whW3gFa44DwDjFBXKiWF5KPq6/s1600/P2022934.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="775" data-original-width="1600" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3gTEo3Q03-DbbcMhsZeXa4EmryGY5q4D7kB1tlF3U3v9GeFndrdA9wcrW8-2_N4NZc4oZYn7vNH-GRcfJkVlITCErXv3GVMKRE9QPhAPSxsBKhkK8KI0whW3gFa44DwDjFBXKiWF5KPq6/s640/P2022934.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Albert's dance hall from the other side.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEtHTML1znl2pK0kLTXVvHv5DRWGcEyjt_4UwjAGwvR3ByyNn3u7vL7mCH78brGAaYQsE7S_MBhMTNwQLr9ifndYeZJRi0YUnkl14KGwhkKs4Mghg3H6DdfRqnWpHcxoedtfFx7igJ-gXH/s1600/P2022936+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEtHTML1znl2pK0kLTXVvHv5DRWGcEyjt_4UwjAGwvR3ByyNn3u7vL7mCH78brGAaYQsE7S_MBhMTNwQLr9ifndYeZJRi0YUnkl14KGwhkKs4Mghg3H6DdfRqnWpHcxoedtfFx7igJ-gXH/s640/P2022936+%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Mostly we had pleasant riding on quiet country roads, but I wouldn't give the scenery anything more than a C+. We passed lots of farmland but it was mostly brown with many barren trees. I imagine it's prettier in the spring when the wildflowers are blooming.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We stopped briefly at the LBJ historical park which covers many acres and includes an historic town site and visitor's center. The Texas White House was being renovated and wasn't open for tours so we weren't tempted to ride the 14 mile detour just to see the grounds. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">After 43 miles we arrived in Fredericksburg in time for an early dinner at one of the few restaurants not closed for the Super Bowl. I ordered weiner schnitzel with hot potato salad and red cabbage. Given the strong German culture of this area it seemed like the thing to do. My meal was delicious. I only wished that the serving of potato salad was larger.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We camped at the </span><span style="font-size: large;">Lady Bird Johnson County Park just outside of town. Unlike the previous night, the campground had plenty of room. While Rob is not as keen on camping - he prefers a comfortable bed - I was happy to be outside again, appreciating the expansive views. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">On <b>Monday, February 3</b>, i</span><span style="font-size: large;">t was warm and lovely when we woke up. We had breakfast while watching the sunrise, packed up, and went for a short walk on a nature trail. The ride back to town, grocery shopping, and a brief stop at a bike shop brought us to 11:30 and lunch at a German restaurant. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv0_C5ct7ZG_efMozBZGgWeHEBy75urk7tCLFZAhggdtsnmRNdEVDjb8XYrsJ_1d9uEs4_8OX601oWwR-RoVUHAR7RjvKy6Af47IOhIB0c8Wczf1DKXw3YEsGaQcEe0Wiglz3qbnV9Nx91/s1600/IMG_3258.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv0_C5ct7ZG_efMozBZGgWeHEBy75urk7tCLFZAhggdtsnmRNdEVDjb8XYrsJ_1d9uEs4_8OX601oWwR-RoVUHAR7RjvKy6Af47IOhIB0c8Wczf1DKXw3YEsGaQcEe0Wiglz3qbnV9Nx91/s640/IMG_3258.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Fredricksburg is a charming old German town, filled with many historic buildings like this one.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Our plan was to bicycle about 20 miles to Enchanted Rock State Park where we would camp, do some hiking and explore the rock formations. The weather called for the temperature to be in the seventies, mostly cloudy, and in the fifties overnight. But after lunch t</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">he sky became overcast and the temperature plummeted and it began to</span><span style="font-size: large;"> rain. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We visited a couple art galleries. </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Oftentimes we'll pop into a local art gallery only to find it filled with amateur art of dubious quality. This was not the case in Fredericksburg. The Good Art Company featured many artists whose work sold for several thousand dollars, worth every penny.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpBDgp8pFuASZEsU_AE75zECDQxVWH2_zsPjwpguDPlj5g_41LcUCgSJ5ORzQLu9B98H87RTrVblSp_6Fdl8LE1LXYV4dx6KBmXA7fN7m49-Scugf0BHKTHRlymxDFWlugrQMiK3_HNxft/s1600/IMG_3252.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpBDgp8pFuASZEsU_AE75zECDQxVWH2_zsPjwpguDPlj5g_41LcUCgSJ5ORzQLu9B98H87RTrVblSp_6Fdl8LE1LXYV4dx6KBmXA7fN7m49-Scugf0BHKTHRlymxDFWlugrQMiK3_HNxft/s640/IMG_3252.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Lee Alban</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Dreams Are Wiser Than Men"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">(The photo that looks like it's taped to the painting is really part of the painting.)</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPdw2c2UkJeIDPhN-YnMJ9Xz5SMnjWx3uagnXaK1gPKwvopPlET3r_sTxKo2vG4RbR3i6kwzgKccsME-I0BhPvl5C6si6qlEqrqiHbBEkzlX39U7vcY85UxI03818nK0pAQy9HoUvPHUd2/s1600/IMG_3256.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPdw2c2UkJeIDPhN-YnMJ9Xz5SMnjWx3uagnXaK1gPKwvopPlET3r_sTxKo2vG4RbR3i6kwzgKccsME-I0BhPvl5C6si6qlEqrqiHbBEkzlX39U7vcY85UxI03818nK0pAQy9HoUvPHUd2/s640/IMG_3256.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Anne-Marie Kornachuk<br />"Cocoon"</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">By two o'clock the weather wasn't looking too promising, with a cold wind and dark sky. Bicycling and camping had lost their appeal. But we had another option. We had previously contacted John through Warm Showers, requesting to stay with him Sunday night. He replied that, while he was unavailable Sunday, we could stay Monday. I gave him a call and he said the offer was still good. We scrapped plans to bike anywhere and spent the rest of the afternoon exploring more art galleries and spending some time in the library. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuAHudxCj3mtwo2GpGEru9boiLfpAC5OSQ5gT_Itoz2JmILFHLXOXpNwmJ8XRLtqLkxSo2AxtUFlvVyVLTypFi_fV6luYldXfXukvC-kXwirkK9hD3ixNOaPECqb6Bs2HkDFTvUcCkQ30L/s1600/P2032937.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="968" data-original-width="1600" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuAHudxCj3mtwo2GpGEru9boiLfpAC5OSQ5gT_Itoz2JmILFHLXOXpNwmJ8XRLtqLkxSo2AxtUFlvVyVLTypFi_fV6luYldXfXukvC-kXwirkK9hD3ixNOaPECqb6Bs2HkDFTvUcCkQ30L/s640/P2032937.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I continue to be impressed with the quality, not to mention the architecture, of the many local libraries we've visited.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMbqiHod_zH7sX-ce713GXmhKj6dgo0ZQj396QPo_gTY5TdHKMY3Yu3DLhzuUk9QPhg38E9jisFHTozB3jdiSxEh67xdQHL4XCHnD8XGaqY5nKW8lyxKeL92CIywNPloChws8CP9yDXoWu/s1600/P2032938.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMbqiHod_zH7sX-ce713GXmhKj6dgo0ZQj396QPo_gTY5TdHKMY3Yu3DLhzuUk9QPhg38E9jisFHTozB3jdiSxEh67xdQHL4XCHnD8XGaqY5nKW8lyxKeL92CIywNPloChws8CP9yDXoWu/s640/P2032938.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">As disappointed as I was that we had to give Enchanted Rock State Park a miss, it was worth it to be able to spend time with John and Brenda, two generous and engaging people. They also have a sense of humor. Dallas people themselves, they have a sign that says, "Life is too short to live in Dallas."</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">John showed us his photograph collection which includes some of his own beautiful prints. He and Brenda have gone on many bike tours in addition to leading quite a few so of course we talked about bicycling. And we talked about the challenges brought on by old age health problems such where to live when the lack of oxygen at higher elevations becomes a problem.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">On <b>Tuesday, February 4</b>, my brother's birthday, i</span><span style="font-size: large;">t seemed appropriate that I thought about him while riding my bike.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> Frank</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> would have been 67. He was my first bicycling partner. When we were living in West Virginia we'd set out on our bikes - three-speed English racers - for an all-day exploration of the county's back roads, climbing one hill after another. He was in high school and I was in junior high. We both hated living in West Virginia but we enjoyed our bike rides together.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggqeeqN0kSocOcJKWf97D9HmhltTk7OCK0M-YoPlvSIJGxDzQ5UVpaFslDa6WxoWJcX-MDgMS7fFFFJlEn0ax9aTlWunuC-PF42s1hAYKOL-3zWi40UVIBG4GEvNA3LGRrpOzQBdbt5GCu/s1600/P2042940.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggqeeqN0kSocOcJKWf97D9HmhltTk7OCK0M-YoPlvSIJGxDzQ5UVpaFslDa6WxoWJcX-MDgMS7fFFFJlEn0ax9aTlWunuC-PF42s1hAYKOL-3zWi40UVIBG4GEvNA3LGRrpOzQBdbt5GCu/s640/P2042940.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We had more hills and some wind on Tuesday. The scenery was a little more interesting, with some rocky outcrops. I passed two very large dead javelinas by the side of the road and one freshly killed skunk. There were more carcasses, too many to count. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We also saw lots of white-tailed deer bounding across the road. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We were on quiet country roads all day. It was really quite pleasant except there was no place to stop. We ate lunch sitting by the side of the road.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHkqy6Vn8ArfP7K-lb8KugVeKYj4dDwn6JpQqTFASV1hdyp1n0UnKuqQVvOUuim1-_X7kY4R-VNkLSE3jmpq-P5AIVDsuHkXn6kF5gwMSX7V3I4ZE-WIzIFrsZRLp6-BD02PUOnxDtML5s/s1600/P2042942.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHkqy6Vn8ArfP7K-lb8KugVeKYj4dDwn6JpQqTFASV1hdyp1n0UnKuqQVvOUuim1-_X7kY4R-VNkLSE3jmpq-P5AIVDsuHkXn6kF5gwMSX7V3I4ZE-WIzIFrsZRLp6-BD02PUOnxDtML5s/s640/P2042942.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We'd ridden over countless cattle crossings in the past couple days. The signs say "Loose Livestock," and there they were, a line of cattle strolling along both sides of the road toward us. But we spooked them and, as Rob rode ahead of me, I watched one turn and run alongside Rob and then cross the road in front of him. A couple others also started crossing the road in front of us, then got confused and went back to where they'd started. We rode slowly while they made up their minds on where they wanted to go. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The thing that's really unnerving about all this barbed wire is that even the driveways and private roads have gates across them. Which is terrific when there's a dog ready to charge, but not so good when you wonder what you would do if you needed help. </span><span style="font-size: large;">What if we had a medical emergency and no cell phone service? Or if</span><span style="font-size: large;"> we ran out of water? In other parts of the country, we've knocked on people's doors and asked for some. Not here. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We arrived in Llano around 2:30 after riding 48 miles. Sadly, it was too cold to camp so we checked into the Lone Star Inn, appropriately named. We showered, had tea and a snack in our room, and then walked around the town. There wasn't much. Lots of thrift shops and an ammo store that sold signs supporting Trump and anti-liberal T-shirts. We checked out </span><span style="font-size: large;">a coffee shop that hosted bible studies and music and had a prayer jar. It felt too much like church so we didn't stay.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO0q8hzPSfKxsxHu9LBePjru8Loqcu7B1KQnpg1rT62MRwwGD9GL3bcDJItb8SDsp1-4X1thHoBdR-Ig1rceK5Xe70GCF1_nrSwFQ51Vm7OaQy7-PE3JjbP3uRyhuTShGn835nd2j_VrzP/s1600/P2042944.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO0q8hzPSfKxsxHu9LBePjru8Loqcu7B1KQnpg1rT62MRwwGD9GL3bcDJItb8SDsp1-4X1thHoBdR-Ig1rceK5Xe70GCF1_nrSwFQ51Vm7OaQy7-PE3JjbP3uRyhuTShGn835nd2j_VrzP/s640/P2042944.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We passed this sculpture in a small park in downtown Llano.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>Wednesday, February 5</b>, was cold, cold enough to stay bundled up all day - hat, neck buff, long-sleeved shirt, riding shirt, fleece sweater, windbreaker, mittens, tights, wool socks, shoe covers. Not a single layer came off, the first time that has happened this entire trip. I did okay, but Rob complained. Fortunately we passed a couple convenience stores that had seating inside where we could warm up and eat a snack.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKNT88ijtmWcHAxdm0Q8pAoCuh9W99iKFODNL9AIhwnCvA8mtoXP6a__P_PA92uP6s_BVO23E-Fvv7VDMrV6aVtYN4SbwvZKBCchJWqWiWVzQZrZlra5v3yCBNS0HNMQyOCvw4jbHOxnQR/s1600/P2052947.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKNT88ijtmWcHAxdm0Q8pAoCuh9W99iKFODNL9AIhwnCvA8mtoXP6a__P_PA92uP6s_BVO23E-Fvv7VDMrV6aVtYN4SbwvZKBCchJWqWiWVzQZrZlra5v3yCBNS0HNMQyOCvw4jbHOxnQR/s640/P2052947.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">When we stopped here we didn't realize we were entering a historical landmark. The Bluffton Store was established in 1848, but not at its current location. Its original site is presently at the bottom of Buchanan Lake, created when the Colorado River was dammed in 1938.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidb2DoycOUzXCF7HHV-QNAJa7DyZEA6OJnezzhyH-XQtcMcPbWgdHX0Rvz_NdnzDPaTo4xPAFppeg5rrQYGsprfFAaGsU8hyphenhyphenw8IRhYetPyd1n9Aomst7bZdfQBUrQ-Wu-2BJ_srfBs6gzy/s1600/P2052946.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidb2DoycOUzXCF7HHV-QNAJa7DyZEA6OJnezzhyH-XQtcMcPbWgdHX0Rvz_NdnzDPaTo4xPAFppeg5rrQYGsprfFAaGsU8hyphenhyphenw8IRhYetPyd1n9Aomst7bZdfQBUrQ-Wu-2BJ_srfBs6gzy/s640/P2052946.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We had a lovely conversation with this woman who worked at the Bluffton Store. She entertained us with her story of how her husband tricked her into settling here. She reluctantly agreed to look at a house that he wanted to buy on Buchanan Lake, not knowing that he had already put money down on it. She's had not a single regret about living where this little store is the closest thing to civilization for many miles.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWPwjbckyHJo9PUgOiGSodhNp-6zYqo1SQ4rmKg0zxcW-JDtZpOnX2VEQhcBZQUROl1nMu0oHuxDvkKw_7IlWCDCSiJt3D07xniizsMPAcPTmmUVwQRB6qiZPWJMhuy91cnk5LGXY_UAb-/s1600/P2052948.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWPwjbckyHJo9PUgOiGSodhNp-6zYqo1SQ4rmKg0zxcW-JDtZpOnX2VEQhcBZQUROl1nMu0oHuxDvkKw_7IlWCDCSiJt3D07xniizsMPAcPTmmUVwQRB6qiZPWJMhuy91cnk5LGXY_UAb-/s640/P2052948.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Occasional rock formations added some interest to the scenery.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgx8QXSR657RYTyD4cGOSqjv_6WJLxttJoNDo6S7i6LgURuTBL-xSgWCKpKqgrY3BbQcaeEtQorhj1OsgICc12ETGpKzBZMBqL3bmtgQfiMtQZceauGo3WuEcqDD6nJSmE1AVPwHCFB8B8/s1600/P2052949.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgx8QXSR657RYTyD4cGOSqjv_6WJLxttJoNDo6S7i6LgURuTBL-xSgWCKpKqgrY3BbQcaeEtQorhj1OsgICc12ETGpKzBZMBqL3bmtgQfiMtQZceauGo3WuEcqDD6nJSmE1AVPwHCFB8B8/s640/P2052949.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtKvhF-vHNZG7pxT0K1PpJEGIdDNMq9Z4TCVXVocWSkBwnA3ikDpO524O56sKLflx1-h1unui4Ss2DwSoFv1YAh74skW7GjzdsRyr12-HgQRUgxT2A18IPLoS_8-UP49Fdr_dGsZphErYS/s1600/P2052950.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtKvhF-vHNZG7pxT0K1PpJEGIdDNMq9Z4TCVXVocWSkBwnA3ikDpO524O56sKLflx1-h1unui4Ss2DwSoFv1YAh74skW7GjzdsRyr12-HgQRUgxT2A18IPLoS_8-UP49Fdr_dGsZphErYS/s640/P2052950.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Generally the views were uninspiring but at least we weren't dealing with rough chip seal.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">After 36 miles, at 2:00 we arrived in Burnet. As cold as it was, we were done for the day. I had hopes of finding a coffee shop where we could hunker down and I could work on my blog. The downtown was charming. We've been finding many of these Texas towns set up in a similar way, with a courthouse in the middle of a town square, and four blocks of shops surrounding it. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We found a coffee shop with internet, called Unshakable Grounds. It was toasty warm inside and t</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">hey had an assortment of pastries and Jesus sayings on the walls and counter. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">This is now two days in a row that we stumbled upon "Christian" coffee shops. (I put "Christian" in quotes because, given my understanding of Christianity, I personally don't think a lot of people who call themselves Christians truly are. For example, I don't see how anyone calling themselves a Christian could vote for someone who emanates as much hate for the downtrodden as our current president does.) This is something new for me. Is it a southern thing or just in Texas, or only in Hill Country? </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtDbiMUDkSB-iwxc2vft7UBrsz0NsrR1A969YQbTfLivz8o1sxP9pU-mtnIF9Rrj8yKkAQ2sRpGCxDQHOrD28YfuhcuvgXxvTKZN_1hnrDd3WoQzcy3Iz99xlSBx8eJPmbTcJyg7aVyiHk/s1600/P2052952.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtDbiMUDkSB-iwxc2vft7UBrsz0NsrR1A969YQbTfLivz8o1sxP9pU-mtnIF9Rrj8yKkAQ2sRpGCxDQHOrD28YfuhcuvgXxvTKZN_1hnrDd3WoQzcy3Iz99xlSBx8eJPmbTcJyg7aVyiHk/s640/P2052952.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We were hungry and cold, captivated by the warm atmosphere of the place.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">They had a selection of four different soups for under four dollars which seemed like a good thing to have to warm up. I figured we'd hang out for a while. I don't think Rob cares as much but I was getting tired of hanging out in cheap motel rooms. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The soup was good. Then I thought about getting a cup of tea but started thinking that maybe I was in enemy territory. Maybe the profits were going to help advance the Trump agenda of putting conservative judges in lifetime appointments throughout the country. How could I find out? </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I walked up to the counter and said to the young woman working there, "I see you are obviously a Christian business. I'm wondering if your profits are supporting any organizations." </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">She referred me to the owner who was by the door tying up a trash bag. I said, "I like to support local businesses and I like to know what my money is supporting when I shop." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">She said, "We support the pregnancy counseling center here in town."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"Is it pro-life?" I asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Yes, it is."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I went back to our table and sat down. I told Rob, "Dang. Now I can't order any tea." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I worked on my blog for a while. Rob read a book. Then we went in search of the Comfort Inn & Suites where we'd booked a room.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">"I keep my eyes always on the Lord. With Him at my right hand I will not be shaken." I felt like I was in church, not a place where I normally choose to spend time.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>Thursday, February 6</b>, 56</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> miles slipped by rather pleasantly. We were on quiet country roads until the last ten miles as we approached Austin. We spent the night in an Econolodge about ten miles north of downtown. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">It was still pretty cold, but the sky was clear. For some reason a blue sky keeps the cold from soaking into your bones. </span><span style="font-size: large;">There was no place to stop for lunch except along the side of the road. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We finally found a coffee shop after 40 miles, a deserted place in a strip mall. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We've finished our exploration of Texas' Hill Country. I can't say that I am overly impressed. While we climbed a good many hills, we were not rewarded with expansive views from the tops. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I am trying to imagine what this looks like when it is green and filled with wildflowers; in February it is gray and barren. We enjoyed our time in Gruene and Fredericksburg and perhaps a return trip with a car to see other historic towns in the area is warranted. And to visit the state parks we bypassed because we're old farts who didn't want to camp in the cold.</span><br />
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Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-42872341511435478952020-03-16T19:01:00.000-07:002020-03-16T19:01:08.280-07:00Circling the U.S.: CORONAVIRUS UPDATE - TRIP ABORTED!!<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>I realize that many of you folks following this blog don't read the Travel Log page which is where I post up-to-date information. My posts take longer to put together, getting the pictures downloaded and organizing the stories more coherently. They tend to be a month or more behind where we really are. But with the coronavirus crisis impacting our trip, I am publishing this post in real time.</i></div>
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<b>Monday, March 16, 2020</b><br />
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We're heading home to New Hampshire, but not on our bikes as we had planned. </div>
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In the last few weeks, I've read emails and seen announcements of events cancelled in Colorado and New England. When the Winter Sports Clinic in Snowmass for disabled vets was cancelled, I thought, "What a bummer. So many people, both instructors and participants, look forward to it all year." But it didn't affect me personally. We were away from crowds, on our bikes, we had no need to worry.</div>
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Although, after following the news in the evenings on my tablet, while bicyling during the day I would run through scenarios in my head. If Rob came down with the symptoms (it was never going to be me) we'd go to an emergency room and I'd insist they admit him. If they told me to self-quarantine, what would I do? Stay in a hotel room for two weeks? I worried, but only a little. After all, most of the time we were on our bikes alone, and only came into contact with people in convenience stores, not the kind of people who had been traveling internationally, who were the ones spreading the disease.</div>
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Kylee, our daughter, called us a couple weeks ago. "Mom, have you been following the coronavirus?" I assured her I had and would continue keeping track of it. But obviously she was more concerned than we were.</div>
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Then again, we've been in Trump country for some time now, where Republicans believe that - as a campground manager told me just two days ago - "You can't believe everything you hear. The media is making the virus look worse than it is just to make Trump look bad."</div>
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That same night Kylee called again, telling me, "Mom, Boulder [Colorado] is shutting everything down. Libraries are closed. Denver schools are closed. CU is going online. People are working from home." </div>
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The schools are closed in Florida for spring break, and they will continue to remain closed for a week after. Florida universities are going to online classes after their spring breaks. But go to a restaurant, stay at a campground, you wouldn't know we are in a public health crisis. The county campground and state park campground on Saturday were both full. Saturday night we couldn't find a hotel room in a small resort community. They were all booked. The restaurant we stopped in on Sunday morning was running out of food because business had been so brisk the day before.</div>
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It was an article that Kylee sent us Saturday night after our phone conversation that finally made me realize maybe we needed to take a long hard look at ending our trip and head home.</div>
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My biggest concern? The health of my favorite traveling companion. Rob has two chronic lung diseases, pulmonary hypertension and asthma. He has heart disease. The coronavirus can lead to pneumonia and organ failure in patients with just those sorts of underlying conditions. In Italy they don't have enough of the medical equipment to save people's lives. We don't either. This is very scary.</div>
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I have said that the reason I picked this year to make this trip happen was because this is the year I am 63 years old and that was how old my mother was when she died. I wanted to thumb my nose at that family history. My mother had pneumonia. She checked into the hospital and within a few hours had heart failure. Four days later she passed away. My mother smoked cigarettes all her life. </div>
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Rob turned 63 this past January. It would be a cruel irony if pneumonia and organ failure took him away from me at the same age my mother was when I lost her.</div>
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Sunday morning, over breakfast, Rob also read the article Kylee sent. Our plan until then had been to continue down the west coast of Florida to Key West, then turn north up the east coast. "What happens if you get sick while we're down in the Keys?" I asked.</div>
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We have friends near Orlando and family on Florida's east coast just south of Georgia and in Savannah. We talked about maybe seeing if we could hole up with them for a couple weeks. Then we could continue on our way. But the uncertainty of the crisis, the worry that the southern states aren't ready for it (none are taking the drastic measures their northern counterparts are taking), and knowing that Rob's doctors in New Hampshire are aware of his medical history made us decide to try to get home as soon as possible.</div>
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I got choked up when I looked at Rob and said, "We need to go home." </div>
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We have a Southwest flight booked for Wednesday. We have 43 miles to ride tomorrow to get to the Orlando airport where we will pick up a rental van. Then on to a bike store to pick up boxes to pack up our bikes so we can fly them home with us. We'll have to buy packing tape and sanitary wipes for the plane ride. </div>
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Of all the possible scenarios of what could go wrong, we never imagined a worldwide health crisis. Wildfires, injuries, getting hit by a car, but not this. </div>
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Neither one of us wants this amazing journey to end this way. But we know we're making the right choice. </div>
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We just hope we haven't waited too long.</div>
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<i>I will continue to keep the Travel Log page updated for news on our return home. Then I will continue to publish posts on the remainder of our journey including the rest of Texas, Louisiana, our brief jaunts through Mississippi and Alabama, and Florida.</i></div>
Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-72661172024504834972020-03-12T16:48:00.000-07:002020-04-11T17:26:18.118-07:00Circling the U.S. Chapter 70: San Antonio<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Friday, January 24 - Wednesday, January 29, 2020</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Our stay in San Antonio, like so many of our respites from the road, was a mixture of maintenance, relaxation, and sightseeing. But this go-around we included family time, as our daughter and son and their significant others flew out from Colorado to join us for a few days.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We spent several hours Friday at a bike shop getting new brakes for me and new tires for Rob. Saturday morning I replaced our chains and then we sought out a pastry shop to relax and blog. Our kids arrived Saturday afternoon with their significant others and we had two days to visit and explore the city. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The weekend coincided with Rob's birthday, on <b>Sunday, January 26</b>. Tim gave him a new cycling hat to replace the one that flew out of his handlebar pack several weeks before.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Sunday morning we took a bus to Mission San Jose. There are four missions south of San Antonio, but we all decided that one was enough so after wandering around for a while we caught the bus back to the city. The people in the photo are Aimee and Tim (son and daughter-in-law), me, Rob, Matt (Kylee's boyfriend) and Kylee (our daughter).</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD3fgZW4g1NLhxdoe-S3_5niIAj3UROD4Hk9csKx8x9DAajPHLX9cvm8iaoQtF2l1tXDiVrdNcCKK-Xg0zYSAMGFW-te0cYpQb8W5wk2d_TVB3zwCvXzT4Z4W-rpvBFNefPG6Oh4OtZUUt/s1600/IMG-3332.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD3fgZW4g1NLhxdoe-S3_5niIAj3UROD4Hk9csKx8x9DAajPHLX9cvm8iaoQtF2l1tXDiVrdNcCKK-Xg0zYSAMGFW-te0cYpQb8W5wk2d_TVB3zwCvXzT4Z4W-rpvBFNefPG6Oh4OtZUUt/s640/IMG-3332.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We thought it might be fun to check out the historic Mexican market where Aimee hoped to buy a Mexican blanket and Tim wanted to get some Mexican street food. Unfortunately the crowds overwhelmed us, but inside one of the buildings we enjoyed a Mexican dance demonstration.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDFG5gm1Np1UUD_5LCjCq9EYNb-oHnEVAdNOwXebpJNeYwsJ5uQIGjAbgRpBiXYBadeh9j9EgRhwswSyhqaHABPip8sHvw_olEmDjZPZoHMxZrL7iSPp1el_GmiKL5aybm57yrJAnrr17C/s1600/20200306_132943.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="782" data-original-width="1600" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDFG5gm1Np1UUD_5LCjCq9EYNb-oHnEVAdNOwXebpJNeYwsJ5uQIGjAbgRpBiXYBadeh9j9EgRhwswSyhqaHABPip8sHvw_olEmDjZPZoHMxZrL7iSPp1el_GmiKL5aybm57yrJAnrr17C/s640/20200306_132943.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">After walking around the city, we decided it was time to relax outside on the River Walk with a beer and appetizer at Mokara Ostra. Our kids took a break from being vegan to try shrimp nachos which we all agreed was delicious.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We especially enjoyed strolling along the River Walk north of downtown where crowds were scarce. On <b>Monday, January 27</b>, after visiting the Alamo, we took a long walk to the Pearl Brewery area. It was a gorgeous day, perfect for being outside and soaking up the sun.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">These turtles thought so, too.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The bridges along the River Walk all had art installations underneath. That's Rob, Kylee, and Matt walking.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibX_aq04h7_hl3IfYlxwWx1bWaRxZUkXObgT7U5rnpLUdMDGP1hFet7VujilrLLYJqF1nVdZxArOu4fqjpuOi6bRa0qAzMDDTRlCWL8hV_32a63SxkCTFZmZfNBb0IQCEc28Wct3ESRQnJ/s1600/IMG-3341.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibX_aq04h7_hl3IfYlxwWx1bWaRxZUkXObgT7U5rnpLUdMDGP1hFet7VujilrLLYJqF1nVdZxArOu4fqjpuOi6bRa0qAzMDDTRlCWL8hV_32a63SxkCTFZmZfNBb0IQCEc28Wct3ESRQnJ/s640/IMG-3341.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I took this photo of the River Walk as we were leaving the downtown area Tuesday morning. Later in the day, especially weekend evenings, it would be crowded with tourists.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCtV5wtCpPx79mHEUL5ywLMBI_LK6R6jJ0OREQTpRBdpw2L-f0lD2ohjKjWeTTooHSWZG2B8__k3Drb0umDH0-VkPua40LUNgHA6zFC_B9XuA3Xz4HGY-yTkz0_nxINZszpTbebmmDm76q/s1600/IMG-3345.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCtV5wtCpPx79mHEUL5ywLMBI_LK6R6jJ0OREQTpRBdpw2L-f0lD2ohjKjWeTTooHSWZG2B8__k3Drb0umDH0-VkPua40LUNgHA6zFC_B9XuA3Xz4HGY-yTkz0_nxINZszpTbebmmDm76q/s640/IMG-3345.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">San Antonio has three art museums but the only one that sparked my interest was the McNay Art Museum, located several miles north of downtown. It's closed Mondays and Tuesdays so we stopped on our way out of town on <b>Wednesday, January 29</b>. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7S9EzQ2qsyW31lyL9PRxRwXwbZ62w8JAQRtw4Dy7EXSr1EeLv2ztuynKekDk32pOWfl1p8pObNrX_SbCI3qll6y3hf4Gcd_i5pHjAZYaPaTU3c9md_G0zXqn_HPi02E2Gcduzr_qFznCn/s1600/IMG-3343.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7S9EzQ2qsyW31lyL9PRxRwXwbZ62w8JAQRtw4Dy7EXSr1EeLv2ztuynKekDk32pOWfl1p8pObNrX_SbCI3qll6y3hf4Gcd_i5pHjAZYaPaTU3c9md_G0zXqn_HPi02E2Gcduzr_qFznCn/s640/IMG-3343.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We spent two and a half very pleasant hours admiring the sculptures outside and the variety of paintings inside the beautiful mansion that was once the home of Marion McNay. We saw a couple stunning Georgia O'Keefes and several Monets, among other well-known and lesser-known artists.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Whenever we travel I am constantly asking myself, "Is this a place I want to return to?" If the answer is no then I push to see as much as possible so we'll leave without feeling we've missed something. If the answer is yes, then we take our time, knowing that we're just scratching the surface. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I picture myself taking a jar containing a variety of candies off a shelf, opening it, and sampling what's inside. If I'm not impressed after a few tastes, I'll put the lid back on, and return the jar to its place on the shelf. But if everything I taste is delicious, I'll pack the jar in our shopping bag to take home, knowing that I'll make plans to open it and savor what's inside again in a few years.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">San Antonio definitely warrants another visit for the foodie that I am. We found three restaurants that impressed us so much that we visited them twice. We ate lunch on Friday at the </span><span style="font-size: large;">Green Vegetarian Cuisine in the Pearl Brewery district on Friday while our bikes were being worked on and again on Monday with our kids. We sat outside on the River Walk Friday night enjoying authentic Mexican food at Casa Rio and dined there again on Saturday night after the kids arrived. Then there was the pastry shop Rob and I discovered on Saturday, La Panaderia. We had to take our kids there as well. Sunday, Rob's birthday, Kylee, Matt, Tim, and Aimee treated us to dinner at a higher end Mexican restaurant, La Fonda on Main. Tim gets credit for doing the research and picking such a fantastic place with its beautiful patio and incredible food.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I picture myself returning to San Antonio for a relaxing few days in the winter or spring to soak up the sun and eat good food. And I would definitely consider staying at the Hotel Gibbs again, across from the Alamo, where they served breakfast tacos in the morning. I'm definitely taking the San Antonio jar home with me to open again.</span><br />
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Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-52360279876851751232020-03-05T08:10:00.001-08:002020-03-05T08:10:44.277-08:00Circling the U.S. Chapter 69: West Texas - Penance Complete<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Saturday, January 18 - Thursday, January 23, 2020</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We rode 88 miles from Sanderson to Comstock on Saturday, passing two empty towns along the way. Dryden used to have a convenience store. Now it's deserted and there is nothing else to show it is even a town. Langtry used to have a convenience store and campground. Both are closed. The historic part of Langtry is just off the highway and there is still a visitor center and the Judge Roy Bean Museum supposedly open. I was looking forward to visiting the museum, but we didn't make the detour. We were too pressed for time, especially when Rob had another flat tire. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">With no towns and everything fenced off, I looked forward to these signs. Picnic areas provided our only comfortable breaks from riding.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW4Oxe6MwPmvzhr8VIJILO5DnyqbuUl_qEJxRNPtUKKN42jmS94kaK-j_J_H8Q0YdjG0XGl1Cqa_Zf1S9GHSyPn0uQg7VrPBJ8cZnsrqOmsG7Bl5WDjComO09REqGR-KSuFcAveT668gYf/s1600/IMG-3247.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW4Oxe6MwPmvzhr8VIJILO5DnyqbuUl_qEJxRNPtUKKN42jmS94kaK-j_J_H8Q0YdjG0XGl1Cqa_Zf1S9GHSyPn0uQg7VrPBJ8cZnsrqOmsG7Bl5WDjComO09REqGR-KSuFcAveT668gYf/s640/IMG-3247.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Most of the great scenery was behind us, but we still had a few good views.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We crossed the Pecos River, really our first big water in a while.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We arrived in Comstock after the sun set, around 6:30. The town has one motel, a bar & grill, and a convenience store. After the Fort Hancock Motel I wasn't expecting much, but the Comstock Motel was a pleasant surprise, clean and modern with a coffee maker, fridge and microwave. We couldn't handle a motel room dinner with our present dinner selection so we went across the street to the bar and grill and had burgers, fries, a salad, and cheap beer. Evidently nobody ever asks for a burger cooked medium rare so I got mine the same as Rob. I was too tired and hungry to care.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;">This stretch of highway was my biggest worry as we looked ahead to crossing west Texas and we nailed it! Sadly,</span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"> the best part of west Texas was in our rear-view mirrors. What came next was trash littering the side of the road, strong headwinds, rough chip seal, barren scrub, and animal carcasses in all possible stages of decomposition.</span></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">After our long day we were happy to take it easy on <b> Sunday, January 19</b>, and ride only 29 miles to Del Rio, a town big enough to host a real grocery store. </span></span><span style="font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The miles went by quickly enough - no headwind and no big hills - but they were not fun. Rough chip seal made the shoulders almost unrideable. I'd sneak over to the left of the white line where the road was smoother, always listening for the traffic that was going 75 miles an hour. When I heard something coming I'd get back into the shoulder. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Crossing into a new county the road conditions changed and I could ride the shoulder for a while. Then another county line and it was rough again. Rob got "smoked" twice by pickup trucks hauling ATVs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">On the outskirts of Del Rio we found a Motel 6 Studio for $46, tax included, with a kitchen and living room. How could we pass that up? Rob was happy as a clam at high tide, being able to watch both NFL playoff games. We walked to a Walmart Supercenter and picked up a rotisserie chicken, just about our favorite on-the-road dinner.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">On <b>Monday, January 20</b>, we were aiming for Uvelde, 75 miles east on Route 90. It didn't happen. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">What did happen was 15 miles of happy riding out of Del Rio on a beautiful smooth shoulder. Then came rough chip seal. The main traffic lane wasn't bad, but now there were too many cars and pickup trucks racing along at 75 mph to dance back and forth across the white line. So we persevered in the shoulder, hating it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Then came the headwind, which slowed us down to eight miles per hour. When we arrived in Bracketville before noon we had to make a decision. Once we continued on, the next lodging wouldn't be until Uvalde, another 40 miles away. Could we ride that in six hours with a headwind? Rob said no and I agreed. I suggested we try to hitch a ride to Uvalde but Rob said, no, "I want to get back into the Every F-ing Mile Club." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The motel listed on our Adventure Cycling map was part of the historic Fort Clark. The rest of the fort appeared to be a gated community, with a golf course, swimming pond, and museum.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">After lunch and naps we took a long walk. From the motel we walked downhill and across the highway into the town proper where we saw</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> numerous historic buildings and ruins. Many of the homes appeared to be abandoned or were surrounded by trash, likely several generations worth.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">It was a good thing we had enough food for dinner because there were no eating establishments open and only a convenience store. The owner of Ziggy's, a barbecue place, closes as soon as he sells out and he obviously had sold out by mid-afternoon. Other proprietors are open when they feel like it.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> We saw a lot of cars driving around the old fort who we assumed were residents. I wondered why there weren't more businesses to support them. And what work did these people do anyway living in the middle of nowhere? </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHBaBN12nptKps433CJ0tnFABhFF4MiKlPG_8CBJo2h45AYJFk8M-OIjmd6kWCGy1j29a2ty1dbTYvck1G9z2Ws2UaPZchdBvn9O51C3br8th9yuWpxjYZP4ln4S8CCgfSj2K_OQm5WGqc/s1600/IMG_20200120_162855991_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHBaBN12nptKps433CJ0tnFABhFF4MiKlPG_8CBJo2h45AYJFk8M-OIjmd6kWCGy1j29a2ty1dbTYvck1G9z2Ws2UaPZchdBvn9O51C3br8th9yuWpxjYZP4ln4S8CCgfSj2K_OQm5WGqc/s640/IMG_20200120_162855991_HDR.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We spent $53 to sleep in a room in the old barracks of Fort Clark. We figured it was a pretty good deal to get a break from riding in the headwind.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">There was a sign across from our room warning people that if they park there they might get hit by a golf ball.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #0c343d; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large; white-space: normal;">I woke up on the morning of <b>Tuesday, January 21,</b> in a bad mood. I dreaded the day's ride on Texas-style chip seal with a strong headwind. I was tired of riding through towns with no coffee shops, riding 30 and 40 miles at a stretch with no place to stop and take a break, not even a place to pee, staying in towns where there were so many buildings in ruins, homes surrounded by rusted out car and truck parts, old bicycles, and other assorted trash.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #0c343d; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large; white-space: normal;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #0c343d; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large; white-space: normal;">But Rob's good mood and a hot shower got me on my bike and a smooth road improved my mood. Even a headwind didn't slow us down. Then, after 19 miles, the chip seal returned and the headwind got stronger. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large;">The mountains and mesas had all disappeared and we were left with barren scrub with trees devoid of leaves, and lots of trash, mostly paper and plastic bottles and cans. I didn't stop to take a picture of the desk chair randomly sitting on the side of the road, an old tire, and a construction hard hat.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Thankfully the last five miles the road smoothed out again as we came to the outskirts of Uvalde, a small city of over 15,000 people. With the next town 42 miles away, we were done riding for the day.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYDfv820XzsjY9xTqVpRGdqUqA0UzrHF96YXtg7iXt8D3_AZe1vSltTVV-z81zU5sJwBRPvhqX0fbRagvOrT2lQvlSxFdH8F_aYC1xALMZcq_xgzYm8zorB0-ZEsjxl1xkfyHOkldKO3VK/s1600/IMG-3296.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYDfv820XzsjY9xTqVpRGdqUqA0UzrHF96YXtg7iXt8D3_AZe1vSltTVV-z81zU5sJwBRPvhqX0fbRagvOrT2lQvlSxFdH8F_aYC1xALMZcq_xgzYm8zorB0-ZEsjxl1xkfyHOkldKO3VK/s640/IMG-3296.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Before arriving in Uvalde Rob saw a billboard advertising Billy Bob's Hamburgers and that was all he talked about. But his love for me won out when we arrived at the town square and he pointed out a sign for a Tea Room. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">When I walked inside I couldn't have been happier. It It was filled with an assortment of old tables and all sorts of useful antiques.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">On the blackboard they listed pablano soup as the soup of the day. "What is pablano soup?" I asked, and the owner, a short, plump woman, got a couple samples for us, explaining that a pablano pepper is what is used for chili rellenos. I said, "I've always liked chili rellenos but the last time I ordered it, it was too hot." She said that the heat is determined by the temperature when it is growing. The hotter the temperature, the hotter the pepper.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLxDrAWRIeLgQU3Ze75LgtEPA3Z_eP-iJ57n4t4Xyxxq3hQMf_R2s2zULdA_Jdd_QWNOcosa4F6SPNZcMFDtOxkV5Edwp_oTp7kyPNWsdyInlMV7MxEScJ1L1XVfzGRlObLuh7YV1NljoS/s1600/IMG-3287.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLxDrAWRIeLgQU3Ze75LgtEPA3Z_eP-iJ57n4t4Xyxxq3hQMf_R2s2zULdA_Jdd_QWNOcosa4F6SPNZcMFDtOxkV5Edwp_oTp7kyPNWsdyInlMV7MxEScJ1L1XVfzGRlObLuh7YV1NljoS/s640/IMG-3287.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Rob and I both ordered a bowl of the pablano soup and shared a cobb salad. Then we had a piece of chocolate cake, which we didn't share, and tea.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> Everything was delicious.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm3nqu5MgBiNsySZRf65rrZaNPVtcq7xWoR29UCC0lxHeVJCslwE_rpZC5STEeqf6z0lIyWuQYxIGyThUMpVrDclpDAR0l_Shhd_yXxKzFRwc8EQColdy1XPl-KKbLUECwRiSstKsLeerf/s1600/IMG-3291.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm3nqu5MgBiNsySZRf65rrZaNPVtcq7xWoR29UCC0lxHeVJCslwE_rpZC5STEeqf6z0lIyWuQYxIGyThUMpVrDclpDAR0l_Shhd_yXxKzFRwc8EQColdy1XPl-KKbLUECwRiSstKsLeerf/s640/IMG-3291.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The owner mixes her own teas. I had a black tea and Rob chose a green one. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The owner was delightful. I told her several times how thrilled we were to find her place as we'd ridden a very long way without a decent coffee or tea shop. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">When I mentioned that we'd stayed at Fort Clark she said, "I've been wanting to open a shop there."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I asked, "What do people who live there do for a living?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"There's a thriving community of military and border patrol personnel and some retirees."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"We saw a lot of abandoned homes."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"Some vacation home owners just stop coming."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I said, "It's discouraging to see so many deserted buildings all around the United States.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">" </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">She said, "In a previous job I worked for the tax assessor. I was surprised to find homes that looked abandoned that still had people living in them, albeit some of them squatters." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We talked about how people just let trash pile up outside their homes. She said, "Where I live, when the fire ban is lifted people will dig a ditch and they just dump their trash in and burn it."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">So much for clean air.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNnpiPLj1jtIhyphenhyphenrBEsd10g9_jRo_EgQmz1CxMmtOfR2v39Xtapbkc_96QeIfBaq3mKP6kbUhQTiRdezbzo0j8ge61eiHz9soFCuZd02cNQJvEg-lXORVjHVN8FSd5N5a4Mcg0iyPwuIc9S/s640/IMG-3292.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Before leaving the tea shop Rob insisted on posing for a picture with a cowboy hat. This was Texas after all.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">With rain in the forecast for <b>Wednesday, January 22</b>, mostly in the morning, we decided to sleep in and get a later start. We were on the road at 10:40, under a light drizzle, and I quickly discovered that wet roads make riding on chip seal just a little smoother. That and no wind made the riding more bearable. However, there was still trash everywhere and more animal carcasses than I could possibly count, all in varying stages of decomposition. We’d passed many freshly killed deer in the past few days, a couple armadillo, skunks, owls, raccoons, and a cat, also freshly killed. Some animals were hit so hard their parts were scattered over several yards. Some carcasses have been there long enough that they are flatter than pancakes, becoming one with the chip seal. Rob has noticed a smell emanating from these dead animals and has said that he sure wouldn’t want to be riding these roads in warm weather when the stench would be unbearable. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We just hoped that we would make it through Texas without any drivers turning us into roadkill.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">There wasn't anything worth stopping to take a picture of. Dead animals are not very photogenic.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We spent the night in Hondo, a nondescript town where we stayed in a local low-budget motel.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The riding on <b>Thursday, January 23</b>, just like the rest of the week, was not stellar. But an unexpected coffee shop and historic town gave the day a glimmering shine.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We started out on chip seal on a 4-lane highway with lots of traffic speeding by. At least the shoulder was wide. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was hoping to find a local cafe or diner for a second breakfast; it had been a long stretch of riding since Rob and I had shared an omelette. I passed Billy Bob’s Burgers and a DQ and a donut shop that promised to be opening soon and a number of drive-throughs for I don’t know what. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I saw a sign for “September Square” in front of what looked like a small green, and a sign for shops, I thought, “That looks promising.” I waited for Rob and we crossed the highway and rode down one of the side streets.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWMl3ZBAsIzMU9uqGrR172wMZw_DQEhzss9WkoVeLA9GG502AYaYnY-GHGYI1IyXTHl-CPHet1lwsBa0t9Q0_BAkCnIEQug2ysQTloszLrfVBDOyCtQsbHVCVdPDGBE9G_I8Adl174Skic/s1600/IMG-3298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWMl3ZBAsIzMU9uqGrR172wMZw_DQEhzss9WkoVeLA9GG502AYaYnY-GHGYI1IyXTHl-CPHet1lwsBa0t9Q0_BAkCnIEQug2ysQTloszLrfVBDOyCtQsbHVCVdPDGBE9G_I8Adl174Skic/s640/IMG-3298.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">After a couple hundred yards we came to a little coffee shop: The Magnolia Filling Station.</span> </td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Someone outside said the hot chocolate was delicious so Rob gave that a try. I ordered earl gray tea. There was a selection of bagels and only three muffins. “What kind of muffins are those?” I asked the barista. “Pecan pie with a drizzle of caramel.” We each ordered one. They were sticky and delicious.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">While we were sitting outside enjoying our treats, Shelly, the owner, came out and said, “I want to encourage you to take some time while you are here to explore Castroville. Many of the homes and buildings are on the Texas historic register.” She told us that the town was settled in the 1800s by a group of people from Alsace, France, who came to farm, and that many of their descendents still live in the original homes. Shelly herself has only lived in the town for about five years, having grown up in Oklahoma, but she has certainly become one of the town’s strongest advocates. We were grateful she took the time to talk to us as we spent a very enjoyable couple hours cycling through the town and visiting the historic inn. Castroville’s tidiness served as an antidote to the rundown and trash-filled homes and businesses we saw in many of the other towns along our ride through West Texas.</span><br />
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMHEz7EtTnhSVsaA3dy1_hzNB1XRKLJ1sMd5OWWe5FrMfdRju1B70trzWbxWoeb9RvdL3lf_CWWtI7DJ-SqtNFtcFQSR9sfwAiv4vYfsoU1gDBCFlwG37F83Ixk4tw9G9hR3Xv8Xvf5MsP/s1600/IMG-3297.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: transparent; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMHEz7EtTnhSVsaA3dy1_hzNB1XRKLJ1sMd5OWWe5FrMfdRju1B70trzWbxWoeb9RvdL3lf_CWWtI7DJ-SqtNFtcFQSR9sfwAiv4vYfsoU1gDBCFlwG37F83Ixk4tw9G9hR3Xv8Xvf5MsP/s640/IMG-3297.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thanks to Shelly's friendliness and advice, we uncovered a unique bit of Texas history in Castroville. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The old movie theatre is now an antique emporium.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Were it not for Shelly's advice we would have ridden right past the historic Landmark Inn sitting on the main highway. Owned by the State of Texas, it is both an historic site and a bed and breakfast. The site includes a bathhouse, detached kitchen, and an old grist mill, all built in the mid-1800s.</span><br style="font-size: medium;" /></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">After enjoying a picnic lunch on the grounds of the Landmark Inn, we rode into San Antonio with the usual busy roads, traffic lights, strip malls and no fun, just something to be gotten through when you are trying to get into a city. But we did have a place to spend the night with a Warm Showers host. A</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">fter spending a couple years bicycling in Europe, Australia, and Mexico, </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nate came to Texas to help immigrants held in detention centers. Not only did he have some fascinating stories to share but he was also well-versed in Texas history and gave us an introduction on how slavery motivated the Texas Revolution and Texas' subsequent application for admission into the United States.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We made it across the vast emptiness of West Texas! Now Rob can apply to get his membership the to EFM club reinstated. Not me, I was pushing for us to hitchhike the last part. I’m glad we didn’t though. I figure that was our penance for taking the train across North Dakota, and most of Minnesota, and the boring half of Montana. </span></div>
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<br />Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-88727887546499128382020-02-13T19:28:00.000-08:002020-02-13T19:28:24.571-08:00Circling the U.S. Chapter 68: Sanderson, Texas - The Heart of the Artichoke<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">If you were to drive through Sanderson, Texas, on the main highway, Route 90, unless you needed to stop for gas or to use the bathroom, you would likely keep going. You might comment on the rundown motel and the boarded up businesses and think, this is a dead town.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Wednesday, January 15 - Friday, January 17, 2020</span></b><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">After arriving at Liz's casita on Wednesday afternoon we went across the street to introduce ourselves to her sister, Rebecca. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">She was expecting us. We sat and talked for a bit, then she went to her freezer and pulled out some leftovers that we could heat up for our dinner, lasagne and beef strogonoff.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We knew we'd probably be staying for a few days. The weather forecast called for rain and thunderstorms through Friday. Getting struck by lightning in Texas was not how either one of us wanted to die. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Staying in Sanderson wasn't a worry. We had a comfortable place to stay.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"> (Liz had told us we could stay in her Sanderson casita as long as we needed.) </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We had enough food (not a trivial consideration as Sanderson only had a convenience store and one restaurant, not open for breakfast). And we still had a couple days of cushion for getting to San Antonio in time to meet our children on January 25.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">But what would we do with ourselves during that time? What did Sanderson have to offer bicycle tourists like us? After we settled in on Wednesday afternoon we set out on a tour of the town to find out. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The little guest house on the left was our home for three nights.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We walked down the residential street where Liz's house sat. Her house and Rebecca's were both modest homes with small well-kept yards, typical of the neighboring houses. But further along, as we took a right turn and approached the main street along the highway, the neighborhood quickly degraded. Many of the houses desperately wanted a paint job and repairs. Old bicycles, wrecked cars, and trash littered the front and side yards. I thought, "Don't people care?" </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"> were struck by the number of houses that were not only abandoned but in complete ruins. They had collapsed roofs and trees and shrubs growing inside. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">These were not fixer-uppers.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The highway was lined with businesses marked by faded signs and boarded up windows. I thought, "This town was once something. There's a story here. I wonder what it is."</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Darkness was settling over the town as we approached the convenience store that also served as a gas station and truck stop. We wanted to pick up a couple beers. As we crossed the highway we were accosted by a man who looked to be about our age sitting in a golf cart on the edge of the parking lot. "Are you finding your way around okay?" he asked.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;">We walked over and struck up a conversation. I said, "There must be a story behind all the closed businesses." </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;">"I've lived here for 62 years," he said. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">He told us about two tragedies that visited the town during his residency. In 1965 a wall of water came down the canyon in the night and killed 26 people. (<a href="http://terrellmuseum.info/flood/">http://terrellmuseum.info/flood/</a>) In the 1990s two freight trains collided, killing four people, one of them his father. He said it could just as easily have been him. He</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"> worked as an engineer on the freight trains when they had a regular stop in Sanderson. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ranching and the railroad were the major drivers of the town's success. When the federal government stopped paying subsidies to the ranchers (goats and sheep), ranching went downhill. When the railroad shut down its operation in Sanderson in the 1990s and made Alpine the maintenance stop the town lost another major employer. Since then the town has struggled but it hasn't lost its sense of community. He told us, "If you need anything, ask anyone for Sarah or Jim Davis. We've got your back."</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">That made two people looking out for us in Sanderson, Texas. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Staying in a new town for several days is like peeling the layers of leaves off an artichoke. Like the first, outer leaves, our initial impression of Sanderson was bitter. Meeting friendly souls like Jim Davis and Rebecaa and learning more about the town's history gave us a sweeter taste. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We would have two more days to keep pulling away layers and get to the heart of the town.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thursday morning we slept in and I read a book I found in the casita, <u>Where the Red Fern Grows</u>. We had no internet access, the library didn't open until 2:00, and it was too cold and windy, with rain threatening, to go for a walk. W</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">e went across the street to see Rebecca and find out what else we could learn about the town.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rebecca didn't grow up in Sanderson but her family ranch is nearby so she is well-acquainted with the area. She decided to settle here in her retirement about a year ago because, she said, it's affordable and quiet and she loves the wide-open country. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Rebecca is enjoying her retirement in Sanderson, Texas.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rebecca told us that the problem with abandoned properties is that often they get tied up in trusts and it becomes difficult if not impossible to find out who the owner is and who has the legal ability to make the sale. So the property just sits. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Somewhere else someone</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"> told us that there are owners who don't want to sell because they have an emotional attachment to their property. I guess they are akin to people who let stuff accumulate around them. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">They don't want to get rid of anything because - who knows? - they might need it someday. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Maybe that's the way it is for some of these people who have junk engulfing their yards. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the afternoon we set out for the library, a ten minute walk down the street, so cold and cloudy I expected to see snow flurries scattered by the harsh wind. The library, in a modest building, is open five days a week, from 2 to 6 p.m. It had four computers, two of them occupied. Rob and I were able to use the other two for four hours while locals came in and out, visiting with the librarian. It was a pleasant way to spend an afternoon.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then Rebecca picked us up and we went to dinner at the Ranch House, the only restaurant in town, where they don't have a liquor license and the waitress packs a gun. I ordered the fried catfish with a side salad, Mexican rice, and Texas toast. The fish was tender and moist, the toast thick and buttery. It was all delicious, especially the homemade tartar sauce. I was curious about how the mesquite beef brisket would taste. Rob wouldn't order it but Rebecca did and shared with us. It had a pleasant smokey flavor, if a bit dry. Rob had pork chops. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Later I asked Rob why he didn't want to order the catfish. He said, "I</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"> can't stomach eating such an ugly fish." </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">I said, "It is ugly, But at least it wasn't served with the face attached." </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We'd hoped to get back on the road on Friday, but we woke up to rain so we stayed in bed and slept for another couple hours. By then the rain had stopped and the sun was out, but it was too late for us to leave for the 88 mile ride to Comstock. Instead we went for a walk, starting with the streets up the hill, away from the highway.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Set up against the foothills we found the high school football field and track. We saw hiking trails going up the mesa on the edge of town. Then we discovered the affluent part of Sanderson, modest houses that were well-cared for, and further along a town park with a playground and swimming pool. Nearby was the high school. We passed a number of small, simple Protestant churches. Walking along the highway w</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">e checked out the local hardware store. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">We visited a beautiful memorial garden dedicated to the 26 people who lost their lives in the 1965 flood. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">I looked at the list of names. "Rob, this is so sad," I said. "So many people have the same last name. Whole families died." </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Behind the memorial garden sat the old train station, alone among weeds, no longer in service.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's natural to compare a town you're visiting with the one you live in. Rob and I were both impressed that this town with obvious economic challenges had a high school track. It took Rob and a group of several other folks over twenty years to convince our relatively affluent town to build one.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJe00PvkDtd47wzrFE-HaZY2dC_kF5As-Z01n0TKPu62u2kAWuIDlJ74UYxg9lDbMWIY0uJQ1TTI4CkjZm4qxW54LYOOIFYMRExjGKA_3do2YLskQzcqTz-YS4aO8N-BOelgF0hJ65gY9F/s1600/IMG-3046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJe00PvkDtd47wzrFE-HaZY2dC_kF5As-Z01n0TKPu62u2kAWuIDlJ74UYxg9lDbMWIY0uJQ1TTI4CkjZm4qxW54LYOOIFYMRExjGKA_3do2YLskQzcqTz-YS4aO8N-BOelgF0hJ65gY9F/s640/IMG-3046.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The football field sits next to the track.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's only right that I include a picture of a modest, well-maintained home as a counter balance to the abandoned one featured above. Clearly, there are people living in Sanderson who care very much about their home and community.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">When we told Rebecca we might be needing some fuel for our stove she suggested we stop in here. All the lawn art stays outside overnight. Evidently nothing is stolen in Sanderson, Texas. Inside, we made our way past aisles crowded with more lawn and garden decorations and trinkets before coming to the heart of a hardware store, packed with just about everything a small town might need. But no fuel for our stove.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The train station's days are in the past. Amtrak stops in Sanderson, but you have to be out on the track and ready to flag it down.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We saw many of these storm drainage ditches in lieu of sidewalks. We assumed they were put in to mitigate the effects of another major flood.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Traveling by bicycle we don't just pass through towns. Rather, each town we come to is an opportunity to get off our bikes. We'll remember a town not for what might be listed in a travel guide (if the town is listed at all) but for the diner where we had a second breakfast, or the town square where we ate lunch. Or maybe it will be the bridge we crossed, or the cup of tea and delicious pastry in the local coffee shop.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">When we park our bikes people aren't shy about asking us about our adventure and we, in turn, aren't shy about asking them about their town. What do you like about living here? What makes your town work?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sometimes we've been forced to stay in a town longer than we might have chosen, forced by saddle sores, wildfires, headwinds, or rain to stay put for a couple days. We don't choose the town; it's just a random place where we happen to land. But while we're there we peel back the layers of the town, try to find the heart of the town, what makes it a place where people choose to live and work and play.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">When we returned from our walk on Friday morning Rebecca's next-door neighbor was outside. We stopped to talk. Jack bought his Sanderson house recently. Although he's of an age to retire, he still runs a business and can do it from his new home. And Rebecca told us someone just bought the house up the street that needs major repairs. He plans to fix it up. People are moving to Sanderson, Texas.</span></div>
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Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-88473775750221517552020-02-10T10:22:00.003-08:002020-02-10T10:22:59.142-08:00Circling the U.S. Chapter 67: West Texas - The First Half<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Thursday, January 9 - Wednesday, January 15, 2020</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We didn't play tourist in El Paso; we had business to take care of. Before beginning our trek across the great open expanse of West Texas we needed to make sure our bikes were in good working order. I wanted a new front tire and we thought it would be a good idea to have our chains and my brakes checked. The young mechanic was very helpful, changing my tire, checking my brakes and making adjustments to my rear gear cable at no charge. He told me I needed new front brake pads, but didn't have any in stock and I hadn't thought to bring my spare pair. But he said they'd probably last until San Antonio. I hoped so.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I also got a haircut; we did laundry and stocked up on food. What we saw of El Paso in our brief meanderings did not shout to us for a return visit.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Podium Finish Sport Boutique and Cafe</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">What a great concept - a bike shop and cafe all in one. After spending money on our bikes, we spent money on lunch. I had a salad with sushi style ahi-ahi and Rob had a chicken wrap. Both our meals had a kick which neither of us tolerates well. We're becoming cautious about what we order in these border town restaurants.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Hayley, our Warm Showers host, is a fascinating and gracious young woman. She comes from Great Britain, but met her American husband while she was living and working in Germany. Her husband is in the military, presently deployed, while Hayley is holding down the home fort in El Paso, working on a degree in nutrition. Coincidentally, she and her husband had a private wedding ceremony on Flagstaff Mountain in Boulder, Colorado, following that up with dinner at the Dushanbe Tea House, our son and his wife's favorite restaurant.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Friday, January 10</b>, we got off to a good start on our 600 mile adventure to San Antonio. With a tail wind pushing us along on flat roads we arrived in Fort Hancock after 54 miles in four hours, just ahead of a massive thunderstorm. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Bcn0PzgNr-JLxB0Vs-bDEr_yw4CTLFQpDmTmMSboKbAYWXZeWLy1KoRYmaanb4fP4jtZYTY7jxDVkGiipPX2l1K3LOS-hQOcOgA5ZgdJC2LaJUpBgf8iH-3gBEb4ALxuCj-J08b5vH1h/s1600/IMG-3200.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Bcn0PzgNr-JLxB0Vs-bDEr_yw4CTLFQpDmTmMSboKbAYWXZeWLy1KoRYmaanb4fP4jtZYTY7jxDVkGiipPX2l1K3LOS-hQOcOgA5ZgdJC2LaJUpBgf8iH-3gBEb4ALxuCj-J08b5vH1h/s640/IMG-3200.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We passed plowed cotton fields and pecan groves, nothing else of interest.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQexiXHV2Ghw73ZfK_430Usy-JdVWRjUaKT6mI2sKNT8xSKbpnjZglawAFO-KUrmjMptT45SkV-21tmRVK7Hh8u_8U5ZLTO7OHgJVz5GkIOpnf9dYFBB-diZjYNPF5qBaK2BYXNf52Yblw/s1600/20200205_214914.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="710" data-original-width="1600" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQexiXHV2Ghw73ZfK_430Usy-JdVWRjUaKT6mI2sKNT8xSKbpnjZglawAFO-KUrmjMptT45SkV-21tmRVK7Hh8u_8U5ZLTO7OHgJVz5GkIOpnf9dYFBB-diZjYNPF5qBaK2BYXNf52Yblw/s640/20200205_214914.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">When we arrived my first thought was the motel had gone out of business, except that Rob had already called ahead and confirmed that they were open. Rob said, "It's a good thing we got here when we did or we might not have gotten a room." We checked in at 1:00, showered and took naps. I slept through the storm. (Given the blue sky, I must have taken this picture as we were leaving the following morning.)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We went across the street to the small diner to see if we could get a salad to supplement our coos-coos and tuna. There were no other customers when we arrived. After consulting the menu, I asked the woman at the cash register, "What is in your side salad?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">She said, "I don't know."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I said, "Could you ask your cook?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">She said something in Spanish to the cook and said, "She doesn't know. She's never made one."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I said, "Well, would you ask her, if we order one, what would she put in it?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We decided to give the salad a try. It had lettuce, a few shreds of carrots, and several cherry tomatoes.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The sky cleared and the sunset over Fort Hancock was beautiful. When we heard about the damaging winds and tornadoes that blew through parts of Texas we felt really lucky that we hadn't been out in the storm.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Bicyclists often talk about what to do when chased by a dog. One suggestion is to let the dog get close then spray it with your water bottle. I thought about that early on <b>Saturday morning, January 11. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I didn't even see the dog</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> coming; I heard it. I looked back. It wasn't a big dog, but it still had teeth. I rode all over the road trying to get away from it, heading into the left lane. I needed both hands on my handlebars to stay upright; I didn't have a free one to grab a water bottle. My best strategy was to out ride the dog, hoping he'd lose interest. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">This was actually the second dog that had come after us. The first one went for Rob, not me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">When we'd started out just ten minutes earlier the temperature was below 30 degrees. Thanks to the dog I wasn't cold for long.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Maybe I am over reacting, but dogs really scare me. I worry about a large dog knocking me off my bike and then tearing into me. Or Rob. We have nothing handy to tackle it with, just our bare hands. In bear country Rob had a cannister of bear spray he kept in his handlebar pack, but now we don't have anything. I think we should buy a pepper spray, but I always forget when we are in a city.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We came to a choice between riding on a country road or on the interstate, which was about six miles shorter. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"Chances are we won't run into any dogs on the interstate," I said. "What do you think?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"I agree," said Rob.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho3RnWITZVg45bDt8UhG4U8ba1KMQwCCAk8UOXRZx5ca_f45wYPWHrV7dQ3Wu0I2InfKPaPVRqpjvzVyveBiOBD2PsaY0r-wDBbOP7Q-v0SVzhCElGjTwi2RUuyfMdjDeMnyukDJ4doBey/s1600/IMG-3205.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho3RnWITZVg45bDt8UhG4U8ba1KMQwCCAk8UOXRZx5ca_f45wYPWHrV7dQ3Wu0I2InfKPaPVRqpjvzVyveBiOBD2PsaY0r-wDBbOP7Q-v0SVzhCElGjTwi2RUuyfMdjDeMnyukDJ4doBey/s640/IMG-3205.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We'd made a good choice. The shoulder was smooth and fast. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We stayed on the interstate, climbing about a thousand feet, until lunch. Traffic was sparse.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEircfA9A-QDd7VpGtyzttq1RwgDdZWUUvWGBZtEjvqat2ZI9BuQOplHHqjvU7Gt6LFF_pgtMftCv-GGoDXIfKgRlhl5GQTyi_6bHgJtpnjuhjNbxP3Q2HyOhtQz7SmfFK2gYtbULnths2OY/s1600/IMG-3207.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEircfA9A-QDd7VpGtyzttq1RwgDdZWUUvWGBZtEjvqat2ZI9BuQOplHHqjvU7Gt6LFF_pgtMftCv-GGoDXIfKgRlhl5GQTyi_6bHgJtpnjuhjNbxP3Q2HyOhtQz7SmfFK2gYtbULnths2OY/s640/IMG-3207.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Then we had 24 beautiful miles on a smooth frontage road. West Texas is indeed vast and desolate. With a tail wind and mountains to break up the monotony I was having a tremendously good time. We rode 67 miles to Van Horn where we stayed at a Red Roof Inn on the outskirts of town.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>Sunday, January 12</b>, the count was four chasing dogs and one just came out to look. Rob bears the brunt of it. Three of them only went after Rob; I just heard the excitement. We figure that </span><span style="font-size: large;">when I ride by I wake them up; then when Rob gets close they're ready for the chase.</span><br />
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<b style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large; font-weight: 400;">Our route often takes us alongside railroad tracks with busy traffic. Sunday two of the engineers blew their whistle at us. Rob, a connoiseur of simple pleasures, loved it. He said it made up for the dogs. </span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjytVJPFE2DjH9hwgzpknd79ZT6ytHIt0ScQUoW3gJjXaSrT8toKTgHpeNIFFHigWQxKSyKqKEN8oaMCpz77DLRDrfe7c_fW3XasKyyH85meFZB3I9j_vMvxxIDWyZUOGnbcY5cdzcxNIZm/s1600/20200205_215043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="642" data-original-width="1600" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjytVJPFE2DjH9hwgzpknd79ZT6ytHIt0ScQUoW3gJjXaSrT8toKTgHpeNIFFHigWQxKSyKqKEN8oaMCpz77DLRDrfe7c_fW3XasKyyH85meFZB3I9j_vMvxxIDWyZUOGnbcY5cdzcxNIZm/s640/20200205_215043.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Early in the morning we passed this house with its enormous array of lawn sculptures.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheFWuLh83kdh49ISUXpdrT3zRLs3pg00Fe3qgWtbkwUDbpTpO2rqd8wtysNJytpF-vlpldh9S3eMltNYS8y9CMF976y6xt5bLNMlFW4EPN8t9Om6Cyfo8VQG38ZI61W_9_yUoBKaL0j5SL/s1600/IMG_20200112_084351678.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheFWuLh83kdh49ISUXpdrT3zRLs3pg00Fe3qgWtbkwUDbpTpO2rqd8wtysNJytpF-vlpldh9S3eMltNYS8y9CMF976y6xt5bLNMlFW4EPN8t9Om6Cyfo8VQG38ZI61W_9_yUoBKaL0j5SL/s640/IMG_20200112_084351678.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Rob took this closeup of a larger-than-life armadillo, part of the collection in the picture above. We both wanted badly to see a real one, and people told us they are often seen along the road. Unfortunately all we've been seeing are dead ones. (Every time we pass one we are both reminded of our ill-fated whale watch.)</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXOFciEnZLgSw9-XQdXOxpnVjDssTV9so34mofTeP175QvRdX1rEdIkwBNyQfzrc9uM5cDc7kPvoSNF8gjs6BvyAyXHWCUE3Nks897_ViLFNbyBbCM_i6VTqpv5hpzEqufwFiqsEDBjNn7/s1600/20200209_113813.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="707" data-original-width="909" height="496" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXOFciEnZLgSw9-XQdXOxpnVjDssTV9so34mofTeP175QvRdX1rEdIkwBNyQfzrc9uM5cDc7kPvoSNF8gjs6BvyAyXHWCUE3Nks897_ViLFNbyBbCM_i6VTqpv5hpzEqufwFiqsEDBjNn7/s640/20200209_113813.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The <a href="https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/prada-marfa">Marfa Prada art installation</a> west of Valentine was the perfect place for lunch.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1u-8iVzzjB0pUngmHeQbcGEKjZx_zN08EWU5pCryEeQb8CAab_V_kDwSOFfJPsyndhlXdbR9bg0V6rbmgyS4kGYasRD6ZgTvLk5KGP8QyFB0m6E1TUgXBiZsGlL-neMdVTQr3oioMtCVJ/s1600/IMG-3209.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1u-8iVzzjB0pUngmHeQbcGEKjZx_zN08EWU5pCryEeQb8CAab_V_kDwSOFfJPsyndhlXdbR9bg0V6rbmgyS4kGYasRD6ZgTvLk5KGP8QyFB0m6E1TUgXBiZsGlL-neMdVTQr3oioMtCVJ/s640/IMG-3209.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5fQhjTFTZ7zLEk_E97uAQzdfckwOC4rsVDac9QX6CtNxn4bPgvERMdaNHaTmoBuOlk8x8rZ3tf7nZKEHRql-szvJhd7fS1tWc-KyaWI_lJkglkNAXAQQGfjSrnIz9pD4lOMvICVP2SOZI/s1600/20200205_215207.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1134" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5fQhjTFTZ7zLEk_E97uAQzdfckwOC4rsVDac9QX6CtNxn4bPgvERMdaNHaTmoBuOlk8x8rZ3tf7nZKEHRql-szvJhd7fS1tWc-KyaWI_lJkglkNAXAQQGfjSrnIz9pD4lOMvICVP2SOZI/s640/20200205_215207.jpg" width="602" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGXauubG-rwc26wjEP8Z1IYr4znn67tnTbFBqaKajyuY1LqMBcVmExAeXck9glr4lk7HhVI0okmU4hhnQTV_6CjUvAp8EAtY0zfkukHEBZH6qDxH6vWrNTBkW9whYFbbfmVKf6tWdvspoo/s1600/IMG-3216.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGXauubG-rwc26wjEP8Z1IYr4znn67tnTbFBqaKajyuY1LqMBcVmExAeXck9glr4lk7HhVI0okmU4hhnQTV_6CjUvAp8EAtY0zfkukHEBZH6qDxH6vWrNTBkW9whYFbbfmVKf6tWdvspoo/s640/IMG-3216.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">At least five cars stopped and disgorged passengers who took pictures while we were there. Most were traveling to or from Big Bend National Park. This group of young women had just spent the weekend in Marfa. They recommended a coffee shop/bakery on the edge of town. It was closed.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Valentine's sign says pop. 217 but given the number of abandoned buildings it has to be less. Valentine has no services, just loose dogs. But it does have a post office which gets very busy on February 14. Evidently you can mail your mail there and they will stamp it for you and send it out with the Valentine, Texas, postmark.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZxQDfGV0QzCmFpv4wYvf3GSTRt_N8geSqWuMLKXigB1uC2n4EHn3FOfWUo7PNEfnAgvXTAW9DFt0rDQUDsMC855QQLsFsXR7BE7HW2X1vogmeaAR_g8HWCwTwlo3RxDVwZfr5bjF71bJT/s1600/IMG-3218.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZxQDfGV0QzCmFpv4wYvf3GSTRt_N8geSqWuMLKXigB1uC2n4EHn3FOfWUo7PNEfnAgvXTAW9DFt0rDQUDsMC855QQLsFsXR7BE7HW2X1vogmeaAR_g8HWCwTwlo3RxDVwZfr5bjF71bJT/s640/IMG-3218.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">With a tailwind and only a very gradual uphill grade, we easily covered 75 miles. We'd left I-10 for Route 90, a two-lane highway that would take us all the way to San Antonio. It started out very smooth. Then we crossed a county line and it was rough chip seal. Then we crossed another county line and the road got even worse. We'd been warned. The shoulder was so rough we couldn't even ride in it. Fortunately there was scant traffic so we were comfortable riding in the rightmost wheel track of the cars where it was reasonably smooth. (I should also note that the cyclist who warned us about the rough chip seal in Texas suggested that we double up our handlebar tape. That has helped calm my tingling and numb hands.)</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2MIHtt1fOBSgGjoUe9kNBPpYfQGQh099PxieTc3y_lZZagqjACAHI78G1XzM-rBv71G6rZn8GCEuvfmj2HC5vXaWlqp24HU9kH7MpICrclOQOxjFVoDY0ImlL16SOKAEFPoALR_wvJipL/s1600/IMG-3219.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2MIHtt1fOBSgGjoUe9kNBPpYfQGQh099PxieTc3y_lZZagqjACAHI78G1XzM-rBv71G6rZn8GCEuvfmj2HC5vXaWlqp24HU9kH7MpICrclOQOxjFVoDY0ImlL16SOKAEFPoALR_wvJipL/s640/IMG-3219.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Rob wanted me to take a picture of one of the many ranch entrances where you see nothing but emptiness stretching out forever. There's never a house to be seen. Sometimes we'd see a sign on a dirt road to a ranch 16 or 24 miles away.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqbsloIoxew4i5EN2vUjEM6V69JjlWXAQ2OzvBpkzokC1pdwU0jTtgBF4vWZH1885CFwljnqFYC-2ZnCYVOErMvA9J40TzJJWkfy37Dpm0UrLLZdHH_eMBrhCEzwfPs0jVLNGnBZZzxwa4/s1600/IMG-3220.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqbsloIoxew4i5EN2vUjEM6V69JjlWXAQ2OzvBpkzokC1pdwU0jTtgBF4vWZH1885CFwljnqFYC-2ZnCYVOErMvA9J40TzJJWkfy37Dpm0UrLLZdHH_eMBrhCEzwfPs0jVLNGnBZZzxwa4/s640/IMG-3220.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We were looking forward to spending time in Marfa, with its reputation as a funky artsy town. Too bad our timing was off.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoVHmiUZgxdiIEX0de2kYjP6m-3YK9fawI5DNTJG3AB-4NDiHfeR9N6kq1p26rz1V3aEr6F_k3cnUoYPT3nGqMuJAfzlIn2M2CynnMl5ko89Eahtnurq6N72aaAlQYJyLFtFlNEff6-c1s/s1600/IMG_20200112_182309077_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoVHmiUZgxdiIEX0de2kYjP6m-3YK9fawI5DNTJG3AB-4NDiHfeR9N6kq1p26rz1V3aEr6F_k3cnUoYPT3nGqMuJAfzlIn2M2CynnMl5ko89Eahtnurq6N72aaAlQYJyLFtFlNEff6-c1s/s640/IMG_20200112_182309077_HDR.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The tent set up and dinner cooked, we had time to relax at El Cosmico Resort in Marfa, where we could have stayed in a furnished RV, a yurt, a teepee, or a safari tent. We peaked our inside a teepee the next morning. There was a gas fireplace and sofa inside. The safari tents had electric blankets. But we chose the least luxurious option, pitching our own tent, sleeping out in the cold. What sold us on camping here was the availability of a lounge with heat and wifi that was open until late at night.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We'd heard that Marfa is a quirky, artsy town so we planned to spend some time in the morning on <b>Monday, January 13</b>, perusing art galleries and popping into a coffee shop but, alas, everything was closed. Most galleries and shops seemed to only be open on weekends. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj378dhWVn7z7Xak9MGZ_jY2F7BohyphenhyphenHVsew4Yl4xP9QmIrDRXKxiPUmerBW7DRd0w6IIugvWBtjjvzDa46ex8UDbLYKBFeUBB9Q_n5zLQf1IzYv_adSwvL_w1xIpAOMH-XDHbUw_Tp4KquC/s1600/IMG-3224.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj378dhWVn7z7Xak9MGZ_jY2F7BohyphenhyphenHVsew4Yl4xP9QmIrDRXKxiPUmerBW7DRd0w6IIugvWBtjjvzDa46ex8UDbLYKBFeUBB9Q_n5zLQf1IzYv_adSwvL_w1xIpAOMH-XDHbUw_Tp4KquC/s640/IMG-3224.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We did find an art gallery open in the Hotel Paisano, but even the restaurant had limited hours.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOjAlYr4im15cgXtKXxoUIoS5TMOw8E9O0Wx3WTthBy7_fpiyzcNqqSRSorwZMId2gE9zBYztYnIt6EZGGg0NL-3IqGLyxWlWl5-Oh-BZq5T-JTFePhsiLifmH8TMkeBHleGrc_fiOvAJO/s1600/IMG-3223.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOjAlYr4im15cgXtKXxoUIoS5TMOw8E9O0Wx3WTthBy7_fpiyzcNqqSRSorwZMId2gE9zBYztYnIt6EZGGg0NL-3IqGLyxWlWl5-Oh-BZq5T-JTFePhsiLifmH8TMkeBHleGrc_fiOvAJO/s640/IMG-3223.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Rob and I have a marriage based on many agreements. When we travel we often find a luxurious historic hotel where we would like to stay when we return to a town or city. When we come back to Marfa we've agreed that we'll try to stay in the Hotel Paisano; we'll make sure it's on a weekend night.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRALQtV2qtqG90ZKHNuydDckdAW-UN9hqAefpMxPaW5KHQSFaLOEStn9AnsyHKLC_qXBnV46oDqgJ0_XpqcAjZlPsZAW55nlolYotLFdfzvthoLL52fpQqfd_uudZ3Wg7Irt5frLTPt_FQ/s1600/IMG-3225.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRALQtV2qtqG90ZKHNuydDckdAW-UN9hqAefpMxPaW5KHQSFaLOEStn9AnsyHKLC_qXBnV46oDqgJ0_XpqcAjZlPsZAW55nlolYotLFdfzvthoLL52fpQqfd_uudZ3Wg7Irt5frLTPt_FQ/s640/IMG-3225.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">One of many art galleries in Marfa.<br />Closed on Monday.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieAudqlb29B2iMZyW2-tW42xMICOIIsyRvMTRgoKuJZdlKy5HMnD8L2q-Lv8UK5vAVaTtyoxOpFrZuBW2NkYyAXvPss1Ix3NK123QzVMbrdYaDzxPNRRsXA8nZXbSl9woa2I_fS8DLIgUS/s1600/IMG-3226.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieAudqlb29B2iMZyW2-tW42xMICOIIsyRvMTRgoKuJZdlKy5HMnD8L2q-Lv8UK5vAVaTtyoxOpFrZuBW2NkYyAXvPss1Ix3NK123QzVMbrdYaDzxPNRRsXA8nZXbSl9woa2I_fS8DLIgUS/s640/IMG-3226.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPgajlBV6EcGlKZYaDDzogboC_5rTJtp1bY1rBa16bK3496Vuq7XQ7TfWh0IR9txrLYy99u24rWpzQkx-HiHjebayts6JKIOVwJgx50sbeD4C6fULTYmjif4wFlwxejMx4Oi9RLQ8dFVZQ/s1600/1580962028683_IMG_20200113_154121343.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPgajlBV6EcGlKZYaDDzogboC_5rTJtp1bY1rBa16bK3496Vuq7XQ7TfWh0IR9txrLYy99u24rWpzQkx-HiHjebayts6JKIOVwJgx50sbeD4C6fULTYmjif4wFlwxejMx4Oi9RLQ8dFVZQ/s640/1580962028683_IMG_20200113_154121343.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We only had 25 miles to get to Alpine where we had a Warm Showers place to stay. We saw some interesting rock formations along the way, and a long downhill into Alpine. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Liz, our Warm Showers host, invited us to join her and Shane, her colleague and friend, for dinner. Both are native Texans. Liz grew up in west Texas and Shane is from Houston. They both love the small city feel of Alpine and the wide openness of west Texas. They are also both criminal defense lawyers who spend a lot of time trying to help immigrants. When I told them about the work my friend does in the local jail in New Hampshire helping immigrants they said to send her down here. They need her.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhULkR_2CysYooViaBnJVf04hmJi7um_A8U9KodiOMFiMG3ju3MRNOj9Xpld2nzV6_MK0IlxFPOa1v8exucZtsQu2L0kV0egFAcATgKTYnuY6uTof4Lzh9bTwz1whjFDtxAsgnTT8bZUywV/s1600/IMG-3228.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhULkR_2CysYooViaBnJVf04hmJi7um_A8U9KodiOMFiMG3ju3MRNOj9Xpld2nzV6_MK0IlxFPOa1v8exucZtsQu2L0kV0egFAcATgKTYnuY6uTof4Lzh9bTwz1whjFDtxAsgnTT8bZUywV/s640/IMG-3228.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We stayed next door to Liz's main house in this little casita, or guest house. It had everything we needed for a comfortable stay.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Liz and Shane assured us that we would find no sizeable grocery store before Del Rio, at least four days of riding away, and a few more days if weather kept us in Sanderson. After stocking up on food </span><b style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">Tuesday morning, January 14,</b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> we headed to Marathon.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHH3HAA3TFtdSMj9bjc8oGXCgsn6yl9ZiWMtL3nIl5YJM-f7Ouy70xjdN8bkDF9QUkeOvPo8SYsYdiwkhyphenhyphen_0ra5PkLCzu_jibGp5MaufonQRcC4BUwy4RKGbJtnoCl1XYMIUekYyTVccI/s1600/IMG_20200114_142156976.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHH3HAA3TFtdSMj9bjc8oGXCgsn6yl9ZiWMtL3nIl5YJM-f7Ouy70xjdN8bkDF9QUkeOvPo8SYsYdiwkhyphenhyphen_0ra5PkLCzu_jibGp5MaufonQRcC4BUwy4RKGbJtnoCl1XYMIUekYyTVccI/s640/IMG_20200114_142156976.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNH3wZK1srvHaT0qr-o9IbT2-T0ZX5w7SVEYN6bbj9stXkJMFtKW-g14Ag9Sp2xPwZ0aCYUfVSpBbymfDT8zWguLADiWDmvc9ooCSM_4QaDD-EzKl6QZulZVNypifsfgX4XBg3pQ3pAdyG/s1600/IMG-3229.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNH3wZK1srvHaT0qr-o9IbT2-T0ZX5w7SVEYN6bbj9stXkJMFtKW-g14Ag9Sp2xPwZ0aCYUfVSpBbymfDT8zWguLADiWDmvc9ooCSM_4QaDD-EzKl6QZulZVNypifsfgX4XBg3pQ3pAdyG/s640/IMG-3229.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRwzhEgQWUZxPWGFTD5ah5G_dIIFrARG75VqYMuududYOBqlykg3IZlHRp5-NLXgVnhc4QMhRvSeMWfMAuoUes0x0xTnxi2ytDI5EjI3cKi4zhBSoo6-nPXKQ9h9ceBT2P2vx8Jz0voIq2/s1600/IMG-3230.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRwzhEgQWUZxPWGFTD5ah5G_dIIFrARG75VqYMuududYOBqlykg3IZlHRp5-NLXgVnhc4QMhRvSeMWfMAuoUes0x0xTnxi2ytDI5EjI3cKi4zhBSoo6-nPXKQ9h9ceBT2P2vx8Jz0voIq2/s640/IMG-3230.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I'd heard about the Prada store, but didn't know there was also a <a href="https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/target-marathon">Target</a> out in the middle of West Texas.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu-JNE5pURMaNb2QxEwIhLXTMCs8qhxjqEYhncYikUg7hd_s20DZF9tgPC4VQnV4LwuhshHF0JcQk_OhDaQ8VWlY6LpXalKB7jXwdpBqKTSzuUmCf-8miDPO-WiY3syhVx1-vyTu7iqBml/s1600/IMG-3233.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="1600" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu-JNE5pURMaNb2QxEwIhLXTMCs8qhxjqEYhncYikUg7hd_s20DZF9tgPC4VQnV4LwuhshHF0JcQk_OhDaQ8VWlY6LpXalKB7jXwdpBqKTSzuUmCf-8miDPO-WiY3syhVx1-vyTu7iqBml/s640/IMG-3233.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The ride to Marathon, even though only 31 miles, was not a slam dunk; we had headwinds starting out. Then it got easier and I coasted to the Marathon Motel, leaving Rob behind for the last couple miles. I waited for him at the entrance to the motel and got talking to a woman who told me she and her husband were "work campers." They worked part-time at the motel and, in addition to an hourly wage, camped for free in their RV. They were about our age and chose to spend the winter in Marathon so that they could explore Big Bend, about 80 miles down the road. They'd already gone on two backpacking trips there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I began to worry when Rob didn't show up and Twila offered to get her pickup truck and go looking for him. And, sure enough, he'd had a flat. Unfortunately after he'd put in a new tube it still wouldn't take air. We got there just in time to rescue him from his frustration.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Twila insisted that we stop by for a beer before setting up our tent in the campground. We enjoyed meeting her husband Mike while we fixed Rob's tire. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">When I was loading Rob's panniers into the back of Twila's truck, I noticed a Bernie bumper sticker. Mike told us their sons were responsible for their transformation from Rush Limbaugh followers to Bernie supporters. After hearing that and thinking about the Bernie supporters we met in Minnesota and California (we didn't see anyone out campaigning for the other candidates), I decided that Bernie is the one to generate enough excitement to beat Trump and deserved my vote in the upcoming New Hampshire primary.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Mike and Twila invited us over later in the evening to watch the Democratic debate, when they plied us with wine, a sweet and spicy snack mix, and ice cream. After the debate it was hard to leave as we found we had much in common. Their next work camping gig is in Wyoming this summer where Mike will be working in a bike shop and Twila in a visitors center. We're hoping they'll come visit us in Boulder.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Mike and Twila are full-time RVers supplementing their retirement by finding temporary part-time work in beautiful places they want to explore. Working at the Maraton Motel and RV Park allows them to spend time hiking in Big Bend National Park and helping bicyclists like us.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">As soon as we woke up on <b>Wednesday, January 15</b>, Rob checked his rear tire. It was soft again. We'd have to wait until the sun came up to fix it. Then, just as we were packing up, Mike came along with his standup pump. When we told him about the flat he said, "I'd be happy to fix it for you." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Rob said, "No, that's okay." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I said, "That would be wonderful." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Mike checked the tube and found that the valve was leaking. He fixed it and we were ready to go at 9:00.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The riding, 55 miles to Sanderson on U.S. 90, went by quickly. The morning sky was beautiful with the sun shining through soft clouds along the horizon over the mountains. We were both enjoying riding through this part of the country, really glad we hadn't rented a car and driven it.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The highway has picnic areas spaced at about 20 mile intervals which we very much appreciated. I'd been checking for signs that say no camping, just in case. We had a long stretch of nothing between Sanderson and Comstock, 88 miles. In case we didn't make it, it was good to know we'd have a back up. Most of the rest areas don't have any signs, or they say you can't stay more than 24 hours and you can't set up a tent. But the fine is only $1 - 200. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">With 10 miles to Sanderson Rob noticed that his tire was soft, again. We pumped it up, hoping it would hold until we arrived at our destination. It did.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Liz, our Alpine Warm Showers host, also owns a house and casita in Sanderson that she lets bicyclists use. We didn't need a key. She said, "It's okay to lock the door when you are inside, but don't lock it when you go out. I don't have a key." </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We sat outside with cups of tea on the back deck of the house and tackled Rob's flat tire. After much searching I found the metal wire that caused the flat. We hoped we were done with Rob's flat tires, but we weren't.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We stayed in Liz's casita during our time in Sanderson which stretched out longer than we would have liked. We had a stretch of 88 miles ahead of us with nothing but open country along the way and bad weather moving in.</span></td></tr>
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<br />Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-31015045394084077332020-02-05T18:56:00.000-08:002020-02-06T05:06:17.884-08:00Circling the U.S. Chapter 66: Just a Touch of New Mexico<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">In our youth I'm sure we would have checked New Mexico off our list in two quick days. But the caution, tired muscles, and chronic diseases that come with our elder years made New Mexico a five-day adventure.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Friday, January 3 - Wednesday, January 8, 2020</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So much about self-supported bicycle touring is serendipitous. With 90 miles and some hills between Rodeo and Columbus and only a little town with just a convenience store in between, we thought we'd have to take a detour north and ride the interstate to El Paso, not a plan we were looking forward to. But when we checked in to our room in Rodeo, the proprietor mentioned that he'd had a cyclist stay the previous night who was planning to take the rural highway directly east and stay in Hachita, the little town with just a convenience store. Apparently cyclists could stay in the community center. We called the convenience store to confirm. That sounded good enough for us.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDq-NYdB-mIlVonedO-sSfR-Kf2TTSYXktdtG79wAgVi3DaI5NtNAZqggXeS5rMcVV7yEBqeZIw-ebFNX46EqUcAw4K95mPEhYpjGA0Zf6b3dgna9LiH4lCZBwiOZmDtquuijNkzx2f_Me/s1600/IMG-3156.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDq-NYdB-mIlVonedO-sSfR-Kf2TTSYXktdtG79wAgVi3DaI5NtNAZqggXeS5rMcVV7yEBqeZIw-ebFNX46EqUcAw4K95mPEhYpjGA0Zf6b3dgna9LiH4lCZBwiOZmDtquuijNkzx2f_Me/s640/IMG-3156.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Rodeo sits just over the border in New Mexico. The only open business in town was the Mt. Valley Lodge and RV Park. Everything else was boarded up. It was a good thing we'd brought our dinner along.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-qMxk7e4DDTMv2miDr9brGBeVwQGERwpTe3cTmEl0NBFXTk8PZOcfPfKAYo2VdnHBgsr2Nv_XzITxBfKep_C-HbhhAYNHIQzMcCYRRxXgDuZIKaxnNoCU5C5NWl5OHmMrXqFbjFF464Wy/s1600/20200130_204854.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="794" data-original-width="1110" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-qMxk7e4DDTMv2miDr9brGBeVwQGERwpTe3cTmEl0NBFXTk8PZOcfPfKAYo2VdnHBgsr2Nv_XzITxBfKep_C-HbhhAYNHIQzMcCYRRxXgDuZIKaxnNoCU5C5NWl5OHmMrXqFbjFF464Wy/s320/20200130_204854.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The proprietor said they didn't have tent camping so we stayed in this tiny cabin that just had a fold-out sofa bed, microwave, and fridge. It was very cozy. There was no bathroom - we had to use the shower and toilet in the laundry room. Not really a bargain for $64, but it was the only game in town. Then when Andrew, a solo cyclist, pulled in, the proprietor gave in and let him set up his tent in one of the RV spots for $20. Frugal me was a little miffed, but it was cold enough that we were glad to be inside. We were doubly glad when we found out that several javelinas visited Andrew during the night. He wound up pitching his tent on top of a picnic table. (I should note that he had food stored in his tent.)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We invited Andrew to stop by our cozy cabin for visit. He'd begun his journey in Florida and was heading west to San Diego. We shared tips on places to stay. He told us there was a Warm Showers host in Columbus who had an incredible setup where he got to sleep in a refurbished school bus. He talked it up so much we decided we needed to check it out. And we found out that we clearly have different ideas of what is the ideal accommodation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Andrew also raved about riding across West Texas, but when we showed him pictures of where we'd already ridden, he said that maybe West Texas would be more of the same. So we were still on board to rent a car and drive to San Antonio.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When we parted ways the next day, we knew that a tailwind for us would be a headwind for Andrew so we could only wish each other no wind.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwzDo5W8tntz7KSLOnKw8t9zvxGmPojdEfz-5-sKJLGMBQqbQ1LbDbD2XyZMgs-xqfdqGP45tfrbSUKuKvrMQsenV0vG-R28x8-agl-LLSjoKE57Zvq6ni35h5UOrsVbz39BbWHs_TCikM/s1600/IMG-3158.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwzDo5W8tntz7KSLOnKw8t9zvxGmPojdEfz-5-sKJLGMBQqbQ1LbDbD2XyZMgs-xqfdqGP45tfrbSUKuKvrMQsenV0vG-R28x8-agl-LLSjoKE57Zvq6ni35h5UOrsVbz39BbWHs_TCikM/s640/IMG-3158.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="justify"><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: large;">After all the hills of the Pacific Coast we were happy for flat riding.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM1iiZkvMgcG2C3c5jNvH4NZ07tXWF0rcETLW7tazAEzv2529ZmyBch_F0P0g7kn7BI0ibIUbHUpzacyQolwsyLrXUu9Jnq5BfHx-iPdve8U6No93IDE5egnVPE9U52czxgXZ5ETqqJN1o/s1600/IMG-3159.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM1iiZkvMgcG2C3c5jNvH4NZ07tXWF0rcETLW7tazAEzv2529ZmyBch_F0P0g7kn7BI0ibIUbHUpzacyQolwsyLrXUu9Jnq5BfHx-iPdve8U6No93IDE5egnVPE9U52czxgXZ5ETqqJN1o/s640/IMG-3159.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Other than headwinds, no complaints from me about the day. Mountains in the distance, the road mostly to ourselves, cruising along under a giant blue sky with a perfect riding temperature, neither hot nor cold.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga3Ku0VBHtHhUJ0L29RWdzXYZWDYAsbJ5zJHE8otzLYCsdIRSRYb23CMdj7l3qZcnLlMOxddBBYNqAH94pSPBWr7H7z7srumtiXQDaKxMw92zGtEK3KvMqecgot83rij1FdMX2837gbkqh/s1600/IMG-3160.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga3Ku0VBHtHhUJ0L29RWdzXYZWDYAsbJ5zJHE8otzLYCsdIRSRYb23CMdj7l3qZcnLlMOxddBBYNqAH94pSPBWr7H7z7srumtiXQDaKxMw92zGtEK3KvMqecgot83rij1FdMX2837gbkqh/s640/IMG-3160.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="justify"><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: large;">Just a little climbing, up and over the Continental Divide.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI3F2ROt9l-RS7egOmG-9LpHTZYPHi8HUUm2joohW2f3oDMvkyf4KyciNa-tzhZEwkhP__8aSPR3x9nQhoXtL7uRoJ2eIRn8s1zwg0TR_LKqP8LCMpc9G3KY0oTnG41nASr_5340nyYPb0/s1600/IMG-3161.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="1600" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI3F2ROt9l-RS7egOmG-9LpHTZYPHi8HUUm2joohW2f3oDMvkyf4KyciNa-tzhZEwkhP__8aSPR3x9nQhoXtL7uRoJ2eIRn8s1zwg0TR_LKqP8LCMpc9G3KY0oTnG41nASr_5340nyYPb0/s640/IMG-3161.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSZ3Izv-FZL7qn9QmiAXBld6gurR-Ngd8oZUdbFHIm2lSV_W0g7r5cIsoX3QwmRlB5j6aFDhkPEtBJ26cjbxa1djjwdNHya6oVoIZ8mtmDANm-DAvZzuuGQplFjrlOO0qcxuSBgBqTDtZN/s1600/IMG-3165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSZ3Izv-FZL7qn9QmiAXBld6gurR-Ngd8oZUdbFHIm2lSV_W0g7r5cIsoX3QwmRlB5j6aFDhkPEtBJ26cjbxa1djjwdNHya6oVoIZ8mtmDANm-DAvZzuuGQplFjrlOO0qcxuSBgBqTDtZN/s640/IMG-3165.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Without the sign we wouldn't even have known we were crossing the divide. It was pretty cool to think we'd crossed it twice, in the far north and in the far south of the United States.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoLMifcbuGxU9SemkVDGaHPn7OuIYoaui_aSRcxHXNHyI28SQQGxgkWft2mBbVEmGv4vPOBmf-PhV32S-X_yh_7WPuFpuL_oK9qSVFQfLyn4kS4dGeLwEhbsU1P7QzE17icreNMYNJdxeB/s1600/IMG-3166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoLMifcbuGxU9SemkVDGaHPn7OuIYoaui_aSRcxHXNHyI28SQQGxgkWft2mBbVEmGv4vPOBmf-PhV32S-X_yh_7WPuFpuL_oK9qSVFQfLyn4kS4dGeLwEhbsU1P7QzE17icreNMYNJdxeB/s640/IMG-3166.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The headwinds died down on the other side of the divide.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Your tax dollars are working hard. I watched as they cranked up this high-powered camera overlooking our southern border. Not border patrol working here; it was the military.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH-ZF0CeAkEEEe0k9D6zHSY87QuTuG5JCUDi7XdVRC8hKFYV0W77SUOaxaWMezMF_A-unOg_i1JAKnNrAg5wK3NXuc5xkEIxg6N7p69XaVbzK1uHOoL3AicROitlnaxNQCPckGKmK4KL3x/s640/IMG-3170.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The
Continental Divide National Scenic Trail is fairly new. I took this
picture and the following two for my daughter and her boyfriend. They're saving up to through-hike it in a couple years.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF_oa2pNGTcs4axpTomoC04Hqbc61vAIQtmsqriQBTGWF7TXQ5m1KkDt4Fs95xIIkqqUT-ZZUmSlKmwwrOwHwVzKMGGHfVS7f7mTmWy5yrBuAddAJNaxy24jI12GiaBwfYd2yoq5piGfJO/s1600/IMG-3171.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF_oa2pNGTcs4axpTomoC04Hqbc61vAIQtmsqriQBTGWF7TXQ5m1KkDt4Fs95xIIkqqUT-ZZUmSlKmwwrOwHwVzKMGGHfVS7f7mTmWy5yrBuAddAJNaxy24jI12GiaBwfYd2yoq5piGfJO/s640/IMG-3171.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Here's to you, Kylee and Matt, the view heading south, with just a few more miles to the Mexican border!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz9FambTOv3XUayv8weZUkL0GOlDziekOnvWGSyuxJuPDC2HWobVFhJBEiXLxdWstI0gYi3u60py_zo-hvSXfdklDt0NnOhC45ZRvECZDvznGQSfP-n_fnt9XKzRcE23pHvypaDvktXGf5/s1600/1580180201230_IMG-3172.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz9FambTOv3XUayv8weZUkL0GOlDziekOnvWGSyuxJuPDC2HWobVFhJBEiXLxdWstI0gYi3u60py_zo-hvSXfdklDt0NnOhC45ZRvECZDvznGQSfP-n_fnt9XKzRcE23pHvypaDvktXGf5/s640/1580180201230_IMG-3172.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then again, if you're heading north, cross the road and keep going...</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_5OkvRVS1tOnWvzL9LMCIDFuhu78VisEW3qTdW8iRO1HodDH_XjskIDsqz6pIpfMQEIfY8HB2U33i4Y2-FdaG68gJtmORhMg3hEGcuQVyVGSeiWMkJsaIf7Ouy8ZH66lagWVaIQ5P9b1I/s1600/IMG-3175.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_5OkvRVS1tOnWvzL9LMCIDFuhu78VisEW3qTdW8iRO1HodDH_XjskIDsqz6pIpfMQEIfY8HB2U33i4Y2-FdaG68gJtmORhMg3hEGcuQVyVGSeiWMkJsaIf7Ouy8ZH66lagWVaIQ5P9b1I/s640/IMG-3175.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">From the top of this rise we could see what looked like a town way off in the distance. Rob thought it was Hachita. I thought it was too close. We still had five miles to go. We were both right. The tiny town actually had suburbs before we arrived at the convenience store and community center.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnst0yW1dtFK_LfV1O27ZNf52OqsYw7301Ic7KBz8Kc6lEJ8-aKmBF0WqOvY0EIJexTlFUQx8vTTfIZkKvp1fq1tRZmaFZoo-Kr2lozsxRJjRK3LfAQ08oiEhTYqams91Z35adaKmvZr5_/s1600/IMG-3176.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnst0yW1dtFK_LfV1O27ZNf52OqsYw7301Ic7KBz8Kc6lEJ8-aKmBF0WqOvY0EIJexTlFUQx8vTTfIZkKvp1fq1tRZmaFZoo-Kr2lozsxRJjRK3LfAQ08oiEhTYqams91Z35adaKmvZr5_/s640/IMG-3176.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Hachita community center had no heat and no shower, but it had a kitchen and we found a futon in the back room that we dragged onto the stage for a cozy night's sleep.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghOnqfTB3dEDbWXkaNCBcHahjmpLTIx6Vkf2sVAiZpm2TCY_axtEjRSao1tr_cj-43Zhj_bbOPwHioSZu8_itb7_mKE5LBY0oTaCCvrk60kkP4b7DA2OVAyTQY5m0wLpXIwlmmAN4Fno_i/s1600/IMG-3177.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghOnqfTB3dEDbWXkaNCBcHahjmpLTIx6Vkf2sVAiZpm2TCY_axtEjRSao1tr_cj-43Zhj_bbOPwHioSZu8_itb7_mKE5LBY0oTaCCvrk60kkP4b7DA2OVAyTQY5m0wLpXIwlmmAN4Fno_i/s640/IMG-3177.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="justify"><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: large;">The convenience store in Hachita, New Mexico, has free WiFi (see the sign in the window?) and stays open until 10 p.m. There are old diner booth benches where we could hang out and work, plus a microwave where we could make some tea. We weren't the only ones spending our evening here; a group of Mexican women was also hanging out, visiting with each other. That's Jeff, the owner, in front of the store. He took care of checking us into the Community Center. I got the impression he runs the store as a way to take care of the community, providing a gathering place. I don't think he makes a living running it. We bought packages of bologna and American cheese, Campbell's soup, a dozen eggs, a loaf of bread, and a couple bananas. The bill came to ten dollars. As an interesting aside, last year Jeff rode his mountain bike the entire length of the Continental Divide bike trail.</span></td><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></td><td class="tr-caption"></td><td class="tr-caption"></td><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></td><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8hBXXrUe7p4x_NHpjmHMzgQr6i2TOPHQLyKTGlkmlC67AUZc_XVdKbyvR2u_HDiKXscBafuLGn2Cu-bwXUQCN7smViZhv9G31Hh0_QPkgPyGRun8EsA-1Lb1JYvBnauD1-NgPoVyOl8Af/s1600/IMG-3178.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8hBXXrUe7p4x_NHpjmHMzgQr6i2TOPHQLyKTGlkmlC67AUZc_XVdKbyvR2u_HDiKXscBafuLGn2Cu-bwXUQCN7smViZhv9G31Hh0_QPkgPyGRun8EsA-1Lb1JYvBnauD1-NgPoVyOl8Af/s640/IMG-3178.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="justify"><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: large;">Well rested after our night in the Hachita community center, we rode 50 miles on Route 9 to Columbus, New Mexico, on <b>Sunday, January 5</b>. We had no reason to stop anywhere along the way, because there was nothing along the way. The road was in good shape and traffic was sparse. I stopped every five miles to wait for Rob. Every time I stopped I noticed how quiet it was. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We met a pair of cyclists coming towards us and stopped to chat. They were a couple of young men (younger than us, at least) out for their first tour, having left El Paso the day before. They told us they'd met an older gentlemen just ahead of us who was cycling around the world. We'd already heard about Bill from Andrew and hoped to catch up to him. They also highly recommended the Los Milagros Hotel in Columbus, said that the owner let them use the kitchen to cook their dinner. We were very happy for that piece of information after we checked into our Warm Showers accommodation.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvU3-ffA3hpWJLlpIsrPFE1N6VSabi9U0zxENMdK0CAXeWRI1uGzbWa_s2-hyP3uGYtCPAr04BT_ZPa1qvmUrgtyeKpylSsa9RocmYtkC6vHJsaa6_0Rq15xIJeTSb3nNv6PISLvI3G7z8/s1600/IMG-3179.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvU3-ffA3hpWJLlpIsrPFE1N6VSabi9U0zxENMdK0CAXeWRI1uGzbWa_s2-hyP3uGYtCPAr04BT_ZPa1qvmUrgtyeKpylSsa9RocmYtkC6vHJsaa6_0Rq15xIJeTSb3nNv6PISLvI3G7z8/s640/IMG-3179.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="justify"><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: large;">Here is another example of your tax dollars being put to good use. The border patrol keeps busy with all sorts of tricks to catch drug smugglers and people crossing the border in search of a better life. Here they are dragging truck tires across a dirt frontage road. What a boring job. My guess is they use drones to inspect for footprints. (I was tempted to get off my bike and tramp across. But I didn't.)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The riding was fairly easy and by mid-afternoon we arrived at our Warm Showers destination just north of the main residential part of Columbus in an intentional community called the City of the Sun Foundation.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Fran's place was without a doubt the most unique Warm Showers accommodation of our journey.</span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsFebQ903StzefAf_2QGfbCmCxjLfx8P9cw8Nu0sRsqf9Hre6FuYXmirUDk90NpsqnZZ2OSfB30r7mpVgB6IInKeGmWpk9jXvzSL7YUOEZ2sYp9GUDR5wREgltHr8Qdm3Zw3b4XzX6Z92N/s1600/IMG_20200106_082306944.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsFebQ903StzefAf_2QGfbCmCxjLfx8P9cw8Nu0sRsqf9Hre6FuYXmirUDk90NpsqnZZ2OSfB30r7mpVgB6IInKeGmWpk9jXvzSL7YUOEZ2sYp9GUDR5wREgltHr8Qdm3Zw3b4XzX6Z92N/s640/IMG_20200106_082306944.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fran greeted us warmly, and showed us around her place. She had built her own house and has a number of other building projects partially completed with random building materials, old chairs, and other stuff strewn everywhere around the property. If one person's junk is another's treasure, then I imagine that Fran considers herself as wealthy as the Queen of England.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfo9JqSTW2v-IgahfjSfBzjplcfdm58MinT-ivlJdibXfmGyDxjiIhSGSvE3vZ30kREGw2vxnwoXEJaSDJfHsfx_mZj6R84XxW6L7emRrkLpjEmNYmBepKvC-XVTEIJAR4yeR1vxobqiTV/s1600/IMG_20200106_072110179_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfo9JqSTW2v-IgahfjSfBzjplcfdm58MinT-ivlJdibXfmGyDxjiIhSGSvE3vZ30kREGw2vxnwoXEJaSDJfHsfx_mZj6R84XxW6L7emRrkLpjEmNYmBepKvC-XVTEIJAR4yeR1vxobqiTV/s640/IMG_20200106_072110179_HDR.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Fran lives here.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fran was very specific in explaining the idiosyncrasies of how things worked. She showed us the outhouse and asked that we only use it for number two, and to put the toilet paper in the bucket next to the seat. Habit got a hold of me the next morning and I disobeyed orders. There's also a bucket with dirt, so I poured some of that in to cover up my misbehavior. </span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2wpTucPdKp-DpxtilZfIbGW890hJHwEKwEnaxnoIvqfr1JrJ_nAlJak2COtowY6DGMRe51XKHtrOP21m2lvN8-D3h13q5CIFlfL-fbzx-NNyD57207ZiYFtq9Jjddu7vjue9YEITfdeDz/s1600/IMG_20200106_071647496_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2wpTucPdKp-DpxtilZfIbGW890hJHwEKwEnaxnoIvqfr1JrJ_nAlJak2COtowY6DGMRe51XKHtrOP21m2lvN8-D3h13q5CIFlfL-fbzx-NNyD57207ZiYFtq9Jjddu7vjue9YEITfdeDz/s640/IMG_20200106_071647496_HDR.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She also asked that we pee in a random location outside and drop the toilet paper in the fire pit. The shower was a community shower a couple blocks down the street. (It was actually very nice and mostly clean.) </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDEMnp44ykru2gS3vdJSk7t4ONKEuAgy4wyssy0wOZuBjxU419pL_7x6rX1LzM3C_caDp_xWQlXT5BGa7RrcNHwJ0nOQ6qMRHLhBwOsOYqI197hdbuKOwrtJs8WTR55S5zqGF3L5s8bZwA/s1600/IMG_20200106_081855078.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDEMnp44ykru2gS3vdJSk7t4ONKEuAgy4wyssy0wOZuBjxU419pL_7x6rX1LzM3C_caDp_xWQlXT5BGa7RrcNHwJ0nOQ6qMRHLhBwOsOYqI197hdbuKOwrtJs8WTR55S5zqGF3L5s8bZwA/s640/IMG_20200106_081855078.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The community showers and laundry</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We were to put a dollar in the box for each shower. I should note that none of this was mentioned in Fran's profile on the Warm Showers website. She just checked "private room & shared bath." We were a little taken aback.</span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuC1DCtO6YUK1m55DwJiHL0Kn2zfDZHh0oi2yJ3fmv0UlPYLFMsyR3MWbB51ZyZnoG3_qqYdPebQ74Z3_zuk7RG6ch0tFXm2WsvOnQgdvPSEm42lK8yhaq4MI_kCtZ31wapIMcAPXPbAm_/s1600/IMG-3180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuC1DCtO6YUK1m55DwJiHL0Kn2zfDZHh0oi2yJ3fmv0UlPYLFMsyR3MWbB51ZyZnoG3_qqYdPebQ74Z3_zuk7RG6ch0tFXm2WsvOnQgdvPSEm42lK8yhaq4MI_kCtZ31wapIMcAPXPbAm_/s640/IMG-3180.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="justify"><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: large;">We had several sleeping options, the converted school bus being the one we chose since it provided the most shelter for the cold night. The tires on the right lead to a ladder that provides access to the roof of the bus. The brown metal container in the lower right corner is the fire pit, also where I deposited my toilet paper after I peed. It was pretty full; no need for newspaper to start the next campfire.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The bus had no heat, no electricity, no sink or running water. The running water was an outside hose. There was a wood stove set up inside the bus on a wooden floor. Fran told us that no building codes are enforced in her community. How would you feel about starting a fire in that wood stove? The bed on the bus was comfortable enough, with blankets but no sheets. We slept in our sleeping bags and tried to stay warm.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2RqPMxnoNug-2eEuRkuDd1oVFBA4tVhulzUGONMWjpzO3l0vkVL28mwSDZT_p1pUrDWsX5MUXywTJY6adTR1HRcX4mtYMfvV_FENK2Uc1qQa7vFFHFoyKX9A6gHZpPVVmATZVm5jEBFT6/s1600/IMG_20200106_074405990.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2RqPMxnoNug-2eEuRkuDd1oVFBA4tVhulzUGONMWjpzO3l0vkVL28mwSDZT_p1pUrDWsX5MUXywTJY6adTR1HRcX4mtYMfvV_FENK2Uc1qQa7vFFHFoyKX9A6gHZpPVVmATZVm5jEBFT6/s640/IMG_20200106_074405990.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The bed on the bus was very cozy.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxHU5yokPSs37NIV91w2O8Hhw7YD3yMQhMQsIcyLoe91nYYmHg0x3ddO_xHYwf52hI6Lj6TtDKxYfvH_g6c0ZTeHgqcoGpbSoXd_fCis3St-lvHapveiHH6ayYM5Czzvbs_vibzqTXdfQK/s1600/IMG_20200106_074358714.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxHU5yokPSs37NIV91w2O8Hhw7YD3yMQhMQsIcyLoe91nYYmHg0x3ddO_xHYwf52hI6Lj6TtDKxYfvH_g6c0ZTeHgqcoGpbSoXd_fCis3St-lvHapveiHH6ayYM5Czzvbs_vibzqTXdfQK/s640/IMG_20200106_074358714.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The rest of the bus was a little too cozy for two with all our gear.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzrEg9YI9xRwDJD5_2J0-JEGW6E5zaOB3SaLzXemuI02fjE1YfEI7S8RC8V0L9MaM1LWi5YetKAolvpAyDWjUqaG5jTCFy9g9HPy5WBy6hnnq-j2P9WMcHvlUExHh_5gjwXlZWnqEk5ab7/s1600/1580180205439_IMG-3183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzrEg9YI9xRwDJD5_2J0-JEGW6E5zaOB3SaLzXemuI02fjE1YfEI7S8RC8V0L9MaM1LWi5YetKAolvpAyDWjUqaG5jTCFy9g9HPy5WBy6hnnq-j2P9WMcHvlUExHh_5gjwXlZWnqEk5ab7/s640/1580180205439_IMG-3183.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">This ladder leads to the roof of the bus where we could bring a chair and sit in the sun during the day or watch the sunset or the stars at night. But it was too cold for that and, besides, we weren't staying. Fran's place was just a tad too rustic for us.</span></td></tr>
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<tr align="justify"><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: large;">These are a couple of Fran's many ongoing projects. The dome on the left was one of our sleeping options. The roof is open to the sky and people have left feedback about how much they enjoy sleeping under the stars. There is a bed inside and several other pieces of furniture. The floor, where it exists, is a metal grate. Half of the floor is nothing but air, dropping down about ten feet to the bottom level. When I asked Fran about how safe that was, she pointed to a bar about chest high that would prevent someone from accidentally stepping down to the basement level. Right. The structure on the right is going to be a room to escape the summer heat.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Another of Fran's partially completed projects is a wall, made from glass bottles, to serve as a windbreak next to an old clawfoot bathtub sitting outside.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Fran let us know that we could use her kitchen if necessary, but we had nothing to cook and opted for an early dinner at the only restaurant in town that was open. While in town, we checked out the two other lodging options and booked a room for the following night at the Los Milagros Hotel. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">When we returned from dinner, Fran chatted with us a bit but didn't invite us in for a visit. It was still pretty early but getting dark. We had nothing to do but go to our cold school bus and crawl into our sleeping bags for an evening of reading. </span></div>
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<tr align="justify"><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: large;">One of Fran's neighbors has built this tinker town structure. Fran didn't believe anyone lives there. It's an interesting community. I think they have a lot in common with the Free Staters moving to New Hampshire.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><span style="font-size: large;">By this time we'd become obsessed with the wind forecast. We had over 80 miles of riding to El Paso with no place to stop. We knew we couldn't make that in one day if a headwind slowed us to eight miles an hour. The weather forecast predicted an eastern wind for the next two days. Then it would be coming from the west for the foreseeable future. We decided to wait it out. We also decided to bicycle, not drive, to San Antonio. Why not? The wind would help us along.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Monday, January 6</b>, we left Fran's school bus and took ourselves out for breakfast, where we ran into Bill, the 70-year-old cyclist riding around the world. He joined us for a bit, describing his planned route and telling us about his many other adventures. We continue to meet so many cyclists whose travels dwarf ours. Bill was a solitary sole and happy to camp anywhere he could along the side of the highway, so he didn't mind venturing out on the road to El Paso with a headwind. He'd stop whenever he got tired.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">After breakfast we went to the library. Like many of the libraries we've visited this year, it had convenient hours and was comfortable and well-equipped with computers. On a lark I sent an email to our local paper in New Hampshire, telling them about our trip. They responded within an hour and the next day a reporter interviewed us. Here's the link to the story: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.fosters.com/news/20200111/ordinary-seacoast-couple-hoping-to-inspire-compassion-dreams-through-yearlong-us-bike-tour">https://www.fosters.com/news/20200111/ordinary-seacoast-couple-hoping-to-inspire-compassion-dreams-through-yearlong-us-bike-tour</a></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">This charming little hotel would be home for our next two nights in Columbus while we waited for the wind to shift. It had a courtyard in the back and several common rooms inside. The owner had decorated it in a Mexican Victorian style. He always had a variety of snacks and tea available, perfect for hungry cyclists. There were only six rooms. During the week three of them were rented to truck drivers working on the Wall.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">There wasn't a whole lot to do in Columbus. After visiting the library we checked into the Los Milagros Hotel, clearly a diamond in the rough. The only grocery store in town didn't have much in the way of anything and we only found one restaurant open which served mediocre Mexican food. But that was all okay. We were happy hanging out at our hotel. Keeping up with this blog takes a lot of time and I am having a lot of fun with it.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2gpeHIow72CdLW96f-kQ1cYrP3esnSa-SS2R1ycAtYkq80r45OpVob4lYFstzexsr8jJU9X8N0Det6KNPhTIGV3xnoHEbl3KVbkIjljomgS2wNcyfXl5yUjNIORjlXncTHx5RN15ynfpY/s1600/IMG-3192.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2gpeHIow72CdLW96f-kQ1cYrP3esnSa-SS2R1ycAtYkq80r45OpVob4lYFstzexsr8jJU9X8N0Det6KNPhTIGV3xnoHEbl3KVbkIjljomgS2wNcyfXl5yUjNIORjlXncTHx5RN15ynfpY/s640/IMG-3192.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We popped into the Columbus history museum where we learned about the March 9, 1916, attack on the community by Mexican outlaws.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3S4DkYqrQ7lPA88me4jaC8KJEAdUuhqiEdnj1eJbdiwNK12bKqMZZbh1E1-BIfntZaXpQA8Bp-iViwb3p2NZLSG-gaebF7O2W9V2JleK-IJ0r0HdKYwIDDDnisuKaSovYxWUI0fXb74La/s1600/IMG-3190.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3S4DkYqrQ7lPA88me4jaC8KJEAdUuhqiEdnj1eJbdiwNK12bKqMZZbh1E1-BIfntZaXpQA8Bp-iViwb3p2NZLSG-gaebF7O2W9V2JleK-IJ0r0HdKYwIDDDnisuKaSovYxWUI0fXb74La/s640/IMG-3190.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">After riding around the country and seeing so much of our history defined by men, with women mentioned only as "madams" or "soiled doves," it was really nice to see this.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZOgn71PRMI_fyz6ddxKdAidvktZ_lekf_xPBDUZ-kVE14wrXDl3CKSu5yP_lYnjSHEBNzKkz9wei5-IxePYyn_z6zlXXeAJCo1rP9_w9tskS2ZdK9vMraoMgHFBTk2xqvXVplqR-orTd2/s1600/IMG-3191.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZOgn71PRMI_fyz6ddxKdAidvktZ_lekf_xPBDUZ-kVE14wrXDl3CKSu5yP_lYnjSHEBNzKkz9wei5-IxePYyn_z6zlXXeAJCo1rP9_w9tskS2ZdK9vMraoMgHFBTk2xqvXVplqR-orTd2/s640/IMG-3191.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">On <b>Tuesday, January 7</b>, we bicycled three miles to the Mexican border and walked to Palomas for lunch. The town is filled with dental offices. People travel from all over the United States and cross the border for low-cost dental care. One of the women in the Columbus visitors center said she retired to Columbus so that she could easily go to Mexico for dental care. And we're building a wall? Something here doesn't make sense.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1NB2HMQp_iLewGvaiRdTFUk3MmxJXErqL_LdZYTvjbUJN5ewW2lyNT56FBGjqacMlaizv3SR7pVFxN685fm134SnRCtF7TRJifhM-I1gSVJV5y1MPttEDFP_FcY5_2vDom2t5mryz7HZ8/s1600/IMG-3188.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1NB2HMQp_iLewGvaiRdTFUk3MmxJXErqL_LdZYTvjbUJN5ewW2lyNT56FBGjqacMlaizv3SR7pVFxN685fm134SnRCtF7TRJifhM-I1gSVJV5y1MPttEDFP_FcY5_2vDom2t5mryz7HZ8/s640/IMG-3188.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Everyone talked about The Pink Store as the place to go for lunch in Palomas so we had to check it out. It is filled with everything Mexican for sale. I love all the colors. The food was okay.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;"><br />On </span><b style="font-size: x-large; text-align: justify;">Wednesday, January 8</b><span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;">, we set out to cover the 84 miles to El Paso, Texas.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Wall, being built before our very eyes.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT4sOabxvfJuxNgwgQoApHNdFfxF_1B4o2g4hh6PhUw6g8fjPe7Awtq2xawbr6-W0RzcNOqdPCVrmqO47utYxlHUkv47RnpL6rzhI1OL4ZcjN-npuuk98qqscHDuSH8x72eK9UjkrUoXs7/s1600/20200131_102124.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="935" data-original-width="1600" height="374" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT4sOabxvfJuxNgwgQoApHNdFfxF_1B4o2g4hh6PhUw6g8fjPe7Awtq2xawbr6-W0RzcNOqdPCVrmqO47utYxlHUkv47RnpL6rzhI1OL4ZcjN-npuuk98qqscHDuSH8x72eK9UjkrUoXs7/s640/20200131_102124.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">With a slight headwind, mostly flat terrain, and nothing along the way to distract us we arrived in Texas and our Warm Showers accommodation after 9 1/2 hours.</span></td></tr>
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<br />Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-51212694230819726942020-01-31T13:07:00.000-08:002020-01-31T13:07:10.316-08:00Circling the U.S. Chapter 65: Arizona's Southeastern Corner<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Monday, December 30, 2019 - Friday, January 3, 2020</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We left Christine and Steve and Tucson in good spirits, looking forward to camping two nights at Kartchner State Park, with a reasonable 50 miles ahead of us. But after eight miles that slipped by a headwind slammed into us and didn't let go of its grip. With a gradual 2000 feet of elevation gain and trucks and cars speeding beside us on the interstate, the day turned into an unmitigated disaster. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">At every exit we got off the highway, both to take a break and to try to catch a ride. But the interchanges came from nowhere and went nowhere. We quickly realized that the friendly pickup truck drivers were all home with their families for the holiday week. We had no choice but to keep going.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Previously when we've had tough headwind days we've been able to stay together. Even if I'm doing all the pulling, at least Rob has been able to keep a steady pace behind me. Not this time. It was probably the climbing coupled with the elevation. We started around 2400 feet. I would stop and wait for Rob. We'd start together and I'd try to ride slow but he just couldn't stay with me. I began stopping every mile to wait. It was too windy to play my whistle. It was just me on the interstate with the relentless traffic. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We ate a snack leaning against a jersey barrier on an on ramp. At one point Rob said he felt dizzy so we put our bikes down and sat on the edge of the road while trucks and cars sped by. I got out some dried mangoes and raspberry infused dark chocolate and told Rob to eat it. We had about 8 more miles before we'd come to an exit with lodging. But we couldn't book ahead because neither of us had a phone that had a charge.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We pressed ahead </span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">and in three more miles came to an exit with a convenience store. I charged my phone, bought a chocolat</span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">e milk for Rob, and booked a room at a Comfort Inn in Benson , 10 miles short of our planned destination. We had five more miles which, thankfully, were downhill, still into a headwind. </span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I had my head down all day, hating life. I didn't take any pictures. Only the last few miles could I lift my head and look around and appreciate the beauty of the mountains surrounding us.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">After 41 miles we arrived at the hotel so tired we lay sprawled on the beds, not even interested in taking a shower for about an hour. We cooked ramen noodles with hot water from the coffee maker and munched on all our snack food, including hummus and pretzels and a red pepper. That was dinner.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-size: large;">Our budget got blown away with the headwinds. The Comfort Inn cost $100 but that didn't include the $35 we spent to reserve a campsite at the state park. We could have stayed at a Motel 6 for a lot less, but there are times when I just can't face a Motel 6. This was one of them.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGJ1HrPgO6UYhytwn0yldYEyOb7iRMGSSGlVhqGnWwGOqYtVuqRkg9OsaMxMZRpb40M_LwEgErC4xYet_Fy-TC2cUrezz0oQ3-87JBpyW0vmu4Nmb-MVZEHLU1gZcwYEG2MHj9RIxsl0ap/s1600/IMG-3112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGJ1HrPgO6UYhytwn0yldYEyOb7iRMGSSGlVhqGnWwGOqYtVuqRkg9OsaMxMZRpb40M_LwEgErC4xYet_Fy-TC2cUrezz0oQ3-87JBpyW0vmu4Nmb-MVZEHLU1gZcwYEG2MHj9RIxsl0ap/s640/IMG-3112.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's amazing what a good night's sleep will do. Rob looks pretty happy, doesn't he? The last ten miles to Kartchner State Park went smoothly. We still had some elevation to gain, but the wind was gone and so was the traffic, as we'd left the interstate behind.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We did enjoy our evening at the Comfort Inn in Benson; it was money well spent. On <b>Tuesday, December 31</b>, we arrived at Kartchner Caverns State Park by 11, with time for lunch and a 2 1/2 mile hike before our cavern tour at 2:00.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Following are pictures from our short hike. There are no pictures from the cave as they are not allowed.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha96KTMIF8M8ezDaDGb6L_Npds95wLDzaxe9uAah2IkOzeqoI2cIh7yHl_4iq9I6sl8mWAA_VCVXum_26wiN0gQfMqp56rml2MzUwfjc6sHJFVJ3g-fGODROgcrZjdHEyoX9niOam1h2DX/s1600/IMG-3116.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha96KTMIF8M8ezDaDGb6L_Npds95wLDzaxe9uAah2IkOzeqoI2cIh7yHl_4iq9I6sl8mWAA_VCVXum_26wiN0gQfMqp56rml2MzUwfjc6sHJFVJ3g-fGODROgcrZjdHEyoX9niOam1h2DX/s640/IMG-3116.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">One of the seven kinds of cholla, loaded with fruit.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYZFzv4uLFTuNvjWMehyobnjHv0ZLXNtue3UvpQh0AutNxO9tfNFNkpKDb_ZRSHuW6nhmGOkR7DZVenGDuNGi4etFW3nHAWZUc4p-x3kC2d1F_W_eL2BGJEXfXHgH8ECqLY5q3LWMlWtk9/s1600/IMG-3118.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYZFzv4uLFTuNvjWMehyobnjHv0ZLXNtue3UvpQh0AutNxO9tfNFNkpKDb_ZRSHuW6nhmGOkR7DZVenGDuNGi4etFW3nHAWZUc4p-x3kC2d1F_W_eL2BGJEXfXHgH8ECqLY5q3LWMlWtk9/s640/IMG-3118.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4zXWLgs1rw4uLUwTkAZFOnxy-guYwTe7rink2AMo-JT76s6wSbEr7lFwsXecYcstnADmlO5qUrCf2j1qgiYRO5nbuQxRD8Y2bGNms9HUZ3xOadrTWPounex-Qs4lb3-mBkLdARRqOOLWI/s1600/IMG-3120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4zXWLgs1rw4uLUwTkAZFOnxy-guYwTe7rink2AMo-JT76s6wSbEr7lFwsXecYcstnADmlO5qUrCf2j1qgiYRO5nbuQxRD8Y2bGNms9HUZ3xOadrTWPounex-Qs4lb3-mBkLdARRqOOLWI/s640/IMG-3120.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So many people suggested that we visit Kartchner Caverns that we felt we shouldn't miss it. Rob thought it was wonderful. It was worth the visit, but not really that much different from other caves we've visited. The history of the cave's discovery and how it has been kept free of outside contaminants is fascinating.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The campground was lovely. Our next door neighbors, Trish and Steve, invited us to come over for drinks around their propane campfire. Visiting with them was at least a hundred times better than sitting in the dark alone in our campsite. They were both visiting from Phoenix, getting away from the New Year's fireworks which make their dogs go nuts. We enjoyed red wine and great conversation (not everyone in Phoenix is politically conservative) and a warm fire. By 9:00 we were ready for bed and, although the campground was full, there were clearly no New Years Eve revelers present. We had a quiet night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then, on the first day of the New Year, we left our pristine campground for tacky touristy </span><span style="font-size: large;">Tombstone, Arizona, a town trying to look like it might have looked in the 1800s when men roamed the streets with loaded guns and weren't afraid to use them. Today it's a place where guns are treated like toys and men come to relive their boyhood dreams of becoming a cowboy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">If you are a student of western history, you might know that Tombstone was the site of a famous gunfight between supposed good guys and bad guys, the Shootout at the OK Corral. There have been movies made about it. As far as I could tell, the good guys weren't all that good.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyFUXHxBp7Et92PQmb-W8lnMAqKfYRnIdp9pJ0ADcAwtRN48gJLMWTfcXmdjiSgEQ3BUndv3VNrkaM24AkdhVRr3kEdDhMLzo6GmnEkGIg6jeEp0054Se9GrZ0upwhfDwa3SkM8d4tS23Q/s1600/IMG-3121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyFUXHxBp7Et92PQmb-W8lnMAqKfYRnIdp9pJ0ADcAwtRN48gJLMWTfcXmdjiSgEQ3BUndv3VNrkaM24AkdhVRr3kEdDhMLzo6GmnEkGIg6jeEp0054Se9GrZ0upwhfDwa3SkM8d4tS23Q/s640/IMG-3121.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We had great fun riding 30 miles to Tombstone, cruising along at 13 mph.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Uw4LJQNaBN2rkpnuPzHrwORmh7xvw7kVcRlxw8SrLmmqNgCnBePV0O3Jttin2OwLCGhnSWO6PjPOI8iTS7bqePzwjtcw3LJFhqjWhlsfVRQXbM9ZO0gdBHKTB9mDFm74lQSgu8PZJ8LB/s1600/IMG-3123.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Uw4LJQNaBN2rkpnuPzHrwORmh7xvw7kVcRlxw8SrLmmqNgCnBePV0O3Jttin2OwLCGhnSWO6PjPOI8iTS7bqePzwjtcw3LJFhqjWhlsfVRQXbM9ZO0gdBHKTB9mDFm74lQSgu8PZJ8LB/s640/IMG-3123.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Throughout the town we saw men dressed up in old timey western garb. It turns out that they are actors for the five different shows that reenact the famous gunfight. Unfortunately the fellow at the visitors center only told us about one of the shows. We didn't know until after we'd gone to one that I thought was third rate that we'd had a choice.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxQETuOAAUJoz3GVVdTsk2-mSK34VEIWlJSekKOGIkfHCHE35od4Omu2FmtaJvE7VQp1RslxwdKsQ2GqijYDBEoeo4Kpqrgc3zJa7PLwbl1KKbissMVBBkmCJdjS-TGMKNsY9WDiW3TzzQ/s1600/IMG-3124.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxQETuOAAUJoz3GVVdTsk2-mSK34VEIWlJSekKOGIkfHCHE35od4Omu2FmtaJvE7VQp1RslxwdKsQ2GqijYDBEoeo4Kpqrgc3zJa7PLwbl1KKbissMVBBkmCJdjS-TGMKNsY9WDiW3TzzQ/s640/IMG-3124.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">W</span>e also found out that they used to </span><span style="font-size: large;">have gun fights right on the main street but had to stop when one of the cowboys came directly from a shooting range, was late, and forgot that his gun still had a bullet in it. He shot one of the other cowboys in the leg. What boys with guns will do...</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;">The actors hang out in the street encouraging the tourists to come to their show. I stopped to talk to one of them. He was retired and had come to Tombstone from North Carolina last spring to play cowboy because,, "It was a bucket list thing." His wife was going to come with him, but she had to stay behind to help out one of her sons or, as he put it, she had to enable her son's bad choices. It didn't sound like she was going to be joining him any time soon and it sure didn't sound like he had any plans to leave Tombstone where his smile and enthusiasm indicated that he was having great fun playing cowboy shoot-em-up. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;">After going to one of the gunfight shows and exploring the collection of artifacts we wandered up and down the main street. Someone had told us that the silver mine tour was an interesting thing to do but neither of us seemed sufficiently motivated to spend the money or time on that. In retrospect we probably should have, because there wasn't much else to do in town and we didn't have the time or energy to get on our bikes and get to Bisbee, 30 miles and a hill climb away. We killed time at a bar that had wifi until it was late enough for dinner, then went to Big Nose Kate's Saloon which surprisingly had a very good vegie burger.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;">We camped right in Tombstone, at the Wells Fargo RV Park where the RVs were stacked</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;"> so closely to one another that there wasn't even room for a picnic table between them. You could shake hands with your neighbor through the windows. I asked a fellow out walking his dog in the morning if he was there on vacation or if he lived there full time. He said he was on vacation, staying in town a couple weeks. I asked, "What is the appeal of Tombstone?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;">He said, "I guess it's that I grew up playing cowboys. I enjoy the whole cowboy theme of the place."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;">I said, "So have you been to all the gunfight shows?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;">He said, "I've been to three of them. We'll go to one more today." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large;">I asked if some of the shows were better than the others and he said they were pretty good except for the one we'd gone to. "That one was the worst." </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqQH5sYY_bORk4YpXmu1Monoqy-3k6JmO7vfb-MFC7t0vbgsoqVlVrLRDe3YoMMP7tKnuq5Pmv-E-95htctX-UuO6GWyvLsyYJih6URNC4MKDoi3Jc6oRrQqRzP7kHnupM14LlHtfuxaWp/s1600/IMG-3126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqQH5sYY_bORk4YpXmu1Monoqy-3k6JmO7vfb-MFC7t0vbgsoqVlVrLRDe3YoMMP7tKnuq5Pmv-E-95htctX-UuO6GWyvLsyYJih6URNC4MKDoi3Jc6oRrQqRzP7kHnupM14LlHtfuxaWp/s640/IMG-3126.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The riding on <b>Thursday, January 2 - </b>51 miles - was terrific. A tailwind gave us a boost all day.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCMSlsYPlK-WHP1sg5paqCdN8T-g7MjGLiZsYZ-MJ7QkRlUEXe2E9GnSsK3aYVOPHQZexKqSW93hSghkgeLx3-H_qVUv0Qos5Mg-QXr6NWs8Sx92DSzZPxn_jNQSo1ySjuNfBu1lmXKf_G/s1600/IMG-3131.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCMSlsYPlK-WHP1sg5paqCdN8T-g7MjGLiZsYZ-MJ7QkRlUEXe2E9GnSsK3aYVOPHQZexKqSW93hSghkgeLx3-H_qVUv0Qos5Mg-QXr6NWs8Sx92DSzZPxn_jNQSo1ySjuNfBu1lmXKf_G/s640/IMG-3131.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We climbed 2000 feet to Bisbee. Most of the climbing came during the last few miles, when it got steep enough that, while waiting for Rob, I had enough time to learn a new tune on my whistle - </span><i style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">Haste to the Wedding</i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZP9zPvMFCzCfXHPahijM2ttKdxanW8-oXzE_7TXXMD5RBjmOW9XiT_afaPBgtUDH2HCRiOhqce4C7I-urR4Q1v742XaV8DhCYoF18moiKrnaSZKH4My3WImKi8lQI0JeAUWdGyJcMG8rX/s1600/IMG-3133.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZP9zPvMFCzCfXHPahijM2ttKdxanW8-oXzE_7TXXMD5RBjmOW9XiT_afaPBgtUDH2HCRiOhqce4C7I-urR4Q1v742XaV8DhCYoF18moiKrnaSZKH4My3WImKi8lQI0JeAUWdGyJcMG8rX/s640/IMG-3133.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We even passed patches of snow at around 6000 feet.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Then we had a steep downhill through a tunnel that was rather scary. It was cold enough to be concerned about ice. It was wet along the side of the road inside the tunnel and the traffic was pretty fast. Coming out of the tunnel the entire road was wet but I didn't want to find out if it was black ice. I kept my hands lightly on both brakes, keeping my speed down until I hit dry road.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9GkCYb8Gbp4FjIDSEGGmh-sGtknLcndIjIXMNFDAdXVI_EJi5OJNAuZCkiir5AySUID-4Wc0fhTU9SVDO8AFCqM5TP9g7tG5_h8FbKVZttbohdLBt_Z-nwTRyBzg9O2FHzCdbOXBL3KQ8/s1600/IMG-3134.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9GkCYb8Gbp4FjIDSEGGmh-sGtknLcndIjIXMNFDAdXVI_EJi5OJNAuZCkiir5AySUID-4Wc0fhTU9SVDO8AFCqM5TP9g7tG5_h8FbKVZttbohdLBt_Z-nwTRyBzg9O2FHzCdbOXBL3KQ8/s640/IMG-3134.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Bisbee sits in the mountains at 5200 feet. An old mining town, Rob and I agreed that it reminded us of Georgetown in Colorado.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The entire town of Bisbee is a historic landmark, populated with old and new hotels, inns, restaurants, and art galleries. We stopped in the old Copper Queen Hotel and were both surprised to find out that we could get a room that night for $79 plus tax. After that Rob didn't stop campaigning to spend the night in Bisbee. But I had already made up my mind that we were going to capture some more miles that day and I wasn't going to be dissuaded.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQj5VeU3AG2O_o_U77-h6VB140-a4MO1A40GvuAhC5kun_8UBjM8gu0NESv9Ll80RecTwfYBj2v5rSEgEJ0rEHx33vOo28UJ12EaMDoI1p69dM_IJ_IjiuFkN7Whd8gMRWxaCS00y8mJeU/s1600/IMG-3136.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQj5VeU3AG2O_o_U77-h6VB140-a4MO1A40GvuAhC5kun_8UBjM8gu0NESv9Ll80RecTwfYBj2v5rSEgEJ0rEHx33vOo28UJ12EaMDoI1p69dM_IJ_IjiuFkN7Whd8gMRWxaCS00y8mJeU/s640/IMG-3136.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Even though Rob's campaign to stay overnight in Bisbee failed, we enjoyed spending a couple hours walking around town in the cold and windy weather. We stopped in a cafe for tea and treats - carrot cake for Rob and flourless chocolate cake for me.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq_q2vulUmEnnOTgQxlaVczd34gELUdH7jAmb_D2BTy1hq5KcTTQxNNzpyXIZeVhVxpL8kVrFZMZQsqyN0l2vbOlAeD5mAZkGDmAB-1Wco6LWhxKJSgd5JBeifTsEOQq3DjGsz3J9kZLnB/s1600/IMG-3144.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq_q2vulUmEnnOTgQxlaVczd34gELUdH7jAmb_D2BTy1hq5KcTTQxNNzpyXIZeVhVxpL8kVrFZMZQsqyN0l2vbOlAeD5mAZkGDmAB-1Wco6LWhxKJSgd5JBeifTsEOQq3DjGsz3J9kZLnB/s640/IMG-3144.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">On our way out of town we saw the remnants of the old copper mine. What a shame. We could only imagine the beauty that was carved away.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">After Bisbee we rode downhill 1500 feet to the nothing town of Douglas and an evening in a Motel 6 (nothing like the Copper Queen Hotel). T</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">he riding to Douglas couldn't have been better. It took us just over an hour and a half to ride 26 miles. The scenery was stunning with mountains off in the distance on every side.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">This would be our last night in Arizona. We had long stretches of no services and small and smaller towns to look forward to.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">On <b>Friday morning, January 3</b>,</span><span style="font-size: large;"> the temperature was supposedly in the twenties when we set out from Douglas so we bundled up. But it didn't feel that cold and we quickly started shedding clothing. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU7saXTtBEVyNxzzgNxjjK0oH0lQq2eCqZ943hCefk-iFH_Xc4Ky7Y9HtUeOZNXvrlWaxkUB2ySXO5R_9jCxb1WP1-WLlcWiDxD-Gt7cRcMkl_sMiQLjP3w3_loty_bhG2ushs3KrTU2tY/s1600/IMG-3147.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU7saXTtBEVyNxzzgNxjjK0oH0lQq2eCqZ943hCefk-iFH_Xc4Ky7Y9HtUeOZNXvrlWaxkUB2ySXO5R_9jCxb1WP1-WLlcWiDxD-Gt7cRcMkl_sMiQLjP3w3_loty_bhG2ushs3KrTU2tY/s640/IMG-3147.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Our route was very straightforward - stay on Route 80 for 50 miles until we get to the little town of Rodeo, just over the border in New Mexico.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjkbDNvFicd1mvPy8R37Y13s-Fz_Y3V1mycSv6-V143-EX9hDXPN8rCwYYH9xyEOwBFYG9oUzno786Fra7BWBYblHU0xlixiCjiYhdQrfwut_CwCr5ouM-FmZidU6pebzS3dY5UJjQhn2N/s1600/IMG-3149.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjkbDNvFicd1mvPy8R37Y13s-Fz_Y3V1mycSv6-V143-EX9hDXPN8rCwYYH9xyEOwBFYG9oUzno786Fra7BWBYblHU0xlixiCjiYhdQrfwut_CwCr5ouM-FmZidU6pebzS3dY5UJjQhn2N/s640/IMG-3149.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">How do you like that portajohn adding just the right focal point to this expansive scene? It sits there, on a dirt driveway, surrounded by nothing. I couldn't figure it out. Wouldn't cowboys just do there thing wherever they happened to be when the urge hit?</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnr2cd4UV3aoUPC27ePV1R1QJnUR2AEIMBwAEbEUHjGsdGj5cyNic9VvdHl5GDHO7BXK7ioMMeF3DIEqA9A1MhLzHVQTpuuFM4vTI-nAA1JxRVEZBGwviLE8eZNtNE5-CDWL5a4clSLd2t/s1600/IMG-3152.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnr2cd4UV3aoUPC27ePV1R1QJnUR2AEIMBwAEbEUHjGsdGj5cyNic9VvdHl5GDHO7BXK7ioMMeF3DIEqA9A1MhLzHVQTpuuFM4vTI-nAA1JxRVEZBGwviLE8eZNtNE5-CDWL5a4clSLd2t/s640/IMG-3152.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We have very deep conversations during our lunch breaks -<br />Rob: We're out in the middle of nowhere."<br />Me: "We're somewhere."<br />Rob: "Would you just agree with me for once?"</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLm10HAVikQoDk6Luj3V2q6MLx1OA9gNkIhah6tN-SIwnblmLAacp32wjLLg0j5HkDFJzrEKxhmEjxK0WiXRaKfFDhtnbGVuXxoDiYNco52uI4qwWusJ3yHMPnXuJqAVC4bHg8qtDXEpEJ/s1600/IMG-3151.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLm10HAVikQoDk6Luj3V2q6MLx1OA9gNkIhah6tN-SIwnblmLAacp32wjLLg0j5HkDFJzrEKxhmEjxK0WiXRaKfFDhtnbGVuXxoDiYNco52uI4qwWusJ3yHMPnXuJqAVC4bHg8qtDXEpEJ/s640/IMG-3151.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">If we were out in the middle of nowhere then so was the border patrol dude sitting just over yonder from where we were eating our lunch. See anyplace where I could take a pee in private? Maybe he couldn't see me when I squatted down next to the culvert next to the road. Or maybe he could see me and that was the high point of his day, a story to bring home to the wife. We saw these SUVs sitting alongside the road everywhere. What a boring job.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The riding was not difficult, a couple gradual uphills followed by gradual downhills. The landscape is now pretty scruffy, still surrounded by mountains, but it is getting a little boring. Rob said, "If this is what Texas is going to be like then I'm all for skipping it."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We've been discussing the option of renting a car in El Paso and driving to San Antonio. </span><span style="font-size: large;">West Texas with long stretches of nothing and roads with rough chip seal, sounds like no fun. And we're worried about headwinds making long days impossible. If we rent a car we could take a detour to Big Bend National Park and have time to cycle the Texas Hill Country Loop before meeting up with our kids for a weekend in San Antonio at the end of January.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We found out that there is a phrase that describes some cyclists - EFM. It stands for Every F____ Mile. We were kicked out of that club back in Ontario when we hitched a ride to Sault Ste. Marie. And any hopes of our membership being reinstated were dashed when we took the train from St. Paul to East Glacier, skipping all of North Dakota.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When people ask us where we biked from we say New Hampshire. And then they say, "You didn't bike here all the way from New Hampshire, did you?" And I say, "Mostly." And I explain about the train. And the response is usually, "Good idea."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Maybe skipping West Texas would get the same response. We had plenty of time to make that decision. First we had to get across New Mexico.</span></div>
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Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429128251954411282.post-33305598157988538892020-01-27T18:26:00.001-08:002020-01-27T18:26:57.266-08:00Circling the U.S. Chapter 64:Tucson for Christmas<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Looking down over Tucson from about five miles up Mt. Lemmon.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If the spectacular coastline of Oregon was a surprise for Rob, my biggest surprise of this trip so far is Tucson. I had no idea what to expect and certainly had no idea of the stunning beauty of the mountains that surround the city, the incredible bicycle path that circles it, and the friendly, athletic people who live in it. Even without an ocean, I think Tucson has landed on Rob's short list of places to consider as a low-altitude retirement home.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Tuesday, December 24 - Sunday, December 29, 2019</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Our ride into Tucson on Christmas Eve included a stop at REI to pick up a new tent, fuel, and new headlamps. Then we had a beautiful ride on "The Loop," a 56-mile bike path tht circles the city, running alongside a mostly dry riverbed. Given the wind and occasional rain, we pretty much had it to ourselves.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The bridges all had mosaics on one end of them but this had one the full length.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Chuck met us on "The Loop" even though it was cold and windy and rain threatened. We were grateful when we followed him through parking lots and alleys on a shortcut to his house that we would never have found on our own.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Just as our timing into San Diego for Thanksgiving coincided with a big storm, our timing into Tucson came with wintry weather om the forecast. Snow in the mountains gave us a bit of a white Christmas that we never expected. We were happy that we only had to ride 20 miles to Chuck and Cheryl's house.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We couldn't have asked for nicer people to spend the Christmas holiday with. Cheryl had hot soup waiting for us. She would have joined us in the athletic endeavors during our stay but for her recent hip replacement surgery.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Christmas was low-key, perfect in its own way. In the morning Chuck took us to Sabina Canyon for a short hike. In the afternoon two other couples came to play cards, eat hors d'oeuvres, soup, and desserts, and enjoy each others' company. Cheryl served a chicken tortilla soup and minestrone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Cheryl and Chuck are both retired. Cheryl, ingenuitive and creative, has flipped a few houses and outfitted a van with all sorts of comforts for camping. She has recently taken up quilting and makes and sells yoga mat bags and jewelry. Chuck has created a gorgeous cactus garden. He gave us a tour before we went for our hike Christmas morning. Many of his plants are not indigenous to Tucson but come from Mexico.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The following pictures come from our hike in Sabina Canyon. The weather was very changeable, snowing in the mountains.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Chuck may have been pointing out a picnic spot where he and Cheryl got married.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Thursday, December 26</b>, Chuck took us on a bike ride six miles up Mt. Lemmon. At the bottom we rode past a blockade. The road to the summit was closed to all but 4-wheel drive vehicles or those with chains because of ice and snow. Snow in Tucson? We hadn't expected that.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ZsBMLN-WrKlg6QW9G-H3ELGTFcRcbeecs7Vqrfx0zYndfeFCDb7SLaA6pv1fCS9qs_58HzoA_lUgdqc8p5RxajkFbAZ4pgxx0AyJD2qOqVI8czSW8LbhAYaVyadTNlsyMSGk7LuPijNl/s1600/IMG-3073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ZsBMLN-WrKlg6QW9G-H3ELGTFcRcbeecs7Vqrfx0zYndfeFCDb7SLaA6pv1fCS9qs_58HzoA_lUgdqc8p5RxajkFbAZ4pgxx0AyJD2qOqVI8czSW8LbhAYaVyadTNlsyMSGk7LuPijNl/s640/IMG-3073.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After a lunch of more of Cheryl's delicious soup we said our good-byes and headed closer to downtown Tucson, where we had another Warm Showers home to stay.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPJkhlXhjZdCL0Q2kDsWZJLQtu-wPmxje9rxs5Scw1RzvZTJYzn8c86aLsH_hTkDpcybop3EgAj5xot4QA5ytQ_j5apmgR6Z1jnAu5w1OOLIGBeLnfR-iIdI7L_4pZuyeEsKUWzJBd-C4t/s1600/IMG-3081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPJkhlXhjZdCL0Q2kDsWZJLQtu-wPmxje9rxs5Scw1RzvZTJYzn8c86aLsH_hTkDpcybop3EgAj5xot4QA5ytQ_j5apmgR6Z1jnAu5w1OOLIGBeLnfR-iIdI7L_4pZuyeEsKUWzJBd-C4t/s640/IMG-3081.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Again, our route took us on The Loop around Tucson.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEYTHgSVP1twIvxB_gl0Ro-GEA_U2eNdqY19TGFXn3nOX17vqfAhbeLvvv3m59NUK-E6AJkxRvUPuidPyz8GipLxaplK_uA0e7It7d1um6LcvcHJ6ekyqY0Gs_WIPD6RB1P3eOpwRyaIfb/s1600/IMG-3086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEYTHgSVP1twIvxB_gl0Ro-GEA_U2eNdqY19TGFXn3nOX17vqfAhbeLvvv3m59NUK-E6AJkxRvUPuidPyz8GipLxaplK_uA0e7It7d1um6LcvcHJ6ekyqY0Gs_WIPD6RB1P3eOpwRyaIfb/s640/IMG-3086.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Steve and Heidi were incredibly welcoming. We were only planning to stay two nights with them, but at their insistence we made it three.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyqEaPm_BROyN0nBUrX4_TylVJLvY1YtdHhGe3pkn2_BEhQxquuABiWRmRaKu6Jw_84h_Rs3jXTbbiJ7O94qq26Cz2ZpmH9O-OrjRPZRaBlLWcJNfoiwQBtTwzFi0G87aCkUVxlr5aZ66Z/s1600/IMG-2987.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyqEaPm_BROyN0nBUrX4_TylVJLvY1YtdHhGe3pkn2_BEhQxquuABiWRmRaKu6Jw_84h_Rs3jXTbbiJ7O94qq26Cz2ZpmH9O-OrjRPZRaBlLWcJNfoiwQBtTwzFi0G87aCkUVxlr5aZ66Z/s640/IMG-2987.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">With rain in the forecast on <b>Friday, December 27</b>, Rob wanted to take a walking tour of Tucson. We hunted down many of the murals scattered around the city, walking about ten miles.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn_u4X4fgYCQsuBjww2Ac4fhyXZLSA8EKmp9U4K-QYZ4eMNXcdzdHELw0jT6OyoCczNY3rRIwUAJSzjv6tULMIB__1S5WrTLIemG9Vo9vLmJzPQRd1g18nNEuzGl7twEjmptKeMc6UWzZo/s1600/IMG_20191228_112705320_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn_u4X4fgYCQsuBjww2Ac4fhyXZLSA8EKmp9U4K-QYZ4eMNXcdzdHELw0jT6OyoCczNY3rRIwUAJSzjv6tULMIB__1S5WrTLIemG9Vo9vLmJzPQRd1g18nNEuzGl7twEjmptKeMc6UWzZo/s640/IMG_20191228_112705320_HDR.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0xNT9pIbEUCABEHZiHwWnnoC6j-Gq38rVfygKLtavtvBUFCJ1fF-0tTpnp7ss-fckaSz4IAX_KYlym5FpD5RIsY6Jd-VBlQxwvvlwFFvJbTIZTiCv4hhL1qQ-eOyLjls_P55Pe2fu-6o7/s1600/IMG-2989.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0xNT9pIbEUCABEHZiHwWnnoC6j-Gq38rVfygKLtavtvBUFCJ1fF-0tTpnp7ss-fckaSz4IAX_KYlym5FpD5RIsY6Jd-VBlQxwvvlwFFvJbTIZTiCv4hhL1qQ-eOyLjls_P55Pe2fu-6o7/s640/IMG-2989.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We took note of some Arizona-style Christmas decorations.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Saturday, December 28</b>, we bicycled around downtown Tucson to try to see some of the sights we didn't get to on foot the day before.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglg0AEW94P1L_nAx_qLW6itbQCwdghHTbcFaAneL2Zgj8JPknkbyK6wLIjEPHn0_0F2t6SmjN2Xx7UfYiT06IztJ6eeJm8KXXAaf_ittXOY2Mea-N3kA_XGcPgg0sk1dKmirMQXvT_umHv/s1600/IMG_20191228_115202099_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglg0AEW94P1L_nAx_qLW6itbQCwdghHTbcFaAneL2Zgj8JPknkbyK6wLIjEPHn0_0F2t6SmjN2Xx7UfYiT06IztJ6eeJm8KXXAaf_ittXOY2Mea-N3kA_XGcPgg0sk1dKmirMQXvT_umHv/s640/IMG_20191228_115202099_HDR.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Bike Church is made up of nothing but bicycle parts.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6SFCPbhJSfTl33YmtGmW6BPOAWMY0AIw6lM4Ql5GLfo0OhoL-ni6ovS6ooN8xmlcsTZqJwwpk6uqFY_2HHp3Ereccrg6_bqMrUI3HptG3egXU6m_eBWfMvOMQvAW1UImzhJ1wnl3BTRbF/s1600/IMG-3083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6SFCPbhJSfTl33YmtGmW6BPOAWMY0AIw6lM4Ql5GLfo0OhoL-ni6ovS6ooN8xmlcsTZqJwwpk6uqFY_2HHp3Ereccrg6_bqMrUI3HptG3egXU6m_eBWfMvOMQvAW1UImzhJ1wnl3BTRbF/s640/IMG-3083.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnVYQj5PmkzaPDEUL3u0S5q6SOBwlMtqaBD9KjEhlsY-M0p3uIIbSzxdyV_I3VC3Cfqa4iT6bhCFc3cx-C4K84bzt1IGX3SKsnughSjkMDJHcJ8SdJ9eWEEE_YvihqhA80A2a90yTe46d3/s1600/IMG_20191226_154657909.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnVYQj5PmkzaPDEUL3u0S5q6SOBwlMtqaBD9KjEhlsY-M0p3uIIbSzxdyV_I3VC3Cfqa4iT6bhCFc3cx-C4K84bzt1IGX3SKsnughSjkMDJHcJ8SdJ9eWEEE_YvihqhA80A2a90yTe46d3/s640/IMG_20191226_154657909.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We visited the Presidio, a recreation of the Spanish fortress built in the late 1700s. But it was cold and windy, so we didn't last long. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">If we expected Tucson to be warm and sunny at the end of December we would have been disappointed. Fortunately for us, we had no such expectations. <b>Sunday morning, December 29, </b>Steve greeted us with, "The coldest day of the year, 29 degrees, and you guys nailed it."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We bundled up, met their friends Linda and Steve, and bicycled a few miles to Frank's for breakfast.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyTBVzRrxacoFA0hzvQddz85ksKHT0Gp8GCDyaziiPv316nLbpfZBmO6wWrPw5bsuXXreh3pMcp8BdGqUPUr2FEXxHZhLXT4WSTh3Pm7ujBbxCuWzbLlshc1ZT__rOyXtk7Mb0GmCHfCbc/s1600/IMG-3087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyTBVzRrxacoFA0hzvQddz85ksKHT0Gp8GCDyaziiPv316nLbpfZBmO6wWrPw5bsuXXreh3pMcp8BdGqUPUr2FEXxHZhLXT4WSTh3Pm7ujBbxCuWzbLlshc1ZT__rOyXtk7Mb0GmCHfCbc/s640/IMG-3087.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Frank's: Elegant Dining Elsewhere"</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXA7JDconzEtTL-hLthao07YKHX74YMAUDJ4ip86l1nRXneidQX0dJo6kmr9JX2w4MOVncflt64q60DFcjznzZCXn1iNQ42kL6arbL94ENnuq7khoTG_Segq0b2IzKZ0smN8tq7UyYfgxE/s1600/IMG-3088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXA7JDconzEtTL-hLthao07YKHX74YMAUDJ4ip86l1nRXneidQX0dJo6kmr9JX2w4MOVncflt64q60DFcjznzZCXn1iNQ42kL6arbL94ENnuq7khoTG_Segq0b2IzKZ0smN8tq7UyYfgxE/s640/IMG-3088.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The cold weather didn't stop these intrepid retirees (and one almost-retiree) from bicycling to breakfast and for a longer ride afterwards. Left to right: Heidi, Rob, Steve, Steve, and Linda.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After breakfast, our new Tucson friends accompanied us almost to yet another Warm Showers host, where we planned to drop off our gear before riding to the eastern half of Saguaro National Park.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA3gRpwEhNtpAwZPyQjyunJjANUH2rkoA2nrS3ddBJjITjqwy7EsySxsoj61U0lZ8dEzMcyXVrM2YW7f3lBDR7bhOfrp7dU-R4qy9_GBV9zOYT-3mIMfmDP_ERvlN1FkmUUIe0VmRi_4bP/s1600/IMG-3111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA3gRpwEhNtpAwZPyQjyunJjANUH2rkoA2nrS3ddBJjITjqwy7EsySxsoj61U0lZ8dEzMcyXVrM2YW7f3lBDR7bhOfrp7dU-R4qy9_GBV9zOYT-3mIMfmDP_ERvlN1FkmUUIe0VmRi_4bP/s640/IMG-3111.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Christine and Steve live five miles from the national park. We were only going to drop off our gear and visit later, but they invited us for lunch. How could we refuse?</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">While in Tucson we stayed with three different couples, all our age and older, all active cyclists and extraordinarily interesting people. We absolutely have to return to make sure we continue these new friendships.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4hZzrPZUxdbbwvL9WmtbryCAUx3ZLSwCHs1-fkXC7bsg4EpMxVt32RtkzHLT_-R5dGiw4NbzoM1XswwHREW8K57M4aW_Oq5ulvXGT6jGNzCIxaXMMTyT3QLVOCvB3tx8gpbNKKPYbPhVu/s1600/IMG-3089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4hZzrPZUxdbbwvL9WmtbryCAUx3ZLSwCHs1-fkXC7bsg4EpMxVt32RtkzHLT_-R5dGiw4NbzoM1XswwHREW8K57M4aW_Oq5ulvXGT6jGNzCIxaXMMTyT3QLVOCvB3tx8gpbNKKPYbPhVu/s640/IMG-3089.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Our ride to the national park included views of the snow-capped mountains. Tucson is surrounded by four different mountain ranges.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Following are pictures from the eight-mile loop through Saguaro National Park. The day had warmed up nicely so it turned out to be a beautiful fun ride, the perfect ending to our stay in this magical city.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilHXChaXsBYP8hnQMRaoJlCnwuJ-KHnd36eo_1aWn3zkGbnj98LqVs0eDEnruycgUj7RdYVJ84qrTKVLdh6CGqfoH7Kw_9MqaqUmUaO_FK_8LGuKZnD0UPtgh5L2LDg4gfyjWsV2dF4U6_/s1600/IMG-3090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilHXChaXsBYP8hnQMRaoJlCnwuJ-KHnd36eo_1aWn3zkGbnj98LqVs0eDEnruycgUj7RdYVJ84qrTKVLdh6CGqfoH7Kw_9MqaqUmUaO_FK_8LGuKZnD0UPtgh5L2LDg4gfyjWsV2dF4U6_/s640/IMG-3090.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR4JOEv5uu2m_420X6XIQiPFfuMHrRF4MDgiiSKQ7yhGGQndcaQOi0zR7cyebvKPtA5u9KNJM3VLcrlnOpk4AfpFg6VXuEpKJddB2NRq4zaJcN3n73n8lMTk7qTpJemwg4gmVZQVErSXIl/s1600/IMG-3092.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR4JOEv5uu2m_420X6XIQiPFfuMHrRF4MDgiiSKQ7yhGGQndcaQOi0zR7cyebvKPtA5u9KNJM3VLcrlnOpk4AfpFg6VXuEpKJddB2NRq4zaJcN3n73n8lMTk7qTpJemwg4gmVZQVErSXIl/s640/IMG-3092.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Christine gave us two clear warnings before we left for the park. One, make sure and stop at any stop signs or we might get a ticket. Two, go very slow on the first downhill. There's a sharp curve at the bottom and if you go too fast you'll crash into the cactus.</span></td></tr>
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Connie Eppichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16376970972370412180noreply@blogger.com0