Sit 'n Spin

In the Ozarks of Arkansas we loop into the Petite Jean Forest, pronounced locally as “petty jeen.” We take a small footpath to the Bear Cave, apparently where a bear met its end a long time ago. It’s a fun collection of rocks now and we loop back to the car – yep – twenty minutes later.

On the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina the kids and I pile out of the car when we see a suspended footbridge over a small river. Three steps out and the boards begin to creak ominously and the bridge begins to sway to the right. I glance to the left and see a small sign that says “do not intentionally sway bridge.” I think I wet my pants a little bit. Steve has left with the car to pick us up on the other end, so we press on. I make the kids spread out along the length of the bridge to distribute our weight, but let’s face it, I’m the only one who weighs enough to plunge to my death a few hundred feet, so screw it. The kids think it’s pretty cool that there are turtles below. And, twenty minutes later – you guessed it, back in the car!

Somewhere in Pennsylvania we stayed at a budget hotel. We should have known better when there was no elevator and we had to lug our bags up a flight of stairs to reach the “no pets” rooms. In the morning Collin awoke with a tick trying to bury its head in his abdomen. The clerk at the desk suggested that we must have brought it in with us, like a snack or some souvenir from our prior day’s journey. She probably wanted to charge us extra for bringing a pet. Anyway, the next 3 hours in the car with a cell phone brought on a new fresh hell for her as we engaged in: The Pennsylvania Health Department Showdown!

Call 1: Pennsylvania State Health Department who didn’t know who inspected hotels for sanitation and sent us to the Food Safety Department because the hotel also had a restaurant.

Call 2: Pennsylvania Department of Food Safety who didn’t know who was pretty sure no one at the state level inspected hotels for sanitation but suggested we talk to the Lancaster County Department of Health.

Call 3: Lancaster County Department of Health who didn’t know who was pretty sure no one at the county level inspected hotels for sanitation and sent us to the Lancaster City Board of Health.

Call 4: Lancaster City Board of Health where we left a message about ticks at a local hotel.

The next day a very nice woman from the Lancaster City Board of Health called and left a lengthy message. She said she had an illness in her family and would get back to us the following Monday and asked were we “sure it wasn’t a bed bug?” as if that would make a difference. Does it matter? Maybe not, but it does go to show you that sometimes, no matter what you do, you sit ‘n spin.

Blue Ridge Parkway

Here are some photos from the Blue Ridge Parkway. It has been at least 30 years since any tree maintenance on the "scenic viewpoints." What a riot! All you can see is the trees blocking the view. Good grief Charlie Brown. Anyway, we did have a great visit to Luray Caverns. Old school roadside weirdness. They specialize in the "Stalacpipe Organ" -- tapping on the stalactites to produce music is a truly piece of inspired madness.

Smothered & Covered

There is a mysterious shroud that appears on the roadsides as we cross from Eastern Alabama through Western Georgia. It’s historically oppressive, relentlessly committed, and growing stronger over time. No, it’s not Southern politics, or evangelical religion, or even hash browns from Waffle House that are smothered and covered (onions and cheese for the young or inexperienced).

It’s an invasive week species called Kudzu. Originally imported from Asia to help with erosion control, Kudzu has spread like a virus throughout the Southeast through the Mid-Atlantic, and we’re pretty sure we saw it in New Jersey. It probably accomplished its original goal – to control erosion – but unfortunately, like Paris Hilton, once unleashed upon the public, it wasn’t very well controlled.

Today, you’ll see Kudzu hanging like frosting over trees, fences, walls, power poles and in some cases, houses, as it eclipses life as we know it. And that really is smothered and covered, if you ask me.

Lazy Lake Day

We spent an entire day on Lake Murray, South Carolina. Steve and I bought our first house on this lake and were married while living here. It's 50,000 acres of pristine water and more than 500 miles of shoreline. The water was clear and warm on this sunny day. It was a Tuesday, so there were very few other boats. The kids loved the islands. We hiked to a red clay bluff at the end of an island Steve and I called "Red Island." We saw a beautiful school of 9 striped bass. A fisherman's dream come true as they lazed their way through the rocks just a few feet off shore. Underestimating the sun and overestimating our sunscreen, we were all pink as the sun set in the west and we turned left toward the Blue Ridge Mountains heading for the Northeastern U.S.

Mother Ship

On the beaches of South Florida at certain times of the year, the sand is cordoned off to allow sea turtles to drop their eggs. Mama takes off and a few weeks later the babies scamper off into the surf. A few, when mature, return to that very same beach to drop their eggs. I think about his as we pull into the Honda plant just outside Lincoln, Alabama.

This is the very birthplace of our road trip Mother Ship – the 2009 Honda Pilot Touring Edition we’re driving courtesy of American Honda Motors. She’s a sweet ride, if a little road weary after a couple thousand miles. In fact, if you licked her bumper she’d taste like the sands of West Texas. But, you can sense the comfort of home as we roll past acre after acre of sister Pilots under tents waiting to scamper off onto the roads of America. Few will return to this place. Probably none.

We are greeted by Ted Pratt, Director of Communications for Honda Manufacturing at the plant in Alabama. He’s our guide for a private tour. Collin (age 12) is with me and he’s a little road weary too, quiet and keeping to himself a bit. Gillian was too young for the tour so she and Steve are sitting it out today.

The plant is vast and Honda Pilots roll down the line beneath a series of catwalks. We use these to look down on various operations. You can tell that Ted is proud of this plant and soon you can see why. I’m impressed as I see the stylish gauges I’ve been looking at for a few thousand miles popped into place and the entire dash assembly installed. I’m amazed as I see the doors fitted, then removed to be detailed. They travel in pairs across the ceiling to an entirely different area where they are reunited with the precise vehicle they were fitted to earlier. The precision is breathtaking. And, there are more people than I expected on the manufacturing floor, tucking, touching, and making sure things are done just ever so. This personal attention surprises me.

“People can feel imperfections that machines can’t.” explains Ted. And, he’s right. Even in our era of precise technology, nothing is as sensitive to defect as the human being.

Standing on the curb after our tour I ask Collin “What was your favorite part?”

“The robot welders,” he replies not so sleepy now, “they were pretty awesome!”

“Pretty awesome” is his favorite expression now and he’s right, the welders are pretty awesome! We watched entire doors and large panels move through a sophisticated ballet from one weld angle to another; occasionally sending sparks many feet in the air.

“I liked the sparks,” I said to Collin.

“Yeah, but remember what Ted said. A good weld has no sparks.”

I smile at him as we pile into our Pilot and head toward the Southeast, probably never to return to this place. Certainly never to return to this time. It’s a happy, sad feeling all Moms have, even mother turtles I imagine.

Wild Horses

I couldn't resist the contrast between these wild horses from North Texas and the herd of horses made from old tires at the Tupelo Buffalo Farm. Wild indeed!

Tupelo MoonPie

“Are they dangerous?” asked the little boy in the front of the trolley, hoping the answer was “yes.”

“Well, none has jumped in the trolley lately” replied the tour guide, his Southern accent dripping sweet as a MoonPie. He was somewhere south of seventeen with a broad smile and buzz cut for summer. “Thank you for visiting the Tupelo, Buffalo Farm” he said as he mounted the tractor to pull the tour trolley down the rutted road. “I’ll make sure y’all’s trip is safe.”

My stomach fluttered a little as he used the only word in the English language with two apostrophes: the possessive y’all. Y’all’s. Just as sure as rib meat slides from the bone, when you hear that you know you have arrived in the real South.

On the highways of New Mexico we passed a defunct roadside animal show advertising “Deadly Mountain Lions.” The signs and part of an adobe structure are all that remains of this pre-Disney attraction. You know, the snake pits and alligator farms and little private zoos with squirrels in cages and whatnot that used to drag in road weary travelers in the 50s and 60s. They’ve all but disappeared. But time and Disney-style production values have not stopped the Tupelo Buffalo Farm. With 200 acres, 60 buffalo and an assortment of other animals, this is a pretty entertaining place.

The buffalo are healthy and free-ranging in a large tree-studded area. There are about 25 calves and no indication of artificial animal husbandry, so they seem to be figuring out how to reproduce on their own. Imagine that. This also explains the curiously named “Zedonk” resulting from the fact that donkeys and zebras hang together in the same paddock. That’s something you won’t see in Chicago.

When the trolley stops the animals sweetly amble over to our fenced enclosure to nibble kibble from our hands. Yes, that’s right, we’re fenced in. And, they’re not.

Sadly, a lion, tiger, bear and a couple of rail-thin coyotes furiously pace in chain link cages with cement floors, more like a jail than a habitat. The guide explains that they’re “rescue” animals discovered by the authorities and removed from abusive conditions.

I wonder about the guide driving the trolley around in a circle hour after hour. I wonder if he feels trapped in this place, running the same track around and around like the coyotes pacing the cage. Or maybe he was rescued from a bad situation and considers this pretty good. In any case, he seems happy enough to amble over as we put a few bucks in the tip jar. He gives us a sweet smile and climbs back on the tractor for the next trip to the buffalo paddock.