Three Months In
It was a good morning this morning, perhaps even a great one. The grass in the yard was that perfect shade of verdant green that shows up early in the springtime, holds for a month or so and gradually starts to dull out in early summer. My dog Trixi and I were greeted on our daily walk by creamy white flower blossoms strewn all over our yard from the blooming dogwood next door. I’m sure the dog paid no attention to them, but I thought it was a grand touch, icing on the cake of a springtime morning as it were. The breeze was refreshing and the sky was a pellucid blue with those white puffballs of clouds decorating the atmosphere. I know they’re called fair weather cumulus, but puffballs will suffice. These observations occurred during my daily dog walk with Trixi and she was obviously enjoying herself, sniffing at interesting smells about every twenty feet, darting here and there on the end of her leash and generally acting glad to be alive. Dogs are like that. They live in the moment and think little about yesterday or tomorrow if at all.
She was enjoying the perfect spring day and so was her master.
For those inclined to check the calendar and to count days, today marks the third month anniversary of my open-heart surgery back in February. How am I doing? Actually pretty good. I’m out every day walking the dog as you might have gathered from the first part of this blog, about three quarters of a mile. I go to my cardiac rehabilitation three days a week, Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, and huff and puff on the exercise machines. I’m active around the house, am able to walk around the stores while shopping and am very close to being almost as fit as I was before I got sick. There is still a bit of soreness in my left leg where they stripped veins, I still haven’t totally regained my stamina and I still enjoy an hour or so with my eyes closed in the afternoon to “recharge” the batteries. My mood is usually happy although I can be a bit snappy from time to time. Some say that comes from the surgical anesthesia and will gradually fade.
It could be a lot worse.
I’ve talked to friends and relatives who have gone through the same sort of procedures that I have gone through and got a lot of feedback. Most of it has been quite positive. Most have talked about actually feeling better than they had previous to their illness. Most say their heart attacks, surgeries and recoveries have allowed them be much more appreciative of life than they were before, more able to see how wonderful it actually is. I like to believe that’s where I’m heading and I think I’ve got a good shot at it. A few folks I chatted with were not so fortunate and have never recovered back to their previous health, but they might have had much more damage to their heart than I did.
I was lucky.
I’ve already talked about how thankful I was for all the good wishes from friends and relatives and the technical expertise of all the medical staff that took care of me in a previous blog, so I won’t go into that again. But being able to walk around on a marvelous day like today, watching the dog frolic on the end of her leash, pain-free and able to dig the world around me just underscores how fortunate I am.
A bit of news that might be of interest: I’ve been asked to participate in a clinical trial of a drug. I fit the patient profile the study was looking for by being a diabetic, having suffered a heart attack and gone through bypass surgery. The drug they’re studying has been used for many years as a pain medication for rheumatoid arthritis patients. Doctors have noticed a marked lessening of cardiac and vascular problems of those patients taking this medication as compared to the general population and are trying to determine if it was the drug or some other factor as the causative agent. I’m in the pre-acceptance phase right now, having my blood checked for anything that might disqualify me and soon they’ll test me to make sure I can tolerate the drug. Then, if all goes well, I’ll be issued the study pills and they will either be the medication or a placebo. I’ll be checked frequently and my results will be added to the many other patients in the study to derive some more definitive answers. Should be interesting.
It might even help me!
As I mentioned before, my cardiac rehab is going well. I have finished visit 19 or 20 already and am well on my way to the goal of 36 visits. The staff at the hospital where the rehab occurs takes very good care of us while we are there, monitoring our heart rhythms closely as we exercise along with our blood pressure (checked three times) and blood sugar (checked twice). They want us to exert ourselves but not to exhaustion, so they constantly check how hard we are working on each machine we exercise on and back us off if it gets too strenuous. Each visit starts with a thirty-minute lecture on various aspects of heart diseases, heart physiology, diet, smoking, medications and everything possible you could imagine about your heart. It is quite the education. Hopefully I’ll be more of an “expert” in my condition after these visits.
I guess the main takeaway from the previous three months and something to ponder on the ¼ year anniversary of my surgery is the fact that “life goes on”. After the drama and hullabaloo of the illness and the pain and uproar of the recovery, things eventually go back to just about where they were before. The trash still goes out on Tuesday nights, friends still drop by occasionally, you still get crank telephone calls, day follows day and all the old aches and pains you used to have you still have. With maybe a couple more to enjoy. But most stuff is same, same.
And… maybe… that’s the best news of all.
Thankful
To be honest, I guess I shouldn’t even be here. I mean, the signs were there, you know. Some if not all the tell-tales were evident, especially in hindsight. Let’s look at a few of the billboards along the highway toward my latest misfortune, shall we?
First off, my whole family has had a history of heart trouble. That’s apparent from the records. My father had quintuple bypass surgery back in the ’80. That’s ALL the cardiac arteries. My mother passed away from a heart attack at age 52 – two months after I married my wife. My next-youngest brother passed from a heart attack at age 42. My youngest brother has had a heart attack, several stents implanted and wears a pace maker/defillibrater in his chest to this day. And let’s not forget the various cousins, aunts and uncles, etc.
Lots and lots of ticker troubles. And, of course I knew all about that. And of course every time I had any discomfort at all in my chest region I went running to get it checked out.
And the results, until recently of course, were always, “no trouble found.”
I’m in my late ‘60’s now and was beginning to think that maybe I had escaped the brutal family genetics, maybe my heart had skipped a generation insofar as it’s predisposed genetic propensity to “get sick”. I used to feel maybe a bit lucky in this regard.
A bit fortunate?
But that once-in-a-lifetime lottery draw was not to be my fate this time around the karmic wheel.
Maybe it actually started a couple months ago with some stomach troubles. I’d gone to my doctor with some gastric complaints, pains here and there in the mid-chest/gut region and had been subjected to a series of stomach tests – upper G.I., ultrasound of my gall bladder and pancreas and an endoscopy of my ensophogeus and stomach. Nothing of any import was discovered. Just an old man with some on-again, off-again stomach issues.
I’d had them before.
Then on Wednesday, February 17 while exercising at our local gym along with my wife I began to experience middle-of-the-chest pains that increased the harder I worked. My wife, after hearing of my discomfort asked if I wanted her to drive us when we left. I said no and still felt bad by the time we got to the car. After a lunch my pain had subsided and I again thought – stomach?
Now by this time you and I BOTH know that it wasn’t stomach pain. Sure it wasn’t classical heart attack – no radiating pain up the neck or jawline or down the left arm. No particular sweats or terrors.
But…
But…
I should have been smarter. My wife should have been just THAT much more insistent on Wednesday that I do something about the discomfort.
Anything, actually.
I was heading helter skelter toward being one of those dumb statistics you see all around you. Right age, right lifestyle, right history, ignored the most BLATANT symptoms. Blah, blah, blah – idiot, idiot, idiot.
So my former life went on for another day-and-a-half.
The big-top went up for real on Friday morning, February 19 about 6:45. I woke up to quite heavy pains again dead center in my chest. A quick trip to the bathroom scored no improvement in the symptom and my wife asked in a worried tone of voice from her side of the bed whether I might want to call the emergency squad. She had finally figured out the magic equation of 1 + 1 and had, at last, arrived at the correct answer of 2. So I agreed and quickly dialed the 9-1-1.
Seeing as how we live only about two blocks from the main firehouse here in town, my rescue squad arrived in about five minutes. They assisted me to the vehicle and quickly I was hooked up to a heart monitor and heading up the street to the hospital about a mile and a half up the road.
The squad pulled in to the hospital’s emergency entrance and efficiently extracted me from the ambulance and wheeled me into the ER. Soon I was having test equipment poked and prodded onto me, into me and many, many questions were asked. By that time it was about 7:30 and my chest pain was GONE! I wasn’t sure if that was something that happened from time to time during heart attacks, but it sure did happen that time. My ER doctor was sure in his mind that what I had just suffered WAS a heart attack and immediately started an enzyme study. When a person has a heart attack, certain enzymes are released into his blood stream. The discovery of these chemicals is the present gold standard on whether the individual has truly had a heart attack.
They test your blood a number of times for these chemicals. And, of course, mine didn’t show any telltales the first time around.
However, it was there the second time and for all the following tests.
I was a “for-sure” heart attack victim.
Good grief, Charlie Brown!
I was admitted to the hospital later that day. The docs wanted to take a look at the condition of my heart vessels, but the cath lab doesn’t do “routine” heart catherizations on weekends.
Lucky me, I would have to wait a bit.
I was scheduled for the test on Monday morning. In the meantime my local hospital performed many other tests on me to clarify the picture for any physicians wanting more information, x-rays, ultrasounds and many, many blood tests for this and that.
Monday morning I was wheeled down to the cath lab and experienced one of those weird dejavu circumstances. One of the cath assistants, good-looking fellow about mid-30’s came up to me and introduced himself. I took a gander at him. He looked AWFULLY familiar. I asked him if he had a brother who worked in the hospital’s fitness facility. He responded, “Yes, a twin.” I had just that week finished a series of physical therapy sessions with that guy’s brother!
They were identical.
The cath itself went pretty uneventfully and before long the doctor was explaining that there were three arteries mainly blocked and I was going to be transferred to Canton Aultman Hospital in preparation for coronary bypass surgery.
I guess my mind was sort of numb by then. It was a whole lot to take in. I just nodded.
The trip to Canton was pretty uneventful. A Wooster nurse accompanied us as I still had the cath sleeve stuck in my femoral artery in my groin where the cath had been inserted and she was in charge of that piece of apparatus. I think they were contemplating stents even then, but the inserted piece was removed soon after arriving at the new hospital.
Apparently surgery it was to be.
I was scheduled for midday on Monday for my operation. A good friend of ours accompanied my wife to the hospital to share the long waiting hours with her and I was immensely grateful for that.
My bed was wheeled down to the prep room a little before go-time and the “vein” lady began checking my legs. They would use some of my veins from there for the bypass and she wanted an early peek as to where the “good” ones were. Soon she was satisfied she’d selected the best ones for harvest and had my left leg all marked up with cryptic magic marker symbols.
I was then wheeled into the operating room. They had promised me some sedatives about then to calm me down, but they weren’t, as far as I was concerned, as quick with the needle as I had hoped. I was helped onto a steel table and they started to strap me down. Apparently I was babbling about how I didn’t want to see ANYTHING in that room and to please give me the “happy juice”, etc. The doctors and nurses all were chuckling at my discomfiture, patting me and assuring me that all would be well. Obviously it was another “day at the office” for them.
I guess you had to be there.
About that time I bid adios to the conscious world and knew no more for a time.
I found out a bit later after waking up that an emergency case had come in and it had taken precedence over me. I had been shunted a bit aside and kept asleep until the emergency was handled. Then my procedure was done. So my time asleep was about twice what they’d originally figured on. My wife and her friend were there until almost midnight.
A terribly long day for them just waiting.
I was later told that the doctors assumed I’d sleep until early afternoon after the surgery. That’s what happens when you assume stuff. I awoke at 4:30, less than 5 hours after completion. I guess I was tired being knocked out.
A lot of things happened the next few days. Some I kinda remember, some I’ve had recounted to me. People came, people left. Tests were performed on me and results gathered. Time passed for me in the hospital and, I assume, for the rest of the world not so tied up in the minutia of the healing of one old man in northeast Ohio.
Tuesday I got morphine. I guess I was in some pretty severe pain and the docs told my wife they were “allowed” to use it once. She smiled as she recounted my words after getting the blessed shot. “I think I’m going to sleep now. Good night!” And I got the MOST restful four hours of sleep maybe in my life.
Things started looking up from that point.
I found, during my time in the hospital after the operation, that I was having difficulties speaking, in expressing the thoughts I was having. I could see the whole concept I wanted to say – it was floating out there like a thought bubble in a cartoon – but when I went to grab it with my proverbial butterfly net, most times it shattered and what came out of my mouth sounded like gibberish. I have always assumed myself to be halfway articulate, and this was intellectually painful. I asked about this malfunction from my doctors later and was told it was called “heart-lung” brain or some such term.
It was a result of the anesthesia. It would go away.
And it has, mostly. I still feel a little “loss for words” from time to time, but never to that degree of bewilderment that I felt most of the first week.
I also found I was using profanity more than I usually do. Inappropriately I’m sure. Forgive me for that. It was also a “glitch” in the firmware.
During the five or so days I inhabited the big hospital in Canton my body began it’s healing. Every day I enjoyed small victories: getting in the recliner next to the bed for some “non-horizontal” healing. Getting the catheter and drain tubes disconnected. Going to the bathroom unassisted. Walking the halls for exercise with my wife by my side. Putting on a pair of pajama bottoms and rejoicing at once again having pants on!
And during those days I also rejoiced at my guests. My loving circle of family and friends. The conversations and quiet laughter we shared, the smiles and pats on the shoulder, the words of encouragement. Not to mention the strong words of prayer given by my sister and brother-in-law which bolstered my now rapidly healing heart and which undoubtedly did much to encourage my healing body and peaceful mind.
I also received numerous phone calls from friends and loved ones that could not be there in person, which also raised my spirits and encouraged my healing. It was always a joy to hear my room phone or my cell jingle during those long days.
On Friday it was hinted that I might go home the following day. It seems I was knitting together sufficiently well to be released back into the wild to continue the healing. So on Saturday afternoon I was wheeled through this big hospital, which I had never actually seen, to the huge revolving front door and out into the back seat of our car.
I won’t go into much detail now as to the post-hospital part of this story. Suffice it to say my wife and I were invited and accepted an invitation to stay at a friend’s house for as long as we would like. They were snow-birding it in Arizona and their house was empty. The idea was that this house was a one-story and I wouldn’t have to climb the stairs that I would have to at my own home. We enjoyed their hospitality for a week after which I grew too homesick for my own “stuff”, my own environment, and we at last moved back home.
I could go on and on now about how life is both the same yet utterly changed after moving home. How our dog that was reported to have missed me terribly suddenly recovered her equanimity after my return and caught up on her naps by my side. How the pain in my chest was less every day and my stamina increased commensurately.
And now I’m faced with the dilemma on how to thank all of you. How do I say thanks to everyone involved in literally saving my life? The uniformed guys in the rescue squad, the myriad of supremely talented doctors, nurses and other medical staff? The ambulance drivers, wheelchair pushers, the food guys who brought my meals? Even the guys and gals who cleaned my floor every day and always had a smile and hello to the sick old guy in the bed?
To my son Tony and how by seeing his dad so sick was able to face a lot of his own fears and overcome them. I am pleased and surprised at his accomplishment.
And last but not least, my family and friends who supported me as they were able. By their visits, their flowers and cards, their calls and their many, many cheerful and encouraging comments on social media.
And in a special category by herself, my wife Judy. I am confident that I wouldn’t have made it through this ordeal without her calm support and forever-loving commitment to me and to my ability to overcome this latest obstacle in our lives. I was daily surprised at her abilities to cope with the situation, to say just the right thing to calm my nerves, to comfort me just by being there and to save her darker hours for times when she was out of my sight. I honor her, bless her and know I couldn’t have done nearly as well as she did and continues to do.
So to all of you, mentioned or not mentioned, thank you. Be aware you all helped pull this ol’ guy through his latest little adventure. Please come by some time and say hello. Pick up the phone and do the same if you can.
Know that you all are appreciated and loved.
Thanks again…
Christmas Then and Now
It had been another long night, one of a seemingly unending string of long nights that comprised December that year. I’d been pulling a train of about half-a-dozen or more 12-hour night shifts and the sleepless nights were really beginning to drag me down. The work involved wasn’t terribly hard, but I was required to be vigilant during my work hours and was also required to perform a task every hour that could not be skipped.
It was the winter of 1966, I was an Airman 2nd Class in the U. S. Air Force and I was stationed at Ft. Sill, Oklahoma. I’d been a resident there for almost six months and this particular week I was covering for another man so he could go home on leave for the holidays. I was one of the new men and therefore had last pick as to when I could take my holiday leave. I would be getting a few days off a bit later on, but would be unable to go home then for various reasons, the primary one being money. So I was doing an on-and-off shift, 8 p.m. to 8 a.m.
And this was Christmas morning.
I’d spent my last Christmas in the military also, but had only been in for a bit over a month and Christmas had come and gone in a blur – hardly noticeable. But this year? This year I could see it coming and it would be the first real one alone and far from family.
I greeted my relief that morning with a quick turnover so he was aware where our job was, went down the stairs from the 2nd floor office I worked in and got into my car. I sat there a few moments, my eyes encompassing nothing, numb to the world and trying not to be so damn depressed. I eased out onto the street and soon was back at the barracks I called home those days. I made the short walk from the parking area across the lawn and then upstairs to the second floor in the barn-like barracks to the room I shared with the man who had relieved me. It was chilly, quiet and dimly lit from the one window looking out at the silent fort under the overcast winter Oklahoma sky.
I sighed as I sat on my bunk and tried to blink the tiredness from my eyes. Maybe there was even a tear or two as I contemplated the bleakness of my lonely morning. My eyes happened to catch sight of a bottle of whiskey on my roommate’s dresser that he’d been working on that week. Probably Canadian Club or something of that ilk. He was fond of the cheaper blended stuff. I looked at the bottle and thought to myself, hell yes I deserve a drink. It’s Christmas morning and that’s just the pickup I need before hitting the rack for some desperately needed sleep.
So I walked across the room, picked up the bottle and gave it a tentative shake. Something gurgled in the bottom so I knew it wasn’t empty. Perfect, I thought. I’ll just finish it up. I unscrewed the cap, put the bottle to my lips and tipped it up.
Unbeknownst to me, my roomie had decided that the last half-inch of whiskey would make a good place to put out his last 3 or 4 cigarettes last night, so my anticipated mouthful of 80-proof Canadian whiskey came with an ugly surprise. I bent over the nearby trashcan and spit out the unholy mess of whiskey, ashes and cigarette butts. I was barely able to keep the gag reflex from adding the sour mix in my stomach to the trashcan. I quickly went to the latrine and rinsed out my mouth repeatedly to get rid of the nasty taste, then returned to my barracks room to sleep away the rest of that less-than-enjoyable Christmas.
The holiday that year was much better left forgotten.
I’m not saying that my sad little holiday 50 years ago was the worst it could have been. I’m sure many of my friends who were in combat back in those days could recount Christmases way, way worse than mine. I will not even begin to compare mine to theirs, but their memories are theirs, not mine. Let them recount theirs and do their own judging.
So today I sat here at my computer keyboard and thought about that Christmas, the one almost 50 years ago. And as the memories of that not-so-happy Christmas began to dance in my brain, I began to recall other Christmases I’d experienced over the years and tried to rate the ones that stuck out in my mind. That one back in the Air Force was, of course, pretty close to the bottom of the list. No other one was quite as bad as that one, but then again I might have blocked out some possibly worse over the years. Most of the ones floating through my memory now were pretty good. Most of the ones when I was a kid were good of course. There was always family around, mom, dad and my brothers and mom had always been a big Christmas fan – always making sure the cookies and candy were around, always making sure the food was first class and always making sure that the kids had oodles of presents. I shudder now thinking how long it took Dad to pay off the Christmas bills back in those years. We were not a well-to-do family and paying the normal bills was sometimes difficult. But as a kid all we saw were the gaily-wrapped presents and the shiny toys and games they contained.
For sure a few of the Christmases after I was married were really good ones also. My new wife and I opening our gifts on those happy mornings, watching each other’s eyes as each box was opened and oohed and aahed over. How much fun it was getting the perfect gifts for each other. How our little family was laying the groundwork traditions that would grow and bloom and carry over to this very day.
And then when our son was born there were more great Christmases. We were able to see the holiday and all its grandeur anew through his eyes, to see the decorations and the holiday lights, the fancy dinners and the toys! He really liked opening his gifts and playing with the toys. Mom and dad would join him there on the floor under the tree, playing with the toys amid the piles of wrapping paper lying all around.
And our traditions then enfolded our new family - the three of us.
There were also some not-so-good ones interspersed here and there. The one when our son was four and we had to put our dog down on Christmas Eve. That was a real toughie. The one where my wife had miscarried not long before the holiday was grim and others where loved parents, grandparents and friends had passed away were also not happy times. There was little joy to be found on those particular days.
But to be honest, when they’re all ranked, the good ones and very good ones greatly outnumber the sad ones.
And for that I am grateful.
So today might perhaps be a time for reflection, a time for all of us to sit down and remember our Christmas’s past, to mark the ones that taught us some hard life lessons and the ones that put a smile on our faces and joy in our hearts.
To be thankful for our good ones, as many or as few as they might be.
So from my little family to yours, may your hearts be full with the holiday spirit, may you belly be full from the delightful foods and may this Christmas be counted somewhere high on your top 10 list!
One Year In
When I logged on and checked my calendar for today I noticed that it said “Bill’s Retirement Anniversary”. I had realized over the past few weeks that this day was approaching, as it was again November and it was again fast approaching Thanksgiving as it was last year. When I retired. I remembered I retired not long before Thanksgiving. Last year. Just about 12 months ago.
I’m pretty quick that way…
Anyhow, here it is, one year later and yes, I’m still retired. I just gave myself a quick pat down and am happy to report that yes, I’m still here and yes, nothing seems to be out of order. Not working hasn’t made me disappear in any way, shape or form. Still here and still me. For better or worse I should add.
I asked myself some questions this morning in commemoration of this momentous anniversary. “Hey Willie” I said. “You ready to go back to work? You ready to go back to saying ‘yessir’ when you didn’t want to say ‘yessir’? You ready to go back to ‘playing the game’ for the paycheck? Are you tired yet of being a retiree?”
I think you can probably guess my answers to the above questions.
Do I still miss some of the folks at the old shop? Of course. Do I miss the socialization, the give-and-take between people, the friends I had to stop seeing every day? Of course.
But damn I SURE like being retired! Want to go on a walk on a Wednesday afternoon? Or go grocery shopping at 11 am on a Tuesday? Or go to a movie on a weekday afternoon? Or sleep to the crack of nine tomorrow morning?
Bet your patootie I do!
So I nodded a wry hello to the anniversary that popped up today, smiled at another milepost in the quickly zipping-by calendar and breathed a sigh of relief at my incredible fortune of being semi-healthy, getting along monetarily and enjoying life on my terms.
Hallelujah!
So, on to another topic if you don’t mind.
Damn if I don’t absolutely despise the political crap being posted on social media nowadays. Yes I know we’re doing a run-up to a presidential campaign and yes I know there are very strong feelings out there, but please, in the name of everything holy, do NOT presume that I am in agreement with your political leanings. Do NOT assume that I hate the people you hate and do NOT belittle my intelligence by assuming that if I don’t share your beliefs and see things your way that I’m a lesser person for it. It is NOT obvious that so-and-so is an idiot, a buffoon, a criminal, a member of a sect you hate, a liar, a thief or a nincompoop. I may hold a completely opposite view and probably do! Imagine that! I might just adore the scoundrel!
Or, then again, maybe not. Politicians are generally not very likeable.
But believe me when I say that I’m soooooo tired of seeing your rants and mean-spirited postings. From both sides of the political spectrum. Sooooo very tired…
And also believe me when I say that I used to let those postings bother me. I used to get angry and pissed off at them, to let them color my day and to color my view of the person who posted them. But now I just sigh and either ignore them or if they’re particularly vile, block that rant initiator.
Adios. Be gone. Vamoose.
And try to continue loving the poster. But sometimes it’s so very, very hard.
And in counterpoint, I surely hope I’m not in the minority in my OWN viewpoints (which I’m unlikely to share with the public). I really hope that most voters will take a measured approach to their franchise, that they will dispassionately (double-check the meaning of that word if you’re not real sure what it means) view all sides of an issue or a candidate before making an informed decision. I’d like to believe that is the case; that the ignorant will become educated, that the misguided will see the error of their ways, that the blind will come to see the light and that the emotional will calm down and become rational.
I’m the eternal optimist, but sadly I’d be surprised if that’s the case.
As much as I hate the speed at which time seems to be zipping by, I’d still love to get through this silly season as quickly as possible and to get back to the “normalcy” of a non-political time period.
Of course on social media “normalcy” is definitely in the eyes of the beholder.
On another vein…
I was at my family doctor’s office recently, taking care of some routine health matters when I was asked how long it had been since my latest colonoscopy. I gulped and said, “about a decade.”
“Ahhh”, was the response. “About time for another one, eh?”
I nodded and resigned myself. Been there and done that. So I scheduled the procedure and stiffened my spine for the upcoming trial. I was glad to note that the prep for the procedure, a day full of flushing your lower GI tract, had become a bit more tolerable as of late. Clear liquids the day before with a couple stiff shots of laxatives, making sure you didn’t get dehydrated and that was pretty much the worst of it. You got hungry, yes, but that’s understandable. Ya gotta clean the pipes, ya know!
The procedure was actually very anti-climatic when it rolled around. Answer some questions from the intake nurse, get an IV started, get wheeled into the procedure room, watch the “happy juice” start to flow into you veins and then wake up a hour or so later in the recovery area feeling lazy and mellow and so, so very comfortable! Easy as pie!
And now comes the joy of counting the days until my next one in three years!
Another subject, a bit less icky if you’d be so kind…
I’ve been in the midst of a flurry of eBaying recently. A good friend of mine’s mother had moved into assisted living quarters and had sold her house. She had a number of “things” that she thought might have some value, so I volunteered to help her sell them on eBay - for a small stipend of course. After a long afternoon of picking and choosing what I thought might sell from a large pile of possibles, I ended up with about 80 pounds of “stuff” that I thought might make her a buck or two. About 60-70 items perhaps. So a couple weeks ago I started taking pictures and placing the ads on eBay. I’d done some selling out there before, so I wasn’t a complete newbie. And, to be honest, it has been mostly fun. I enjoy the give and take of the auction site and trying to price items correctly as to entice a bid or two. Sometimes I do a good job and sometimes not. I wonder at why something sells fairly quickly and other things that look much more valuable can’t get a single bid. Such, I guess, is the lot of the salesman. Win some, lose some and the rest goes to Goodwill. I’m glad to say that a good chunk of what I put out there did sell, but there were no fortunes being made. By the time the fees and expenses were subtracted (and I got my cut) there wasn’t much meat left on the bone. But this whole exercise was more a favor to the old friend of mine and not so much for the older lady who moved. She was more interested in where this and that ended up than what they brought monetarily. It has been a fun few weeks though!
Hope you’re all looking forward to the upcoming holidays as much as I am. I’ll give you a holler the next time I get the urge to share.
California Dreamin’
So gentle reader, it’s time for another travelogue! Can you feel the excitement?
(Sure we can, Bill. Tell us, tell us, tell us!)
OK gang, since you REALLY want to read one, strap on your safety belts and hang on. Here we GO!
It had been a few years since we’d been to California to see my brother Chuck, too long actually, so we got online, bought a couple tickets and waited until the selected date to roll around. Finally it was here and it was time to fly west to the Golden State.
Monday
Our flight was another early, early one – 7 a.m. out of Columbus, so we had to get up basically in the middle of the night. Up at 2 a.m., clean up, finish packing what we needed and then we were off to our standby breakfast place for that time of the morning – good ol’ McDonald’s drive through. Sipping our morning coffee and munching on some breakfast sandwiches we were on our way by 3 heading south. Got to Port Columbus before 5 a.m. and after a smooth check in and an expedited TSA check (still don’t know how they determine expedited) we were sitting at our gate waiting for our bird. On our drive down we noticed the huge moon in the sky. It was one of those times of the year when the moon was quite close to the earth and very noticeable. Very pretty!
At 7 we were in the plane ready to leave when we began watching a drama unfold. A man across the aisle from us was talking animatedly on his cell phone, waving his arms while he talked, and was ignoring the flight attendant who was telling him he had to turn the phone off for takeoff. She told him this several times. He finally called her a “jerk” and continued talking. The attendant went to the senior attendant and told her what was occurring. The plane then stopped its pushback and the senior attendant walked up the man on the phone and sternly said, “Sir. Do you want to continue on this flight or would you like to get off right now?” He looked at her and realized she wasn’t joking around. The phone was immediately turned off and he was as meek as a mouse the rest of the flight. Soon after that unfortunate scene we were taking off and enjoying a comfortable Southwest flight to Las Vegas and then onward to San Jose.
We called my brother upon our arrival who was waiting for us in the cell phone waiting area by the airport. He soon arrived and our luggage was quickly stowed in the trunk of his newer Kia. Since we were quite hungry by then, with the early start and the time change, he stopped at a Vietnamese sandwich shop in downtown San Jose that he liked and we enjoyed our first California food this trip. Then it was onward to Chuck’s place for some cool watermelon chunks, some catching up conversations and some relaxation. After going out for supper we returned and called it an early night. Jet lag was kicking in and we were all starting to nod off.
Tuesday
My brother did a great job with breakfast Tuesday morning with eggs scrambled with sausage, peppers, onions and cheese. Tasty! We then drove over to a Japanese garden in San Jose where we wandered around with the other tourists and took some great pictures. It was a very pretty place. Then off to History Park, which has 32 original and reproduction houses, businesses and landmarks highlighting Santa Clara Valley’s past. We wandered around there for a while checking out all the history and reading the descriptions of what we were seeing. While there we went into the Viet Museum on the grounds. It focused on the Republic of Vietnam and the war, the “boat people” and their quest for freedom and the Vietnamese Americans today. It was quite an interesting visit. Since there is a large population of Vietnamese in the area it was fitting that that museum was placed there.
Chuck took us to the Santa Theresa Golf Club for lunch. He plays there fairly often. Sandwiches and cool drinks were enjoyed on the veranda while we watched the golfers and the deer take turns playing the 9th hole. What a beautiful place.
We returned to the house and welcomed another of Chuck’s friends, Dave, who joined us for a while and then we adjourned to downtown S.J. again for supper. The restaurant Chuck wanted to try was closed – a Mexican place – so we looked around and saw another one directly across the street. Apparently this change in venue was meant to be as the supper was great over there! I had a remarkable “lingua” dish (tongue in Spanish) along with rice and beans. A cold Dos Equis Amber provided the liquid counterpoint to the spicy meal. Then it was back home for more conversation among the four of us and then off to bed.
Wednesday
This was our “drive to Yosemite” day. We ate a quick bite at home then hit the road eastbound. Judy and I had wanted to visit Yosemite on our previous trips but the sojourn never seemed to quite take place. We wanted to make sure it did this time. After a couple hours we were through the Central Valley and stopped at a burger joint in the gold country – Mariposa, which is the “gateway” town to Yosemite. The restaurant had a gigantic menu and it took many minutes to peruse and select our meals. I was wondering what I’d like to drink there when I looked out the window at the misty mountains. It was obvious. Sierra Mist! Then it was onward again. You could tell we were really getting into the Sierra Madre itself, as the road became very hilly with many twists and turns. After a while we passed the gatehouse to Yosemite (we had obtained a senior National Park pass earlier so there was no fee for us) and drove the remaining miles into the park. Soon we were in Yosemite Valley and checking into our accommodations, which were in Curry Village. We’d reserved tents there for our 2-night stay. They were canvas-walled with heaters, cots, a safe, a shelving unit and a chair. Quite spartan actually. Chuck stayed in one and Judy and I took the other. It was a gorgeous place with big trees all around and beyond the trees were the giant rock faces of which Yosemite is so famous.
Supper was in the Curry Village dining hall – a cafeteria-type place with pretty decent food. We enjoyed the dinner and the rustic atmosphere of the place. And of course we enjoyed watching the other people there with us who were a mixture of every kind of tourist you could imagine. I think I heard six languages just waiting in line for our food! Sort of a rustic cosmopolitan if such a thing exists. The fashions that our fellow Curry Village inhabitants wore ran the gamut from business chic (couldn’t figure that one out) to Euro-camper exotic to Oriental hiking clothes and the ever popular short shorts of the German dude. It was fun trying to figure who came from where!
In front of our tents were large, lockable steel boxes. We were informed that ALL food, ALL cosmetics, ALL etc. were to be put in the boxes and NOT left in the tents. This was to stop varmints from trying to get at the good-smelling stuff. One of the varmints they were referring to was bear.
I must talk about bears here for a minute, gentle reader. I knew Yosemite was known as a place where there were LOTS of bears and this fact was heavy on my mind for some weeks before our trip. I don’t know why, but I seemed to be quite apprehensive about bears during that time. And more so when I found out that Yosemite has between 300 and 500 of the rascals living there. So my joy at being at this remarkable park was tinged with some goosebumps about the local furry residents. I must report we did not see any bears and I’m a bit puzzled to report that I’m a bit torn about that. Very relieved that we saw none near our tents, but a bit sad we didn’t see any at all. My bucket list is still missing a large furry carnivore.
Another thing. Yosemite is incredible. You see awesome views almost in every direction and are struck by its beauty a hundred times a day. We were truly blessed to be able to enjoy this wonder.
We hit our cots fairly early this day, as we were tired. It may have been a bit because of the altitude or the long drive, but it was hard to be sure which. The cot felt pretty good and we employed the tent heater both nights, which kept the tent quite comfortable. The only downside was the necessary trek to the bathhouse to use the facilities during the night. This entailed getting at least partly dressed, putting on shoes and using the flashlight on the trail to the restrooms. For us old folks it seemed to be quite a chore. But the upside? No bears hulking in the darkness of the trail to the can!
At least none we saw!
It is supposed to rain tomorrow. Of course.
Thursday
Before leaving home our honorable and revered Congress in Washington was debating whether to shut the government down at the end of September. We were due to visit Yosemite 9/30 and 10/1. This Congressional decision would have closed all national parks including Yosemite. Right in the middle of our trip there. Due to some honorable wangling they decided to keep the government open a bit longer and possibly make the also honorable decision to close it in December.
So Yosemite was open this week. Good for us at least. Who knows about December.
After a decent breakfast in the big dining room we booked a valley tour that was to leave at 11 a.m. It was raining before that time, so the three of us bought rain ponchos for our tour from the local store. We’d seen the tour vehicle, saw that it was basically a flatbed trailer pulled by a truck and knew we’d need raingear.
It would be wet. Of course.
The tour went off as scheduled. Our tour director was a National Parks Ranger named Eric and he outdid himself in humor, intelligence and a vast knowledge of the outdoors, specifically Yosemite. He was asked many questions by the boatload of tourists on this tour and he was NEVER blanked, NEVER stymied. He REALLY knew his stuff! The tour was two hours and the magnificent features of this park kept revealing themselves over and over as we passed in and out of the trees. Eric would describe what we were seeing and fill us in on the history and the physical descriptions of the glory we were viewing. The rain was intermittent, so a lot of the trip wasn’t spent hunching over in the rain although there was a bit of that too.
The rocks and giant formations and cliff faces kept popping up as we rounded each bend in the road, each one more amazing than the previous one. Descriptions and even pictures only do a miserable job of showing off the almost indescribable beauty of the place. First-hand viewing is definitely a must. We saw many deer, a number of ravens and even a coyote nonchalantly walking in front of our tour truck. But no bears.
The two-hour tour seemed to fly by in minutes.
The rain picked up even heavier as we were departing our vehicle and we felt sorry for the 1 o’clock tour, which loaded up right behind us. They were going to get even wetter than we did!
We then adjourned to our tents and took a bit of a nap. Judy woke me later in the afternoon and said the sun was out. I gathered up my brother and we three drove up to Glacier Point. This is a high place overlooking the valley. It’s almost directly above Camp Curry, but the road to get to that place is over 30 miles long! Finally toward the end of the day we were up there on the south wall of the valley, 7,214 feet high and the view was incredible! We could see the big rock faces of El Capitan and Half Dome easily and many more of the huge rock formations. We took pictures and marveled at the sights. I chatted with an older couple who wanted me to take their picture. They saw the sweatshirt I was wearing (it was chilly up there) which had the name of a college in my hometown and asked if I was aware of the light opera that was performed in the summers there. I said I did and had attended 2 or 3 of them just the previous year. They responded by saying their son sang in those operas and had done so for a number of years.
What a small world this is!
We got back to Camp Curry just before dark and the rains started up again even heavier. Pizza was the main course for dinner and then it was back through the rainy night to our tents, crank up the heaters and relax. The night went by quickly.
Sometime during the dark hours Judy made the trip to the showerhouse. She almost kicked a raccoon, which was passing by right below the steps to our tent! Don’t know which one of them was the most startled!
A side note. It hadn’t rained in Yosemite since July. Figures.
Friday
I went to the showerhouse not long after sunrise and almost walked up to a deer, which was placidly chewing on a pine bough right in my path. The doe slowly moved out of my path when I was about 4 feet from her. I looked up at the rock face directly above the showerhouse and marveled at the gleaming morning light, which blazed on the rocks overhead while I was down in the trees and the shadows.
A magical place Yosemite.
We grabbed some pastries from the camp store after our chilly showers that morning and started our drive back home. We drove the remembered twisty road back to Mariposa where we had a more formidable breakfast, then the long drive from there across the green and tan fields of the Central Valley and back to San Jose. Almost 430 miles were driven on this trip.
Supper was prime rib at a restaurant that Chuck likes, then another early bedtime. Old folks are just the worst, eh?
Saturday
Scrambled egg and sausage burritos were just the ticket for breakfast Saturday and we applauded my brother who was the cook. We spent most of the morning chatting amongst ourselves and then adjourned to the home of some other friends of Chuck’s – Steve and Jill. After reintroducing ourselves to the couple we piled into Jill’s car and she drove us “over the hill” (it’s what they call the coastal mountains) to Mott’s Landing on the coast. We ate at a well-known place called “The Whole Enchilada”, a nice Mexican place. Our meals were tasty and quite filling. As a side note I don’t think I had a single moment of hunger all this week that wasn’t immediately sated!
After the lunch she drove us a little ways to a beach they knew. I walked along the beach for a while, but not too long as it was quite windy and chilly and the surf was very heavy. (I was baptized by the Pacific when an unexpected big wave soaked me to the ankles. I always seem to get a bit wet on my California trips, on purpose or not.) Took some pictures and saw a dead seal on the sand – a truly unexpected sight.
Jill then drove us to Gizdich Apple Ranch for some dessert, which was Dutch Apple pie for this traveler! Mmmm, good! Then on the way back to S.J. we stopped at Solis Winery for some wine tasting. This was NOT an unfamiliar spot for Steve, Jill and Chuck as I later figured out. We tasted five wines, all decent, and Steve bought a bottle of the one we liked the best to take home. I’m not a big wine drinker, but they were all quite tasty. Apparently this is a big wine area there in the Central Coast area, perhaps you may call it a little Napa, and there are over 20 wineries close by.
We took our bottle of wine and headed back to Steve and Jill’s place. We proceeded to drink the wine and some beer that seemed to appear whenever someone was thirsty. Another friend from Chuck’s group named Randy showed up around then and joined the impromptu party that was going on. He was a genial guy of an entrepreneurial bent and was a big fan of Longboard beer. He provided his own brew too. We all gabbed and laughed for a number of hours.
My brother let me drive home as he had imbibed a bit too much to allow him on the California roads. Soon we were home and heading toward our beds to dream of beaches, tasty Mexican food and miles of wine grapes growing in the bright California sunshine.
Sunday
A nice breakfast at a busy place called “Just Breakfast”. Omelets with the locals. We went to the movies later that morning to see “The Martian” and enjoyed it a lot. Boston Market for supper and a quiet night watching TV with my wife and brother.
Monday
French Toast from the hands of Chuck was on the menu this morning along with some sausages. A bit later we drove up Highway 101 to a place called the Hiller Aviation Museum near Redwood City, about halfway to San Francisco. Randy (from Saturday night you might remember) and his wife Flo met us there and we wandered among the old planes for a while, chatting about our lives and experiences flying. We ended up in the nose of a 747 exhibit sitting in the old seats there and chatted with one of the docents at the museum. The old fellow told some flying stories and we all chatted about this and that for a while. It was a pleasant time. Soon Randy and Flo had to skedaddle to check in on one of their businesses and we three headed back to S.J.
Chuck made spaghetti that night and we all ate well. Judy and I packed that night and began getting ready for the flights back home on Tuesday.
Tuesday
A quick breakfast and off to the airport by 9:30 to catch a 12 noon flight. Our layover this direction was Phoenix where we sat around for several hours before the last leg back to Columbus. Finally, shortly before midnight Eastern Time we arrived back in Port Columbus. Then the long drive home through the deep Ohio night.
And so another fine trip is in the record books.
Bikes and Etc.
So it seems another month has zipped by since I last said hello on these pages and I know my loyal buds out there are hungry for more verbiage from you know who. (Writers are SUCH egoists, eh?) Time is becoming such a slippery thing for this retired ol’ dude and lately it’s even seemed slipperier.
Nothing like stating the obvious, eh?
So what’s been going on here in our little corner of paradise? Hmmm…?
Ok here’s maybe something to share.
As you may remember, I bought myself a “retirement present” last fall – a little something to play around with and to remind me of the proverbial “good ol’ days”. Of course I’m talking about my orange scooter, the 125cc Yamaha Zuma. I went to the license bureau not long after getting it and took the written test to be, in Ohio’s estimation, allowed to ride it legally. I passed the written test handily (I studied a LOT) and then received my learner’s permit. You have to realize that particular license was ONLY good for 12 months after issue, so I HAD to take my 2-wheel driving test on the scooter BEFORE that year was out to remain a legal scooter rider. Sooo…
As a lot of you may know about me, I just MIGHT have a tiny lil’ problem of obsessing about upcoming events that require something that I need to do. I can see my wife nodding vigorously about now. So I began to fret and fuss about the drop-dead date sitting like a giant roadblock in the upcoming autumn. So what did I do about it? I rode that lil’ machine all over this year! I think I’ve zoomed over almost every street in town and lots of the nearby county roads. I got pretty confident that I was ready to take the test, but that bad lil’ boy in the back of my head kept worrying and worrying. “What if…?” he would say. “Suppose you…?” he’d again holler “And then…?” he would say. And of course, “Oh my God…!” he’d finally howl.
Typical me, of course. Mountains and molehills…
So I girded my loins and scheduled my driving test.
I arrived at the appointed parking lot at the appointed time, 8 am, and parked my scoot next to the other 4 motorcyclist’s machines who were also taking the driving test that morning – 2 were bigger bikes and 2 were dirt-bike models. All the participants were WAY younger than yours truly.
What a surprise, eh?
I was positioned to be the last to take the test, so I got to watch the other four rumble and wiggle and weave their way around the course as directed by the lady examiner. All seemed to do some of the maneuvers more or less incorrectly, at least to my untrained eye. One of the youngest guys to take the test even laid his bike down in some gravel as he was traveling too fast to make a turn. A skinned elbow and some bent chrome were his rewards, although I found out he DID pass the test, even with the mishap! Apparently he dumped his bike AFTER the last of his maneuvers, which he did correctly, so I guess he dumped it AFTER completing the test. Dunno. They did say he passed, so he was a lucky dude. This was his second time around, so he should have known better.
The examiner told me that all the other guys had points taken off their scores that morning for various boo-boos.
So then it was my turn. I drove up to the starting line and the examiner explained the maneuver I was to perform. Then the next one, then the next. Finally I was done and had scooted my way around exactly as I was supposed to. The examiner said I had ZERO points deducted for errors, the ONLY person that morning that had did that well. And she whispered to me that I was the only smart one, as I had brought the smallest bike for the test. The test was WAY easier for us lil’ guys!
This old boy was very, very happy! I got my coveted “M” endorsement for my driver’s license and have been utilizing it quite heavily ever since!
Going through this process of studying hard for the test, then passing it; practicing a lot on the scooter and then passing that test once again affirmed to me that the things you achieve that you have to work for and sometimes have to work HARD for are the sweetest. Being handed the “M” endorsement JUST by paying a fee wouldn’t have been nearly as juicy or as satisfactory. As the old Smith-Barney commercials starring John Houseman used to say, “We EARN it.” Of course he was talking about money, but the sentiment still holds. I EARNED it!
And on a maybe somewhat related subject:
My old friend Mike, another motorcycle enthusiast, (see the connection?) traveled down to my hometown the other day, a trip of around 50 miles from where he lives. He and I used to work together when we both were employed for Alltel up in the Twinsburg, Ohio area. He still sort of is, even though his paycheck says Windstream on it now – long story involving buyouts, mergers, acquisitions and other telecommunication business shenanigans. I’ve been gone from that bailiwick since 2001 when I was caught in a protracted purge.
Anyhow, over the past couple decades or thereabouts he and I and another of our fellow employees named Jeff liked to get together socially every couple months. We’d go out on the town on a Saturday night, sometimes with some other guy friends, but almost always us three dudes. We’d have a few drinks and then maybe a few more. We’d end up going to some clubs after that and carouse around until the wee hours.
Lots of fun!
Well, as the years passed they started catching up with us, the generally rowdy Saturday evenings eventually mellowed into a fairly sedate lunch every 3-4 months. Mike and Jeff and I would meet somewhere convenient to us, share a meal and a few hours of conversation, catching up on our lives and who was doing what to whom back where I used to work and they still did. It became a tradition that we all were comfortable with and enjoyed a lot. A couple years ago Jeff found out he had contracted non-Hodgkins lymphoma. Sometimes people with this disease are able to control it and live for many years. Jeff was not one of the lucky ones. They did a lot of procedures to him, but he succumbed to it last summer and it was a sad, sad time for all of us.
Mike reminded me during our lunch that it had been a year since Jeff had passed and I sadly remarked at how FAST that year had gone by. And although my wife Judy had accompanied me for this particular lunch, the empty chair at our table was very noticeable.
The plan was this: Mike was supposed to ride his motorcycle down to my town for our lunch this time around and meet me at a restaurant. We would check out each of our rides – his big bike and my snazzy scooter, then both ride on down to my house. And, of course, the day we picked for this rendezvous was a rainy one and he had to default to his pickup truck to get here.
Luck of the draw I guess.
So we ate our lunch, glanced out the windows at the wet streets and chatted like we usually would do. We then went from the restaurant to my house and chatted again for several more hours. It was a very nice afternoon, two old friends chatting away the afternoon, telling their stories, telling their tall tales, comfortable in their own skins.
And, of course, after he headed home the sun came out.
On the Road Again
Well, my friends, are you ready for another sparkling gem of a blog; one that might be a little informative as well as entertaining? Perhaps it may even chase away the summertime blues?
(Look around Jude, is anyone still there? Are they buying any of this?)
Yes, dear friends, it’s time for another travel blog! To be specific, a road trip blog! So if you’re in the mood for one of those boogers, fasten your seat belt. It’s going to be bumpy ride. For the rest of you, adios mi amigos. See you when the blog express fires up again with something more to your taste.
So, here’s how it went…
On Monday the aforementioned road trip commenced, or, in layman’s terms, we headed out. Our intention that day was to drive to Mackinaw City, Michigan from our northeastern Ohio town with a stop for lunch in Frankenmuth, Michigan. The day was nice, the company (my wife) companionable and the drive was pleasurable. We arrived in Frankenmuth around 1 p.m. and found the restaurant we were heading for almost immediately. It’s called Zehnder’s and has been a fixture in that city for many, many years as the sepia-toned photographs and newspaper clippings on the walls attributed. It is also very well liked as the large group of cars in the parking lot amply demonstrated. We were seated only after about a 15-minute wait. The servers were all dressed in Victorian outfits to apparently match the décor of the dining rooms. We ordered our lunches and soon were served. They were chicken dishes, quite tasty and we enjoyed the meal immensely. After finishing I let my eyes sweep across the dining room we were in. They stopped at a gentleman sitting two tables away. I saw him in profile and thought to myself, my goodness – that looks remarkably like an old friend of mine, a guy I went to school with from elementary through high school. He was even in the same branch of the military at the same time as I was. I told myself I’d have to tell him about his “double” that I saw there in Michigan. About that time the man and his wife stood up. I immediately recognized the wife. Yes, it was my friend Larry! He stopped at our table after we hollered at him and we chatted for a minute or so, remarking on the coincidence of our meeting. They were on their way home from their recent vacation up in the same northern territory as we were heading. After they left, my wife and I chatted about the odd circumstance. Two people who knew each other for many years meeting at a restaurant I’d never heard of the week before, on the same day, in the same dining room, at the same time. Pretty strange, eh?
We headed north again after a visit to the largest Christmas store in the world – Bronner’s – 27 acres of Christmas-themed merchandise. Of course we bought something! You had to ask?
The roadside business’s pretty well disappeared north of the Saginaw area as we drove northward and we soon noticed that birch trees, virtually no where to be seen in the wild around home, were everywhere roadside along with elk crossing signs. None of those down home!
We were getting into the North Country.
We arrived in Mackinaw City later in the day. Our hotel was an older one but quite clean and entirely serviceable – a mom and pop kind of place albeit a bit small. The air temperature was refreshingly cool compared to the muggy warmth of home when we left, many miles to the south. The hotel was directly across the street from a small park, which fronted on Lake Huron and gave a great view of the Mackinac Bridge, which connected the mainland of Michigan to its Upper Peninsula. The straits there also divided Lake Huron from Lake Michigan. It was a very imposing sight, a little over 8 miles long counting the approaches with 552 foot high towers.
A whopper in anyone’s book.
Supper was whitefish sandwiches at a small restaurant nearby (a local delicacy, apparently, and quite tasty). I returned to that small lakeside park after dark to take some really cool night pictures of the bridge.
On Tuesday we took an island trip. During the night we’d left the windows open at the hotel and enjoyed the cool night air. No need for the a/c at all! In the morning, after a nice breakfast downtown we boarded the Shepler’s ferry for a trip across Lake Huron to Mackinac Island. We caught the 10:30 ferry as that trip would go under the Big Mac Bridge on its way to the island. We were again impressed by the bridge when seeing it up close and were glad we took that particular boat.
Mackinac Island, in case you didn’t know, is perhaps unique in the fact that it bans any vehicle with a combustion engine – cars, trucks, motorcycles, etc. All traveling on the island is either by foot, by bicycle or by horse and there were a LOT of horses and bikes on that island. If you lived on the island and needed supplies, they came by boat and were transferred to carts pulled by draft horses and carried to where you wanted them. Bicycles were available for rent by the thousands and we saw tons of them. We grabbed a geocache while waiting for our purchased carriage ride. At 11:30 we got on a 20-passenger cart pulled by two matched Belgian draft horses and commenced our 2-hour tour of Mackinac Island. (The guide joked that the tours used to be for 3 hours, but no one wanted to take “a three hour tour” referring to the Gilligan’s Island TV show) Our tour guide was a young lady from New York who really knew her facts about the island and imparted a bunch of that knowledge as we rode around looking at stuff. The lilacs were in full bloom that week and we were stunned by the vast numbers of, naturally, lilac-colored bushes lining the streets. We clomped by the famous Grand Hotel on the island, the one featured in a couple movies – “This Time for Keeps” (1947 Jimmy Durante and Esther Williams) and “Somewhere in Time” (1980 Christopher Reeves and Jane Seymour). It’s a huge white building having a 660 foot porch and is the largest seasonal hotel in the world with 385 guest rooms, none the same as any other. Built in 1887 and refurbished a number of times, it’s very imposing. We got off the carriage tour at Fort Mackinac and wandered around the numerous buildings there. It was manned by the English and the Americans back and forth over its long history and contains many examples of how life was lived there in the “old” days. We exited the fort through a long downhill path back to the downtown area and ate lunch. We were then off to buy some souvenirs and fudge before returning to the mainland when we saw a lady lying on the sidewalk face down. Apparently she’d tripped and hit her face. There was quite a bit of blood involved and a nurse was already there giving first aid before the ambulance arrived – a motorized ambulance – one of the few motorized vehicles allowed on the island. Since I had broken my nose a few weeks earlier in a vaguely similar manner, I commiserated with the lady and silently wished her well.
We returned to our mainland hotel around 5 o’clock and were quite tired from all the walking done during the day. We grabbed a few more geocaches in the city and retired to the outside-air freshened motel room for another good night’s sleep.
On Wednesday we hit the road again. Up at 7 and crossed the Big Mac Bridge soon afterward. Apparently some folks are so scared of the bridge they let someone else drive them across. We were not scared. We’ve been on other bridges that were LOTS more scary! The Sunshine Bridge down near Tampa immediately comes to mind. After crossing we were on the Upper Peninsula of Michigan which is quite a different animal than the mainland. We headed west on the major road going that direction – a 2-laner called Route 2. Not far from the bridge there were numerous old cabin-style motels like out of old black-and-white movies, most of them abandoned to the elements and out of business. Soon even those disappeared and we then traveled mostly through thinly populated areas. Stopping at a rest area we discovered why the joke about what is Michigan’s State Bird’s answer is the mosquito. It isn’t a joke! Lots of the critters around. Bazillions, seemed like. We killed mosquitoes in the car for the next 50 miles! Very pretty country, though, with the big lake on your left and what appeared to be mostly wilderness to the right. Saw a number of deer and more elk crossing signs. I could just imagine how this place was in the winter. Brrr!
We stopped for lunch in Green Bay, Wisconsin at a place recommended to us by a friend of my wife’s. The place was called Krull’s Restaurant and was located directly across the street from Lambeau Field where the Green Bay Packers play football. We had their signature “butterburger” sandwich (pretty good) and were off again in under an hour. We suffered through a major detour south of Green Bay, apparently due to an Interstate building project, and ended up going a long way around the affected area. Saw a great big windmill farm in a hilly area and counted many dozens of the big turbine windmills slowly turning. Then, at last, we arrived at Wisconsin Dells for our second major stop of the trip.
I’d again booked us into a mom-and-pop place, the Indian Trail Motel, and we were even more pleased with this one. It was furnished in what appeared ‘70’s fixtures, yellow in color. I think my wife and I had yellow fixtures when we were first married! The room was immaculately clean and much bigger than our Mac City place. The bed, sheets and pillows were among the best we’ve ever had in a motel. A nice choice, I thought, proud of myself! You did good, Willie! We grabbed a geocache almost immediately to make sure we had Wisconsin logged as a new state then drove through the business district. It’s a regular resort-type area, stores, attractions, amusement parks, water parks, t-shirt shops, many restaurants and other attractions for people on vacations, especially if they had kids. We ate at a nice Mexican place, The Mexicali Rose, right on the Wisconsin River and took pictures out the window at the scenery. My wife and I had very sore muscles from all our walking yesterday.
On Thursday we toured Wisconsin Dells. Breakfast was at a friendly IHOP and then we bought tickets for two tours – a boat tour of the Upper Dells above the dam (the prettier side) and a duck tour. On the 10:30 riverboat tour we saw lots of sandstone formations along the banks of the river and got oodles of information about the area from the boat captain and the lady tour guide. A lot of stuff happened on that river over the years! Our first stop was at Witch’s Gulch where we disembarked and walked on a boardwalk back this dimly-lit canyon with fantastically-carved sandstone close to both sides. This was, according to Indian legend, a haunted place and the white settlers were warned to stay away. It was actually pretty cool! Then it was back to the boat, up the river a bit more to our second stop - another land attraction. We walked uphill to a viewing area where we could see two towering rock formations. Back in the early days of photography a local man figured out a way to make photographs of moving subjects, an activity that didn’t work with the old photography equipment. His photos were taken as fakes by the public, so he went to this place and had his son jump from one formation to the other while he took photos. 17 jumps later he got the proof that his technique worked! Need I say it was a LONG way down from that gap the kid had jumped across. Now days they have a German Shepherd dog do the same stunt and we got to see it. I was lucky enough to actually catch the dog in mid-jump with a photo! Then it was back to the boat and the refreshing ride back to the pier. After indulging in a rare ice cream sundae (it was getting warm), my wife and I headed off to the duck tour. In case you don’t know, a duck is an Army amphibious vehicle that travels on land or water. A large part of the World War II fleet of ducks have been bought by tour companies here and there to ferry customers on land/water excursions. That was the case here.
We rode our 24-passenger duck, along with a driver and a tour guide through a lot of heavily wooded areas along specific roads just for the duck tours. The guide entertained us with a running commentary on the area and many corny jokes and silly stories while the driver concentrated getting us through some of the tighter areas of the road. We took the duck into the Wisconsin River for a while then back onto the land. After another 15 minutes we stopped just before entering Lake Delton. The guide asked us passengers whether we wanted the entry into the water to be “slow and dry” or “fast and wet”. I don’t think you will get the answer to this one wrong. The driver hit the gas and we hit hard with the water mushrooming around us. The rear few seats got pretty wet! Then it was back to the starting place.
We walked around downtown for a while after that looking into a few shops and bought a few this-and-that’s, then went back to the hotel where I took a dip in the outdoor pool. Nice! We went out then for some more geocaches then had supper at an Applebees.
Another busy day.
On Friday we took a day trip. Since one reason for the trip was geocaching and since the states of Minnesota and Iowa were less than two hours to the west, we decided to drive over there and add two more states to our kitty! The interstate west was smooth and fast and soon we were in Minnesota. Luckily the first place I pulled off was right where our first geocache was hidden and we soon had it “in the bag”. We drove south about 30 miles into Iowa on the Great River Road and before long had the second one. It was a good day for the “states bagged” quota! After driving back to the Dells I spent a lovely hour in the motel’s indoor pool and whirlpool spa. Very relaxing!
Supper was at a Ponderosa that evening. Lots of kids around but… what do you expect? It was summer and this was a resort town. I remember getting a BIG root beer with supper and how GREAT it tasted! What a dumb thing to remember, eh? Took another drive through the downtown area checking out the bustling people and the evening street performers, then back to the hotel to hit the hay. And early day planned for tomorrow.
On Saturday we drove home. I don’t have too much exciting to tell you about that trip. It was long and tiring. The high point, perhaps, is that we drove through downtown Chicago and that was a bit hair-raising even on a Saturday. At last we were pulling into our own driveway and hitting the “relax” key. Home, son, dog and our own bed for the night.
So another satisfying road trip comes to an end.
Sure wish you had been with us!
Maybe next time?
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