We're in Texas Now

Since I've been relating with each state I crossed the number of miles of I-10 it possesses I will comment that the great state of Texas begins at milepost 880. Things are definitely bigger in Texas. The agents in their welcome centre were efficient if not particularly welcoming—no coffee, beverages or steak on offer either. It's the first rest area I've encountered that had speed bumps. Before I left Lafayette my fellow campers warned me not to give the Texas Rangers any excuse to pull an out-of-state licensed vehicle over for speeding. Given the crosswinds and rain on the highway today there was no chance of that. As I drove out of Louisiana I noted the continuing tradition begun in Mississippi of huge hoardings along the side of the highway advertising gambling establishments. Yet another reason to abhor the obsession.

Given the unsettled nature of the weather today I'd already decided not to travel too far today so after seven miles of I-10 in Texas I got off and found a campground. I'd not that in Texas the signs read National Highway 10. Oak Leaf Campground is old and looks it; the outlet I plugged my landline into is almost as old as I. There is no Wi-Fi but I was escorted to my site by a slim Texan of medium height and shown where the facilities were located. As the name implies the camp is in a grove of Live Oaks again but this one has palm trees and pines interspersed. The squirrels are quite in evidence here as well but I've yet to have my roof bombarded as it was in Lafayette. So, at one o'clock I have a day to catch up on my reading but apparently I won't be doing it online.

On Tuesday I drove West along I-10 in Texas in calm weather on roads that were straight if largely under construction. The trip though the massive city of Houston was a white-knuckle experience. I may have been cautioned about speeding in Texas but it would seem everyone else does. Now that I have internet access I need to gain Intel and plan for the month ahead in Austin.

Heading for Points West

After leaving the Everglades I stopped in an emphatically black hood for gas and lived to talk about it. From Florida City drove up and took Hwy 41 West and 27 North to Lake Wales. Found a campground and parked for the night. Monday was devoted to visiting Bok Sanctuary with its gardens and bell tower. The carillonneur proved to be on vacation and I could not be persuaded that a recording could do justice to the sound of the ringing of a 12 ton bell. The orange groves on the way in looked tempting. The gardens were well cared for but it was off season for flowering plants. I did enjoy taking pictures anyway.

After my visit to the gardens left with 3 recordings of the bells including the only Christmas CD I'm going to have this year. Until it reaches the coastal cities Hwy 60 crosses the Florida Peninsula almost as straight as a dart with the only change being the occasional passing lane and intersecting highway. I drove back to Vero Beach and spent the night with my friends there—or at least in their home—they had to go out for the evening.

Tuesday I left early for Hobe Sound to see what the RV Centre there could do about my non-functioning heat pump. It took a 100 mile detour and half a day to determine that at some point before I acquired my RV some idiot left a sanding disk in my heat pump and it was blocking the circulation fan. I have yet another reason to be displeased with my dealer. The drive back along US-1 was congested and I was glad when I finally regained I-95 and when I reached Hwy 60 decided to return to Lake Wales RV Park before proceeding further. Spent the rest of the day catching up online and discovered that another cold snap was not only on the way but would plunge the area of Florida into which I intended to head well below freezing. Decided to hole up for another day and spent it doing 'housework' and catching up on some of my E-mail and magazines.

Set off at 7:00 AM Thursday morning and headed up Hwy 27, the Florida Turnpike, and I-75 to I-10. Interstate 10, it seems crosses the Southern US. On my first day I made it as far as Tallahassee. There I found the Tallahassee RV Park on Hwy 90 next to a Shell Gas Station and a Publix grocery store which was within walking distance. I was satisfied to stretch out and check my E-mail. On the way in I witnessed Florida State Prisoners out cleaning garbage along the highway.

On Friday I checked out Publix again went next door to fill up my tank. There I discovered the annoying phenomena of having to prepurchase my gas when what I wanted was the chance to fill my tank. How am I supposed to know how much fuel at $1.99 an American Gallon my vehicle is going to hold? As it was I came very close forcing the last dollar's worth into the tank. This day was marked by an a gusting crosswind that made driving unpleasant and visiting the frequent rest stops feel a necessity. The road seemed to climb steadily and for the first time in memory there were no signs indicating elevation above sea level. I lost track of just how many Florida Counties I passed through. Finally I reached the Alabama Border and stopped at the visitor's centre where a bored attendant passed me a map and various tourist booklets. The drive into Mobile was tense with traffic getting heavier and heavier—thank goodness I missed rush hour. The bridge crossing Mobile Bay which leads into the city stretches for miles and would be pleasant viewing if I hadn't been fighting the wind to keep my lane and watching the exits and lane changes to ensure I didn't get lost. It culminates in a tunnel before one enters downtown. As I approached my intended campground a cloud of dust and smoke from some local industry clouded the sky and the highway until just before I reached my site. Live Oaks do have acorns! The swimming pool at I-10 Campground looks neglected and rimed with green algae and the only internet is a dial-up central connection but the price was right. The electrical hook-up works if the water has a funky taste. Luckily I don't need any water.

I'm on a quest to reach Austin Texas by early next week. The Florida Panhandle seems to stretch on forever and leaves only a small snippet of coastal area for Alabama, indeed a mere 68 miles. There are only 77 miles of Mississippi that I-10 crosses and about 155 miles of Louisiana. Nothing about Texas, of course is small.

This morning I got off early not having E-mail to check to slow me down. Got to Mississippi before the visitor's centre opened and crossed into Louisiana to find there's closed for reconstruction. At a little place called Mandeville visited the local travel centre and learned that instead of counties Louisiana has parishes as we've heard in discussions of flooding in New Orleans because it's a holdover from Napoleonic times. The Country Kitchen Restaurant they recommended for brunch was in the middle of a major road re-construction project, service was glacial and I used a napkin to clean my own table and scrounged a menu from a nearby table, the waitress came within inches of scalding me with coffee and the three egg omelette must have been made with robin eggs. Serves me right for not making my own breakfast! Have I been on the road too long!

LSU are playing Old Miss today in Baton Rouge but I made it through downtown despite that. When the gal at the Cajan Country Campground dragged her low-rider jeans, lip ring and black eye-liner back into the campground office she promptly took two personal calls before deigning to even look at me. She then informed me the campground's water was off and that they had no internet and wanted cash. This and the look I'd had before she slouched back into the office persuaded me I really wasn't ready to stop for the day. I drove on to a KOA in Lafayette. It was only 50 or so miles away but most of the journey took place on a bridge crossing a major swamp with a member of the sheriff's department picking off speeders along the way.

For the record KOA Lafayette is a place I'd recommend. Bring your fishing pole for the large stocked pond, coffee ready at 7:00 AM and pleasant people who even collect your garbage.

Assessing the Everglades

The most enduring impression the Everglades supplied was one of neglect. It begins with the smallish sign marking the entrance which is almost hidden by an overgrowth of vegetation; continues with the roughly over-paved roads; and is brought home by the ruined Flamingo Lodge which remains un-repaired half a decade after it was destroyed by hurricanes. It is also demonstrated in the fact that the single source of power to the entire park plunged it into darkness for an entire 24 hour period when a transformer blew up. There is no backup.

Everywhere the effects of man's intervention are evident. To justify the expenditure to preserve natural areas large portions of them are made accessible to the taxpayers who footed the bill. The access road that bisects the park for 42 miles is a major impact on the landscape. Indeed many of the ponds that are visitor's sites were created when fill for the road was dug to create the roadbed. Virtually all valuable wood species are second growth as their virgin forebears were cut for market. The flamingos that gave Flamingo Lodge its name were hunted for their plumes and have never returned to the area. Farming operations and intense urban development have deprived the Everglades of much of the moisture that once sustained it. Natural occurrences such as wildfires, drought, and hurricanes serve to augment manmade impacts. The Everglades we see today is a fraction of its former size and is vastly changed. For its own protection it were best that large portions remain inaccessible to human attentions. The panther crossing signs seem more hopeful than real when you realize that park staff rarely make a sighting.

Being unable to pick up any park guides as a result of the bookstore being closed was a real downer. The fact that water levels in the park are still relatively high meant that wildlife were not concentrated at the traditional waterholes but I did eventually see most of the birds I expected along with crocodiles and alligators on the pontoon tour.

While I was driving the Skyline Dr I meditated on the fact that it would be best viewed in a horse and wagon but the posted speed limit is 35 and at 25 I was an obstruction to traffic. Just what people expect driving through the Everglades at 60 is more than I can fathom. Even at 25 I felt I was driving too fast but that's the lowest speed at which cruise control works. Most striking is the difference even a few inches in elevation can mean here. Vastly different habitats co-exist mere feet from one another. Hardwood hammocks are surrounded by Everglades prairie. The fact that an area is 3 or 4 feet above sea level is significant is a novel idea for one who recently drove down from 5000 ft.

At Flamingo Campground I spent the coolest night to that point I'd had in Florida. The power came back on just in time to deprive me of an unobstructed view of the stars though a full moon obscured the Milky Way in any case.

The Everglades are a place of myth and lore. The modern reality of the areas developed for tourists along the main park highway presents a rather "tame" version of the real thing. To get a true feel for the Everglades as it survives today I believe one would need to take an overnight trip in an unmotorized craft such as a kayak or canoe. Motorized craft and airboats might get you there faster but the wildlife can hear you coming from miles away.

Living Down to my Expectations

Florida continues to live down to my expectations. For those in the know who have their A/C working there may be places those on fixed incomes can live reasonably comfortably but in the main it would seem to be a land where the rich and privileged live high off the hog and ordinary folk toil to support their lifestyle. As I drove south along A1A at 7:30 AM I saw long line-ups of service vehicles waiting for the OK from the gate-keepers at the various private communities to enter and begin their daily toil. The interior and exterior glass of my RV was slow to clear of fog and a light mist was falling as I drove. Farther south it was obvious thee had been a heavy downpour. For me seeing a forty-foot dump truck like vehicle hauling grapefruit was novel but I'm sure it's a common sight here. Before reaching I-95 I finally encountered some citrus groves.

Traffic on I-95 southbound was heavy but at least it continued moving. As we passed through cities there were north-bound traffic tie-ups. South of Palm Beach the highway passed through an unbroken series of metropolitan areas culminating in the 24-lane highway through Miami where it became obvious that some of the drivers came from Montreal or went to the same school of philosophy. Why would any rational person be in the seventh left-most lane when they are about to need to make an exit from a right lane? Fortunately I encountered only one major accident to tie up traffic. In south Miami I-95 ends and traffic moves into city streets with traffic lights at every block. A 45 mile-per-hour speed limit was an elusive dream; most of the time we were lucky to be moving. Ten miles is a long journey under those conditions.

The first RV resort I tried was a mobile home complex that had no transient sites available. Pine Isle appeared to be a French Canadian ghetto with a harridan complaining away in French and broken windows at the entrance gate. Eight miles later and nearer the Everglades I reached Goldcoaster in Homestead. Definitely an upscale gated Resort I got a plot of grass for $50 a night with water that didn't work and Wi-Fi Extra. I passed on the Club House and its Pork Supper and Pool and set to work at trying to stay cool—no small task when it's 92 outside. There's a Nascar Racetrack 5 miles away and the race Sunday has everything filled.

Mere miles from the entrance to the Everglades development this intense proves why the protection of National Park Status was needed to ensure the natural area didn't disappear completely. As it is the enormous thirst for water these metropolitan areas possess serves to siphon moisture away from a nature preserve that depends of slow flowing water for its survival. The cities I passed through today are the stuff of legends and only a few miles south of me is Key Largo of movie fame. Along these shores are miles and miles of towering beach resorts pictured in post cards. Somehow I lack any desire to actually see them. Tomorrow I hope to see alligators though from a safe distance and if I'm lucky get a few pictures. I believe I'll pass on an airboat ride though.

Florida, It is Hot

For me Florida has been this mythic place seniors went to for the winter and returned from in the spring. Actually arriving puts an entirely different spin on the place. Southern hospitality is great—if you can afford it. The reception I received at Hanna Beach was a mite off-putting, surf so high that swimming is impossible takes the shine off the warm ocean beaches, and being over-flown by a helicopter ever 15 minutes is not a pleasant feeling. I may not like the thoughts of snow and freezing temperatures but 85 degrees is warm for my Nordic blood especially when it barely cools off at night. And then there are the insects, mould, damp, storms, crime, and pricey campgrounds. Nice place to visit but I wouldn't want to live there.

At Vero Beach I got introduced for the first time to the concept of gated communities with their country clubs, golf courses, rent-a-cops, and million-dollar plots of land. That lifestyle with its fancy yachts, private aircraft, multi-million dollar homes, and security is totally foreign to me. My RV would fit many times over into the cabana in which I was put up. After my RV attempting to sleep in a king-sized bed with 12-foot ceilings above me was intimidating. For those who are not invited into these private enclaves Vero Beach is a highway leading nowhere. There is no such thing as just dropping in on your friends unless the visit be pre-arranged.

Next week I hope to get my heat pump working after a visit to an RV Centre but until then I'm stuck with using my ceiling fan in the hopes of drawing in cooler air. Last evening an infestation of tiny biting somethings bedevilled my night. Again miles of sand are useless if the ocean surf is too high to allow swimming. I'm not into baking on the beach; my blonde skin sunburns too easily. This weekend I'm headed for the Everglades—wait til I write about that experience. Were it not for visiting friends here I'd have made a left turn at Jacksonville after visiting Hanna Beach and headed West. Everything I've experienced here has reinforced my preconceptions that this is not the place for me.

Crossing Into Florida

At 2:30 Wednesday afternoon Rusty Grackles making there raucous calls from every possible vantage point were the first to welcome me to Florida. Inside the Florida Welcome Centre I got my complimentary glass of grapefruit juice and was offered two maps of the state—the second one in large print. (In Georgia the welcome beverage was coke.) I was impressed by the massive size of the parking lot but my RV was parked with the truckers at the back and all the facilities and their entrances faced the other way. Plenty of the elderly in view mind you. For one accustomed to bilingual Canada here in the southern US the second language is generally Spanish. The speed limit is still 70 but for the majority of its length through South Georgia and into Florida the speed and lanes on I-95 was reduced due to construction. Luckily the traffic was not heavy although when I came out of Wal-Mart at 3:30 with bread and coffee cream the local roadway was bumper to bumper.

I suppose I need to send an official thank you note to the gang at work for gifting me with a GPS. Thanks to it and my MS Streets and Trips most of my State Maps remain unopened. It's particularly good when the right highway exit is unreachable due to traffic in getting one back on track—mistakes do happen, particularly when one is tired at the end of a long drive and many cities have a bewildering maze of expressways and belt lines.

Hanna Park in Jacksonville is a large heavily treed waterfront park. The front gate is a mile from the campground. It's the first time I've had to use a code to get into a washroom. The attendant inside the gatehouse was a mite snarky and among other things photocopied my driver's licence. It would seem these guys have seen everything. The camp store is open only on weekends and nearby there's a residence for the local member of the sheriff's department. A sign warning campers not to feed the local fauna included alligators. The entire park is built on crystalline white sand and palms are the dominant species. The beach is a considerable walk across three roadways and a dune system but once arrived the sand and ocean stretch unbroken for miles. Save for a jogger and two surfers no one was in sight. The place is quiet save for weekends.

Somehow the fact it's felt necessary to have a helicopter flying back and forth to surveil the area leaves me oddly ill at ease. It does more to disturb my peace and quiet than to give me a feeling of safety. A kid with dreadlocks was facing one of two police cars in handcuffs outside the Wal-Mart when I went in to shop and the two cops were obviously making a show of having caught the guy. Whatever the crime rate may be in this area I've seen no one since I arrived at my campsite and very little wildlife. I'm not over-anxious to meet an alligator at close quarters in a woodland walkway.

Warming up to the South

Fifteen year old Miley Cyrus' 20-year-old boyfriend has moved into the family home. There goes her sweet and wholesome reputation; it would seem she's lost her innocence. Apparently her father approves but then he is Billy Ray Cyrus. Couldn't resist commenting on that one.

I spent a very quiet night at Doughton Park. Not even the Campground Host came to welcome me. The next morning I boiled water to make coffee and after securing the RV set out just before 8:00 to enjoy sunrise over the Blue Ridge. Stopped at the first overlook that afforded a panoramic view to have my cereal. Made one more major photographic stop to savour the world at my feet. Then drove on to the Crafts Store down the road passing up a stop on the detour through Boone, the waterfall at Linn Falls, and a few other sights. The craft store is located in the former Cone Summer Home, a palatial white palace with balconies and roof-top walk. When I ran out of Parkway due to bridge construction ahead came down off the ridge losing 3000 ft in under a mile—scary stuff that. Was thankful to reach the nearest 4-lane safely.

The drive to Marion was uneventful and after a stop at Food Lion for groceries I drove on through the small town of Old Fort with its dying downtown and found my way up a box canyon on Catawba Falls Rd to my chosen campground. There I was welcomed and helped into my campsite by the owner and settled in for two days. The welcome was warm especially given a temperature of 82º F, quite a switch from 34 this morning. After housekeeping I settled in to catch up on my browsing and E-mail. Save for the sound of gunfire in the distance mid-afternoon this has been the quietest site I’ve camped at in ages. The sound of a babbling brook in the background only serves to reinforce the peacefulness of the place.

On Sunday after breakfast I went out with my camera to get pictures and just after midday took a walk down to the local Baptist Church where

Vistors are Welcome

Members Expected

For some reason my internet connection failed early this morning but otherwise I've been more than satisfied with my experience here. After supper I decided to walk down to Catawba Falls Baptist Church for evening service. I believe this to have been a Southern Baptist Congregation and the service began with a hymn sing followed by prayer, a rendition by a pair of talentless singers and then a preacher who worked his way through the first book of Revelation. I would say to him that in hearing the Word of God understanding is implicit in the original Greek—He who hath ears to hear let him hear. The service ended with an altar call. I missed collection which came before the soloists. Everyone shook hands with everyone else. Preacher never heard of Nova Scotia, but then his president probably hasn't either. The walk back in the dark was punctuated by the same dogs who greeted me on the road to church. A church which bears the name of a cheap wine made from poor grapes.

Entering the South

What a difference a few days, the weather, elevation, and latitude make. On Tuesday I was in Northern Virginia and the overnight temperature was below freezing and barely got above it all day; the wind was gale force and I saw snow in the highest most exposed elevations. That night in Big Meadows Campground in the Shenandoah was the coldest I've spent to date. Three Hundred Miles later I've crossed the line into North Carolina and spent the day passing mile after mile of Rhododendrons lining the Parkway. Mind you there was still ice on the northern-facing rock faces today but the temperature outside was 62 most of the day and at the moment my RV is nearly 70 toasty degrees without my having run the furnace.

I'm starting to get a sense of the ethos of the Blue Ridge Parkway. It would seem the roadway is the national park and the areas surrounding it are simply complimentary amenities. Having designated the highway a 45 mile per hour zone it is not deemed necessary to mark the curves and drops that might pose a danger to motorists. There are also very few signs marking the many intersecting highways and none to designate the many dirt roads that cross over. There are no interpretive signs to designate nearby attractions and the developed areas along the highway are often spread along several miles with no indication that say the Doughton Park Campground where I'm camped tonight is a couple miles from the information centre and the travel lodge. Not that this is right or wrong, just challenging for the first time visitor requiring often that one drive for miles on faith that the amenity you seek will be further down the road.

The first 120 miles of the Parkway followed a razor's edge ridge that at any point offered views to the east or west and often both. At many points it was impossible to see human encroachment and only vistas overlooking far-reaching valleys that stretched out seemingly at one's feet. Below Roanoke things change to rolling hills and the Parkway is surrounded by rural villages and parallel highways and the fertile lands on either side are farmed by lease-holders. The banks on either side were planted with rhododendrons to stabilize the soil when the parkway was built and they stretch for mile upon mile. Oh to be here in late spring when they're in bloom. Today's stretch of the Parkway did not interest me as did yesterdays. The leaves in this area are not so much turning as becoming brown and dropping.

I've encountered varying responses from the people manning visitor's centres from the park ranger at Rocky Knob who obviously knew his stuff and told me how to find gas, what to look for down the road, and informed me that the southern section of the parkway has been closed near the Great Smoky Mountains due to snowfall—it is nearly 7000 ft. To the gal this afternoon at Doughton Park who made it obvious I was interrupting her private conversation, rudely pointed out the information I sought was somewhere on paper and admitted she didn't have answers to my other questions. Stopped at the Bluff Lodge Coffee Shop and got an education in menu designations. Salad wafers are crackers in plastic wrap, BBQ Pork is what I've learned to call pulled pork, and corn cakes are corn meal pancakes. The coffee here was strong, the dough in the blackberry cobbler was tough and the water has an awful flavour—luckily I don't need to refill my containers at this point.

I did find a kindred soul at the Blue Ridge Music Centre who has been to Lunenburg County Nova Scotia and was very helpful. Unfortunately we did not have longer to talk. She described Canada Day in Bridgetown Nova Scotia with great fondness. We also had a chance to talk about the areas where the series the Waltons was shot and where Earl Hamner lived.

Tonight is Halloween and not a ghoul in sight. Not that I have treats even if a ghoul showed up at my doorstep. I'm looking out my window at a gloaming sky through a thinning forest of hardwoods that is giving way to a succession pine under-story. It's almost time I closed my curtains and settled back in front of more episodes of the Waltons. Given the generator my neighbour has running I doubt he'll complain about the noise my speakers make. First though I believe I'll go out and see if I can identify any night sounds. I took no pictures today as I saw nothing I was particularly interested in photographing. The few areas that might have peaked my interest lacked a pull-off spot to stop at.

I managed to find change along the way today and although the fee at these parkway campsites is a mere $16.00 the sites lack water and electrical hook-ups and more importantly Wi-Fi. I have been disconnected from the world at large for nearly two days at this point. I'm going to have a lot of catching up to do when I do get another connection.

The stars are out and the Moon unfortunately with its nearby celestial neighbour the planet Venus is obscured among the trees. Unlike the Spartan comfort station at Roanoke Mountain the one here supplies LCD lights powered by a solar panel, paper towel, and soap. Decided it was time for my nightly scotch and as I've had no other alcohol today decided to make it a double.