P+M Hit The Road

RV renegades heading west, home in the rear view, a full moon gently guiding a streaked wintry sunrise.  Paul is chauffeur extraordinaire pumped up in his brand new ride, the very first and the very last freshly minted straight off the lot pickup truck.  Decades of motoring disasters, head scratching, tire kicking, years of emotional trauma and all cursing imaginable have earned Paul this marvel of trucking Nirvana.  Not certain the monster would even fit in our garage,  he tore through the wall to create a crafty window box for the front grille adding exactly enough clearance to ease the garage door closed within a breath of the tailgate.  “Baloney skin tight,” Paul's a miracle worker and master of old geezer morsels of wisdom.  Our bank account wants to know where our next meal is coming from but hey there is enough ramen and saltines in the RV to last through Tucson.  We're golden.   Old Red treated us to an eye popping finale a few months...

A silvery rugged goatee sprouts from Paul's chin, more salt than pepper stubble a bit unruly, unexpected, 007ish, not Daniel Craig, more Sean Connery without the accent. Hang a pipe from his lower lip, slap on an eye patch and he could sail the seas aboard a shrimp trawler, chase pirates, battle the perfect storm. After all he is Captain of our tandem, well versed in disasters on wheels, the sea should be a walk in the park, a welcome distraction. Why is scruffy stubble a great look on an old guy but a mottled dead cat disaster on his loyal sidekick? When we return from months on the road, anxious to see family and old friends, a total hair panic has Paul dropping me off immediately at my favorite Hair Barn. A massive grey striped tangle tamed by my personal miracle worker, thank you dear. A few cross country treks ago is evidence of what can go terribly wrong when a clueless amateur picks up Burnt Auburn Beauty in a box. My hair depressed, droopy, barely alive, sprouting grey...

My Iowa homies are gonna love this. It is snowing in Alabama, an epic tempest, the nastiest blizzard here ever.  Yep EVER.  Nine inches of heavy powder has turned our cozy dream maker into a frozen iceberg stuck to a concrete slab as icicles freeze, temperature drops fifty degrees below what should have been a tropical paradise.  Interstate 10 closed for 200 miles, three inches of black ice created a jammed parking lot from Alabama across the entire Panhandle.  The perfect destination for a couple of savvy Midwesterners escaping blustery Iowa for sunshine and clear blue skies, steering the RV directly into the eye of The Perfect Storm in the Gulf of Mexico. “The Shining” seems a fairy tale in comparison, claustrophobia fills our snug bungalow as we are buried inside a howling snow globe, stranded as a complete whiteout swirls then drifts blocking our only escape. Schools, banks, churches, hair barns, four long days without a Walmart greeter, the entire ci...

Pre-dawn awaking to an Arctic blast on this blurry eyed departure morn. How cold is it? So very frigid Paul wielded his equally frigid crowbar to coerce the RV jacks to release. First hurdle cleared full steam ahead Captain. A solid glazed sheet creates a personal ice rink in our Court, Old Red groans as the camper shoves us down the driveway across the frozen arena swerving boldly out of our sleepy berg. A jealous neighbor waves a teary goodbye reminded of the warm breezy sunshine she will not experience, hmm maybe that wasn't exactly a wave. Streaks of blue hover atop frosted alabaster beams spanning the Mighty Mississippi, adios frozen muchachos. Snow, ice, sleet, rain pounds most of the country except for our uncharacteristically hazard-free route, outrunning almost a foot of snow in St. Louis, rain misting the roads into Memphis, funky soul blues warming old crabby bones, arriving at dazzling pristine beaches bordering the Gulf of Mexico. Not parti...

An age where you need assistance from a Big Ass fan to blow out the candles, fire extinguisher close by, where did the time go? Ask a retiree what they do all day and you will get a blank stare, incoherent muttering and always, always a smirk thinking I do whatever the hell I want to do every single day. News flash a 104 year old/young woman died in her sleep the day after skydiving. A splendid exit plan, fearless to the very end, impressive. Her bucket list grand finale. One hundred percent sure I would not jump out of a plane unless the pilot, copilot and my luggage went out ahead of me. My aunt Carmie was 92 when she failed her first attempt at renewing her driver's license. Navigating solo from Bernard Iowa to Cascade (12 miles) failed the test, continued onto Dubuque (25 miles) failed again, then finally US 61 to Maquoketa (32 miles) mercifully turned a blind eye and made Aunt Carmie's day. Officially licensed, she drove the last leg home (24 miles), gassed up the tank...

Followed a noisy, stinking herd of longhorns running down I-10 at 75 mph, seemed to be enjoying their open air caravan, keeping our distance to avoid windshield cow pies. Sorriest Main Street, boarded windows, abandoned campers, windows busted, stained, tattered curtains flapping wild, front doors swinging in the wind. BUY ME painted on the roof of a deserted shack, chain link and barbed wire protecting beaten down mobile homes, rusted vans. The Bates Motel is the Waldorf compared to the local Harmony Inn, scarrrrry. Corner bar buzzing with home grown natives can spot an out-of-towner before their backside hits the barstool, tall tales to tell, some true, some not so, definitely our kind of joint. As if sharing a top secret conspiracy, an extremely skeptical source whispered they recently bumped into the real life, the one and only bonafide Aquaman, King of Atlantis, the underwater world superhero sensation was allegedly drinking a Bud and eating a burger at the Joshua ...

As a Midwesterner temporarily planted in the incredible Sonoran desert of Arizona patiently waiting for Iowa to thaw and the sun to return, I'm in no hurry, biding my time among the cactus, the mountains, sunshine, roadrunners and javelinas until it's safe to go back to home sweet Iowa home. This amazing wilderness is the only place in the entire world where the magnificent Saguaro cactus grow, over two million strewn throughout its very own Saguaro National Park and probably that many more in the lush captivating landscape surrounding our campsite.  These native celebrities soar over sixty feet into the desert sky, aging gracefully well over a century, older than Jim Beam, the state of Alaska, Mickey Mouse and a few years older than me too. Perpetually poised, maintaining their alluring beauty in spite of the unrelenting climate of a brutal desert, a timeworn cactus has taught me about life, resilience, dignity and survival without uttering a single word. Native To...

I80 World's Largest Truck stop shining brighter than the Vegas Strip, tempting but we have hours to go, stockpiling our luck for the road ahead.  Hazy blue streaks paint the dawn sky, fluffy white patches cushion ditches, snowy mottled farm fields insulated from this arctic blast.  Leaving home brings last goodbyes, a tug at my heart, the lure of a new adventure and a few months respite from frigid Iowa winter overcomes a sentimental mood. That voice, "LOOKOUT construction ahead, pothole ahead, police ahead, traffic jam for 43 minutes ahead" jangles my nerves.  Drive off a cliff and she would deftly recalculate from the bottomless ravine while diverting other travelers away from the spectacle.  This miracle of technology provides a convenient scapegoat for the navigator of this ship for which I blame every wrong turn, traffic malady, every rude and clueless driver on the road.  Annoying, persistent and smugly patronizing, we pitifully tolerate our persistent tra...

Gloomy rain under a menacing sky, intermittent wipers framing a blurred landscape. A chill in the air, my nose is rosy, my pace hurried, chattering teeth, a shiver, the sweltering summer, a long forgotten friend. There is melancholy in the shift of seasons, especially evident in the drear of a heavy sky and a steady deluge. Reminiscing moments of a carefree summer with family and friends lifts my spirit, although I didn't hit the gazillionaire lottery, get a tattoo or swim with sharks, I do count my blessings, forever the lucky one. Nashville with a pack of unruly honky tonkin' Grandmas, testing the waters since my last trip with local, loco ladies. Cautiously slinking past suspicious bouncers, avoiding eye contact, the city has apparently recovered from the menace of unsupervised gray hairs, although I do anticipate a self induced ban on tequila shooters and senior conga. Our vintage tribe rocking identical cowgirl shirts depicting sharp shooting, bronco riding, s...

Final camping trip of the summer, miles and miles of Iowa's best, corn tassels swaying in the breeze, drying gracefully under the scorching midwest sun.  Summer is no gentle lamb departing gracefully this year, rather a fiery menace blasting red hot fumes over the shriveled earth and my drooping sweaty self. Takes me back to memories of an oblivious childhood survived without air conditioning or sunscreen. We finally did inherit an old "window shaker" equipped with deafening vibrations shaking the entire house, conversation replaced by a pile of sticky sunburnt kids wallowing in the cool paradise. Thank the Lord for technology, a good dermatologist and a husband in the heating and cooling business.   This wondrous country never fails to inspire, switching up our family vacation from Michigan's stunning lakeshores to iconic Colorado mountains, exchanging a comfy beach chair for a trek up a rugged mountainside. Appropriately captivated, Paul and I returne...

Staying out of trouble, not always easy for sure, mayhem on one shoulder, saint on the other. Maybe "saint" is a bit pretentious, I'm not dead yet. How about angel, yeah that's me.   Sitting in for a friend in her "Old Lady Euchre" club. That is not the official name, none of us are eighty-five yet, which is my self-proclaimed turning point from middle age to nursing homeish. One of the ladies duped her young daughter into playing that evening with the allure of pocketing some easy money whacking the old folks. She and I both lost. Sharks.   Off the RV road for now, visiting my hometown to share Tales from the Hood with my original partners in crime, meeting sibs for lunch in Dubuque. Chauffering my sister Jolene from Moline, that's the first thing absolute strangers learn from my sister and understandably question why do I care where you live and more appropriately if she is a bit crackers.  In a group of new folks, though, she is always the one t...

Hiking behind Paul in case we meet a black bear or Florida panther so I can turn and run like mad in the opposite direction. I've got your back doesn't necessarily mean I'm gonna save it. Sorry Paul, love hurts. Boa constrictors are taking over the Everglades nearly retired Florida school teachers warned us, strongly recommended carrying a knife when hiking the trails at our campground near Tampa. I expect they don't have any issues with misconduct in their classrooms, and no snakes either. They also mentioned stinging Ruddy Dagger Moth Caterpillars, not the adorable, fuzzy Midwestern variety but the spiky antennaed stalkers dropping from trees creating mayhem and screaming hysterics from yours truly. Our son is a teacher too so I have an appreciation for dedicated people who can motivate kids to do things they hadn't even imagined possible, the backbone of society, understandably their DNA requires them to educate us about the entire population of k...

Alligator Alley, cigars, menacing lizards, palm trees, whales, sky bridges, sulfur swamps, weed, lazy manatees, sailboats, Ernest Hemingway, tasty hogfish, shipwrecks, sea turtles, gorgeous skylines, mullet festival, surfing, vicious nasty noseeums, Scientology, unbelievable sunsets, unbelievable traffic. "This is the Real Florida" slogan challenges the casual tourist to explore the boundless treasures of this amazing paradise with every step, with every breath there is something seriously real lurking just around the bend, tree rats, yes they are real and drop from above (hopefully not on your head). Feisty, treacherous campground squirrels staring impatient, inching closer to snatch the last morsel on the end of my fork, aggressive roaming roosters own the streets of Ybor City, we witness countless authentic gems usually when totally lost and maneuvering through mangled swamp grass, a pile of slimy alligators or cluelessly stepping into a wild boars nest.   The...

Just another day in Hollywood… Florida, that is, a friendly greeting stolen from a guy on the street. A miles-long canal lined with pristine, unoccupied luxury yachts stiffly ignores passing gawkers. An impossibly luminescent thirty-six story guitar casino glows forever into the starry sky, we are in the land of make believe. A cultural melting pot with a glamorous Latino vibe, exotic languages float freely filling the markets, beaches, nightclubs, our Midwestern accent blending imperfectly into the methodic pulse, we are mutually dazed and confused, it's all bueno. A Santana jazz ensemble electrifies a moonstruck night, tunes reminiscent of our favorite classic rock band from back home, the Florida version comes with salty salsa dancers and a funky charm, all Espanol, no Ingles. The melody has a sultry rhythm, we hum along in our mid-country twang, heads bobbing, shaking, toes tapping, no need to understand the language, music has its own lingo. Palm trees and FEET lon...

Hello friends, took a break for a while to get my head and heart in sync, no worries, both still operational, just in need of slight attitude adjustment. No better medicine than a road trip chasing warm sunshine with as much adventure as these old bones can handle. Piled up on the sofa, watching The Grinch movie with granddaughters the night before heading out. I've seen the movie a few hundred times so can relate to the grizzly animal, bloodshot eyes, fuzzy green hair and a wicked temper. Christmas with my littles is a true blessing every year, yet I can commiserate with the miserable geezer, sometimes the Whoville Who's are a bit too chipper on a frigid January evening, holidays over, time to get out of town. Slipping into the pre-dawn gloom, streets desolate before the sun's magic pumps life into this weathered river town. Morning mist blurs the landscape, rolling past Paul's BFF, a depressed diesel mechanic waves a teary goodbye to his paycheck for a few...

Birthday card from a sister … glammed two year old, soft pink boa, fuzzy glitter slippers, adorable floppy bonnet, pearls galore, giant cats eyes sunglasses, arms laden with packages, an absolutely glorious shopping day. My mind churns for a spell then backtracks to legendary shopping expeditions before Mall of America or Amazon, when Prime was just a number, shopping before it was considered a personality disorder, me and my sisters undeniably afflicted.  My 30th birthday, sisters all together celebrating me, the youngest of the lot, miraculously survived childhood despite a boisterous tribe gifting me generations of notoriously misguided antics, angelic and innocent, I've been framed since birth. Merely a few decades ago, we devised the ultimate getaway, ditch the husbands and kids, pack the plastic, caffeine, NoDoz and fanny packs. Sunrise to sunset, scouring every single store for the absolute best bargain, when the ultimate deal was plucked from a jammed clearance rack, the...

Reunions are especially precious now, wrinkles mark the unrelenting abuse earned by an endless cycle of oblivious and often misguided life choices. Well worn souvenirs covering brittle bones proving life hasn't been wasted on self preservation, but having clearly neglected and corrupted every last inch of it in the pursuit of living. Gathering with siblings brings an acute, bittersweet awareness of the acceleration of time even as the days slow and years fade. Ignorance is bliss I've heard and so we are a happy, clueless bunch. Reliving those awkward days of youth, indestructible and now paying the price with bodies more similar to Mother Teresa than the Flying Nun, our Catholic school days brutally preparing us for both ends of the spectrum. Tales told may or may not be entirely true, no worries, as the further you are from the actual event, so much further are you also from the actual truth. And so with arthritic, unbending limbs, thinning hair and foggy recollections we...

Unique as the stars above, gentle as a summer rain with just a touch of tornado in the mix. Cousins yes, closer to sisters I'd say, our four granddaughters are masters of mayhem and inherited (directly from their fathers) an uncanny flair for shenanigans. Grandma and Grandpa Camp is the ideal venue for the madness to begin, a rollicking adventure absolutely, but there are chores too, taking turns, manners, picking up, no princess passes. Sometimes rules, sometimes no rules. Girls chased out of the chaotic camper for a Grandma attitude adjustment, they find Grandpa. Forever a Boy Scout at heart, he instructs them in the fine art of axe chopping, shark attack, flipping pancakes and frying bacon on a Blackstone, fixes bikes and teaches them survival skills read from his very own well-worn Boy Scout manual, snake bite remedy, poison ivy identification, cowboy beans and weenies, they are hooked,  bedtime stories of the great outdoors instantly puts them to sleep. Last year during Gr...

It's a curse, no official equipment, no fancy title, but absolutely true, Paul and I are the real thing, incompetent storm chasers, extreme weather magnets. Plowing through torrential rain, hail while battling brutal Chicago traffic, wipers flopping madly, the deluge unstoppable. We expect a swarm of locusts soon. Freeze frame South Haven, Lake Michigan. Life does not get any better than this. Our annual family vacation, a week like none other, all of us jumbled together under one roof, a kitchen bursting with chips, pretzels, cheese stix, pounds and pounds of kid food, enough snacks to support our country's sugar consumption easily into the next decade, more adult beverages than adult food. It's the plan, make a cocktail, stuff the kids. Everybody's happy. Christmas for me, seven days of crazy, manic granddaughters, sons, daughters-in-law, me and Grandpa. Complete chaos, energized to light up the entire eastern coast of Lake Michigan. Battling mosquit...