Home Stretch

On Wednesday April Ninth slept in until 6:30, guess I needed the rest. Pays to be alert. Starting out later put me in Des Moines during rush hour and I followed my GPS which took me through the middle of it rather than north along the bypass. Fortunately the slow down lasted only four onramps. By the time I reached Iowa City rush hour had passed so all not lost. I started out driving into the rising sun. Fortunately cross-winds were never a factor today.

Stopped just west of La Salle Illinois for Gas, $3.659, then in La Salle for Breakfast at Dennys. Finally a Dennys that makes good coffee--it only took 6 years and 50 states and 10 provinces to find one. No free internet there though so I still haven’t read today’s comix. The day was filled with the usual left lane hogs and truck traffic increased exponentially as I approached Chicago. Nothing worse on a two lane uphill grade than one tractor trailer attempting to pass another. There’s still a $1.10 toll on the highway south of Chicago. It’s finding 10¢ that annoys. Stopped at the Chicago Illinois Tourist Bureau located in an overhead tunnel across the highway. On every other occasion when I passed I was in the wrong lane and couldn’t reach it--I didn’t miss anything. The place isn’t even manned. A collision on I-80 backed traffic for miles so I got off at the Indiana Tourist Bureau. Michigan City does not share info with them. Took a broken narrow winding service road to bypass the highway blockage.  

 Sunset at Michigan City

Michigan City Campground has a new gate system out by the road. Had to call in to get to the office to sign in. Found the manager washing and ironing cabin curtains. The dog who usually welcomes me is south with its vacationing owners, who own the campground. Aside from the staff burning leaves things are fine. I saw snow in a ditch today but it’s 59 here at quarter to six with a predicted low of 42 tonight. I came 400 miles today placing me 400 miles from home, customs permitting.

Decided to stay over until Monday in part due to predicted bad weather. Spring has not arrived here, there are a few robins and the crocuses came out but no spring flowers or expanding tree buds. Got up before Dawn on Friday and found the stars out and crunchy frost on the grass. At 4:00 AM the cockerel on the farm next door was crowing away. Who knew, the sun was out when I woke again and the sky a cerulean blue. 

View from the Lighthouse 

The Lift Bridge in Action

On Saturday drove up to the shore of Lake Michigan in Michigan City. Back in the day the Barker Factory employed 3000 to produce Pullman Train Cars and welded box cars. Nothing of that massive plant survives today and Barker Mansion is closed weekends. I did have a tour of the Lighthouse Museum but enjoyed my talk with the volunteer even more. Had a well-hopped ale at the Shoreline Brewery and enjoyed a pub sandwich. Even at noon drunks sure are loud. The steakhouse up the street is called Swing Belly. The area could best be described as grotty. The Michigan City SWAT Team drive a black Humvee. A major outlet mall is located on the west side of town but downtown is in severe decline and even the mall south of town is largely boarded up. Election signs vie with for sale signs. Lake is running for Judge, Ott for sherif--related to Ott’s Funeral Home? No word on dogcatcher. Ballots here run to thirty-some pages.

The campground gets free copies of the local paper. For the record there are 31,000 people in Michigan City, Indiana. Once you pull out all the advertisements there are 20 pages of New Dispatch in 4 sections at 5¢/page. News, Sports, Classified, and Health. A page of comix and the obits on page 2 along with fire and police calls. Seems the fire department have been very busy lately. The Sports section of course covers local teams. The Catholic High School has a golf team?

Meteorology is still more voodoo than science. Saturday evening a predicted cold front was to bring severe weather--winds, thunder and large hail. Sunday Morning there was still no sign of it though areas in the south-west got tornadoes. Since the bad weather didn’t arrive decided I had no excuse for not going to church so I drove up around 7:00 AM and found a parking space to read the comix and the newspapers I’d picked up. The ringing of church bells disturbed my reverie.

I got the full monte this morning. I sat up top but we had the procession with palm leaves from the basement with the Palm Sunday Lesson, then the four lessons for Passion Sunday with sung Psalm and readers along the outside aisles for the five page printed Gospel. No sermon. We used Lift High the Cross for the processional and My Song is Love Unknown for the second hymn put with the wrong tune in the cranberry book. The church is a traditional nave soaring 5 storeys without transepts with wall-painted Jesus cradling lamb on one side and praying in Gethsemane on the other. An extremely baroque high altar soars 2 storeys. Simple narrow stained glass windows with pipe organ and choir in the balcony. Shorter gray-haired pastor. Twenty-page ledger paper folded bulletin with 8x11 folded insert with announcements. They have service 5 on Saturday, 8-traditional and 10:15 with guitars Sunday. They operate a men’s shelter 20 guests and soup kitchen feeding 69. Went down for coffee and sat and talked. After we helped ourselves to bread brought in for the homeless from a local bakery. I left with a hearty 6-grain round loaf.

Drove down and found the two items I needed at Meijers a massive emporium not unlike Wal-Mart. The liquid toothpaste and pineapple preserves were at polar opposite ends of the store. Rather than stand in line I braved the auto-scanner. We both survived the experience. Then drove down and waited in line for gas at Swift. They have four pumps in line in 3 rows. With people waiting, idiots leave their car at the pump to go shopping. At least I leave tomorrow with a full tank, still $3.519. Imagine thinking that’s cheap. My first fill-up in America was $3.57 in upstate NY back in October 2008. It’s gotten as low as $1.89 in Texas.

The first in a band of showers woke me from my afternoon nap. The temperature dropped from the morning’s low of 72 to 55 and remained there.

Monday morning waited until the worst of the gusting winds eased before starting out around 7:30. Promptly lost an hour crossing into the Eastern Time Zone 30 miles later. Spent most of the day dodging potholes and gusting crosswinds and got lost amid confusing ill-marked construction finding the Bluewater Bridge in Port Huron, Michigan. Remember I’d already drive 200 miles at that point. Stopped at Denny’s in Kalamazoo for brunch and to read the day’s comix. Actually read those before I set out. Kalamazoo does not know how to make coffee but the rest was good.

The young man at customs was kind, thanks for your prayers. Filled up in Emmett, Michigan for $3.699/gal before crossing into Canada. Got an assist from the wind today. Saw snow in shaded ditches along the road in Ontario and expect to see more on the ground in the next 24 hours here. The damage an ice storm did our trees has not yet been cleaned up here. My parking spot was open, big sigh.

Got in around 4:00 and first order of business was visiting with the neighbours who have cared for my apartment and mail in my absence.

I’m having a coffee to find sufficient energy to go to sleep. At least it will be in my own bed and the wind will not be rocking me tonight nor will the rain patter on my roof.

Week Three on the Road

I have visited Salt Lake City twice now and despite camping less than ten miles from the Great Salt Lake both times I have yet to lay eyes on it. Mind you the fact that it was frozen solid each time may have been a factor. Come Monday Morning March 31st a blizzard had closed I-80 east of me and later black ice figured in the highway reports so for the second time I stayed over in Salt Lake another day. The weather looked so innocent in the city but....

Tuesday morning I set out to drive 450 miles East on I-80. Started out with snow flying in Salt Lake City at 6:00 AM. Interstate 80 is a city block from the park. A bit South and then East entering Parleys Canyon. It is one of the ironies of travel that before you start climbing mountains you generally begin by going downhill. Even had it been light the fog and snow obscured the snow-capped peaks I’ve gazed at the last three days. I was amused to note that on a six-lane divided highway a sign announcing passing lane ahead remains from the days when this was a two-lane road.

Plenty of white stuff around today in the air and banked beside the road but although the road was often wet it was not particularly slippery and I encountered only a couple gusts of cross wind. Stopped at Green River, Wyoming for breakfast at Little America Travel Centre. Essentially a truck stop with delusions of grandeur located 20 miles from the nearest town it seems they provide bus service for staff from town. Seventeen trucker showers, motel, store, boutique and children’s play area. Their coffee was serviceable, breakfast was uninspired, the toast drowned in ‘butter?’. Someday a waitress will actually listen to the customer, but not today. The free Wi-Fi was so slow my cartoons never did download. I balked at paying $3.599 for gas and stopped 20 miles later at the same price.

The sanders were out and a snow plough was working the centre lane. LED Signs flash the advised speed limit. Signs whose lights would flash and barrier gates are in place to close the highway. It was closed Sunday Night. Except for the pass out of Salt Lake most of the other heights of land were not precipitous though the pass west of Cheyenne tops out at 8640 ft. This section of I-80 boasts the longest straight stretch at 80 miles anywhere in the Interstate System. So miles of monotonous driving requiring hyper-vigilance.

Filled up at the Pilot Gas Station at the corner when I got to Cheyenne Wyoming at $3.459. They’re too cheap to provide drivers traveling on sanded and salted roads with antifreeze for their squeegees. $75 to stay here two nights on a gravel parking lot with hookups. Trees are in short supply in Wyoming. The weather forecast for Cheyenne claimed mainly sunny. Obviously whoever wrote that wasn’t looking out a window here. It hailed. Well it was April Fools Day. 

Had never driven the stretch of road I traveled today and still haven’t seen it. The Green River Tunnel despite its length didn’t even interrupt my GPS Signal. This isn’t a part of the world noted for scenery though Yellowstone and Grand Teton are just 150 miles to the north. Thirty Degrees F at the coldest this day but 47 in Cheyenne. Despite the hale and thunder the ‘kid’ two spots over was wandering around in a T-shirt. After driving 450 miles stayed over a day before striking out on the next leg.

When I drove through the mountains Tuesday fog obscured the view, this Thursday April 3 was clear but there was nothing to see. Wyoming for some reason thinks one should not use cruise control when the roads are wet. Were that the case why would anyone on the East or West coast buy it? Nebraska seems to think it important you know how far til the next exit each time they sign an interchange. The highway today was steadily downhill and straight varying no more than 10º from 90 East. Unfortunately the wind was at cross-purposes and tried to blow me off the highway all day. Had there been somewhere to stop and camp I would have.

Stopped in Ogallala at Dennys for brunch and to read the days’ comix. At least they downloaded to my tablet today. In Nebraska eggs are not accompanied by hot sauce. My eggs must have been pullet-sized and the Grand Slam pancakes were small. Coffee is consistently bad but I keep trying. Gasoline prices remain high. Two hours into today’s drive I crossed into Central Standard Time again. On the way passed Cabelais and its sporting goods catalogue centre and Osh Kosh home of the children’s clothing firm. 

My campsite at Camp-A-Way in Lincoln, Nebraska is situate east of the airport between two major highways. The site lacks a backstop to prevent one from backing into a ditch and the power station is at the extreme end of my cable length. Who designs these places? A robin sat on the bicycle seat outside my window Friday morning looking very cold as it was only 36º F. Wind warning today in Iowa East of me and gusts to 50 in Southern Ontario. Could someone hurry Spring along?

Stayed over until Monday Morning in Lincoln Nebraska because I felt the need to recuperate after driving 900 miles. On Saturday morning the thermometer dipped to 24 overnight and my coffeemaker took a long time heating the water I’d placed in it the night before for auto-start. The sun came out and it did warm up, crocuses are in bloom and there’s been an explosion of Robins about. Walked up to the corner to have a look at the Mega-Church across the way. Originally Baptist this independent boasts a Christian School as well. Not my cup of bread and wine. 

Unfortunately neither was Spirit of Hope Lutheran to which I walked Sunday Morning. Getting there I walked past University of Nebraska’s Tech Research Centre, the local Police/Fire/Ambulance Centre and numerous commercial outlets. Spirit of Hope Lutheran Church worships in a a mall complex that includes a mix of doctors offices, fast food outlets--Down the Hatch Bar anyone--all located in matching free-standing buildings. The space was built for a charismatic pentecostal/baptist sect and the only change made was the removal of the baptistery. Members of Evangel Pentecostal Church in Oakville would not feel out of place here. There are Bibles but no hymnals, the words for everything are projected on two screens and the wall behind the congregation, a piano, guitars, and drum kit lead singing with three woman on mike standing in front of the congregation. I’d never heard of any of the hymns and their theology would not be out of place in any Pentecostal Assembly Church. The liturgy would have been more familiar to one of the Methodist or United Church Tradition though there were elements of the Lutheran Book of Worship. There was a single lesson that did not follow the received pericope. They had candles and an eternal flame and an unlit Christ Candle, altar, pulpit little used, paraments and single banner. The pastor wore street clothes and officiates at two services a Sunday. His message was a commentary on Jesus’ Trial before Pilot. We used the Nicene Creed and the King James Version of the Lord’s Prayer. A special sung version of the words of institution was used, wafers were intincted in grape juice. A mission congregation worshiping in this space for three years it has reached the point of self-sufficiency. I found it strange to be unable to sing a single one of the songs used in the service.

Monday Morning April 7 woke at 4:30 AM and set out. The existence of a web page and even a sales flyer is no guarantee the store actually exists and this isn’t the first time this has happened to me. Gave up and drove up to I-80. Saw a Hi-Vee in Omaha from the highway too late to slow down to make the exit and I wasn’t driving back. Omaha’s a big city. Crossed the Missouri on the way in. Made KOA Des Moines West before 9:00 AM. Found a campsite and set up. My hosts actually opened at 9 and didn’t fuss about my early arrival. Read a notice recently that charged by the hour for arrival before 2 and another charging by the hour for not checking out on time. Well, I definitely beat the wind which in this part of the world seems to be a prevailing Northerly. The wife here is from Victoria BC and has never seen the gardens. She was a Navy Brat whose father never went to sea but served in the North, Victoria and Newfoundland. Whether or not I drive down to Winterset a nap is first order of business. Internet speed was 1.5 MB for the entire park. Reading E-mail was a slow process. 

Enjoyed a 2½ hr midday nap. Then decided to take that drive to Winterset 16 miles distant. This is the part of the country where the lads are termed cornfed. The town is surrounded by cornfields growing on beautiful black loam. In my travels I saw irrigation lines being installed in the fields. Town square surrounds the county court house. First searched out the unmarked tourist office and then an angled parking space--no meters. In getting turned around stopped for gas $3.399 at Kum & Go. Lucked out in a space in front of the Chamber of Commerce. Picked up some bumph and a map.

Wouldn’t you know, in honour of the fact that I was driving North and South the wind today was gusting from the West. The volunteer fire department was busy. First the fire I saw north of town on my way down must have gotten out of hand and needed dousing. Then a light rain turned the road slick and caused a multi-car pile-up. I passed 5 ambulances, fire truck and police on my way out of town.

If you’ve seen the movie The Bridges of Madison County and/or read Robert Waller’s book then you’re aware of the covered bridges but did you know they are in and around the County Seat of Winterset named for a geological formation of Limestone? A town surrounded on all sides by corn fields. Did you also know that it was home to this corn-fed lad pictured here at 23:

Name of Marion Morrison. Dated from 1930. Life-sized cardboard cutout in his green beret uniform.  They named main street after his stage name and are in the process of building a major museum in his honour just north of Town Square. His birthplace is a simple affair with a visitor’s centre next door selling memorabilia and showing his movies on a big screen TV along with a donated large collection of wall-hanging plates.

If you go to see all the bridges expect winding, hilly, washboard dirt roads and plenty of dust. Only one of the bridges still serves its original purpose.

 

Before I left town visited Fareway Grocery a place I wish I shopped on a weekly basis. Grocery boys and check out girls, even the men at the meat counter dressed in matching black pants, white shirts and black ties! Good selection for a store serving a town of 5000 and everything fresh. Local products and produce highlighted. In store bakery sold iced raisin bread and cinnamon bread. The meat department was butcher-served, nothing was pre-packaged. And, a grocery boy wheeled my cart out to the car and waited while I unloaded to take it back inside the store. Good prices despite the level of service.

Week Two to Salt Lake

My drive on Saturday March 29th was all a traveler could want. Utah drivers still tend to be left-lane hogs and drive erratically but traffic was light today until I reached the Salt Lake area.

I started out around 6:15 just as dawn was breaking and drove up through the red rocks that mark the ravine in which Moab, Arches, and Canyonlands are located. Once at the plateau above the earth becomes ochre with an overlay of straw-coloured dead grass. As one drives north the solid wall of gray rock that is the Colorado Plateau rises to the north looming vertically ever closer until the turning at its base to go west on I-70. At Green River the route to Salt Lake turns North on Utah 191 a 4-lane highway with level intersections. A sign warning of no services for 100 miles strikes an ominous tone. Eventually the highway rises onto the plateau above on a patch of road that looks like a waterfall streaming off the heights above. As one drives along the snow-capped mountains to the North loom ever higher and higher. The highway follows a valley between two towering plateaus. I stopped at Wellington for fuel as the price seemed right and I used up a lot of fuel yesterday driving around Canyonlands.

At Helper the mountains ahead rise in a seeming unbroken wall towering overhead. Plumes of steam rise from the mines and a large hoarding reads:

COAL = JOBS

After Helper the road takes a left turn to HWY 6 and enters a previously unseen ravine with a solid wall of light gray rock on the left-side and the familiar red sandstone on the right. Hats off to the surveyors who found this pass and charted the route through these canyons and ravines. There are few precipitous rises and only one major switchback though the busy railway line that parallels the highway takes a more circuitous route. The town below derives its name from the helper locomotives that pushed trains to the summit. On an open plateau half-way up sits a ranch and the summit itself is an open meadow. A month makes a great deal of difference. I last drove this stretch in February with snow banks lining the road and the temperature dropping to 9 above. Although the temperature dropped below freezing as I gained elevation and the squeegees at the gas station were surrounded by ice by the time I reached the summit it was a balmy 42 above.

At Spanish Fork I-15 joins 6 south of Provo. The stretch of highway I’d just driven is rated one of the most dangerous in America. Today it seemed fairly innocuous though it is novel coming down to be passing a truck with a foot   firmly on the brake pedal. The valley between Utah Lake and Salt Lake which lies between two mountain ranges acts as a wind tunnel so I was thankful to arrive around 11 before the wind got too strong. After the other mountain routes I’ve since driven this one doesn’t seem so intimidating any more though it is rated as one of Americas most dangerous highways.

Wonderful after 5 years to find the Salt Lake City KOA still unchanged. Unlike last time I did not get lost finding it. It’s all in knowing how to work your GPS. Streets near Temple Square have N and S, E and W designations that make navigation confusing. The staff here are polite, efficient, and eminently helpful, a refreshing change.

Temple Square Volunteers run a van service from the local airport that stops at the campground and took I and others in to witness Music and the Spoken Word Sunday Morning. Nothing can compare with seeing 360 choir members, full orchestra, organist, and today 30 handbell ringers performing live at 8:30 in the morning. Dedicated in 1870 the Tabernacle boasts perfect acoustics and its pipe organ claims nearly 12,000 pipes. Added since my last visit is a massive boom web cam counterbalanced with 650 pounds of weights. Not sure what the orchestra thinks of having it zoom over their heads barely missing their conductor.

Windy but balmy this morning when the shuttle picked us up for the drive into Temple Square. We arrived to find the choir rehearsing. Always fun to see what goes on behind the scenes. The 180 women of the choir were dressed in purple, the men in black suits with white shirts and black ties. With a nearly full house and the A/C not turned on choir members were fanning themselves. Mack Wilberg conducts a large orchestra--8 cellos, 4 double basses and today a 30-strong handbell choir wearing black gloves an octave lower than I’m accustomed to seeing with bells big enough to require two hands. The handbells played Kingsfold, one of the tunes to which we sing the Twenty-Third Psalm. While the 500 musicians went out to freshen up we were given a talk. Just before the concert went live to air a make-up person walked up and combed organist Andrew Unsworth’s hair without his paying any notice. Choir members must audition and live within 100 miles of Temple Square, (it used to be 50), be at least 25 and retire after 20 years or upon reaching 60. Lloyd Newell does his commentaries from a stand in the balcony. He came forward to the stage at the end of the broadcast to talk, and then the entire stage crew turned to face the audience and sing God be with you till we meet again. This was show number 4,411, it has continued weekly since July 15, 1929. To a man the coats were shed as soon as the lights were turned down at the end of broadcast for the rehearsal that followed. Can you imagine driving 200 miles on a Thursday Night for a 90 minute rehearsal. None of the musicians or technicians is paid.   

After touring the museum walked down for beet salad and fish and chips then came back for the 2 PM organ concert. The General Conference is next week so even this concert was well attended. Once more, an elder gave us a talk. Selections were picked to show off the organ. The principal chorus, the strings, the weirder theatre organ stops, and in the final toccata a finale featuring full organ.           

At end of concert I raced out to catch my ride home at 2:30. Everyone on Temple Square and our drivers were exaggeratedly polite and solicitous. I was amused to learn that the Americans in the crew were told the pickup was 15 minutes before the actual time.

Could have done without the white stuff but an inspiring day. It started raining with several lightening flashes and claps of thunder while I was having lunch, then the temperature started dropping dramatically. When I left the organ concert it was snowing heavily.

Canyonlands National Park

Moab like the National Parks for which it serves as the jumping off point was carved from the surrounding beige plateau by the Colorado River. It is so named because just as it’s namesake in the Middle East its rock is bright red. The area was settled originally by Mormons. To reach Canyonlands you drive north 10 miles climbing back up to the plateau, then hang a left and drive 22 more miles along a broken winding hilly two-lane to the park entrance. I stopped at the visitors centre to pick up an audio guide and watch their introductory movie. Canyonlands has a history not unlike Palo Duro in Texas however here it was the Island in the Sky Mesa--tablelands--surrounded by 2000 ft cliffs that kept the cattle in on meadowland where grass formerly grew belly-high to a horse. The Mesa is separated from the adjoining plateau by a 40-ft neck which made keeping cattle contained rather easy. A well-maintained roadway leads to various parking areas from which trails lead off in all directions. The easy ones lead to breathtaking vistas; the difficult ones with a 1000-ft change in elevation would take one’s breath away. I’ll add pictures and commentary. 

 Suspended over the edge of a massive cliff Mesa Arch impresses. 

Canyons cut into the valley floor below reveal another strata of rock with snow-capped peaks in the background.

 

The Green River meets the Colorado

Look closely and you'll see people and cars on the 100-mile back-country trail.

For the venturesome there is a 100-mile high-profile all-terrain-vehicle single-lane roadway that snakes through the canyons. One vista shows the larger Green River joining the Colorado. Only one picnic site was too busy for stopping. In all I drove 100 miles this Friday. Alas, I had to drive back down to my campground for the night and drive back up the next day.

My Spring Odyssey 2014

The challenge is to describe a 3500-mile journey of 25 days and not sound boring. After packing the last few items in my RV, though not particularly organized, I locked myself out of the home I’ve occupied for the past 4 months and headed out. The first challenge was to defy my GPS which wanted to go down I-35 instead of up 183 to MOPAC. Then to defy it again as it insisted on trying to take me directly south to I-10 rather than my chosen route out 290 through Johnson City. A check of the map will show you why. Of course since I left at 4:30 there was nothing to see but traffic lights and gas stations along the road. One would prefer not to see deer at that hour.

Two hundred and thirty miles later I stopped in Ozona for some rather over-priced $3.99 gas. The only thing worse would have been running out 100 miles from anywhere. In downtown Ozona, Population 3225 , I stopped at Sonic for a Tex-Mex Breakfast Burrito which I came to regret as I ‘enjoyed’ it for the next few hours. In West Texas I-10 is rated at 80 mph but whatever speed you drive there is little to miss besides steely gray stratified clouds they wish yielded some rain and rolling hills that become rocky mesas as one ascends to nearly 5000 ft above sea level. Fort Davis is another 220 miles from Ozona after taking a left turn along a highway that follows valleys cut by the local arroyos where the only green one sees is that of early budding trees along the ravines. The one thing one doesn’t want to see at 70 to 80 MPH is a Texas Long Horn. Much of West Texas is open range grazing land.

Information on the Prude Ranch being difficult to find I decided to camp south of town. MacMillan in the HIghlands may have come out of receivership but it still hasn’t entered the 20th Century--the functionary I met demanded cash for my two-day stay. At least the Wi-Fi and Hydro were contemporary. I’d come here to see the stars at the MacDonald Observatory up in the mountains North-West of Town. Alas the weatherman had other ideas and socked the sky in with clouds. The astronomers may have the co-operation of the County in preventing extraneous light but they have no control over weather. I’d  walked or biked every street in town and toured the National Park previously so I relaxed in camp. 

El Paso, 200 miles west, is a long narrow stretch north of the Mexican border and south of a mountain range to the North. In many ways it is a frontier town and the Roadrunner RV Park is not in the best part. Didn’t find anyone to sign me in until the next morning. The Albertsons I shopped at before parking was the worst dump I’ve ever shopped at. Obviously slated for closure everything I looked at was days or weeks past its best before date and the selection was pitiful. When I did find someone in the office discovered their on site garage did not have the supplies to fix my sewage hose. Took another rest day before heading out. As the metal plaque beside the office reads:

On this site in 1897

Nothing happened

Set out early Tuesday morning March 25th for Albuquerque, New Mexico 300 miles distant. The trip North West along I-25 involves a 2000 ft gain in elevation. Getting out of El Paso in the dark is no mean feat as I-10 wanders hither and yon. Just into New Mexico one passes through the Border Control Shed. They didn’t seem interested in this canuck. I started out early to beat the cross-winds and succeeded mainly. The American RV Park in Albuquerque is a class act owned by a chain. Unfortunately the new gal at the desk placed me at the far end of the park rather than opposite the washroom for no good reason I could see. No pop corn either as the machine is bust. But they still offer complimentary breakfast with waffles Wednesday Morning. Hmm Good. Some wicked cloud formations, a few spatterings of rain and a minor twister or two but the landscape is still dangerously drought ridden. I got some cooking done. 

Drove into town to shop at Smiths and get gas early Thursday Morning and was not impressed with the rowdy Latinos in the parking lot of the mall. At 6:45 decided I wasn’t waiting around for breakfast and began driving West on I-40 which follows old Route 66. Shook my head at the Left-Lane Hog driving a U-haul truck and trailer with no car in sight for 100 miles in front or behind him. Stopped east of Gallop for breakfast just after crossing the continental divide and staring at the snow on either side of the highway. At this point the way turned north on 491 at first a 4 lane and then a two-lane highway. The route passes through Cortez where I stayed when I visited Mesa Verde. I dodged snow and hale most of the day. Stopped in Monticello for gas and then took Utah 191 North 50 miles to Moab. Stopped at the info centre there. A month later than my last visit here there was actually someone in the office when I arrived at my campground. Having driven all day I elected to walk down to find a campsite. The gal at the desk thought it a large 300-site park and recommended driving, she obviously hasn’t seen the 5000 sites at Whistlers Park in Jasper.

Red slickrock looms high across the road from the campground. Opted to stay over an entire day and see Canyonlands and since there was nothing playing in town went to bed early.

End of Week One.

The Attack on Labour

Industry and by that I mean large mutli-national corporations have used recent downturns in the economy and near bankruptcies of economic sectors too big to fail to roll back advances labour unions have fought for over the past half century and even wage an attack on the unions’ very existence. While quick to ask for concessions restoring wages and benefits to their former levels when prosperity returns is quite another matter. They will, however, spend years paying no taxes as they write off past losses while you and I pick up the tab. Large conglomerates have gleefully snapped up smaller business, laid off workers, shut down factories, and put thousands out of work. Recent recessions have provided them with a golden opportunity roll back benefits and reduce workforces. Businesses that once argued they be allowed to raid bloated pension funds are now crying poor because those same funds lack sufficient premiums coming in to sustain their outlays.

The number of government jobs lost in the past few years is staggering. In the private sector industry has outsourced production to Third World Countries with lower wages, lower labour standards, few to no environmental controls, and appalling working conditions. Retail operations have made Made in the USA or Canada labels an almost extinct commodity. Only recently is it dawning on these entrepreneurs that if no one locally has a job no one will have an income to buy their merchandise. Fires and building collapses in off-shore sweat shops, online videos of working conditions and child labour, product recalls due to unsafe chemicals, and inferior products have all contributed to bad publicity and shamed CEO’s. The divide between salaries paid those CEO’s and the laborers who work for them is widening exponentially.

In their headlong pursuit of dividends for their corporate shareholders companies have forgotten that their most valuable resource is a loyal workforce. At the same time their employees increasingly look at their work as a means of paying their bills, not a career. Getting through the day, collecting a paycheque, and getting home safely have replaced pride in workmanship. Too many employers are like those recently caught replacing local workers with cheaper foreign labour; it was the bad publicity it generated and the possible effects on their corporate profits that concerned them. Too many are like the mine owner in the town of Frank; he was not concerned about the destruction of most of the town or the loss of 700 lives but how many days of production he would lose from the mine. Analyzed in psychiatric terms most big corporations are morally psychotic. The governments whose war chests they support through their donations are little better.

War and Peace

No, not Tolstoy though I have read that tome. First an aside. What was it with the military and flat feet? With wet feet I leave no sign of an instep with my perfectly flat feet but I managed to walk 72,000 miles with a thirty-five pound mailbag with nary a twinge.

Second a reveal. From lifelong I have been a pacifist opposed to war in any form and the military establishment in general. As a flat-footed allergic asthmatic about to become a full-fledged senior I am in no danger of being recruited. Furthermore I am appalled at the distortion of the second amendment rights in the US Constitution to bear arms and the gun culture it fosters. I do not understand how having a lethal weapon around whose only purpose is the taking of human life can add to anyone’s sense of security.

That said I feel America pays an awful price for training so many of its citizens to be experts in the taking of human life and so arming them. But I also say that having so trained them and deployed them it owes them the even higher cost of rehabilitation and re-integration into society when they return. The cost of such care typically is triple the cost of any war ever waged. Politicians and Generals too often do not budget for these expenses. Did you know there is still an open file left over from the American Civil War?

Military training is aimed at creating killing machines who follow orders without thinking. Is it really wise to train so many to ignore the moral imperative against the taking of human life? Having taken impressionable boys on the cusp of manhood and so inculcated them they are sent off to experience inhuman conditions, be subjected to violent heart-stopping stress, where human life is little valued, they witness scenes of depravity, and the death and maiming of their mates. Having been subjected to these conditions for a year or longer they are sent back home and suddenly expected to adjust to North American Society.

Should we be surprised that victims of Post Traumatic Stress act out? Who is qualified to deal with their emotional distress even did they wish to relive it? Do we do them or society any favours in training them to be strong and tough it out? Are we failing them in teaching them that to seek help is a sign of weakness and failure?

I'm Back

It's not that I haven't made blog entries in the past six months, just not in this section of Blogger. I've kept busy in  Austin this past Winter but there has been a sameness about events that just didn't bear boring repetition here. Now that I'm back home in Oakville with time on my hands expect the expression of some moral outrage and an overdue

account of my journey back home. Just give it time.