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.

A Cool Shenandoah Welcome

October 29th

Anyone who knows me is aware that I believe in plain speaking and suffer fools with little patience. Anyone from my side of the 49th parallel who paid attention at all in civics class will remember that the US Constitution makes it a federal state with all powers not granted to the states reserved by the Federal Government and that in Canada the opposite is true, all powers not granted to Ottawa devolving to the provinces. So much for theory for in practise the opposite happens on both sides of the border. Why do I mention this, because this parochial approach to all matters extends to tourist bureaus? Were I to go into any major tourist information centre in Canada I would expect to find guides and maps for all ten provinces and even some of the northern territories. Indeed tourist associations exchange brochures as a matter of course. Imagine my surprise then when I innocently walked into the West Virginia Welcome Centre and asked about the Blue Ridge Parkway and Shenandoah Park and was informed, "That's in Virginia, you'll have to go into the centre 20 miles down the road." I also find it instructive that although they are extensions of the same mountain ridge the Skyline Dr is treated in Shenandoah National Park as a separate entity from the Blue Ridge Parkway with which it is contiguous. So far none of the park stores or info centres has offered a single bit of information on the Blue Ridge Parkway though to my eyes they comprise a single trail.

October 30th

Ran out of time before I finished the above entry. I'd just spent the coldest night yet at Big Meadows Campground, elev. 3535 ft, among the Oak Savannah. Unfortunately for the second day in a row nature seemed determined to attempt to blow all intruders off the mountain and that wind was cold. Got a few pictures, some from the window of my RV but otherwise continued a slow but relentless path to the south end of the park. I'd settled on Misty Mountain Campground near Greenville and received a warm welcome. After I'd finished setting up and catching up online I even went to take advantage of the showers in their bunkhouse. Spent a quiet if cool evening. The next morning made the climb back up to the Parkway and headed south on the Blue Ridge.

On the Blue Ridge Parkway there are subtle differences. Like the farm I passed on the way to the picnic area where I'm writing this entry. They seem to call every pull-off an overlook even if it doesn't afford a vista overlooking anything.

I'll now wax philosophical. I have the distinct feeling that we owe the existence of this parkway to the fact that the land was occupied by hillbillies who lacked the financial resources or connections to mount opposition to the expropriation of their lands. Had the land been owned by the wealthy and powerful the result may have been entirely different. By contrast in Ontario we seem to have to fight for every square inch of protected land against developers, the wealthy, the lumbering and mining interests, and hunters.

The last entry was made at the junction of the Otter Creek and the James River elev 670 ft. In the last 10 miles I've gained nearly 3000 ft and the temperature has dropped 10 degrees from the 55 it was in the valley. Had that been an appropriate point in my journey it would have been preferable to camp at that lower elevation. As it is I'm headed for Roanoke at the campground there. Shall I say that fuel economy is not the objective of this trip.

At a certain point in one's day finding the next campsite becomes a priority and I'd planned to stay on the ridge tonight at Roanoke Mountain Campground. It proved to be further down ther road than I'd expected at milepost 120 along a roadway into the woods. The city of Roanoke gets right up to within feet of the Parkway at this point. When I arrived at last discovered that I needed exact change and I didn't have a 10 spot. So began the hunt to break a 20. Found a group of parents/teachers from Roanoke Catholic High School out with a cross country team training in the park and I'm forever grateful to one of the adults for supplying the change. Now I'm settled in with a beer and catching up as well as I can without Wi-Fi.

I wouldn't want to be here when the place is busy. Some of the sites are nothing but a pull off from the roadway through the campground with a campfire ring and picnic table under or up the hill.

I just finished downloading the pictures I took today and on one of the last overlooks I stopped at a kettle of Turkey Vultures were soaring looking for carrion. When I've more time and an internet connection I'll add some pictures.

Preparing to Drive the Parkways

Sunday October 26th

Television personality Ben Mulroney is getting married next week. And here I thought he was married to his own reflection in the mirror.

Man charged with attack on Oasis' Noel Gallagher due in Toronto court. And here I thought that was Liam's job.

And so ends my commentary on the world at large.

Spent part of today reading up on the Skyline Dr and Blue Ridge Parkway. Apparently we owe the workers of the Civilian Conservation Corps formed under Roosevelt's New Deal during the depression for the existence of these trails and their facilities. I doubt whether the majority of those 3 million workers looked as sexy as Iron Mike, whose statue unveiled in 2006 honours their work. Anyone who has watched The Waltons got a contrarian's view of this program from Grandma and a particularly sour take on the project from their backwoods cousin who was forced off her land by the building of the parkway. In an age in which people take being transferred and moving from city to city; province to state; and even country to country in stride it is hard for most to understand the affinity those raised in the backwoods had for the land on which they were raised, tended all their lives, and upon which they depended for their livelihood. For those who are close to the land their piece of God's Earth informs their being and is a part of them as much as their homes and families. The springs, nut trees, hunting grounds, fertile soil, berry patches, mushroom picking sites, maple tapping woods, caves, and vistas infuse their souls and support their physical being. This is what it is to be one with the land.

But I digress. The area to which I'm headed is the backdrop for the TV Series to which I refer. There really is a place called Rockfish and Charlottesville is nearby.

Tuesday, October 28th

In the past couple days I've driven by signposts marking many of America's most historic sites and am parked tonight not far from Washington DC.

Martins Food in Front Royal, Virginia was a revelation. I wish I could get boneless chicken breasts in Oakville that were air-cooled, lacked fat hidden in the packaging, and had all the sinews removed. Buying beer and wine with your groceries is also a unique experience as is being asked for the date of your birth at the checkout. Front Royal RV Campground is accessed through an actively grazed pasture via a narrow single lane paved road with two Texas gates. A failed KOA its free Wi-Fi works at bytes a second. They do have water and electricity but the oriental owners barely speak English.

Skyline Caves was an interesting hour-long diversion this morning. Being led through a former underground river by a young man clad in Blue suitcoat and tie was novel.

Get your gas before you enter the Skyline Drive—it's 80¢ a gallon more expensive in the Park. The climb up to the ridge made my gas gauge visibly sink. Driving the winding hilly roads makes me feel right at home as on the backroads of Lunenburg County. After being overhauled for days by impatient truckers it's heaven to be on a road where the required speed limit matches my sensibilities. The snow dusted on the high places was an eye-opener and the gale-force winds and temperatures hovering around freezing made going outside for hikes less than pleasant. Despite the weather fall colours are just beginning to peak in this area so for once I've timed it right. The vistas viewable from the overlooks are panoramic and I'm thankful my vehicle affords a good view without my having to get out and risk being literally blown away. The Audio Guide I picked up at the visitor's centre was well worth the investment.

I've Got Those Rainy Day Blues

The good news is that my RV is waterproof the bad news is that nature is determined to prove it. When held under house arrest by the weather it matters little where one is parked but for the record I'm in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Given what's happened these past few days drawing the curtains and having a nap this afternoon seemed the course of least resistance. As I start writing darkness is quickly falling, though there's little I want to see outside in any case. Rain has been sluicing down my skylights all day.

On Thursday afternoon I decided I'd accomplished all I had could before leaving Oakville so before I left shut things down at home and set out to complete my last group of tasks. When getting my heat pump working did not appear in the works I decided it wasn't worth spending another night so I set off for Niagara. The only thing I still needed badly was propane and it wasn't on offer where I checked. Stopped at Queenston Heights for supper on the food items that might cause a problem at the border and said my good byes to Canadian soil. Paused at Canada Customs to register my camera and binoculars then with a sense of fatalism drove up to American Customs. Crossed the frontier with a minimum of hassle around 5:45 and the journey began.

It wasn't long of course until I was engulfed in darkness. Crossed the toll bridge and was on my way. The I-90 is a toll highway? As I learned later the next day at a New York State Tourist Bureau from the senior citizen who was manning it and eager for company on a slow day this applies only to the stretch that passes Rochester which happened to be Democratic at that time the Republican Governor Rockefeller built the rest of the highway. Political patronage again rears its ugly head and the state considers the revenue too valuable to surrender this stretch to the Feds even though it was long since paid for. The one thing I've noticed about US Turnpikes is the fact that exit lanes are too short to allow one to slow down in time forcing one to do so in traffic. Many also involve downhill stretches with bridge abutments at the bottom.

With only a slight detour in the wrong direction found my way to the campground I'd settled on for my first night in America and found my way to an empty site—most of them—as instructed and as the Milky Way smiled down on me plugged my RV into the power post remembering to shoot the circuit breaker. America gave me a cool and frosty welcome. Next morning met my host and got him to fill my propane tank. After breakfast set off to find gasoline; $3.35.9 an American Gallon picked up half a gallon of milk at a Yellow Goose Mart. So began a long day of driving. Stopped at one mall for potato salad and frozen OJ—more expensive than in Canada—and was offered chicken and biscuits with gravy as the luncheon special by a person of colour. Pass. The Tom Tom GPS and I made it through New York State and crossed into Pennsylvania stopping at the Welcome Centre. "Smile, You're in Pennsylvania!"

As light began to fail negotiated a bewildering series of interchanges and then narrow country roads looking for my next campground. I never did find it. I viewed their website the night before but the campground alluded me. Before I gave up for the night completely stopped for gas @ $2.79 a gallon—remind me to fill up before I leave Penn State. Stopped at a Park and Ride to catch a few hours rest and then set off after programming the GPS for Harrisburg. I had planned on a two day rest at the last campground and the weather that followed confirmed the wisdom of my original plans.

While I was stopped at a rest area having coffee and a sandwich the rain started. Just how high I'd climbed in the last hours became apparent when we started going downhill. I regret the fact that night obscured the mountains through which I'd driven. Mind you the fall colours have been muted by haze and an early fall for most of the territory I've crossed; I can only hope the Blue Ridge Parkway is not as far advanced. Not long into the evening the rain became wind-driven making driving even more miserable in such hilly terrain. I was thankful to negotiate the extensive road construction around Wilkes-Barre at a time when there was relatively little traffic. What the truckers stuck behind me were saying I'm better off not knowing. Being constantly overtaken by behemoths throwing off spray and their own air currents causes some white knuckles. To add to the misery after Wilkes-Barre the fog set in. Stopped for another nap before continuing on. When I'd passed my fifth roadkill deer and realized that traffic was barrelling by me at 65 miles per hour with zero visibility I got off the highway after the last 10 mile construction zone. Found a place to park and went to bed.

The next morning got going slowly around 7:30 and stopped at Frunck Family Restaurant with the idea of having breakfast. The place was crawling with middle-aged reservists in camos. When no one had come to seat me after 5 minutes I gave up in disgust and went on my way. The wind let up if not the rain and I made good time to Harrisburg and checked into my present campsite at 9:30 this morning. First order of business after plugging in was bacon and eggs. This is the first campground I've seen that has electrical meters at every site. They also have a log-on system for the internet that features bandwidth throttling. The place I stayed Thursday night did that as well. Apparently I've exceeded my limit for the day already.

I may attempt to read some E-mail after I post this blog. I plan to rest up for two days in the hopes of this weather passing. According to my calculations my ultimate goal of reaching Winchester and the Blue Ridge Parkway is now only a day's drive after crossing Maryland, West Virginia, and Virginia. I'll have to look later for a campground nearby as I want to stop at the visitor's centre before I begin driving the parkway. The rain is still falling as I finish this note so I'll have to wait until tomorrow to fill my water tank and bottles, pump out holding tanks and explore the area. If I'm given the opportunity I'll post this tonight—Saturday. My Personal In-Box being a lonely piece of electronic real estate I won't be troubled with answering any E-mail.

Almost Ready to Hit the Road

I've been busy tying up the last few loose ends in the past few days and the night time lows are telling me it's time to start heading south. Visited a few malls today to check on a few odds and ends and received a jolt when I realized that The Bay already has its Christmas Trees up. In a vampirish twist this close to Hallowe'en I was bemused to see a Blood Donor Clinic in the middle of Oakville Place the other day. In shopping to replace a small appliance that recently gave up the ghost I was also more than a little shocked to see that there actually is a fairly large counter gadget whose sole purpose is to open sealed canners. Whoever feels the need for that item has more cupboard space than I. Not being particularly enthusiastic about shopping in the first place I decided to put off any purchases until later.

I'm still spending a great deal of time watching TV Series on DVD but in the last few weeks I've finally rediscovered reading. I've almost doubled the number of books I've read this year in this month alone. It's about time as I've a rather large and still growing collection of books on my to-read list.

At the risk of overloading my RV I've sorted through the last of the goods from my pantry I plan to pack for travel and have only the deep freeze to empty and set dormant before I depart.

I just finished planning a journey along the Blue Ridge Parkway on my way south, a route recommended by a friend.