P+M Hit The Road

The drumbeat of wooden bridge planks flipping under our tires interrupts the hum of nature surrounding us. Protected by acres and acres of sturdy Iowa corn, we pass a herd of bearded goats grazing a meadow. Our tandem enables an intimate window to the earth if you can abide a sore behind and blazing sunburn. Freedom is rolling down the road along meandering creeks, listening to songbirds harmonize lovely melodies exclusively for us. Screaming down steep grades, crawling up steep grades, dodging potholes and aggressive red winged blackbirds, an obstacle course of sorts, made it through unscathed.   A few weeks back we passed road bikers on the Pacific Coast highway, true warriors burdened with hefty saddlebags draped over wheels stressed under the gruelling load. Pedaling the narrow white line on the edge, battling pelting rain and erratic drivers, climbing mountain passes. Definitely fearless, tempting fate riding on this twisted, congested route. I respect their determination ...

A litter of adorable fluffy kittens found a home in the towering weeds growing in my flower bed during our trip out West. Wrestling, pawing furballs enjoying the sheltered wonderland of my jungle garden. Mama cat lowers her head, staring fierce, ready to pounce if I step one breath closer to her babies. Message received, I back away. After every road trip there's catching up back at the ranch, laundry, cleaning, yard work, endless mindless chores. I mentioned to Paul living in our mobile bungalow was a lot less work, sweep the dust, cram dirty laundry into the closet, feet up, done. Our modest manufactured dream maker is not technically a doublewide but a bonafide Recreational Vehicle. A spacious 250 square foot oasis of faux leather and luxury that continually tests our marriage as we escape the frigid Iowa winters each year. We adapt, nature is our backyard and there are times we need every inch of it. Sometimes the compact nature of our traveling paradise is a...

"The grey roads on the map" a new friend explained her intriguing road trip strategy. She and her husband follow the "greys" scoping out new adventures. Sounds challenging, thought we might give it a spin, I just haven't mentioned it to Paul yet. No GPS signal, armed with illegible directions scribbled on the edge of an old newspaper, I lead Paul down a rustic one lane country road in search of the highly acclaimed "tallest waterfall in the state of Oregon". The road narrows, deteriorates from gravel to dirt then to impassible craters. Finally, grudgingly we decide this cow path leads nowhere. We abandon the lunacy but can't back up on the winding narrow lane. Out of the truck, I direct inch by inch, back and forth, steep drops on either side, ankle deep potholes in the middle, twenty tense minutes later, the truck is turned around back down that lonely old road.  I've reserved numerous campsites that were impossible to manuever a Volkswag...

Pockets of sea life, small creatures squeezed into stone bowls swirling together in pools of salty soup clinging desperately to rock until high tide washes them back out to sea.  Tide pools. The colors are fantastic, purpley, coral, electric green, bold shimmering orange, warted yellow arms swishing side to side.  Soft suede sea lions laze on a boulder island nearby, curious.  Climbing over rocks, my hand sinks into a soft, slimy neon mass that pulls my fingers deeper.  Loud screaming, bones quiver, my entire body shudders, tears shed.  I am traumatized.  The sea lions bark, amused. Our destination today, Cape Lookout, a hazy spit of land stretching far into the Pacific Ocean atop a rigid 800 foot cliff face. Settling around us the fog is relentless, soft pine needles turn to damp dirt then gradually, entirely to muddy sludge, boots sink deep down into the slimy, oozing muck.  Arms flailing, feet sliding, jerking to an embarrassing, uncoord...

Since 1970 Oregon proudly commemorates a weird but honestly true story of an unfortunate, massive wayward whale that beached itself on the pristine shores of Florence, Oregon. Related in vivid detail to us at Homegrown Brew Pub by a sweet bartender too young to be alive during the actual event, I believed every word she said. Elders of the township devised a plan to dispose of that lifeless stinking vagrant by stuffing half a ton of dynamite into the belly of the foul monster to bring harmony back to their fine community. While townspeople gawked and carried on, a carnival of sorts, Walter Umenhofer drove his brand new Oldsmobile 98 directly from the showroom floor to the extravaganza to witness the lighting of the fuse. Expecting festive tiny whale confetti, instead an explosion of huge fatty chunks of syrupy, stinking flesh filled the sky, the screaming crowd ran for their lives, dodging eight tons of blood, guts, whale carcass, a massive blob of blubber crushed Walter's shiny ...

British trader John Meares was lost.  In 1788, sailing the Pacific, Meares anchored his ship in a beautiful Cape protecting the ferocious Columbia River.  Frustrated, angry and dog tired, the Captain christened this enchanting place Cape Disappointment.  What a baby, he could have just asked for directions.  This intriguing paradise is far from disappointing.  Claiming a bountiful earth of thick, lush forests, eternal pure blue skies and seas so treacherous it earns the ominous  "Graveyard of the Pacific" designation.  Swallowing well over two hundred ships into its dark abyss, courageous seamen and terrifying stories perished alongside their captains, united forever in the depths of the ocean. Humble sailors respect the raging waters here at the confluence of the Columbia River and Pacific Ocean, warring currents, walls of water dangerously tossing mighty ships through the perilous channel known simply, reverently as "The Bar". To cross it...

When it comes to National Parks, Olympic in Washington State is a monster. At over one million acres, it is bigger than the entire state of Rhode Island, more vast than Switzerland, imagine The Mall of America x 100, now that's a lot of shopping. This place is massive. The glorious Mount Olympus is the heart and soul of this park, its divine majesty produces rain forests, waterfalls, beaches, massive trees, hot springs, meandering pools flowing into peaceful lakes and mighty rivers. It boasts the largest Sitka Spruce in the world, at almost sixty feet in diameter, the dignified old gal is over 1000 years of age and looks every bit of it. Iridescent chartreuse moss blankets trees, limbs jut out from trunks bringing to mind the soft velveted antlers of a gentle deer. In the Sol Duc region legend claims the glowing moss is actually dragon skin lost during battle, scattered throughout the dense forest. When the dragons retreated, their salty hot tears created sulphury po...

Three days on the road and my backside is screaming, get off!  I have new respect for truckers. A person can't travel any further north in the almighty state of Washington without jumping in the Strait of Juan de Fuca and directly into the arms of the Canadian Royal Mounties.  We made it.  Alive. Here's our survival story,  just about the honest truth …  We ventured out in predawn darkness that first day, still fresh, anxious to put miles behind us, well stocked with podcasts, maps and Nutty Bars.  Groggy at first, but coming to life as luminous giants emerge on the horizon, massive windmills of central Iowa stretch almost 400 feet into the cloudless sky.  Sleek, milky white pinwheels gather in farms, the slow, methodic rotations mezmerize the idle mind.  Oddly out of place, planted amid Iowa's signature corn fields and rich black earth, these sophisticated mammoths are unrecognizable to their age old ancestors. I'm awake. Around hour eleven of ou...

Nostalgia fills my soul as Canon in D echos the expanse of the magnificent cathedral.  Weddings remind me of the persistent, unwavering innocence of hope, raw and unfiltered devotion, a frightening commitment spanning the rest of your days.  Hope is not lost on youth though, it is embraced and nurtured there, the excitement of endless possibilities and genuine, uncontrollable happiness.  That's right, love rules. The bride and groom are brilliant, dazzling even.  Full of life and romance, ready to charge ahead with their unique love story.  Embarrassing anecdotes shared, kids dance, cocktails flow, broad smiles and tears stream down beaming faces.  Chatting with the groom about their honeymoon plans in Jamaica the following week, Paul mentioned we had also vacationed in Jamaica a few years ago.  He remembered some of the language; not the translation for good morning or what a lovely day, he remembered "Chaka-Chaka". Groom:  What does that mean? P...

How to describe a monumental sized wrinkle in the sunken earth?  Not like the pile of dirty laundry in your closet, but a gigantic groove in the earth that extends through a sizeable portion of the tremendous state of Utah.  Over one hundred miles of twisted, warped mass so diverse, so bizarre there is nothing else like it on the planet.    A mingling of soil, rocks, mountains and canyons.  Next a collision of fault lines thousands of feet high sliding ever so slightly collapsing into each other over millions of years.  A massive chain of waterpockets and folds rise from the ravaged landscape.  Eerily stretched, distorted pockets are scattered throughout mountainsides and along gorges.   Your imagination takes hold, you see the disfigured, horrific Ghostface from Scream! its face, sliding, melting before you.  You summon the courage to open your eyes, heart racing, hands trembling as you witness the unobstructed drama ...

Since returning from sunbird heaven the end of March, we haven't come by the insulated winter skin that most souls around these parts have already mastered. As a result we're (I am) extremely wimpy, whining about Iowa's unpredictable/predictable nasty weather regardless of the calendar. My brain tells me it won't last, but still there are goosebumps … and doubt. Bright green buds push through crusty snow, fragile daffodils and tulips unquestionably heartier and braver than me stand undeterred against the merciless insanity of Iowa in the Spring. I am in awe of their tenacity, their fearless grit. Observing them from the comfort of my warm oasis, still cozy in my well-worn fleece, the air surrounding those buds plunges and still they stand strong against the relentless elements.  It is always refreshing to return after being away for a spell. Checking back in, my bones relax, thoughts settle, I'm comfortable, I'm home. People know us here, some are even exc...

T here is nothing quite like blasting Frank Sinatra "Come Fly With Me" on the radio as we speed along Historic Scenic Byway 12 in Southwest Utah, RV bouncing close behind.  Slender white birch trees stand sentinel alongside the route.  Coral rocks, jagged boulders and snow capped mountains dominate the landscape. The beauty all around has a nasty flip side.  The route itself is a wicked, snaky highway with slick icy patches hidden here and there, hairpin turns tightly squeeze the road ahead.  Inclines appear like ski slopes on the pavement, running 65 you can only see the sky ahead and hope the road continues on the other side.  My gut tells me I'm on a roller coaster. I hear the distinctive rumble of the double yellow warning as we cross the center line on a sharp curve. This is the Wild West and I've got white line fever from the passenger side.  We wind through canyons, old west towns, abandoned rail stations and worn out main streets.  An occasiona...

I mentioned a while back we ran into old/new friends Judy and Jeff while trekking an Arizona mountainside. We arranged to meet for a hike at the Lost Dog Trail to Ringtail Loop in the Sonoran desert near Scottsdale. We didn't know anything about the trail but who can resist a walk in a circle in search of a lost pet in the desert? The guys were blazing the trail ahead, while keeping a safe distance behind Judy and I were discussing the latest kitchen design trends and appetizer recipes.  We were just a few steps back when we heard screaming, shuffling and a distinct rattling sound.  Yep, it was a rattlesnake for sure, extremely real and oh so close.  There was anxious tension as the snake separated Judy and I from the guys.  As we all stared at the snake and each other I could sense there were serious thoughts of who could run the fastest.  A hiker behind us said  "Oh he won't hurt you just go ahead."   There are so many times in my life when I wou...

Back home now, we're settling but my mind continues to wander, Utah, can't get it out of my head. It's one of the most gorgeous stretches of land I have ever seen.  Utah is a mysterious contradiction.  The basins offer quiet respite for the perfect walk in amazing canyons, or a boots up happy hour at a local rusty dive bar.  If you've got the time I've a few more Wild West Utah tales to share. I imagine Bryce Canyon National Park sometimes feels like the forgotten little sister.  Zion is gorgeous, popular, it's the place to be.  Huge crowds tell the tale.  But Bryce is not a spoiled sibling, she's a shining star, maybe a little more tarnished than big Sis, colder, rugged and weirdly cool with a HooDoo vibe.  There is even a Queen Victoria HooDoo and her HooDoo garden, sounds pretty strange but it's surprisingly incredible.   Something about the isolation and of course, those mysterious stones that make Bryce perfectly quirky....

W e met some helpful new friends along our RV journey from Iowa to the western US this year;  Richard's Mobile RV Service in Las Cruces, Goldie's Diesel Repair in Tucson, Boulder City Firestone Tire and O'Reilly Auto Parts in Moab.   To be honest it wouldn't break my heart if we never set eyes on them again. However we did find our new BFF Total Wine & More at critical stops along the way and now it's on speed dial. RV life isn't for the faint of heart Jeff Y.

We've adopted Willie Nelson's familiar melody "On The Road Again" as our traveling song.  It captures our hankering to hit the road when temps dip, the sun disappears and snow starts to fly in Iowa. The holidays wind down and there's nothing but blizzards and subzero months ahead, we are drawn to clear blue Southwestern skies or the warm, welcoming waters of Florida's Emerald coast.  Time to hit the road for snowbird paradise. We recalled chatting with friendly folks at a local beverage stop during one of our journeys.  They asked about our travels and we talked a while about being on the road, told a few tales and some true ones too.   They must have been impressed by our stories because they said we were nothing but a couple of traveling Gypsies.  Maybe we do have some Gypsy blood running through these tired old veins.  Heck, Paul even stockpiles the magic Gypsy elixir, Busch Light. We weren't looking for a theme song, but sometimes things just happen an...

Hiking Superstition Mountains in Arizona one morning a few weeks ago when just over the ridge we saw the familiar Iowa Hawkeye black and gold from back home. Paul started whistling the Iowa fight song, honestly he did, when we realized we knew these people, Judy and Jeff from our hometown in Iowa.  Running into old friends far from our Iowa roots on an Arizona mountain range seemed pretty bizarre at the time, but realized we were in the land of alien sightings, genuine cowboys and Carnitas De Pork Belly (yep that's real because Paul ate it) so guess it wasn't all that strange. We were able to carve out a few hours from our hectic retiree schedule to spend some time with them and picked up where we left off about 25 or so years ago.  Fun times.  We didn't find any gold in those Superstitions that day, but we found real treasure in our old friends. I'll tell you about an unforgettable hike we took together another time.  It's a mostly true tale of a scream, terrible ...

We set out from Zion under an overcast sky with heavy snow falling in huge wet flakes.  Snow is not good for RVers, it takes a few years off their lives and adds more grey hairs. Paul's old Dodge Ram climbed the damp, snaky hillside pulling our rig precariously up the steep incline. The road was shrouded in heavy clouds leading to a mile long mountain tunnel so narrow we were told we needed an escort due to the size of our caravan. The ranger up top checked us out,  stopped traffic, moved the cone and we were on our own.  No escort, just strict instructions; lights on, straight down the middle, no stopping, get moving.  I knew right then we were goners.  Our RV is 12' 5" or so, plenty of room to pass under the 13'1" entrance.  No problem, right? E yes tight shut, mine not Paul's, no bumps, no scrapes, only silence, Thank The Lord. As we passed through the darkness we saw occasional peep holes carved out of the tunnel walls shedding glimpses of l...

The Watchman Monolith towers ominous at the entrance of Zion National Park, urging visitors to step back in time, slow the pace, the canyon beckons.   It stuns, then engulfs you.  Shadows fall on the sheer rock faces, creating a surreal presence.   You experience  the almighty power of nature carving out this magnificent wonder of the world and your mind is overwhelmed with the spectacle. We hiked up the path to the infamous Narrows in the Canyon, the most popular and respected trail in the park.  Adventurers brave the frigid river, scramble through slot canyons and over boulders, experiencing the true wonder of Zion.  We  met canyoneers at the headwaters exiting The Narrows.  They were very young and extremely exhausted.  Chest waders and waterproof boots were an absolute must as the air temperature that day was 40 degrees and the water temp?  Can't imagine.   I asked the young explorers if they were cold and one replied ...

Paul and I landed in Lake Mead, Nevada last week, one of the largest man made lakes in the world.  It seemed a suitable place to pull up the RV and park our humble folding ensemble. We like kicking around town a bit to check out the landscape, the neighborhood vibe and sometimes take in some local history.  We hiked the Historic Railway Trail near the Lake which was originally built to haul supplies from Boulder City, Nevada to the Hoover Dam construction site.  Now you may think that is pretty boring stuff but here's an interesting spin.  Back in 1931 Boulder City Manager Sims Ely was a crochety old geezer who led the town with an iron fist.  Consequently he didn't allow any alcohol or shenanigans in his sleepy town. Thousands of men flocked to Boulder City to join the crews blasting through Black Mountain to complete the railroad to the Dam site.  Now the men were getting mighty thirsty and were fed up with old Ely's rules so they blasted 5 hu...