This morning I lie in bed in the dark, with
the wind howling through our hatches and a gently wave rolling us to and fro. I
couldn’t sleep as I struggled to remember his name. Was it Cornbread? Dinky
Donut? Snickerdoodle?
We’ve been back on Shiloh from our US road
trip for just over a week. And the memories are fading. The states blur along a
path of my mind, further and further back and sadly I know that most of it will
disappear forever. But there were some places, some people, some experiences
you just can’t forget. Things you couldn’t make up if you tried…
Mr. Muffin was a State Park Camp Host who
took his job seriously. Tucked up under Hot Springs Mountain in Arkansas, the
campground was beautiful, framed by a clear river on one side, and in the
distance a highway of some sort. Pumpkin Toes protected the premises, circling
constantly on his golf cart. And his curiosity led him to slide his two stubby
legs, under two gargantuan bum cheeks, down off his perch, and he’d waddle into
each campsite bright eyed, to meet the visitors. He was all grins as he slid
out his pudgy pink hand to shake. “Welcome! I’m Fudge Ball!” (or something like
that). He explained in his syrupy southern drawl, that he and his wife had been
camp hosts for a few years at this site. He gave us the camp rules, then asked
us what it was we had there on the table?
“Smoked oysters. Great with crackers and
cheese.”
He crinkled up his childlike nose but his
eyes remained excited and alert. “Can I try? Never heard a nuthin’ like that!”
So we fixed him one and watched, amused, as
he stuffed the fishy little package in his mouth. And the reaction was
priceless. He barely managed to swallow and quickly asked for some Coke or
anything sweet. We rolled around laughing but found him a drink.
And with that, we had a new friend. He
stayed for quite a while, completely enthralled by these foreigners from so far
away. He’d never left America. Figured they all ate weird stuff like what we’d
just fed him! His accent kept us a captive audience as well.
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| Marita & Biscuit |
The next morning Cream Puff pulled up in
the golf cart with his wife Love Dumpling to meet us and we all laughed and
stood for photos. He gave us his business card. And there it was written in
black ink. ‘Biscuit’. It was Biscuit! He explained that it was a nickname that
stuck hard and he’d accepted it and embraced it long ago. Biscuit sold Dutch
ovens and ran Dutch oven cooking classes. And Biscuit became a dungaree
wearin’, twinkie lovin’ memory…
And he and the bath houses and gorgeous
town we found there in Hot Springs would not have been discovered if we had
done the road trip we’d imagined. Road trips should be fluid in their planning.
So that when Harvey and hurricanes like him try to thwart your fun, you simply
re-route. Arkansas and Oklahoma were not on our agenda. Never imagined
discovering the suburban bliss and gentrified downtown of Tulsa. Couldn’t have known
the remote beauty of Beaver Lake and a log cabin complete with true southern
hospitality and a lot of massive spiders to welcome us! And it was through
cruising we met the friends who welcomed us to these places.
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| Bath House in Hot Springs, Arkansas |
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| Our friend Dale's lake house, Beaver Lake Arkansas |
And then there was Texas. Americans joke
that Texas is a country in itself. It definitely has a personality. In Texas the
endless fields are dotted with head bobbing machines that suck oil up from the
deep endlessly. In Texas we tasted other-worldly brisket. In Texas you can also
get a 72 ounce steak. Free if you can eat it all. It is advertised everywhere.
It’s all about BIG in Texas. And there are rodeos.
We found ourselves a real, genuine rodeo.
And now I can say I know all about mutton bustin’! In most states it would be
considered child abuse but in Texas it’s a lively sport. Toddlers and
little’uns hang on for dear life to a fluffy sheep who is let out of the pen
and dashes at full speed across the muddy arena. The fans go wild in the
stands, music blares from the speakers and the MC urges them on. Meanwhile down
in the arena, a tiny child has slipped down under the animal with the speed and
agitation and has fallen hard onto the dirt and most likely been stepped on by
the panicky animal. Mothers and fathers run out and scoop up the bawling kid
while the fans cheer. Texas.
New Mexico was enchanting. All terra cotta
homes and Native jewelry and art galleries, and small towns and Pueblos up in
the mountains that are a catch all for hippies and cowboys and Mexicans. And
more cruising friends welcomed us into their beautiful home. I fell in love
with their green hatch chili peppers.
There was Durango in Colorado, which led to
Silverton – a place lost in time. A cowboy town nestled between two mountains
where you can imagine the stand-off in the street just like in the old
Westerns. Where the old steam train pulls in twice a day, chugging black smoke
and hooting to announce it’s arrival.
And the knuckle biting mountain edge, no
railings drive up into the mountain town of Ouray, the Switzerland of America. Places
you didn’t know existed but now will never forget.
And then there are the places that you
planned for, imagined in advance and held the highest expectations for. The
four corners where New Mexico meets Arizona, meets Utah, meets Colorado. The
actual Four Corners Monument is a Native run gathering of ramshackle curio
stands and abandoned food trucks surrounding a stone plaque. The $5 entry fee
covers the salary and bus fare for the grumpy lady who has come from a
reservation far from here. A bit of a let down really.
However, all around is beauty. Places where
atheists believe that gods have been here. Where a natural world unfolds like a
fantasyland of rock in epic proportions. Shapes, caverns, colours. It is all
one could imagine and so much more. And the hikes down into the depths of the
caverns are humbling. Mesa Verde, Bryce Canyon, Canyon de Chelly, Zion, Valley of Fire. Wow.
From the swamplands of Florida, we found
ourselves in forests and then deserts. Such diversity!
But there was also routine. Technically, a
road trip that lasts longer than a month is a lifestyle. It begins to take on
it’s habitual schedules and rituals. Even if it involves driving somewhere
further, somewhere new nearly every day.
Daily, after a three hour drive or so,
armed with carts and a humble shopping list, we found ourselves in a Walmart in
Sulphur Oklahoma or Tucumcari New Mexico or New Iberia Louisiana, we would buy
a bag of charcoal, a bag of ice, some meat, some salad, some sweet potatoes,
some six dollar wine. And then we’d set off in our travelling beds, to find a
campsite for the night.
Campsites in southern Texas where
mosquitoes descended in thick black clouds of doom and banished us to our vans
for the evening. Swatting, swearing…
Campsites in the mountains of New Mexico
where elk in heat screamed in the distance and frost collected on our wine
glasses.
Campsites in remote reservations where we
refused to pay $15 for a bundle of firewood, found ourselves completely alone
with nature, and ran around gathering in the wilderness instead.
So many campsites.
A couple Airbnbs, a few
nasty motels. One so nasty it belongs on an episode of crime scene
investigation instead of my blog post.
And in between, Route 66! Graceland! Las
Vegas strip. Hoover Dam. A corner in Winslow Arizona. New Orleans! We even
visited Chip and Joanne’s Magnolia in Waco Texas on my Mom’s leg of the trip.
We got around.
We covered some miles. 6100 to be exact. Not all miles are the same though. And they
definitely can’t be measured in number.
We can only measure by Biscuits and mutton
busters, Hello Kitty glasses at the Mexican border in El Paso, the Tabasco
Factory, beignets at Café du Monde, random grazing bison on the side of the
road, and priceless moments with Mom.
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| Unfortunately I had to share these beignets |
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| Good times with Mom!!! |
And then there are friends. It ties us back to the magical world of cruising and I marvel at how far and wide the ties take us.
We had three massive cruiser reunions as our trip finale. St Pete, Punta Gorda, Fort Pierce. Taken in by friends, we shared sailing memories, shared our trip stories and confirmed for ourselves how special this life we live, truly is.
