On The Road

In documenting our travels, it has become my practice to review our pictures each week and wait for them to tell their story. The message I scribe is most often a joyous one, as Betty & I are very much enjoying what we are seeing on our overlandish adventure. At some point this week – most likely while returning my camera to its bag – the settings unintentionally changed from colour (or color in U.S.A.) to black & white. We took historic city tours through Savannah, Georgia and Charleston, South Carolina, and are now camped at Sesquicentennial State Park in Columbia, South Carolina, a park I last visited with my parents over 50 years ago. While we are keenly aware of the history of difficult race relations in this part of America, Betty & I have experienced nothing but the warmest of southern hospitality from blacks and whites during this visit. This blog post highlights our brief time here.

After the RVillage rally in Live Oak, Florida, we journeyed east through Jacksonville to Amelia Island, making a brief loop around the island and its many golf courses before stopping for the night in site #8 at Crooked River State Park, just over the Georgia border. (How nice to visit a state named after our youngest granddaughter! Lol.)

A short drive up the coast from Crooked River took us to Skidaway Island State Park on the outskirts of Savannah. A popular park, we were unable to book a single site for two nights, but made the quick trip from site #64 on our first night to site #1 for our second. As has been our practice in many new cities, we took an enjoyable trolley tour around Savannah, whetting our appetite to see more of this attractive, historic city on a future occasion.

Our next stop was Charleston, South Carolina, where we found a full service site (#P3) at Oak Plantation Campground. Since the site was unavailable for a second night, we moved to a local Walmart where we stocked up on groceries, unhooked the Smart, and headed for another guided tour of this beautiful old city.

After dinner at downtown Charleston’s Sticky Fingers, we decided to hook back up at Walmart and head out to an I26 rest area near Orangeburg, SC.

To our surprise, a hose blew off from our water pump shortly after our arrival at the rest stop, and we were without water for the night.  But John’s RV in nearby Lexington, SC fixed our plumbing problem and got us back on the road again the next morning. As mentioned, we are now in site 29 of loop 1 in Sesquicentennial State Park in Columbia, SC., trying to confirm or deny a childhood memory that each of the sand-covered tent sites was raked in a herringbone pattern when my family visited over 50 years ago. Well, the sand is still here on tent sites but it is not raked between visitors. Of course, many of the sites now have electricity & water, and gravel has been added as

a parking base. The campground still has work to be done to level quite a number of sites, whose uneven elevation is not apparent on campground maps. But it is still a nice large park on the outskirts of Columbia, the capital city of South Carolina.

During our time in America’s deep south – with its historic plantations and slave cabins – we  have purposely sought out encounters with its inhabitants. It is difficult to capture the complexities and nuances in a brief post, especially one labelled Black & White. But permit me to relate a couple of very brief stories (each of which could take a separate post…).

The Haircut: I have always been cautious about who cuts my hair, but purposely chose a barber shop with four black barbers and a shop full of African-American customers. When my turn came for a cut, I had some difficulty describing a “normal” haircut, when no one in the room had hair like mine. Lol.  It was my first haircut without scissors being used – just razors – and it took place with the chair turned away from the mirror on the wall, so I had to put my trust in the barber. Would I leave with the logo of a popular sports team carved on the back of my head? Well, due to hair loss in that area, the possibility was significantly lessened, and I don’t have the tight curls that make that job easier. Lol.  In any event, I was warmly welcomed by everyone in the shop, with handshakes and heartfelt thanks for coming from each of the barbers as I left. BTW, I’m happy with the haircut, too!

The fiery preacher:  For church on Sunday, Betty & I chose the nearest church to our campground, which turned out to be Windsor United Methodist Church with a mainly white congregation, but a lively black female minister. Rev. Leatha Brown’s message on forgiveness – both the need to extend and receive forgiveness – seemed most impactful personally and in a part of America where black & white have struggled with reconciliation.

May we pray that we can all turn the lenses through which we view the world from black & white to see the richness of full color around us?

Cheers

There are certain reference points in our travels north, south, east and west, that mark our journey across the continent – like dipping a toe in the Atlantic, and then the Pacific. Myrtle Beach State Park was a favourite stopping point in childhood camping trips up and down the U.S. eastern seaboard, and comes to mind whenever I think of “must visit” east coast locations.

The state park doesn’t seem to have changed much in the past 50 years (with the exception of adding wifi, water & electricity to most of its 350 sites, and also sewer connections to some) and that is a good thing. It is situated on the south side of Myrtle Beach on a prime piece of oceanfront property, with about a mile of sand along its

Grand Strand beach. Many hotels have been added to the Atlantic coastline at Myrtle Beach, but it is nice to see the thick maritime vegetation, with numerous hiking trails, picnic areas, and bike paths within the park.

This is a relatively brief visit, as we make our way up the coast to Cape Hatteras, but thought I’d take the time to add a little update while

Betty works her magic in her new sewing centre at the back of our home-on-wheels. It’s been a “must visit”, but will need to be a “must visit again” to get the full impact of this beautiful spot, or as they say in the south: “Y’all come back now, ya hear!”

Cheers!

Before Betty & I set out on our overlandish odyssey, I confess to being something of a news junky. We were daily subscribers to the Winnipeg Free Press, with comparatively well-written local, provincial, national, and international journalism adding detailed commentary to the news gleaned nightly from CBC and CTV national and local programs.  As an engaged citizen, I always felt it was my responsibility to remain current on local and international issues. But now, might I venture to say that ignorance is bliss?

On the one hand, it has been more difficult to keep up-to-date with significant news stories as we travel. Television reception is often poor, and quality news programming seems hard to find. If not pre-filtered to express a narrow point of view, the stories often are of a cat in a tree, interviewing the

cat owner; the person whose tree the cat is occupying; the firefighter rescuing the cat;  and with a comment from someone on the street who happens to be passing by. Not that I have anything against cats (well, in fact I do. Lol), but in the overall scheme of things, there are usually more important events on which to report. “Now let’s turn to sports” says the news anchor…

On the other hand, those more important events are usually prioritized into “If it bleeds, it leads” formats. Terrorism, wars, mass shootings, earthquakes, hurricanes and tornados resulting in death and destruction all create a context for understanding the world around us. But as they invade our living rooms on a daily basis, do they skew our perception of our level of safety and our need to defend ourselves against unknown adversaries? When we remain in a terrorized state, the terrorists have won.

Ok, I have to admit that, from time to time, I check out the news on-line; enjoy picking up a local newspaper; and make sure that our bathroom magazine rack has the latest edition of Time magazine. (I haven’t seen a Maclean’s magazine since leaving Canada. lol) But for the most part we are cut off from the trials and tribulations of the world around us.

Betty & I are enjoying the natural beauty of our amazing continent and its wonderful inhabitants. We are regularly meeting interesting people from all over, and talking about favourite destinations, with conversations usually steering clear of politics and religion…  Whether in an urban park or remote forest, we have always felt safe and have never had any of our belongings stolen on day trips away from the site. Maybe some people would think we are naïve and oblivious to the risks around us. But so far we are prepared to say that: “ignorance is bliss!”  And yes, “no news is good news!”

Cheers!

Addendum: As responsible citizens, I’m not suggesting that we should permanently disconnect. A thoughtful essay by Jon Meacham in the April 8/19 edition of Time magazine quotes journalist Walter Lippmann and his early 20^thcentury book, Public Opinion. He suggests we need a “…willingness to think before we decide, and to weigh before we weigh in. ‘Every man whose business it is to think,’ Lippmann observed in Public Opinion, ‘knows that he must for part of the day create for himself a pool of silence.”  Our current adventure has not only provided a pool, but a whole ocean by which we can

contemplate life.  Can Reddoch’s Retreat lead to a time of reconnection with news of the world? Only time will tell…

Cheers!

Three Little Birds, by Bob Marley:

“Don’t worry about a thing,
’cause every little thing gonna be all right.
singin’: “don’t worry about a thing,
’cause every little thing gonna be all right!”
Rise up this mornin’,
smiled with the risin’ sun,
three little birds
pitch by my doorstep
singin’ sweet songs
of melodies pure and true,
sayin’, (“this is my message to you-ou-ou:”)
Singin’: “don’t worry ’bout a thing,
’cause every little thing gonna be all right…”

When we left Cape Hatteras, Betty & I intended to spend a couple of days visiting the historic sights of Washington, D.C. On the way, we spent a night at a Flying J truck stop on Interstate 95, just north of Richmond, Virginia, and arrived around noon at Greenbelt Campground, in a national park on the outskirts of the nation’s capital. While not as close as the national park campground on

the Potomac River I remember staying in when John F. Kennedy was President, it is still only 12 miles away from the city centre. Our plan was similar to other city visits. We would spend a day on a local bus/trolley tour that stops at all the significant points of interest. But then the weather forecast changed, and so did our plans.

Last night’s forecast for Washington today was for high winds and potential flash flooding, stalling traffic in tunnels, underpasses and low-lying areas.  The storm was moving in from the southwest, where it had already caused significant damage and some loss of life. Should we stay or should we go? Betty & I weighed our options, and came up with a Plan B.

Instead of committing to a bus tour, we decided to drive the Smart around the city, giving ourselves the opportunity to bail (figuratively – hopefully not literally – lol) if the weather changed for the worse. As it was, I’m not sure we didn’t take our life in our hands driving the chaotic streets of Washington, more so than battling a thunder storm.  In any event, we lived to tell the tale. And as the rain began, we headed back to a happy puppy, high and dry in our home on wheels.

Sometimes life doesn’t turn out exactly as planned. There are always elements beyond our control. But today Betty & I were able to roll with it, and continue on down the road. Best wishes for the resiliency to successfully adapt in unexpected circumstances!

Cheers!

In many of our blog posts, we have used musical references to highlight the vibe of our visit. Whether or not the songs resonate with all generations, they

connect Betty & me to memorable experiences throughout our lifetimes. This week we drove down a kind of musical memory lane, stopping in Cleveland, Ohio for a tour through the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. It was fun to re-live moments – particularly from our youth – that spoke to us through moving, evocative songs in ways far greater than simple words could deliver.

After leaving Washington, D.C., we drove through Maryland and Pennsylvania, catching a section of the Appalachian Mountain range on our way to Ohio. On our first night at an Ohio Turnpike rest area – known as a Service Plaza – we were surprised to see how large and extensive the services were there. While we didn’t make use of it that night, we noted a dedicated RV parking area with 50 & 30 amp hook-ups, a dump station, and drinking water available.

On arriving in Cleveland, we parked in the 1,000 stall lot of a football stadium next to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. We had checked in advance, confirming that we could stay the night there if we wanted, for $36. As it turned out, we were the only vehicles in the lot (except for the security SUV and attendant’s car). We were able to leave the Smart attached to our motorhome during our visit, and decided to move on to our next destination after we got our music fix.

The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame contains a wide variety of musical memorabilia from a broad range of artists. We couldn’t help but think of our two talented musical sons as we examined the many instruments on exhibit – from  pianos and organs to acoustic and electrical guitars and drums. Costumes worn on stage were prominently displayed, as

were hand written song lyrics, record contracts, and personal items, such as Jim Morrison’s Boy Scout uniform! (lol). Pictures and recordings were present at each display, and a variety of theatres showed videos and movies of artists like the Beatles, Rolling Stones, Bruce Springsteen, U2 and many more. This post only captures a few of the inductees from the years since the Hall of Fame was established in 1983.

Betty & I could have spent much longer seeing and hearing from the artists that influenced us in our formative years. I was reminded of the differences between access to media in the 50s, 60s and 70s, compared to current, immediate

information about artists that is available on the www now. Back in the day, we had to watch Ed Sullivan and American Bandstand to see who was hot or up-and-coming. Then we would have to find a record store that carried the 45 rpm single or 33 1/3 l.p. that had the songs we wanted to hear. A.M. radio stations had very narrow prescribed

play lists, and if you weren’t into “bubble gum” music you had to wait until underground F.M. stations hit the air. For me, it was WABX in Detroit that introduced us to the artists whose songs were too long or radical for commercial A.M. radio. The disc jockey would put on an l.p.. You would listen to the whole side, and a minute after the needle would

start to click at the end of the record, he would come back on and hazily say “Far out, man. Let’s listen to another one!” lol.  There was no social media to promote Woodstock and other similar outdoor mega concerts that followed, just a lot of underground word of mouth. It was a different era, but obviously someone who wasn’t too stoned captured it and made the footage available to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. Far out man!

At the end of our visit, we moved on to another Ohio Turnpike Service Plaza were we stayed the night with 50 amp electrical service, dump station and water – all for $20.

There are many times in our lives that we just can’t seem to find the right words. On those occasions it’s great to be able to crank up the tunes and let the music speak!

Cheers!

Cheers!

What kind of chemistry is involved in creating a family, and how does that formula change over time? I guess there is no single recipe, but this week I had opportunity to observe a couple of examples of fine family dynamics.

During formative years, sibling rivalry can have a significant impact on relationships. There can be a perception that one son or daughter gets all the attention, while another is neglected. One is the favourite son, while another is the black sheep of the family. The perception that “mother loved you best” can extend for decades, but usually begins to fade with maturity and the death of our parents.

Our youngest daughter, Lisa, has a PhD in psychology and specializes in understanding relationships, so I’m sure she is better equipped to analyse sibling relationships than her dear old dad. Suffice to say, from my simple observations, it was heartwarming to see the love, joy and affection shown this week between Betty and her two brothers, Bill and Jack.

Betty & I had worked our way up the U.S. eastern seaboard, and decided to hold up in southern Ontario until we were fairly sure that the snow was gone from Winnipeg. We were unable to spend more time in the U.S. for fear

of exceeding the “180 day rule”, but we also wanted to have a little time with Betty’s big brothers. Brother Jack, and his wife Christine live in Amherstburg, Ontario – outside the normal snow belt.  Her other brother Bill, and his dear wife Heather, were able to make the 5 hour drive down from their home northwest of Toronto, so there was ample opportunity to both reminisce and build new memories. As it turned out, we also reconnected with old friends, Rick & Penny, who stopped by at the beginning of their RV trip to the west.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that historic

Amherstburg has a number of fine restaurants, and sits nicely on the Lake Erie North Shore wine route. Wherever we went in this extreme southern corner of Ontario, we had a great time sharing our lives with family and friends. As we left, there were hugs and kisses all round (and a few tears), and it was wonderful to experience this brotherly love.

Just a quick further example: Betty & I spent Easter Sunday in that Ohio Turnpike Service Plaza while our 9 family members – pictured on the first page of www.reddoch.ca– shared a traditional turkey dinner together. Through FaceTime we sat at the table with them, and observed another great example of brotherly (and sisterly) love. Here’s praying that our grandkids, and all in the next generation, find the loving formula that keeps our families together!

Cheers!

Almost all travellers who have crossed international borders have stories to tell.  As Forest Gump might put it: “Crossing the border is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get!”  Well, yesterday Betty & I got an unusual surprise, which I hope never to repeat…

My preface to that story is that a motorhome is not a car, and it is not a commercial truck. That may seem obvious, but as a driver I am regularly challenged to make a split-second decision as to whether I want to act like a car, or act like a truck, while driving our continent’s highways and byways.

Permit me to provide a few examples: When approaching a highway rest area, a sign will direct car traffic in one direction, and truck traffic to a different parking area. If we were to follow the cars, our motorhome would not fit the parking spaces. So we go with the trucks unless, as mentioned in an earlier post, we are on the Ohio Turnpike and can go to dedicated RV parking. Yippee!

When we fill up with gas, we prefer to go to Flying J truck stops that have dedicated RV pumps, because we are too big to manoeuvre around many car pumps, and do not use the diesel at the truck pumps.

Yesterday we entered a toll road where the “cash only” lane was too narrow for us, and the “EZ Pass” lane was listed for oversized vehicles. We only had cash, but chose the oversized lane behind some 18 wheelers.  When I pushed the elevated ticket button, the ticket came out of a car slot which was 4’ lower. Despite calling for “go-go-gadget arms” there was no way to reach that ticket, so Betty had to get out, retrieve it, and return to her seat before the barrier went back down again.

Well, there are many more examples I could provide, but I’m sure you’re waiting with baited breath to hear about our border crossing adventure. In context, you must understand that the road through Windsor, Ontario leading over the Ambassador Bridge to Detroit, Michigan, is under construction. In fact, the bridge itself is on life-support, and we believe our gps was constantly trying to get us to go hundreds of miles north to the Blue Water Bridge between Sarnia and Port Huron in order to save our lives. In retrospect, maybe she (Samantha is our gps) knew something we didn’t!

Trucks were instructed to use the outside lanes prior to the bridge, but then switch to the inside lanes at bridge approach. We shifted from the curb lane, through the truck traffic, to the car lanes, only to find those lanes merged again with the trucks a few hundred feet (metres?) up the bridge approach. Most of the bridge was single lane, with trucks and cars combined. Beyond the crest – as we approached U.S. Customs – commercial truck traffic was diverted to the far right, with car traffic to the majority of kiosks on the left. Car traffic was fairly light at that point, with cars lined up at 3-4 of the check-points. But one of the OPEN check-points toward the right had no cars waiting, so that’s where we went. BIG MISTAKE!

As I began to pull up to the first set of bollards I was able to read a small sign (under the huge lighted green OPEN sign) that read “auto only”. Well, at that point I was too close to the bollards to turn, and cannot back up with the Smart 4 wheels down on behind. The border officer left his post to frantically tell me to move my vehicle away from his lane, but that was easier said than done. I began to disconnect the car and Betty & Charlie came out to go in the car, as is our practice when we disconnect. But the flustered border officer insisted they go back in the motorhome, until he realized that I wasn’t going to be able to drive the car and the motorhome at the same time!

Betty was allowed to leave the motorhome, but the dog had to stay with me for some reason. She quickly grabbed her passport and drove through the checkpoint after I backed up and moved to the only line – on the far left – that had a small RV sign below the auto lane sign. Of course, because the Smart was the first car through after that lane re-opened, Betty was way ahead of me.  I had six cars slowly making their way through Customs in front of me, so called her to see where we could meet up on the other side. To my surprise, her phone rang on the dash beside me. Oops!

When I finally reached the Customs officer, he asked me all the routine questions. But where do I go with the answers? “Are you and the dog travelling alone?” No. “Where is your wife?” I don’t know…  It just went from bad to worse, with him arguing that I should have backed the motorhome up with the car on the back, even though I did that once in Austin, Texas, resulting in serious damage to the Smart’s steering column. By the end of our conversation, he was leaned back in his chair, telling me all the spots in Wyoming and Utah we needed to visit. I was just anxious to get out of there are get back on the road again.

Well, to make a potentially longer story short, I found Betty and the Smart on the side of the road, beyond the toll booth, and we were able to hook up (literally. Lol) and continue our trip to Elkhart, Indiana.  Just another day in the adventurous life of the Ramblin’ Reddochs.

Cheers!

It has been somewhat disorienting to make the journey from the summer-like winter heat of Florida to the early spring-time weather in Winnipeg. While the rest of the continent was chilling, Betty & I spent January, February and March of this year under the balmy Florida sun. Light clothing, sunscreen and bug repellent were de rigueur. The grass was green and lawnmowers buzzed. Tropical plants and trees lined Florida’s highways and byways. Flowers bloomed profusely wherever we travelled. The ocean and beaches beckoned and we were in flip-flop heaven!

Then as we gradually moved up the east coast during April, the leaves began to revert to buds. And by the time we reached Winnipeg as May began, the trees were devoid of their lush foliage! Ice was still present on some lakes in Ontario’s Lake of The Woods, and roadside patches of snow marked the landscape. We felt the chill breezes and watched the old leaves blow across the dormant grass, and sensed that fall was in the air.

But apparently it’s not…  While we still need to keep a heater running in our plumbing bay and the campground water is not yet turned on, Betty & I have been assured by family and friends that winter is over and spring is on its way! We are not yet rushing out to buy flowers for our “yard”, but will take their word that better weather lies ahead.

If you are reading this in the northern hemisphere, let us together hope that the cold dark days are behind us, and a warm bright season of flip-flop heaven is soon to come!

Cheers!