Day #4  June 21, 2018  A few weeks ago, the book club I belong to read “ Killers of the Flower Moon” by David Grann.  It chronicled the murders of numerous Osage Native Americans and the birth of the FBI. Very interesting read. The setting is in northeastern Oklahoma in Pawhuska, Grey Horse and Fairfax within the Osage Nation Reservation. It inspired me to drive through this area to have a keener sense of the setting that caused so much harm to the Osage. I  was enraged yet again about the malicious treatment of the people of this nation — driven from Kansas and given rocky land for their reservation which was not deemed particularly desirable by white settlers until the discovery of oil. In addition to the events in Osage Country  I was reminded of Standing Rock which made current news headlines the last couple of years  with Native Americans protesting their land being used for a pipeline. Some dynamics seem to never change with the total disregard of the Native American tribal rights and history. 

Driving through Oklahoma was pleasurable, using secondary roads and the Indian Nation Turnpike, looping Tulsa and on into Osage County. The landscape was primarily faming — a combination of pastureland and fields of corn, cotton and hay — and dotted with oil and natural gas wells. The area is heavily dependent on oil to drive its economy. I found it fascinating to see the stretches of terrain being used simultaneously for cattle grazing, while dotted with oil  wells and wind farms. The downtown was shabby chic in my estimation and I enjoyed walking its main street. I also surprisingly observed many long freight trains of coal.  

 

The town of Pawhuska has a classic main street with crumbing facades, eroding bricks, and peeling paint of buildings that have seen a richer history. I tried to picture Osage Mollie Burkhart, a resident of Grey Horse; Ernest Burkhart, Mollie’s caucasian husband; Ernest’s uncle, William Hale, whose business interests now dominated the county and who was revered as the “King of the Osage Hills” and Tom White was an old-style lawman assigned by the FBI to the murder cases — all walking the streets of this city.

 

For me, Pahuska is a welcomed  break from the cloned environs of so many towns and cities — homogenized by corporate America with chain after chain after chain of carbon-copy stores and eating establishments. Guess I have already harped on this several times already…but I just can’t help myself in this day and age where there is a desire on the part of many to whitewash everything and bury forever the culture and uniqueness of the small town— all for the sake of big corporate profits. Where towns are  preserved and have a flavor of days gone by, usually through corporate investment, they  becomes trendy and unaffordable (i.e.Jackson Hole). For many I imagine there is a safety in that realm of sameness but I find it somewhat tragic that we have lost so many of the unique mom and pop businesses. I recollect traveling with a Work and Witness Missions Group in the Ukraine and the overwhelming majority of the members voted to eat at McDonalds in Kiev!!! Aargh! 

With the day waning, I opted for the LaQuinta in Panco Oklahoma, sandwiched between car dealerships and yet another xeroxed copy of the now classic USA Interstate Exit.  To be fair though, I did not get into he city so it may have a traditional main street downtown area. Ponca City is the headquarters of the Ponca Nation. Like the Osage the Ponca tribe was able to lease their land for oil exploration and development – land once deemed as marginal and used for the resettlement of native American tribes. This LaQuinta was quite new and sported their pillow top beds – which are very comfortable.  When asked how my stay was I said I only had one suggestion.  They needed to provide a step stool for short people like myself to be able to up onto the rather high bed more easily.

On Day #3, June 20, 2018 of the cross country adventure I was feeling loopy about my plan of looping down through New Orleans LA to play tourist and on to Shreveport LA. I mistakenly anticipated a restful evening the night before and a sound nights sleep in Biloxi MI now that we were 600 + miles into our journey and my exit of Florida was a fait accompli with no further  untoward events.  Knowing that my head had been churning for days, once settled on the bed, I thought it wise to make sure my credit card bill was paid and not overdue.  I was quite shocked to discover my credit had decided to purchase, unbeknownst to me, $759.00 worth of items from a website that sells guns and ammunition. I conjectured that it had been skimmed at a pay-at-the pump gas station transaction earlier that day but will never know for sure.  So I had to report credit card fraud and begin to deal with all of the ramifications that evening. This was not a good sleeping tonic for sure. I imagine over the next few months I will be getting emails about my automatic renewals and recurring payments being rejected.  

The intended plan was to loop down into New Orleans (NO)  since it had been many, many years since I had visited there . But still feeling unsettled about the credit card fraud issue I began a back and forth debate with myself about spending that half day going into New Orleans. I found myself  engaging in something I rarely ever do — i.e.putting a negative spin on everything and projecting the worst case scenario — imaging traffic, no place to park, crowds, getting lost … I became acutely aware that  a doom-and-gloom person was inhabiting my body?  Fortunately I reclaimed my brain and a + attitude and headed on down into New Orleans to be a real tourist and cruise Bourbon Street and Cafe Du Monde.

Though none of the things in my minds eye worst case scenario occurred, I did discover that the NO French Quarter is NO place to be walking with 2 dogs. Weaving in and out of the mass of bodies, avoiding “splatting”on the dirty cracked sidewalks,  and keeping the pups from snacking on the discarded food waste required intense focus. Kili was intent on “shopping” I think because he strained to enter every shop with an open door —  though it is more likely he was trying  to get out of the hot humid weather that NO is known for.

The  Cafe du Monde  is definitely a more widely popular destination than I recollect it being many years ago. But since I committed to being touristy today, I got in a long line for the classic order of cafe au lait and beignets — the original Acadian fritter. Nary a table to be had at the open air cafe but the line moved quickly and a heavy rain spatter added an element of squeeze to the line, all of us trying to get under the overhang and not fall over Kili and Simba.  I was a bit surprised to see several groups of young children, probably 5-10 years of age, getting beignets and sodas. I would not imagine this to be a health giving outing for a day camp or school group.

After scalding my mouth on the cafe au lait and dragging the dogs onward,  I wanted to saunter down Bourbon Street.  So I took a right turn on one of the first streets— onto St. Peter’s Street and looking up I saw the sign for Pat O’Briens Bar. Like a flash bulb going off, erupting out of my aging memory bank was an all too vivid recollection of one of my LEAST fine moments in those years of partying and drinking. 

My husband was at a convention and on this trip without children, I was free to roam about for the afternoon. It was in the early 1970’s. The destination was Bourbon Street and the French Quarter. During my wanders I happened upon Pat O’Briens and it’s infamous Hurricane Punch drink and naturally was inclined to try one, or, two, or three… I got hooked into sitting with a group of male conventioneers and the hours flew by. I do remember having quite a few, being quite drunk, and one of the men trying to desperately coax me up to his hotel room. Thank goodness for that moral training I received from the nuns at Immaculata High School in Detroit Michigan, so that resolve to be a good moral Catholic wife won out and I finally found my way back to where I was staying (how I do not recall).  It now was at least 8 o’clock and of course my husband and brother-in-law were frantic and were ready to call the police. So how ironic it was to randomly turn down that street to jog my memory of a way of living I would never choose to today. I wandered on down to Bourbon Street and was so sorely disappointed.  It seemed so well worn and quite shabby and nothing like the memories of 40 + years ago. Granted, younger eyes see things with a different hue than the eyes of an adult with a few more years under their belt, but I recollect just wandering into Preservation Hall, listening to the jazz for a while and meandering on.  Seems like today it is by reservation and show times. I opted not to walk much more than 6 blocks due to so much construction and infrastructure work being done and the street torn up in sections.  But I knew in my gut I was not wanting to see any more of the 21st century transformation of an area that had shown brighter in my memory of years gone by.

So the dogs and I  loaded up and I wound my way out of the city with the destination being a LaQuinta at sterile interchange in Shreveport LA.   I needed by now to avoid the interstates so I back-roaded after getting through Baton Rouge northwest to the town of Natchez  — the southern terminus of the Natchez Trace Parkway. This National Parkway, operated by the National Park Service commemorates the historic Old Natchez Trace and traverses  sections of the original trail. It runs 444 miles from Natchez, Mississippi, to Nashville, Tennessee.

This a historic corridor was used used by American Indians, “Kaintucks,” European settlers, slave traders, and soldiers. I like to engage my mind imagining what it might have been like centuries ago  Though I could only drive 50 miles on it,  it was a perfect offset to the stress induced by the chaotic traffic of New Orleans and vicinity.  It was a bucolic traverse of lush woodlands and brilliantly green fields with almost no cars and NO advertisements. It was disappointing to have to head off but it meandered east and north instead of northwesterly. Since this was a 500 mile day I succumbed to expediency and imprisoned myself yet again on the interstate grid . This being my first time traveling with my dog Simba since he was diagnosed with diabetes,  i was faced with the dilemma of sticking to his feeding and shot schedule.  It was getting late so I had to provide them with a Love’s Truck Stop dining experience in the back seat of the Jeep at the appointed time and had a very awkward time giving  Simba his insulin shot.

At this point i was grateful for the interstate and finally settled in in Shreveport late in the day.. 

Welcome to  “season three” of my  Wanderwoman’s Drives Across Country blog. I am quite aware that a recurring TV or book series, may after a time become less enthralling and interesting or even a bit blander than earlier seasons.  So, I  hope that this “season’s” chronicle piques your interest more so than my living of it is piquing my interest!!!! 

Day #1 June 18, 2018  The journey began on June 18th.  I was exhausted, sore and emotionally drained. I had sold my home and the closing took place at 11:00 am that Monday morning. The days before were over-stuffed with packing the POD with can opener’s and crowbars  powered by my daughter Tasia and son-in-law Steven, They managed to  squeeze my too plentiful treasures into a 16 x 8 x 8 POD to be shipped to Oregon. 

With the POD ferried away and Tasia and Steve winging back to Oregon, I began the final spit-shine of the home I lived in and loved for 18 years. With much assistance from my dear friend Suzette who ferried  many a carload to resale shops and provided awesome food, I was able to accomplish all that i had set out to do with one hour to spare.  Of course the process was not without a bit of drama towards the end: 1) there was a missing document which might have been quite difficult to procure in time for the closing on Monday —  of which I was informed of at 4:00 pm on Friday, 2) got stopped by a policeman for speeding on Venice Avenue (clearly my head was churning about so many other things  instead of my driving — but fortunately only got a warning,  3) fell off the stool when wiping out kitchen cabinets on Sunday pm onto the rather brittle tile floor and fortunately only ended up with bruises instead of brokens,  4) and,  received a stern lecture from a store owner who spied me dumping that last bag of garbage in the dumpster of shopping center I frequent daily (thought i had thoroughly surveilled the area— I played dumb and said I thought since i shopped there almost daily it would be ok. So I had my last BlackGold late at 10:00am and then head for the closing.

For a change I tried very hard to be sensible in my approach to ”season three” of the Wanderwoman’s drive across country.  The major difference is that I will not be doing a rerun of the return journey.  I originally had planned on my usual mixture of camping and occasional motels, especially when I anticipated having more time for this journey.  But because of my family commitment to drive my sister north each year (from Charlotte to her home in northern Michigan) and the timing then for the closing on the house, I did not have the time I needed for a leisurely journey.  I am due in Portland for a wonderful family reunion organized by my ex-husband on June 30th  and need to go through Medford, OR re-organize and re-pack (the never ending task of moving all that stuff from spot to spot, over and over again), get the dogs situated and then head on to Portland. 

However for day one I decided I would drive only as far as Gainseville and i would not speed (for obvious reasons).  It was typical Florida drive replete with traffic congestion, road work, and thunder storms and lots of time to get lost in thought and reflection. I began to feel quite stressed due to the NEVER ending massive constructions projects along Interstate 75 – think I said the same thing last year in my blogging. in Florida. The only major difference is that the location of the concrete barriers and the neon orange traffic cones has moved up or down the interstate. The traffic remains hellish, fast and furious,  and I dread being wedged in between the huge 53 foot semi-trucks and the concrete construction barriers. I recall my first drive down Interstate 75 in 1981 when moving to Tampa, Florida from Chicago.  It was a steamy tropical evening, thunderstorms booming and flashing on the horizon, intermittent heavy rain, BUT very peaceful with minimal traffic.  Jump forward  37 years and my hope for a leisurely experience through rolling countryside is almost an irrational desire and I must settle  for the  mad rush to get THERE – wherever that might be. AND as i dutiful followed the speed limit of 70,  I feared being mowed down by just about every truck and car on the highway. Additionally, every single exit continues to sport its menu of McDonald’s, Burger King, Subway, Tacobell,  Phillips 66, Shell, Flying J Travel Center, Sinclair, Holiday Inn, Motel 6 (or 8 or 9), Choice, LaQuinta, Econo-Lodge, with the cloning going further and further out from every city and population center. I know we need a healthy growing economy but how many more carbon copy city and towns do we really need, how many more Walmarts and McDonalds do we need to grow???. I miss the trees and open vistas. 

I decided my motel chain of choice would be LaQuinta.  They are quite a bit more comfortable than the other dog friendly (i.e. no extra charge) chains (Motel 6 and Red Roof) so I stayed in one outside of Gainseville.  Simba and Kili, my 14 year old pups, are great traveling companions but don’t offer much in the way of conversation or driving relief. They are also a lot of work.  I now have our motel routine fairly down pat.  I check in, get a cart and unload all of our gear as I have done historically.  I have it organized (or perhaps it might be better described as disorganized due to the quantity of items)  into the bag of my overnight stuff, the cooler, the dog food bag, my computer and map bag, the dog medicine bag, my purse, and the water and food bowls. I get that into the room, return the cart, park the car and then take the dogs inside. They are last because Kili has this quite undesirable habit of barking desperately as if someone is beating him if I leave him unattended for even a few seconds in a motel room. When I get ice he goes with me, when I get breakfast I have to put him in the car because dogs of course are not very welcome in the breakfast area, when I have to take Simba out in the  night to pee I have to take Kili with me. Which bring me to relate the one untoward event of the day/night.  With my head elsewhere, I forget and left Kili’s unfinished food on the floor.  Simba has developed diabetes and extra food is a NO NO. BUT he does not know that, so chowed down on the generous remains.   I was puzzled as to how to handle this but opted not to give him more insulin.  In retrospect it was probably a mistake because, he started tap-tapping my head at 12:30 am and then at 4:00 am again to go out and pee and then come in and drink copious amounts of water — of course only to have to pee again. Withholding water results in BARK, BARK, BARKING which I sure would not be appreciated by motel neighbors (nor myself)! 

Day#2 June 19, 2018 The destination was Biloxi Mississippi, about 450 miles. Since I did not journal specifically about it on that day, it is difficult to remember anything noteworthy. But that basically tells the story!  In the interest of “getting out of town” and further  west, I chose the Interstate 10 to get to Biloxi, MI.  There were moments when I regretted this decision but for the most part it was expedient, efficient, and in reality NOT awful.  The traffic actually was light, no copious amount of trucks, and there was a fair amount of rolling and wooded countryside. So I exited late afternoon for my LaQuinta destination at an interchange that could have been in Anywhere USA, replete with it’s motels, gas stations, big box stores and fast food joint. I now had 629 miles under my belt and still felt distracted, tired, road weary and of course feeling a lot of both sadness and grief of leaving my dear friends and the state I called home for 37 years. But  I also had excitement about the new adventures awaiting me and the prospect of being so close to my children and grandchildren. 

The next days destination was Big Bend National Park in Texas – named for the huge u-turn the Rio Grande makes there. It was about 120 miles straight on down and there was NO traffic. Great route if you want to drive and feel a bit of solitude. I knew very little about Big Bend other that it borders the Rio Grand and Mexico. The surrounding area on the drive down was desert which was interrupted every so often with a small ridge of mountains or buttes but nothing on a grand scale.

This is really a remote part of southern Texas. So I was quite take by surprise as I got close to Big Bend, the Chisos Mountains and canyons and sandstone cliffs and buttes began appearing on a large scale. It offers diverse landscapes of desert, mountains and river. There are a multitude of hiking trails and also access to the river. It was stunningly beautiful after so many many miles over the last couple of days of relatively featureless desert, oil country, and cattle ranges. We were into the campground and set up by noon. I opted for the Chisos Basin which was by far the best choice for tent camping (or small RV). There were lots of sharp curves and steep grades, both up and down, to access this campground in mountain lion, javelinas, coyotes, rattlesnake and bear territory!!!! It keeps the adrenaline coursing through my veins. Getting to a campsite early in the day was a first ever for me I think in the travels.

 

Again, since the dogs aren’t allowed on the trails I opted for the Ross Maxwell Scenic Drive over to Santa Elena Canyon and the Rio Grande – that fluid border between Mexico and the US and of course at this time of great political controversy. The drive was lined with multi-hued mountains and canyon walls and lookouts across the vast area. There was lots of geological splendor to take in.

My favorite formation and vista was the “Mules Ears.” It is not that it is so beautiful but so aptly named.

Seeing the river at two points in the park made it hard to imagine that this ribbon of greenish brown sluggish appearing water has carved deep canyons. But given the sapping of its waters via dams, irrigation, manufacturing, agriculture and evaporation, it is by no means at it’s Rio Grandest here. But I enjoyed seeing its narrow flood plain in the mist of the arid desert and the mouth of the Santa Elena Canyon – half a canyon in the US and the other half in Mexico. It’s walls tower a 1500 feet above the Rio Grande A drive like this, so filled with the remarkable wonders of the natural world, is so satisfying and somehow in those moments everything seems right with the world.

Back in camp at a reasonable hour, I cooked the first hot meal I had in several days, followed by a relaxing sunset walk around the campground. It was fun talking to a couple of folks who were part of an Adventure Cycling bicycle tour. They had quite a challenging ride getting up the campground as the winding road rises at least 2000 feet above the desert floor as it transition into the cooler mountain environment. I had taken a couple of trips with Adventure Cycling many years back and often thought of another — though I know it will not be this one.

The next day I opted to break camp though I had originally thought about staying put another night. I find it harder and harder to stay in camp as I yearn to hike the trail I read about . But because of my fur buddies that is only possible in a minute number of instances. There will be a day I will return to some of these park to hike. I decided to visit the southeast corner of the park and enjoy the impressive Sierra del Carmens and views of the Boquillas Canyon.

Then it was time to move on to a new phase of this trip. 

At this point I was ready to head straight home. I still had close to 1500 miles to go and decided to split it over three days. Even though I was already on the way in my head the boys were not.  Neither one of them wanted to leave the camp that morning].

 

Another decision was to dump my “spare” lifestyle and stay in LaQuinta Hotels — always nice, great beds and very dog friendly. I would do 450-500 mile days but still try and stay off the interstates as much as possible. Overnights were in Del Rio, TX; Lake Charles, LA; and Ft. Walton Beach, FL. I can’t say that there was anything extraordinary about the rest of the trip though a few challenging incidents. The worst day was the drive from Del Rio from San Antonio thru Houston and on to Lake Charles. I had hoped to take 90 across but it just became an impossibly long haul, so I entered the truck traffic corridor of I-10. I always regret those decisions but it did serve to expedite the journey home. I find I am gripping the wheel so tightly with all the traffic barreling down the highway that my wrists ache and are sore long after. The speed is usually 75 which of course means most are going 85 and I find that exhausting. But a lovely room awaited us in Lake Charles LA. By morning the room was not so lovely because Kili began his bout with diarrhea. The first was a mad scramble episode down the elevator after he frantically barked and charging outside before he exploded. No chance of getting to the pet walking area!!! The second occurred of course in the middle of the night when I was asleep and we had lots of piles of poop all over the entryway. Thank goodness it was not the carpet or bed. Poor little guy. We had such a bout with this in Colorado on the way out. Against my better judgement, since he would not eat any dog food, I got him his McDonalds cheeseburger which he devours. Of course Simaba has to have one too so now he does not want any dog food (though there is nothing wrong with him!) The next day I vowed to get back on route 90 and I did so for a much more relaxing journey until I lost it when I hit the New Orleans area. So I wandered around (in car) some very dilapidated areas of New Orleans trying to get back on track but finally opted to take I-10 (aargh!) When 90 crossed it again I gladly jumped on it and enjoyed the drive along the Gulf through Biloxi MI until I had to get around Mobile AL via I-10. At Pensacola I could again enjoy a more peaceful, though stop and go ,drive to Ft. Walton Beach. Here was another very nice LaQuinta and it being not so nice in the morning with Kili’s poop again in at least 20 spots by the front door. This is not my favorite way to start the day – but I am sure anyone could guess that. So I pick my way around it to get them out to the pet area (which of course we did not make it too again), come back and clean up the room and finally my coffee! My intent was to drive across route 20 from Ft. Walton but I got detoured up to I-10 (find this hard to believe) because route 20 was blocked for the Ironman Florida bike course north of Panama City that day. It was a 40 mile detour but I could hardly be annoyed as I did Ironman Florida twice and was grateful it was blocked off for my ride. I finally got off I-10 past Tallahassee and wound my way down 19/27 until past Homosassa Springs and then took familiar highways to Bradenton. I was 35 miles from home and Simba starting crying. So I figured I had better stop to see about that. Guess he needed to go but what made me grateful was that I had been observing a low air symbol for the last day and when I checked the tire then, it was so low that it would have probably shredded at any point. So I had a new skill to learn. Using one of those air machines to fill it. That done, I finally made it home after 14,684 miles on the road.