srj641

This week has been akin to the dust devils that populate Arizona, changing directions many times. Today we are leaving Anaconda, Mt. for Reed Point, Mt., after being schooled on the colorful history of this town of about 9,000 or so. Montana is a treasure, a state where you can easily enjoy being in the mountains or the wonderful high plateaus between ranges where the mountains are a constant vista.

Back to Anaconda. This town was formed by an industrialist as a place to smelt copper ore from mines in Butte, located 14 miles east of here. He constructed a 585’ tall chimney, made of bricks that were molded on site and stacked to make one of the highest masonry stacks in the world. The town grew with “smelters” coming in from all over with their families. We are camped at the foot of this huge operation, which is now an EPA super site, meaning the companies that were operating here have poured billions into reclamation efforts to clean up the arsenic that resulted from the production of copper. The copper produced was good stuff, 99.5% pure, and made Marcus Daly a fabulously rich man. The workers unionized, and the inevitable conflicts began, while Mr. Daly weighed his money. This county has voted for a Democratic candidate in Presidential elections since Calvin Coolidge, a natural occurrence with a union workforce. The town has opulent churches, was strongly Catholic in faith, had 57 bars and one brothel, small in size but apparently very profitable. The churches and main street buildings, to include a theater that will sit nearly 1,000 patrons at a time are, simply put, masterpieces. The town also is home to just under 600 deer that loll about on folks lawns and casually stroll down main street. For reference we are in the Bitterroot Valley. I could ramble on, but by now you get the picture. At one time, money flowed out of here by the rail car load, and Mr. Daly poured millions into the towns infrastructure and it is evident.

We began the day touring the old Montana Penitentiary, located in Deer Lodge a few miles from here. It closely resembles Missouri’s old prison with high sandstone walls constructed by a workforce of prisoners. The warden, during the early years, was progressive and ran a pretty good prison, as prisons go. It was either brutally hot in the halls or horribly cold, and as mean a place as existed at the time. It was a coed facility at first, but changed to a male only institution soon after, as the he’ing and she’ing got out of hand. Walking this facility reinforced my notion of life on the right side of the law. I am including pictures of a gallows, still standing in its original spot, designed by a prison official to expediently dispatch the only two inmates executed here. It was simple but contrived, designed to “jerk up” up the condemned rather than a fall through a trap door. It was a design failure, resulting in the prisoners taking 10 and12 minutes, respectively, to expire via strangulation rather than a clean neck break. It was still applauded, as the men twisted in the wind, as they had killed a deputy warden during their only riot. In a word, the prison was as depressing as our institution in Missouri, which predates Montana’s by years.

A note. America is rift with a terrific history that you cannot relive in books or stories told by scribes like me. You need to get out, if you are able, and taste the beginnings of the greatest nation on earth to appreciate the toil, suffering and maturation of our Republic. I never gave more than passing thought about Montana, believing it to be a state of harsh winters and big skies. A misconception corrected by a down and dirty dive into its colorful past. Enjoy the pictures, in no particular order.

SR

We are off to new adventures, completely in synch with the RV lifestyle. Y’all have a great week and be safe.

Our “elimination tour“ has taken a turn. We have only just begun to experience the northwestern United States, a beautiful part of America, but until this week have found nothing to challenge the comfort and culture of our home, Missouri. This week we have discovered why so many retired police officers and fire-fighters have relocated to this region in Idaho. It is beautiful with two monster lakes (natural, not impoundments!) anchoring the communities of Coeur D’Alene and Sandpoint, Idaho. But there is more.

These communities skirt the eastern and southern edges of Spokane, Washington, a big town with many amenities attractive to aging folks. There is an excellent medical infrastructure, plenty of shopping opportunities and too many dining opportunities to describe. The great outdoors is the draw here, with skiing and water sports in spades, and world class fishing at hand. I no longer hunt, which is unfortunate, as the big game opportunities in this region have no peer.

Down town Coeur D’Alene is drop dead gorgeous, mostly in a quaint but modern sort of way. Its vibrant shopping district offers just about all you can imagine, close to one of the nicest lakefront parks in the country. It is exceedingly clean, with campy sculptures along the sidewalks, striking civic pride and people as friendly as anywhere we have been. The region has earned its reputation as a safe, attractive and mostly affordable location to kick back after a career in policing and fire-fighting. The shop owners readily acknowledge the presence of all these emergency response folks with pride. The very liberal atmosphere of the Spokane area is checked at the border as you ease across the state line. The communities here reflect the conservative nature of the national police and fire-fighter community in general, and there is no evidence of DEI initiatives to be found.. Among the merchants, we found that every other one hails from California, a state they were all too ready to abandon.

Two days ago we slipped into northern Montana, “Big Sky Country.” With speed limits at 80 in many places, vistas that are breath taking, and streams that defy description, what is there not to like. (We are old and slow, with 65 being our normal cruise speed these days.) This state is another outdoor enthusiast’s dream. We are in Kalispell, settled by cowboys, prospectors and lumbermen. It is another really nice, clean and complete town. Without a doubt, Montana is another state we would consider for the long term. A trip to Glacier Park is on the immediate schedule, but you can do nicely drinking in the scenery and country along Montana’s roads. Magnificent comes to mind.

What an adventure. Have a great week!

SR

We have been to Mackinac Island and found it to be absolutely charming. Our experiences created certain expectations as to what we would find in fabled Victoria, Vancouver Island, B.C. Unfortunately, we found an entirely different vibe and scene. With a few exceptions, what we found was a miniature New York City, a very busy urban environment with an obvious tourist oriented overtone. Our intention was to spend a long day soaking up the culture and staying on the move, however; we cut our day short and rode an earlier ferry back to Port Angeles, Wa. ( I am oriented to rural environments as opposed to urban, which has influenced my view of Victoria.)

On the positive side of the equation, we found Victoria to be a vibrant, urban city moving at the speed of light. It was very clean except for the waterfront, which poses a problem for virtually every location on any harbor. Prices, even with the conversion were not an issue, reflecting our economy pretty closely. If you enjoy shopping, it is your Mecca, as long as you enjoy numerable shops strongly oriented toward capturing tourist dollars. The Parliament Building was grand, the centerpiece of the waterfront area, as nice as any statehouse in our country. The weather was absolutely ideal and the landscaping simply divine. The city is laid out well and urban planning is very evident. Pedestrian traffic enjoys wide sidewalks and the bicycle reigns supreme, with bike lanes built into every street and district. Ground transportation is excellent with ricksha buggies, a strong bus network, horse drawn carriages, pedi-cabs and taxis, to include cute little water taxis scooting around the harbor everywhere you look. The 90 minute ferry ride over and back was delightful with Mt. Baker towering over the water.

Why did we leave early? We walked to their small, but authentic, Chinatown and settled on a Chinese Restaurant that looked pretty authentic. The food was a solid four on a ten scale, bland and not in character. (I have lived in the far east for years and know authentic ethnic food when I see it.) We are confident that excellent table fare can be found but we struck out here. While there were a few up scale retail businesses, downtown was a collection of bauble and trinket stores with a focus on shirts and backpacks. It totally lacked the sophistication of a Seaside district (Florida) or Mackinac Island. If you are not exceedingly careful, you will likely be killed in a bike lane as the bicyclists, in heavy pedestrian traffic, cruised at the speed of light. We went, we saw and we likely would never return, instead saving our discretionary dollars for other destination venues. The town is a collection of high rise motels, in every direction, catering to the huge tourist flow, I am sure, year around. Diversity is on display with the mood being decided liberal in nature. It was very crowded as this is an extremely popular tourist destination.

Okay, so I will never find work for their Chamber of Commerce, but I call ‘em like I see ‘em. We will be in Washington another couple of days as we drift east through Spokane into Idaho. The state is absolutely gorgeous and well worth the drive.

Have a great week!
SR

No, not the basketball team, rather mavericks in our history. Folks who get off the reservation occasionally and marched to their own drum, making a difference when the norm is failing. Where, exactly did this description come from you ask. A texas cattleman, Samuel Maverick, refused to brand his cattle, preferring to let them roam freely….that was clearly against the grain and a descriptive was born.

Mavericks, by nature, are innovators. They tend to find a way to get things done, often stirring up controversy along the way. They tend to become leaders as a result of their lack of inhibition, often achieving results well beyond the world of established norms. They are a colorful part of American history and lore. They may be profane, or not, relying on “colorful language” to make a point, as the shock value can be inspiring. An example of this would be George Patton, who had one foot in a bucket of crap and the other foot on a banana peel most of the time. He, however, achieved astounding success as a General, feared by his adversaries, often castigated by his followers, but greatly admired in the end. His troops would, and did, follow him into hell with little reservation. When the 101st Airborne found themselves in deep sewage at Bastogne, Patton swung his entire 3d Army and broke the bulge, liberating the 101st. Profane, brash and brilliant with a boss (Eisenhower) who could barely control him. Ike, knew, however, that when the impossible needed doing, Patton was his man.

A modern day maverick would be one Donald Trump. To say he thinks outside the box is a gross understatement. He confounds his adversaries and likely scares the hell out of his staff, but is perhaps the most results oriented President since the turn of the century. Like Patton, he says things that are extremely irritating, blusters freely, and commands attention. He is fearless, has skin thicker than an elephant’s, and has energy that defies description. Which President in modern history would dust off his best bombers and fly them into Iran, obliterating their nuclear capabilities? Who would establish tariffs, against all conventional thinking, and achieve astounding results? Which President in modern history would draw a line and smack down the liberal establishment when they cross it? Mr. Trump has a plan, amends it on the go, and gets results. He does not think outside the box, he lives outside the box.

The left is currently paralyzed. They cannot rationally respond to Mr. Trump’s actions leaving them to a strategy that involves making fools of themselves. I am writing today to suggest that folks embrace this once in a lifetime maverick, and enjoy the ride. If every business in America was as results driven as this administration, there would be no end to our success. You don’t have to love folks like Patton and Trump, but you cannot argue with their successes. In the end, it is not so much the approach….it is the result.

Have a great week, pardon my swerve into the political arena, and enjoy the ride.

SR

One of the many advantages of RV travel is the ability to change directions, routes and destinations quickly, as in after a 30 minute discussion. We have moved inland to an another delightful town in the heart of Oregon’s Pinot Noir country, McMinnville. We drove through miles of manicured vineyards and orchards to get here, some 30 miles east of the coast, and have established our outpost at Old Stone RV Resort, among the top 5 parks we have visited in 7 years of RV’ing. This is a large park and every square inch not under a concrete pad is perfectly landscaped. The office is opulent, and the salt water, heated pool is beautiful. All this at an affordable price. Within a few miles is a Monrovia garden and nursery, literally a mile or so in length and as wide. Landscaping comes naturally to these folks.

We are about 40 miles south of the city of thuggery, Portland, which is as close as we’ll get. Oregon is surprisingly conservative, AWAY from the metropolitan areas which constitute the majority of their electorate.

We are walking distance, on a manicured paved sidewalk, from a huge aviation museum, replete with a SR-71 and the Spruce Goose that Howard Hughes built and flew. Of course that is on our agenda for the next 8 days or so. There is also an airport within a mile or so, with a helicopter and fixed wing training program, filling the skies with eager student pilots, shooting approaches and hovering about. My planning and logistics officer/chef and travel guide has once again exceeded every expectation. Today, she has earned another bottle of Oregons finest vino.

As is our recent custom, I am forwarding photos to better explain our current situation, with more to come this week of the vineyards and our travel. Readers can expect additional photos of the museum as an extra feature.

A final thought. We are canvassing the neighborhood this morning to find Jim Cantori. When we lodged in Arizona, wild, wind driven fires began burning the Grand Canyon up, so we relocated to coastal Oregon and apparently triggered a record earthquake and a tsunami threat. We are now in the legendary Willamette Valley and are facing a rare “extreme heat” event tomorrow through Tuesday with predicted highs of near 107, actual. Kinda spooky!

Have a great week!

SR

When I was a kid, living with my Grand Parents in the piedmont of South Carolina, I was exposed to the art of growing fine tobacco. I can remember the government carefully measuring EC Cooke’s tobacco crop and demanding he plow a row or two under, as he had exceeded his allotment. I have never used the stuff but do remember the warm smell of freshly cured tobacco lying on a wooden floor being graded and tied by my family for sale at auction. Oregon finds itself in need of a similar control in the growing and processing of its prodigious crop of cannabis sativa, aka weed, pot, grass, ganja, bud, kush, puff or any of the other 1,000 or so names. Their market is soft, the result of legalization in other states resulting in an over supply of the dangerous weed. Damn the bad luck.

In Oregon you can grow up to four plants for personal use, a majority of the big grow operations are outdoors and you must erect a barrier to block it from public view. They have a lot of experience with this business, and it shows. There are any number of aging “hippies” along the coast, many of which are buzzed out, drifting about with their rather large group of homeless folks. This is the case in the delightful small towns along the Pacific Coast Highway, but we’ll never know if this is the case in their runaway cities. It is a gorgeous state, replete with natural resources that defy imagination. They also produce award winning wine, specifically Pinot Noir. I am clueless about fine wine, having consumed a fair amount of Rosey O’Grady and Boones’s Farm when coming of age. I like it sweet, if at all, and find dry wines to be a test of my will.

We are currently on the harbor in Coos Bay Oregon, the biggest town on US 101, in their state, at around 15,000 good folks. The temperatures have been running around 70 for the high and the upper 50’s for the low. Salt water sport fishing is the order of the day here and they like tourists. They should, as marijuana, wine and logging are what is happening in these parts and tourists bring a lot of money to the area, with good reason. It is breathtakingly gorgeous, period.

I’ll let pictures do the talking.

A final word. There are any number of internet warriors who suggest that Highway 101 is a problem. It is not, at least in Oregon. It is in great condition, overall, but you must stay focused. The locals are tolerant and pass in one of the numerous passing zones, and there are ample pull outs to swing over and let the buildup behind you go by. A trip along this road, in our 230i convertible, would be priceless. The hamlets and towns are rustic, clean and fun. Fuel is a dollar cheaper than California and readily available. Food is expensive and you need to choose carefully where you seek respite. We go where the locals go and avoid the tourist traps that are inevitable. We have enjoyed the ride and are getting into an interesting phase of our journey, northern Oregon and Washington State, where Victoria Island awaits. If I could, I would bottle up this weather and send it to my people in Missouri. The alternative, for you is obvious!

Have a great week, SR.

We are presently reposing in a chicken yard cleverly disguised as a RV park in scenic Weed, Ca. The town is named after a fellow, Abner Weed, who in 1961 established a lumber business hereabouts. We made the drive from Reno to Mt. Shasta where we enjoyed lunch among the youthful crowd in this pretty village. We were in the shadow of this magnificent mountain, towering some 14,000’ above the Cascade Range, where we enjoyed a lunch and Miss Sharon quaffed a gigantic blackberry Maggie-Rita. The designated driver enjoyed a damned Pepsi. The drive north was fantastic, with beautiful tall pine forests much of the way. The roads were a 6-7 with good shoulders and nominal traffic. Weed is a few miles north of Mt. Shasta, just off I-5.

It is hard to imagine that Californians elected Gravel Nusance their Governor and the likes of Fancy Potted as a representative. In fairness, up here we passed a number of Trump signs and not a single Joey B sign. Being a sleuth, I quickly deduced that much of California’s budget woes are the result of deer crossing warning signs, located about every 10 miles or so on their highways, advising of frequent deer movements, some miles ahead. The warned highways overlap one another and they could save money by putting up a big neon sign suggesting you were going to hit a deer if you weren’t concentrating on the immediate road ahead. It figures, the deer are as restless as Californians in general, who are fleeing the state in huge numbers.

Now, about the campground. It has a large chicken pen, replete with old Shasta trailers acting as coops. I managed to capture a picture of Roho, the boss rooster who was selecting his roost partner for the evening. Several of his harem were outside their pen, wandering through the campground precluding anyone from walking about at dusk. You are quite likely to step where you should not, resulting in your shoes reeking of Democratic cologne, or pardon me, chicken shite.

Tomorrow we will be out of California and travelling north into Oregon in search of the coastal gem, US 101. An additional thought, I shopped for diesel fuel and finally found a bargain at 5.43 a gallon. The pump ran hot as it delivered this fuel with the cost meter turning at breakneck speed. Some more of their government at work…..

Have a great week!

SR

Rather than bore my readers with loads of “vacation” pictures, I thought I would summarize the past week in and around Zion, Bryce Canyon, and the Arches National parks. There are thousands of commercially shot pictures of these parks that eclipse our talent behind the camera, or a viewfinder that my friend, Mike, in Springfield relies upon.

In a word, these parks offer a panorama of majestic rock formations, scenery, and ease of travel through them. Succinctly put, Zion is magnificent, Bryce awe inspiring and the Arches unique. Zion was our favorite, but you would not want to miss the other two. Be sure and get your senior pass to visit these parks without paying admission fees of around 30 bucks a shot. I strongly recommend bringing a lunch and/or plethora of snacks and drinks as they are not available once you enter. It will save a fight over half a moldy protein bar later. Only the south rim of the Grand Canyon is open, the north rim being destroyed by wildfire in the past two weeks, driving the tourist crowd to the south side. The air can be iffy at this point so be careful, particularly if an inhaler is in your pocket.

Now for the local flavor. The Navajo Indian people, by far and way are stand offish and not particularly welcoming. I was surprised, even though I understand their history. Page, Arizona is the key to Powell Lake’s Glenn Canyon dam and the lower reaches of a nearly 200 mile long lake. The food was a 4-5 on a 10 scale and outside of Wal-Mart and a very good Safeway store, there existed an infrastructure I suspect is typical of a town founded in 1957. Next up was the charming town of Kanab, Utah. It was rustic, and laid back with a very friendly vibe. We then moved northwest through Utah, with neat small towns (super clean), terrific roads and vistas that were grand. You barely notice the miles clicking off. We returned to a highly tourist and commercially developed Moab, (we were there years ago to a different atmosphere.)We try to dine in most of the time, as restaurants costs are exorbitant. So far, we have not been rocked by any particular place, and we dig deep for local flavor off the beaten path. Of note, we are Wal-Mart, Sam’s Club pharmacy clients and obtaining the occasional refill at stores out west has been as easy as home.

We are striking out tomorrow across Nevada, into Col. Paul Corbin territory, and stopping in Reno to check out the gambling situation. We are on a tight casino budget, as in 20 bucks each, as I once regulated this industry in Missouri, and understand the business. Mathematically challenged folks should not enter these places. The RV parks at these establishments tend to be very reasonable, clean and accessible. We have yet to be burned in a casino park.

We have received conflicting advice on traveling Highway 101 north up the Oregon Coast. A dear friend, experienced in RV’ing says no way. Other folks say yes, just take your time as it is allegedly beautiful. This road is an RV favorite, and as a trooper, I am used to adverse traffic issues, and have infinite patience (well, the adverse traffic issue thing is right..🤨). We are all in on this adventure and hope we haven’t made a big mistake.

We have embraced the full time RV thing and love our modest trailer. Cirrus the Ram is proving to be strong and trouble free. One month in, the jitters are resolved and we are officially vagabonds.

(We are striking camp in the nick of time as the smoke from wildfires has reached us. Utah and Arizona are struggling with fire.)

Until next week!

SR

This week, we visited a modern laundromat for obvious reasons. My experience in a laundromat was limited to college days when you sort of washed stuff in one load, dried it and left wondering why all your clothing was changing to the same color, usually pink or gray. On the road, my regimen is to drop Sharon off and head to a coffee shop to grab a couple of brews for us. Not this week as my planning and logistics manager insisted I stay the course and learn the intricacies of washing clothes in a commercial establishment. Uh……

To be successful in the RV business, you must have skills or training in sanitation management, electrical systems, water management, mechanics, carpentry, chemistry and mechanical engineering. You also need at least two rolls of Gorilla Tape, useful in most of the above noted regimens. In addition to my cartography skills (paper maps in Vietnam and artillery) I also agreed to sitting through basic laundry 101. My hat is off to whomever handles that responsibility in your compound. You need to master fabrics, soaps, bleaches, dryer sheets, fabric softeners, computers and financial planning. I will never take this responsibility lightly again!

Today’s commercial washers (costing between 5K and 16K EACH) will wash the hell out of your clothes. You pay for each load with an app on your phone. Each load costs between 6 and 15 dollars and is spun out in around 30 minutes. Dryer cycles run around a buck for 20 minutes. Extra time on a dryer can be bought by the minute for 1.25 but you’ll quickly see you are ahead buying another full cycle which requires moving to another dryer. Temperature control in all respects is a skill that requires lots of experience.

My concept of folding clothes did not meet Sharon’s standards. She thought I would do better just tossing stuff in a bag randomly. Believe me, I have it down now.

A thousand pardons to skilled laundry practitioners. I grossly underestimated the nuances of doing it correctly. The preservation of colors and the continued fit of clothing is far more complicated than what I remember on the back porch with my grandmother. We had a wringer washer, a tub for rinsing and a tub with some magic stuff called blueing. Our dryer was a wire between two posts and a gentle South Carolina breeze. Please take a moment to thank the scientist in your home who does the laundry. Times have changed…..

Have a great week!

SR

We are spending the holidays still ensconced in beautiful Page Arizona. As I write, a motorized para-glider is gingerly flying over the RV park, enjoying a rare respite from the seemingly incessant wind. We are easterners in the minds of the populace here, very much in tune with the beauty of the midwest. That beauty comes with near constant ambient light and noise.

It gets dark here. I am talking about cave tour, turn off your flashlight kind of dark. There is no ambient light where we are and you can see the heavens much more clearly. The quiet is disconcerting. Step outside and hear nothing…..no traffic, folks puttering about, lawn mowers. In Edgar Allen Poe terms, it must be similar to the day they close the lid and cover you with dirt…..

We walked the docks this week and were thunderstruck by the size and opulence of the houseboats in their berths. The docks are wide enough and long enough to accommodate small service trucks, pedestrians and the endless stream of UTV’s loading the houseboats with a convenience store sized inventory of stuff necessary to enjoy a week or two anchored in a niche on this puddle called lake Powell. We can pick up our cellphone, dial a few numbers and presto, bingo, a courtesy cart will be at your site and transport you to your boat, the restaurant or any of the other amenities found here. When you do back your mammoth barge out, you provide the marina with the coordinates where you will be and they will send an “anchoring crew” to anchor your boat! Apparently there is a trick to doing that when shore is a sheer rock wall. That and many of the folks we see maneuvering the armada around here have not a clue how to drive the damned things. Out of curiosity, we inquired about the rental of a houseboat. Not a problem if you have 2 grand a day for the nicer ones. Another observation….there are several ramps to shuck your ski boat into the creek, one for do it yourselfers and one where a professional launch artist puts her in for you. The carnage around the do it yourself ramp reminds me of Gaza……you get my point.

I did notice a bass boat, equipped with power poles, slip into a tie down for a sandwich, I am guessing. I laughed, as the depth of this lake would require power poles about 100’ long. As long as I am mentioning things, there is a proliferation of young beauties whose bathing suits would not make a kids slingshot, leading me to the conclusion that a dermatologist would do quite well here. Money that you weigh instead of count, big boats and gold chains seem to attract these little girls. Bass boats do not.

So the day is started, a fuel truck is on site and the games begin. Have a wonderful holiday and join the masses that love America. May a police baton leave an indelible impression on those who hate. America is on the mend and all is well.

SR