The Quiet Ripple Defines The Pond

So we did it!

I set off in early January with great trepidation; was the truck up to such an ambitious trip, was I up to it or were we both too shagged out? The truck has done 180,000 miles and I will be 70 in a month. 11,000 miles, 3 and a bit months living in a camper.

The Gods did not give in easily and the last day was probably the toughest, blizzard coming over the Sierras and very high winds. I was also sick with extreme stomach upset and had to stop several times to join the bears in the woods. Not fun.

Anyway, I spend a few more days in Utah. So much scenery!

There are some old mining towns that are sort of hanging on.

I visit Bodie, a ghost town 8,000 ft up in the Sierras. Once upon a time, 10,000 people lived here, there were 60 saloons!

So I am back in San Francisco but, like many others, homeless. The renovations to the apartment are far from finished. I guess I will light out to Japan.

What a trip!

I am now very much west-side but before I forget, here are some of the ways that the womenfolk of the South and the Mid West addressed me.

Sugar Pie, Sugar, Sweetie, Honey, Honey Child, Baby, Sweetheart, My Lovely, Darlin, and many more. I mean this is before we had been formally introduced. I loved it! Thank you women of the South and Mid West.

After Mesa Verde, where I was stuck for a couple of days because of snow, I bumble around the Canyons of the Ancients National Monument.

I head off to The Needles NP. Is it necessary to go into the parks as the scenery everywhere is sensational?

Needles National Park is sensational but suffers from the same dilemma as most parks in the USA. Better, cheaper, transport, more affluent people, Covid stimulated desire to get out of the house has provoked a massive increase in the number of visitors.

I get there at about 09:00 but the campsites are already full. Luckily I collide with Wendy, who is a Park Ranger. One of the park hosts has left for a couple of days and she gives me their site. Thank you Wendy!

I have mentioned a few reasons for the increasingly popularity of National Parks but in addition, the parks are incredibly well run and the staff have the mixture of enthusiasm, helpfulness and evident enjoyment of their jobs, devoid of any sort of cynicism that other nations are unable to replicate.

Wendy makes sure that I am comfortably installed and takes so much time to suggest the best places and activities. There is no shortage.

Anyway, Needles NP is an absolutely astonishing place and the people who work there are stars. Thank you.

I have come through California, Arizona, New Mexico, lots of Mexico,Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama,Tennessee, North Carolina, Kentucky, Missouri, Arkansas, Kansas, a little bit of Oklahoma and Colorado.

I have seen hundreds of pro Trump posters and signs. The only Biden signs encourage you to have sex with him.

After so much country I am now in the back in the West!

My great problem is the furnace in the camper. It does not work. It annoys me as it is massively over engineered. It has a circuit board that could control a particle accelerator. Luckily I have a Mr Buddy heater, which always works. Light pilot light, turn on gas, boom it works.

It is the way we are going, lots of electronic stuff that does not work.

I visit Mesa Verde.

How can those title words be pronounced so differently yet contain the same ea vowel core? English spelling is hard to follow.

Instead, I follow Highway 160 across the plains and finally into the Rockies.

The plains are wonderful! Big. Hours and hours of driving. Occasional small town/gas station.

Eastern Colorado is just as flat as Kansas. I rub my eyes. Is that snow?

What a good drive- over the Great Plains and then climb up into the Rockies!

I arrive at a camp site in Trinidad. It is late, I am exhausted. To stay you have to pre-register, create your identity, choose a site, pay with credit card.

I am very low, as is noticed by the wonderful Geoff and Kate who are camping nearby. Geoff takes my phone and with great courtesy and skill does the necessary for me to stay. I will be eternally grateful.

Still on 160, I find a ranch where meat is sold.

I buy Elk, Venison and Goat.

What next?

The frequency of posts depends on the speed of available wifi. Uploading lots of photos is only bearable if there is a reasonably good signal. I have been sleeping in the camper a lot and so no posts. This means I have more or less forgotten what has happened to me by the time I get around to writing something. Sorry for cursory nature of this post. I can’t remember.

I am essentially following the route of the early European settlers. Through the Appalachian mountains, the woody hills of Kentucky into the beautiful country around the Missouri/Arkansas state line. Those settlers must have been staggered, coming from their cramped little European countries where all land had been grabbed thousands of years before. I potter along the smallest roads passing through beautiful farmland, crisscrossed with nice big rivers.

So much land! Help yourself guys, special offer this week. Poor Native Americans.

I love Kansas. It is so flat, the skies are huge.

I end up in Medicine Lodge where there is only one motel. It has frontier style wifi.

I visit the Stockade, a reconstruction of the fort that was here in the early days.

Yvonne gives me a wonderful book on the history of Medicine Lodge. It is mainly snippets from the local newspaper in the 1880s. It exudes enthusiasm, chaos, mixed with vitality and dry humor. Not so long ago. It has marked the people who are here now.

I make it to Charlotte NC. Well done truck! I spend time with son Ben. He is doing so well and I am very proud of him.

What’s more he has a 2000 Camaro with a 5.7 liter V8. He takes me for a drive throughout which I am absolutely terrified.

To get to Charlotte I drive through lots of States.

Before I get to Charlotte, I search in vain to find a campground around the town of Murphy Tennessee. I missed the Tennessee border line sign but I promise that I have been there. Anyway, I end up camping by a very grunge boat launch surrounded by urban tipping. At 11:00 there is a hammering on the door. I was asleep.

“Sir, you can’t camp here. No camping inside city limits.” says the young woman officer.

“Sorry, couldn’t find anywhere else.”

“Ok don’t stay more than 3 days.”

I think being an old guy with a British accent helps a lot in these situations.

Again before I get to Charlotte, I am snowed in way up in the Smoky Mountains National Park. The park closes down for 2 days. There is nothing for it but to snuggle down in the camper. It is wonderful; plenty food, plenty drink and the furnace is working perfectly. So cosy!

The best countryside since Mexico has been in Tennessee, North Carolina and Virginia. Beautiful wooded mountains, pasture with chocolate box farms.

Too much has happened to describe adequately. Here are a few snatches of the drive, so far, from Corpus Christi to Charlotte. It is a completely inadequate summary.

Jogging through Texas I stop at Goliad, site of the famous massacre https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Goliad_massacre I had never heard of it before.

Goliad is a great place.

The USA is very big. We trundle along over miles and miles of open country. I do everything possible to avoid Interstates and indeed major roads.

Having breakfast and consulting my map, the young lady who served my food asks,

“What is that Sir? My papa used have those things. What do all the lines mean? Why are they different colors? That is soooo cool!”

“You have never used a map?”

“Nope, I just use my phone.”

Caitlin, for that is her name, is a medical student. She is not dumb. Neither do I think this is a purely U.S. phenomenum.

I cross into Louisiana.

I camp by a boat launch. The guys are coming in after a day’s fishing. They all have beautiful new boats with huge outboards. They trailer them out of the water with admirable skill using huge, again seemingly brand new. trucks.

“Can I camp here?

“Of course you can buddy! Y’all very welcome.”

Since leaving Corpus Christi I have had a headache, a very sore throat and maybe a fever. Oh no! Have I got Covid? I screech into the next Walmart and get me some cough syrup.

I cross the Mississippi River at Natchez.

I drive up the Natchez Trace. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Natchez_Trace_Parkway

It is an interesting road that gives an idea of what the country was like in 1800, er lots of trees. Frankly it gets pretty dull after a while and I swerve off into the wilds of Mississippi.

“Sorry, I am lost.” I say to the lady in the country store.

“Hell no, you ain’t lost, this is Mississippi! Ain’t nobody lost in Mississippi! You ax anybody and they will set y’all right.”

Truck running very sweet as we roll over hundreds of mile of country. It is mainly flat and forested with plenty of evidence of a darker past. Lots of shacks beside big mansions. Most of the towns proudly note the date they were burned down by General Grant. Many, many memorials to the glories of the Confederate army. However, I have only seen one Confederate flag; apparently going out of fashion. I see more churches than any other variety of wildlife.

I love the South. Easy to mock but they have something.

The Whooping Crane is one of the rarest birds in the USA.  A few hundred migrate down from Canada to the marshes around Rockport Texas. I am here to see them. I book a trip on a Whooping Crane boat but it is 3 days away. I spend this time on the incredible beaches of Mustang Island and Padre Island.

It is still cold when I get to Mustang Island State Park but the furnace is working and I am very snug.  The sand on these beaches is beautifully clean and has the consistency of fine salt.  The beach on Padre Island is 60 miles long! The weather perks up and a wonderful time is had. There are lots of birds.

I rush back to Rockport to see the crane. I eat at The Boiling Pot. The menu is variations on crab, sausage, shrimp, potatoes. These are simply boiled and then flung on the table accompanied by a big pot of melted butter.You attack with your hands. Amazing food! 

I get ready to leave.

“Sir, your meal has been paid for.”

“What?!”

“Yes sir, a gentleman wanted to get the tab for your food.”

“Where is he?!”

“ He left 10 minutes ago.”

What do you make of that?

We embark next morning for a 3 hour trip around the wetlands. Captain Tommy is vey knowledgeable. We see lots of cranes but they are pretty far away making photography difficult.

Great fun but nothing like Mexico birdwise.

Suddenly I find myself crossing over the Rio Grande into the USA. In Mexico it is hot but I can see a cold front rolling in from the North as I chat to the friendly but firm customs guy. By the time I get into Brownsville it is cold, raining and getting dark. I run for a motel.

I head North to Corpus Christi, hunting the Whooping Crane. I pull into a Denny’s for breakfast and beside the restaurant is Discount Tire shop.

The truck needs tenderness. Her tires are very worn and the exhaust system is hanging on by cable ties and USB cables.

“Sir, get yourself some breakfast and coffee. We will have new tires on your truck by the time you are finished.”

I love the US! I have a great breakfast and sure enough the truck is re-shod when I stroll back to Custom Tires.

I get to Corpus Christi and track down Flanagan’s Muffler Shop. It is in a wasteland of auto-shops, scrapyards, interlaced with roads that are as wide as most motorways in the rest of the world.

Dale, who is the boss, is very, very Texan, small, wiry and unshaven. He is completely on top of his job. He runs the truck onto the ramp and informs, ” Have to change out the muffler buddy. A lot of these young boys come to replace their mufflers for something loud. I got a stack of used mufflers for your truck out back. They are stainless steel and will last longer than you will buddy. I can put on one of those for $200 or I can get y’all a replacement part from Toyota but they are mild steel. They ain’t worth shit and will cost y’all more than twice as much.”

“Sorry buddy, the boys can’t do it tonight, we are kinda backed up.” It is 5:00 in the evening.

“OK, I guess I can find a hotel and come back tomorrow.”

” If y’all want, y’all can pull up the truck out back and sleep there. The boys can get right on it tomorrow morning.”

Dalemay have lots of guns and perhaps votes Trump but he is a hell of a guy. Like Gunga Din, I feel he is a better man than I. He has my total admiration.

Both the tires and muffler replacements were so, er, life enhancing. The truck is as fit as a weasel. Watch out Whooping Cranes!

I head off to find the Biosfera El Cielo, https://biosferaelcielo.com which is somewhere in North East Mexico. It is reputed to be a good place for birdies.

I drive for 2 days from Fresnillo over flat desert plains. It is a dull trip made worse by a ghastly 2 hours trying to find my way out of St Luis Potosi. However even the grimmest road journey in Mexico is made bright by the rows of stalls that line the road on the way into and out of anywhere. Tacos, birria, burritos, carnitas, fruit of every sort, cold fruit juice, coconuts, roasted maize, steak and kidney pie, etc, etc.

I finally get to the tiny town of Gomez Farias, outside of which there is a Centro Interpretivo. I mime that I would like to find a birdwatching guide. 10 minutes later Mario shows. He is fantastic and seemingly very excited that I am there. He is determined to show me the Altamira Yellowthroat, which is only found within a few miles radius of Gomez Farias. When I say found, it is a simplification. We spend hours snuffling around drainage ditches and after much diligence Mario finds a couple. They move very fast in amongst the reeds. This is birdwatching at its most obsessive!

I am exhausted but Mario has the bit between his teeth and off we go into the now night to search for owls.

Next day at 07:00, we are off again now accompanied by Esteban who is to be my guide over the next couple of days.

The first target is the amazing Great Currasow that wander out of the forest to feed early in the morning.

Esteban and I head into the mountains up a very, very rough road. We spend 3 days hammering up and down tiny mountain roads, all in terrible condition.

We make our way up to the tiny village of Alta Cima, Esteban’s home town.

A bird you have never seen before is called a ‘Lifer’ in birdwatching vernacular. I do not think there is a term for birds that you have not even heard of. During the 3 day trip I only see 2 species that I have previously met, the other 50 or so I have not only not met but indeed never heard of. It is truly amazing birding!

Anyway, I could go on like this for a very long time but you get the picture. Esteban and I spend 3 exhilarating and exhausting days in the mountains. He is a genius. I camp in his garden and his very funny wife cooks me breakfast; beans, eggs and tortillas, every morning. It is a very simple mud house.

Thank you Esteban. Thank you Mario. Thank you truck. What an adventure!