P+M Hit The Road

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...

A two day mission to rediscover, to share a few of My Favorite Things with a few of My Favorite People, my absolute oldest friends on the planet, since the single digits of my youth, my brain and reputation not yet tarnished by years of unintended abuse. Reunions sparse during the frenzy of raising kids, growing families, etching the circle of life within our separate universes. Months, even years pass but gaps easily forgotten in the familiar comfort of old friends. The advantage of history coupled with the luxury of time, worn and arthritic, seasoned with bouts of wisdom, patience and a humble appreciation for a lifetime of true, simple blessings. A two day mission then, challenge accepted, the tale unravels. One of our entourage has confused the plan at the outset, inadvertently heading to a rural campground while the rest of us await her arrival at my place. We begin then precisely where we left off in our elementary school days, lost and in a daze, mayhem day one. She has onl...

Late to the camping party since returning from out West, we've got some catching up to do. First camping trip of the season with our peeps, hanging out at the campfire talking about nothing. It's a Seinfeld episode, hours long discussions about nothing, doing nothing, solving nothing. Endless sagas of graphic bodily ailments, RV repairs, drink concoctions, the Cubs and hitches…carrier, bumper, triple ball, adjustable aluminum, ultra tow, no-sway, haul master, gooseneck, are your eyes glazing over yet?  Merely scratching the surface of this madness, it is the topic of conversation that never dies. Weeks, even months may pass but sitting around that campfire triggers a switch, the guys somehow cannot absorb enough information about hitches, there is absolutely nothing hitch-related they don't already know. They are becoming their fathers…and the local hitch salesman. The ladies crack open a bottle of whiskey.   Steamy Sunday on the bike, heat radiating from the black...

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...