Branson - Hot Springs - Euless

We awoke on Sunday and figured out there was no compelling reason to stay over any longer in Branson, as few performers put on shows on Sundays. Besides, it would be nice to have a couple of days at home to regroup before heading back to the salt mines on the 15th. So, with this in mind, we hooked up after breakfast and pointed the Hornet southward. This time, we purposely avoided route 7, favoring instead highway 65 and Arkansas 9 to Hot Springs. Highway 65 is a pretty good road and not nearly as mountainous as the scenic route 7 we traveled inbound to Branson. Arkansas 9 was much more rural and took us through a lot of pretty farmland.

We arrived in Hot Springs, again at the Lake Hamilton RV Park, and decided we would have one last meal at Fisherman's Wharf. It was just as good as a few days ago, and we had a good table where we could watch boaters docking at the restaurant's pier to have dinner.

We had also decided to return to Garvan Woodland Gardens to take some photos. (The weather had been too cloudy and rainy for photos during last week's visit.) So, we got up early and trekked out there before the temperature got too hot. The place is really very beautiful and is remarkable in that none of the rock formations, ponds or waterfalls is natural. The massive rocks were placed into position under the watchful eyes of students from the University of Arkansas, studying landscape architecture. Massive pumps were installed to provide the water for the little streams and waterfalls seen everywhere. It was amazing how natural the whole thing appeared. I hope you enjoyed the sample pics I included.

Idyllic Pond at Garvan Gardens

Beautiful Grounds at Garvan Gardens

Full Moon Bridge at Garvan Gardens

Hydrangeas

This 210-acre site was deeded to the State of Arkansas by Mrs. Garvan, on the condition that it be maintained as a garden in perpetuity. Mrs. Garvan had inherited the land from her father, who ran a lumber mill and brickyard on the property in the early 1920s. When the Lake Hamilton Dam was built, the reservoir inundated 240 acres of the original 450-acre site. The 210 acres of prime lakefront property is valued now at around 50 million dollars.

After taking pics, we loaded up and came on home, turning Homer over to United RV in Forth Worth to take care of some squawks that had developed during the trip. We were sorry the vacation was over, as we had a really great time. Can't wait until fall now, so we can get outta Dodge again!

In Branson

During these two days, we just zoned out, sleeping late, seeing shows, going for walks, watching TV, etc. We didn't even encounter anyone weird enough to write about during this time. It was very relaxing. Here are my reviews of the shows we attended:

50s at the Hop - A cute show with talented performers that is always successful in administering our nostalgia fix.
Fifties at the Hop Show

Andy Williams and Glen Campbell - These two stars were appearing together in Andy Williams' theater and, as expected, the show was top notch. Williams obviously spares no expense in surrounding himself with the very best musicians, so his orchestra and backup singers were nothing short of spectacular. This was the most expensive show in Branson at $42.00, but well worth it. Andy, who is in his mid-seventies, still has a strong voice and is able to hit the high notes, but his age has brought about a bit of wobbliness in the higher range that we didn't notice several years ago when we saw his show. I hope he has the good sense to retire before he gets to a point of embarrassment, as Perry Como did in his unfortunate performances near the end.

Frederick Antonio, Piano Virtuoso - This was a dinner show, starring an old guy with an ill-defined European accent who played a variety of piano tunes to a background track. He was just awful. He obviously had little formal training, but had learned a few keyboard licks that, to the indiscriminating ear, might sound impressive, because he hit a lot of keys. Unfortunately, they weren't the right ones. It was painful, painful to hear, and most others apparently thought so, too, as there were only seven people in the audience. This poor guy was a real bomb. Even I could have done better. The only saving grace was that we got our tickets for $11.50, which was half price, and that included a pretty good steak dinner. We slipped out after the meal, which was merciful to our ears and our digestion.

The Titanic Museum - Some entrepreneur has constructed a huge replica of the front third of the Titanic at the corner of highway 76 and Gretna Road! Inside this impressive structure is a museum containing more than 400 artifacts from the original ship. This was very well done, involving a 90-minute self-guided tour of all sorts of vignettes constructed to help visitors get a sense of what it was like on that fateful night in 1912. Of particular interest was the ship's grand staircase, which the builder of the museum had faithfully replicated in its actual size and splendor. This added a good deal of realism to the experience of imagining the opulence of this vessel and the compelling stories of its prominent passengers.
Titanic Museum in Branson

Titanic Grand Staircase

The Duttons - This show has been in Branson for eight years, but we didn't know anything about it and decided to drop in, especially since we were able to get half-price tickets to this show, too. The Duttons are a very talented family of nine who sing and play mostly bluegrass music in an engaging and energetic performance. Now, bluegrass is fine, and a lot of people enjoy it. However, it is one of our least favorite musical styles, and had we known this beforehand, we wouldn't have gone anywhere near the place. We left during the intermission.

We also made a first-time tour of the new Riverbend Center that his just opened in downtown Branson. This place is something else! It's an upscale mall, not enclosed like a conventional one, but constructed as shops on each side of a 1 ½ mile-long promenade along the riverbank. Above the shops are apartments and condos, and it looks for the world like a typical main street in mid-America. There is a large Bass Pro Shop and a Belk store as anchors, and two large hotels, one of them a Hilton, are being built nearby. The project is costing $420 million, and it will definitely put downtown Branson on the map!

One of the curious things about Branson is that we haven't found very many good places to eat, as we define them. There are many restaurants that serve fast food and all-you-can-eat buffets, but we have found the quality of the food to be well beneath our standards which, admittedly, are perhaps unnecessarily lofty. Oriental food is scarce and inferior; the mexican restaurants are a joke. And, since we avoid chain restaurants like the plague, we rarely eat out when we are in Branson. One of the nice things about Homer is that we can whip up a nice meal in the kitchen at a real cost savings. We don't fix anything elaborate, but it's always to our liking. For example, we made a killer chicken chili one night, and we keep on hand a supply of tuna and chicken salad, made just as we like them. We also get deli meats and cheeses and make gourmet sandwiches. We eat a good bit of fresh fruit, and we have a blender to make smoothies. With our nice flat panel TVs, satellite receiver and DVD player, we can have dinner and a movie right there in Homer or watch TV in the bedroom. This RV travel is pretty cushy.

Hot Springs to Branson

This morning, we tried some of the breakfast sausage we bought yesterday at the country butcher shop, and it tasted just as good as it looked. Foodies that we are, we have a lot of fun trying homemade goodies like this from the burgs through which we travel. It's almost always far better than the boring chain store offerings that I mostly detest.

We said goodbye to the Lake Hamilton RV Park and stopped in again at Cajun Boilers to have some more seafood for lunch. We were a little sorry that we couldn't eat six meals a day in Hot Springs. We saw a lot of interesting restaurants that we just didn't have enough time to try.

We pointed the Hornet northward on route 7 and quickly got into the rigors of mountain driving. I had forgotten how much of this highway is comprised of steep grades and switchbacks. The scenery is fabulous, but we could only average about 35 miles per hour for the mountainous leg to Branson, which was less than 200 miles away.

Warning to female readers: The following paragraph is for guys; you'll probably find it more boring that the rest of this pap.

While the Hornet's diesel engine has plenty of power to pull the 10,000-lb. Homer up the steep hills, I often prefer to shift the transmission manually in the mountains, because I have much better control over engine speed, EGT and turbo boost pressure. And a lower gear is essential to control the rig's speed on some of the steep descents, especially the long seven percent grade just south of Harrison. It would be nice to have a jake brake for the engine, but I have been advised by the experts that this doesn't work very well except on the 2006 Dodge diesels or later models. Seeing the value of the jake brake, Dodge designed the new transmissions to accommodate these starting this year. In addition to the extra gauges (EGT and Turbo boost pressure) I had installed on the Hornet, I also installed a transmission oil temperature gauge. On a couple of occasions today going up a long steep grade, I became a bit worried, as the transmission heated up to within ten degrees of the 220-degree maximum. I may need to check into getting an auxiliary transmission oil cooler for future mountain driving. I'm much more comfortable having a good set of engine gauges now, vice the idiot lights. Once a pilot, always a pilot, I guess.

We pulled into Oak Grove RV Park in Branson at about 7:00 p.m. I was exhausted from manhandling this rig through the mountains. This was the first time I really noticed the three thousand pound extra weight difference between Homer I and Homer II. I'm figuring this was about as much mountain driving as I would ever want to do in a day.

Vintage Trailer Outside Oak Grove RV Park

Sandy and I were famished at this point, so we walked to the Fuji Japanese Steak House just next door to the RV park. We were seated next to a charming couple from England, and we had a nice conversation with them while the chef did his obligatory tricks at the grill. The food was okay, but hardly up to the standard set by Kobe Steaks in Dallas for this type of venue. Perhaps for show, the British chap queried the waiter for an obscure brand of English beer which, of course, the restaurant didn't carry. When offered an American beer, he turned up his nose and waved the waiter off, obviously piqued at the idea of having to drink any vile American product. He then offered an unsolicited explanation that the town where he lived in England was home to the brewery having the oldest beer brand in the world, of which he was obviously enamored. He went on to reveal that the brewery had just been bought out by Coors, a sore point for him that he didn't attempt to conceal from us greedy Americans who stole his brewery. I started to point out that if it had not been for a few hundred thousand American beer drinkers in World War II, he might be ordering schnapps and speaking with a German accent. Seeing that I was contemplating such a smart aleck remark, Sandy pinched the tendon on the bottom of my right thigh where it connects onto my knee joint. Thus immobilized by pain, I could muster only a raspy groaning noise. And alas, my remark was lost to history (except as retold here, of course).

Sandy then helped me limp back to Homer, and we enjoyed the rest of the evening, situated as we were in a rather remote and quiet area of the park, nestled among tall shade trees.

In Hot Springs, Day Two

We decided to stay another day in Hot Springs, as we liked the new Lake Hamilton RV park, and the previous day's rain kept us from getting to all the things we wanted to do before we left town. After a morning walk around the RV park, we enjoyed a breakfast of fajita nachos—yes, you heard me right. (We are a little unconventional, foodwise, at times, as most of you know.) Then we lounged around for the rest of the morning, did some e-mailing, and I worked on this journal. We were ready to get out again around noon, so we drove down the street a mile or so to the Cajun Boilers restaurant, situated on a small bay of Lake Hamilton. We noticed this place was always packed when we drove by, and now we know why. The seafood is plentiful and divine. The large fried shrimp platter was fabulous, and there was plenty for Sandy and me to share. The crab claw appetizer was also wonderful. We'll probably be forced to go back to this place before we leave.

We drove up to the Mountain Tower overlooking Hot Springs. This is the highest observation point in the area, as it stands a few hundred feet on top of a mountain near downtown Hot Springs. The view from this was terrific, but Sandy rode up the elevator as a labor of love. She is very claustrophobic in elevators—especially those rising to high elevations and having a window to view outside. This elevator had both features, and Sandy had to sit down to recover from her anxiety attack when she reached the top. Neither she nor I realized how serious her reaction would be, and I'm sure we won't be doing this sort of thing again, now that we know how much difficulty she had this time. As Sandy rested, I moved around the circular observation room where, below the windows, was displayed a timeline-style narrative of Hot Springs history circling the entire outer perimeter of the room. I found this to be just what I needed—not too much, not too little, and with large enough print—to reacquaint me with an overview of the history of the area in the time available. Hot Springs has a rich and interesting history, and I enjoyed this a great deal. The only drawback was a TV screen in the room playing a continuous video loop describing Bill Clinton's early years as a resident of Hot Springs. This was very annoying, but I couldn't reach the TV controls and had to endure this blather for the entire time.

After driving down from the mountain, we parked downtown and toured the old Fordyce bath house, restored by the U. S. Dept. of Interior to its former 1925 glory.

Fordyce Bath House

Lobby of the Fordyce

Of particular interest in the Fordyce was the far greater opulence of the men's bathing area compared to the women's bathing room. The men's area was much larger, with long marble benches and an elegant stained glass skylight, underneath which was a statue of Hernando DeSoto. The women's area was small and almost utilitarian by comparison. Ah, those were the days, weren't they, guys?

Men's Bathing Room - Opulent, Naturally

Women's Bathing Room, Not So Opulent

We then walked behind the Fordyce to see one of the 47 hot springs that give the town its name.

One of the 47 Hot Springs

Natural Spring Fountain

The mineral-infused water has bubbled from this mountain at a steaming 134 degrees since before recorded time. Because bathing in the water was so popular in the late 1800s and early 1900s, the flow from the springs was insufficient at times to supply all the bath houses. Someone had the bright idea that they would dynamite the opening of one of the larger springs, in an effort to increase the flow. This didn't work, but this stunt, among other problems, like the building of too many unsafe ramshackle bath houses, became catalysts for the federal government to step in and regulate the springs, setting the area aside as the first national recreation area and the precursor of Hot Springs National Park. The water coming directly from the spring is quite fit for drinking (after cooling, of course), and a free container filling station is located just off Central Avenue at the southern end of Bath House Row. As we did last trip, we filled a 10-gallon container to use as our drinking water in Homer, as we think the water is very tasty and imagine that it might be of some health benefit due to the minerals contained therein.

By this time, Sandy seemed almost to have recovered from her elevator experience, but she thought that a little shopping spree might be just the ticket to erase any lasting trauma. Not wishing to impede the healing effects that such an adventure would bring, I smiled sweetly and drove to a newish shopping center not far away. At the conclusion of this little diversion, she did indeed seem like her old self again.

Sandy's little shopping trip had such a curative effect that she allowed how her appetite had also now returned. So, we stopped at Facci's, an Italian restaurant on Central Avenue in a junky old house that had been operated by, well, a Mr. Facci, since 1975. The food was rumored to be good, although the proprietor, whom we encountered almost immediately, was sloppily attired in a dirty apron and tennis shoes, wearing his gray unwashed hair in a very long pony tail. I really don't know why Sandy and I seem to run into so many characters like this. I guess everyone else does, too, but it just seems a lot wierder out there than it used to. One thing's for sure, though: This old hippie could cook. Our chicken piccata was very, very good, although there were a few too many capers. The bread and olive-oil based dipping sauce was so good, I almost gnawed into my fingers as I gobbled up the bread.

After dinner, we drove out to Lake Ouachita, another beautiful body of water just a short distance from Hot Springs. We toured a marina and a COE (U. S. Corps of Engineers) RV park that fronted right on the lake. Every available space was taken, but that is understandable, given the inexpensive site rental fees and the picturesque location. I suppose people who live in this area could be jaded by the natural beauty so abundant here, but it would be hard for me to get tired of the Ozarks, I think. On the way back, we stopped at a country butcher shop and bought some breakfast sausage that looked good. By then, darkness had fallen, and it was time to call it a day.

In Hot Springs

We awoke on top of the mountain to find it raining! It had been so dry in Dallas that we had sort of forgotten what rain was like! The temperature outside showed 65 degrees, so there was no need for air conditioning. We just turned on the exhaust fan (RV equivalent to an attic fan) and enjoyed the cool breeze coming in the windows. Thanks to our Wal-Mart excursion last night, we had bacon and eggs for breakfast, a big improvement from yesterday's Spam debacle. Even though we had satellite TV going, we still felt surprisingly disconnected from everything since we had no internet or e-mail access. Isn't that amazing? I'm embarrassed to admit that we have become such satellite/cell phone/internet/e-mail junkies that we can't go on vacation without all this silly technology. We are what we are, however; we just can't figure out how we got this way.

With the need to get back to civilization in mind, I was determined to pull out of Cloud Nine a day early and move to a park closer to town where we would have wi-fi and not feel like early frontier settlers waiting for an Indian attack. So, we scurried around to break camp, and when I went to the office to tell the little Nazi lady that we were leaving early, she informed me that I would not be getting a refund for the extra night. I told her that that decision would be costly for her, as I would be submitting an unflattering review of her park in RVparkreviews.com (the premier web source for unbiased info about RV parks). She shrugged her shoulders, and I left. But I successfully carried out my threat. (You can read my review at http://rvparkreviews.com.) I can guarantee that will cost her a lot more than the 27 bucks she chose not to refund. We chose Lake Hamilton RV park as our recovery location, and were glad we did. The staff was super friendly, and it was right on the lakefront, close to everything. Not only was it cheaper, but the wi-fi was excellent.

Lake Hamilton RV Park

After we got settled into the new digs, we decided to drive around the area and do some sightseeing. This was a good plan, as the clouds and rain showers gave every indication of being with us the entire day. This made for an absolutely delightful temperature that didn't exceed 72 degrees all day, and the showers were spotty enough that it wasn't a problem to get out of the Hornet now and then. We stopped for lunch at McClard's Barbecue, the Hot Springs legend that was closed the last time we came through here on a Monday. The place was mobbed, as usual, and the food was as good as ever.

McClard's BBQ

Our sightseeing then took us out to the Galvan Woodland Gardens, maintained by the University of Arkansas on a 210-acre tract on Lake Hamilton. This was well worth the six-dollar admission price, and the lushness of the place was made even more appealing in the cool dampness of the day. After our afternoon of motoring around the area, we went downtown to take in dinner at the Belle Arts restaurant. The food was Italian, and the setting was an elegant dining room with a soaring arched ceiling and a pianist playing easy listening tunes on the grand piano. Unfortunately, the meal was overpriced and disappointing. The shrimp scampi was prepared with a sauce that had tomato in it, which is just not done in reputable Italian restaurants. The garden salad had way too much balsamic vinegar in the dressing, and the cold shrimp and avocado salad was just that—shrimp and avocado—with a highly forgettable dipping sauce. Too bad—the place had a lot of potential, but should be avoided at all costs because of the unimaginative food and high prices.

After dinner, we went next door to a storefront building with a neon sign that advertised it as the Bath House Theater. We had seen a brochure for this attraction when we were at Galvan Gardens, and it billed itself as the "best live show in Arkansas." The offering, according to the brochure, was a family variety show with comedy acts and an orchestra playing popular music from the last eight decades. What's not to like about that? We paid the $13 admission and settled in for what we anticipated would be a Branson-like show. Uh, it wasn't. The orchestra members, who numbered 8 souls, did double duty as the cast players during the skits. The musicians tried valiantly, but there were just not enough of them (only one trumpet player, two trombonists, and no strings) to bring off the big-band numbers they were trying to play. The result was almost comical, in that there was a melody—thanks to the poor lone trumpeter—but two trombones couldn't possibly have added the orchestral depth required for the music that was attempted. The result was a very amateurish sound, no matter how much effort—which was considerable—they put into their performance. The owner of the theater, Tom Wilkins, was the "star" of the show, along with his wife, who was the lead female vocalist, and his daughter, who was also a singer as well as the pianist for the group. As a pianist, she was pretty good, but as a singer—oh my word! Wilkins, his wife and daughter should be banned from singing for life, with the threat of imprisonment if they ever attempt it again. Everything they did was an off-pitch, screeching mess that was just maddening to endure. The comedy skits were lame and poorly executed but, to my astonishment, some of the 50 or so patrons actually applauded what was going on. This led me to believe these poor souls might never have seen a good show before or that they were polite to a fault. Sandy and I sat there for an hour with our mouths open in utter disbelief that enough people had paid to see this artistic holocaust for it to stay in business for years. The only slightly amusing part of the show was Wilkins's portrayal of Elvis's inept imaginary brother, Buford who, according to the story line, was attempting to do a show mimicking the real Elvis. This had some real potential as a skit idea, but it was executed in a bush-league manner. It did, however, keep our interest sufficiently so as to deter us from slashing our wrists before we could escape from the theater during intermission, which we did. If this was, indeed, the "best live show in Arkansas," then I pity Arkansans. The only good thing about this experience is that it gave me fodder for this journal. It was truly more fun to write about than to watch. Hopefully, some reader will take heed and avoid wasting the price of admission to see this travesty. Other than that, I really don't have any strong feelings on the matter.

Texarkana to Hot Springs, AR

Today is notable for the occasion of Sandy's and my 30th wedding anniversary. We celebrated this milestone before we left on this trip—dinner with the Barkers and Hedlunds on Friday and dinner with Mindy on Saturday before we left town on Sunday. As anniversary gifts, I gave Sandy some jewelry (what else?) and she gave me the new recliner I mentioned earlier. I hope she's as pleased with her gift as I am with mine. We know we're getting older when people respond with, "Wow!" when we tell them how long we've been married. Or, perhaps it's an indication of the shorter duration of relationships these days. It wasn't very long ago that a couple would have to be married 50 years to get a "Wow!" In any case, we consider ourselves to be very fortunate to have found each other and to have been blessed with a great marriage. I believe God had His hand in bringing this about, as I believe He has someone in mind for each of us, if we will just be patient and sensitive to His leading. We know a lot of fine people, though, who have had a marriage breakup, so I'm thinking that even some of the spouses God favors are still humans and capable of being stupid and selfish. We just won't get everything 100 percent right this side of heaven, will we?

There are other common things about Sandy and me that aid in our compatibility. My parents, like Sandy's, grew up during the Depression and worked hard to overcome their humble agrarian beginnings. They were God-fearing, church-going, honest and humble people who cherished their families and taught their children the difference between right and wrong, spanking their behinds when they did the latter. They also modeled that essential element that seems to be missing from so many marriages today—selflessness. It seems fairly simple to me that if a spouse always conducts his or her activities according to what makes the other one happy, there won't be a lot of time left over to do things that are harmful to the relationship. In the case of the wife, she'll be so pleased and astonished that she'll let the husband get away with a lot of stuff he does that's not so selfless—and there's gonna be some of that because, well, boys will be boys. (Note to guys: As long as we're talking about this, just remember that the wife's good humor about our occasional self-indulgence is confined largely to such activities as the acquisition of guy toys or going golfing or fishing or things like that—and these in moderation. There's a good chance that if you have treated her right in your relationship, she herself will insist that you do these guy things, in which case you're home free! Please note that this does not include the acquisition of girlfriends. If this is your weakness, then all bets are off. My theory doesn't work for this; God takes a dim view of it, and I'll just pray for you.)

When we awoke at Shady Pines this morning, it became evident that I had had some serious lapses in my preparations for departure on this trip. Because Sandy does the lion's share of getting us ready for RV trips, it is usually my self-appointed task to load the food items aboard Homer before leaving. I had been determined to select a rather minimal amount from the supply in our house, because we have learned that this can get out of hand, as we mostly eat out when we travel. For us, it's better to buy a few food items at grocery stores as we go. This assumes, of course, that we do indeed supply the trailer with a few basics to get us going, especially refrigerated food that would go bad if left behind. It was here that I had a problem. For reasons that still aren't clear to me, I took cereal from the pantry, but no milk. I took lunchmeat, but no bread. I also failed to take any eggs, bacon or any other kind of breakfast-type food. The result was that our breakfast here in Texarkana consisted of Spam, cream cheese and grapefruit. How pathetic is that? Sandy was very sweet about it, I think because she felt sorry for me in my exasperated state. This was one of those terribly embarrassing moments when I realized that the old brain has lost a few million more cells and that I will soon be a drooling mess.

One of the hosts at Shady Pines was a delightful lady of about 65, who was a charming conversationalist with an inexhaustible supply of things to say. I had walked up to the office to get some ice and escaped 30 minutes later when she paused long enough during her monologue to take a breath. She felt compelled to give me a seemingly endless exposition about her trials and tribulations of getting the park's wireless internet system set up. The system did work well, but my eyes glazed over after about the first five minutes of the story. Fortunately for me, it is usually Sandy who gets drawn into this type of conversation, as she has an engaging personality that makes perfect strangers spontaneously begin talking to her. This happens all the time, and I suppose they see her as easy to talk to. She is, indeed, friendly, charming and animated around people, even those whom she doesn't know, and I guess their response should be expected. Sandy doesn't seem to mind, however, for she is seldom at a loss for words herself—a fact that she will readily admit. One of her favorite articles of clothing is a tee shirt she bought for herself on which is stenciled, "I'm talking and I can't shut up!" This is just part of the mystique of a woman, I guess. Thankfully, guys only have to be concerned with simpler things, like nuclear physics or interplanetary space travel.

Ah, I see I have digressed quite a bit. We reluctantly said goodbye to Shady Pines and went immediately to Bryce's Cafeteria, which was celebrating its 75th year of hardening customers' arteries. I have already written about Bryce's in last year's Branson excerpt from this rag, so there is no need to revisit it. It should be required, however, that all who travel I-30 should remove their hats and observe a moment of silence as they pass by the tall Bryce's sign. And yes, it was just as good as ever. The peach cobbler was such a work of art that I can only speak of it in hushed tones, not wishing to diminish the religious experience.

The relatively short pull to Hot Springs was uneventful, and we settled in at the Cloud Nine RV Park, where we had made a reservation. This place was way out in the country on top of a mountain, where there was plenty of quiet and solitude with nice views of the surrounding hills.

Cloud Nine RV Park

When we checked in, we were greeted by an older woman with a German accent who, when I asked her about it, informed me somewhat brusquely that the wi-fi was not working. About this time an older man who had preceded me in registering came back into the office and requested a pull-through space rather than the back-in parking spot that he had been assigned. The German woman immediately began to chide him for his poor driving skills, saying the assigned space was plenty wide, so what was his problem? I was dumbfounded by her demeanor, as was the old man, who was quite embarrassed. I began to look for a swastika somewhere on her clothing, but then I let it go and paid for two nights, thinking that my T-Mobile card, while slower than wi-fi, would do in a pinch for internet surfing and e-mail. But it was not to be; we were too far out in the country for T-Mobile's signal to reach. After setting up, we motored back into town and had dinner at the Fisherman's Wharf Restaurant on Lake Hamilton. We had cold boiled shrimp and herb-crusted tilapia, both of which were excellent, as was our window seat on the lake.
Fisherman's Wharf Restaurant on Lake Hamilton

Hot Springs from West Mountain

Then we drove up West Mountain, within the Hot Springs National Park, where we saw some great views of Hot Springs and the surrounding mountains. After motoring around a bit more, we decided to go to Wal-Mart and get some of the food essentials that I had overlooked on departure from home. I guess Sandy didn't want any more Spam for breakfast the next morning.

Euless to Texarkana

Frankly, we hadn't planned to do Branson again so soon after the last trip a year ago. I wanted to go out west, and Sandy wanted to go out east. We had even mentioned Maine in the last Branson travelogue. Well, experience has taught us that you don't take very long trips in an RV unless you have lots and lots of time. The reason is the roadweariness factor. RV travel is best when you drive a little and stay a lot. Ideally, you move from place to place, spending a couple of days or more in each stop to check out everything. I don't think very many people enjoy driving most of the day every day, setting up in the evening and breaking camp in the morning. Fairly short trips, like Branson, aren't so bad, because you can easily get there from the Dallas area with one overnight stop on the way.

So, having a bit of a time problem with my work schedule and the swirl of Mindy's high school graduation events, ten days is about all we could muster for our spring trip this year. If we were to go to the west or east coasts, it would take a minimum of three weeks and preferably a month. But then, we definitely prefer to dawdle along the way. Half the fun is stopping in some interesting little town and patronizing a mom-and-pop fruit stand or a farmer's market or festival, or checking out something unusual or historical. Although that's very enjoyable, it definitely slows one's progress, and that's why we will need more time. We have learned that the words, "RV travel" and "hurry" should not even be used in the same sentence.

Today brought a new and shameful low in our ability to cast off the lines and make a timely departure from home base. I had to go to the office for four hours this morning, just to get things in shape for me to leave. I am sometimes jealous of my employees who are not in management. You don't see them working on Sunday, by George, and most would tell you they wouldn't have my job under any circumstance. I often think they're a lot smarter than I am.

So, by the time I got home from work, ate lunch, and started the departure checklist, it was already 1:30 p.m.! Sandy was busy all morning, getting the laundry caught up and trying to police up after Mindy who, we are certain, will simply not be able to function in society because she is so disorganized. I think her going away to college will be a real eye-opener for her, as mom and dad won't be there to tend to all the little details that she forgets or ignores.

We brought Homer to the house yesterday, and I spent most of the afternoon inside, putting together a new Euro-style recliner Sandy gave me to replace a small and woefully inadequate upholstered chair that came with the trailer. I really like the new recliner, but it's so annoying to have to assemble everything nowadays. Sometimes I think that if the factories didn't spend so much time packing all the pieces just so, along with the multilingual assembly instructions, little labels on the parts and countless little baggies full of nuts and bolts, they would have time to go ahead and assemble the chair! The cotton-picking thing was in a million pieces! (Excuse me while I vent--this is really a pet peeve of mine.) I'm surprised the instructions didn't direct me to slaughter a cow and tan its hide to get the chair covered!

I hate to admit that it was almost 4:00 p.m. when we pulled away from the curb at the house in Euless! I can never rag on Bubba Barker again about timeliness. The trip through Dallas, which should have been a breeze on Sunday afternoon, was slowed to a crawl on I-30 just east of downtown, as workers had the freeway shut down to repair a bridge. This cost us another half hour! It was an uneventful pull for the rest of this leg, and I marveled at the fuel mileage showing on the Hornet's computer—15.2 mpg! That's really good for pulling a trailer and about twice the mileage most folks get in a motorhome. We stopped at Burton's Family Restaurant in Sulphur Springs for dinner, where we had some outstanding catfish, coleslaw, fries and pineapple-coconut pie. We were a bit apprehensive on our entry into the restaurant, as we were the only patrons, and the manager was mopping the rather dirty dining room floor. The staff was very friendly, though, and almost everything we had was scrumptious. Only the hushpuppies were disappointing. They served the little frozen pre-formed sticks that are ubiquitous these days. I thought of my recently departed mother's mastery of the hushpuppy and how she would have sneered at these tiny inedible cornmeal logs.

At Mount Pleasant, we abandoned I-30 and zigzagged over to U. S. 67 for the 65 remaining miles to Texarkana. It was a good choice, as our campground—Shady Pines—is on 67 just southwest of the city, and the drive was very nice through the few small towns along the way. The highway was well maintained, and there was very little traffic.

Shady Pines RV Park

We turned into the entrance of Shady Pines at 8:30 p.m. and nosed into a nice concrete pull-through pad near the back of the park. Shady Pines is a newish park and oh, so neat and clean. Wow! The place was manicured, with all the lanes and pads paved with concrete. I didn't see a single speck of litter anywhere. The price was also right at $22.50 with a Good Sam discount, and I was surprised how few campers were there. As I'm sitting here in Homer writing this at 7:20 on Monday morning, I notice another trailer moving slowly by, heading for the park exit. I am mystified as to how anyone can get up, have breakfast, break camp and be on the road so early. It's just not normal; there's something definitely wrong with those people!

Temple to Euless

After another fine night's sleep, I awoke early and went outside to watch the sunrise. As I rounded the corner of the trailer, I was confronted by a small herd of deer, quietly grazing on the tall grass, perhaps 25 yards away. They raised their heads and looked at me but, obviously comfortable with humans, they almost immediately went back to munching on their weedy breakfast. I was mesmerized by the deer in this utterly peaceful and bucolic setting, quietly ignoring me and the increasing cacophony of bird songs as the morning twilight gave way slowly to the rising sun. It was a magical setting, and I marveled at the magnificence of God's creation. For the first time in a long time, I felt completely relaxed.

Family of Deer Nearby


We decided to leave fairly early (for us), because I wanted to arrive at United RV in Fort Worth before they closed. I had a punch list of a few things we discovered during the maiden voyage that United would need to fix. For example, a small panel had been left loose in one of the kitchen cabinets, and one of the window shades was not working properly. I also decided to have United install an additional air conditioning unit in the bedroom. While the present 15,000 BTU unit would probably have been okay for normal people, I was a little disappointed in the volume of the airflow from the bedroom's overhead outlets. Due to our desire for Arctic-like surroundings, the extra unit should more than fill the bill. Fortunately, I had anticipated this and ordered Homer II factory-wired for the second unit. All United will have to do is to drop it into the bedroom skylight opening.

I decided to stay off the choked I-35 for as long as possible going home, so we headed from Belton up S.H. 317 toward Hillsboro. This is an inviting road, very scenic and rural, with little traffic. We stopped in Valley Mills for lunch, on the main drag at a tiny café, named Open Country Beef Restaurant, Meat Market and Catering Service. Now, if you've read much of this travelogue, you know that we're always on the prowl for little mom-and-pop eating joints that have the best of local cooking. There is always the possibility, however, that one of these places may look good on the outside but be a real stinker on the inside. This, unfortunately, was the case for Open Country.

We noticed that only one table was occupied in the very rustic restaurant, the décor of which consisted mainly of weathered barn wood and kitschy country stuff hanging on the walls. We saw no evidence, however, of a meat market. We sat down, and a woman in her fifties appeared at our table to take the drink order and hand us menus. True to its name, the Open Country menu was limited mainly to beef dishes. Sandy ordered a hamburger, and I opted for the lunch special of meatloaf and two side veggies.

As we waited for the food, I noticed three deer skulls, complete with antlers, hanging on the wall. That's right, deer skulls. I replayed the portion of my memory containing images of all the animal heads hanging on walls that I observed in my lifetime. At the completion of this review, I was unable to recall any other occasion when I had seen a deer's entire skull hung on a wall as a trophy. I had seen antlers and taxidermied bucks' heads before, but not anything like this. It was as though they tacked the poor creature's head to the wall after its demise and allowed nature to take its course. This was not terribly appetizing and proved to be an omen of things to come.

From where I was seated, I could see the rear of the restaurant, where a door was propped open, revealing a storage area and a door to the restroom. A playpen was also there, occupied by a baby with a pacifier in her mouth. About this time, Sandy and I heard a sound much like air escaping from a balloon. It only lasted a moment, but it was quite loud. Then it occurred again and again, in a steady rhythm. We strained to see the origin of the sound, to no avail. I decided to make a trip back to the bathroom to get a better vantage point. As I passed one of the booths about halfway across the restaurant, I saw a young woman, obviously the mother of the child in the playpen, snoring away with her very audible balloon noise. By "obviously the mother," I reached this conclusion based on her evident exhaustion and disheveled appearance. She probably needed the nap.

Our orders arrived fairly quickly, but the food was just awful. The vegetables were cooked to death and the meatloaf was an unrecognizable slab of what I hoped was beef. I ate only one bite of the vegetables, but I was able to dispense with the meat without too much trouble. Sandy's burger was so-so, and she wasn't impressed enough to eat it all.

About this time a fire truck rolled down the main drag outside with its siren blaring. The mother awoke from her nap and ran to the front of the restaurant to watch the spectacle, as did the waitress and the cook. This spawned a discussion among the three, not so much as to what may be on fire, but who the driver of the fire truck might be. I'm guessing he was known to them; perhaps he was even the baby's father—who knows?

We marveled at this little vignette, so representative of small-town Texas, where everything stops when a fire truck goes by. We wondered how we would adjust if we abandoned the frenetic pace of the big city and adopted such a laid-back lifestyle. There's a lot to envy here, but we can't help but think we would be bored pretty quickly.

The rest of the trip home was uneventful. We dropped Homer at United RV, eager for them to take care of the punch list, so we can hit the road again in June. In the meantime, we'll be shopping for a second TV for Homer's bedroom.

Georgetown to Temple

Today we made the long pull up to Belton—28 miles! This was easily the shortest distance we have traveled between overnight stops. Our goal was to get in some face time with family and friends whom we hadn't seen for a while, so I decided to camp at the Cedar Ridge Corps of Engineers park at Lake Belton. Like most COE parks, this one had water and electricity available, but no sewer, TV or phones. Before acquiring this new rig, we steered clear of any parks that didn't provide sewer hookups, because we had to dump so often. With Homer II, the 80-gallon waste tanks are more than adequate for going days between dumps. This opened a whole new world of RV parks, in a sense, because the COE parks are usually situated in very scenic locations, especially when adjoining lakes. We called ahead to make sure Cedar Ridge had a spot for one night, and they said there would be no problem. Upon our arrival, they gave us a map with all the open 50-amp spots marked. We were to come back to the guardhouse and check in after parking. We chose spot #2, a large open area with a separate parking space for the Hornet, along with a covered pavilion, charcoal grill and fire pit. We had a fine view of the lake, and we were enchanted by the peaceful beauty of the place! Leave it up to the government to create a place with what would be costly amenities elsewhere, all for $18 a night!
Cedar Ridge COE Park in Belton

View of Lake Belton from our Campsite

After getting settled in, we went into a frenzy of visitation, seeing Sandy's mom and her Aunt Nettie and Uncle Lloyd and their children. Then, even though our normal bedtime was approaching, we called up John and Linda Abbey, our good friends for 30 years, and they agreed to join us for a late dinner at Denny's in Temple. We had an excellent visit and felt almost like young folks again, staying up so late and all! One of John and Linda's attributes that we have always appreciated is their sense of adventure. They haven't lost any of that over the years, and they proved it by dropping everything to make the 50-mile round trip from Killeen to Temple to join us. They are very special to us, for sure.

In Round Rock

After a leisurely breakfast, we drove around the area a bit and did some shopping, then we drove out to the Jim Hogg COE Park at Lake Georgetown. We toured the camping area, where there were only a couple dozen RVs occupying spots with hookups. Most of these were near the lakefront, which was very nice, even though the water level of the lake seemed quite low. We had lunch at the Monument Café, a longtime institution in Georgetown. This was a curious place, as it looked for all the world like the typical family-run local eatery found in small towns, where everyone goes for a good home-cooked meal at a cheap price. They offered chalkboard specials, which were fairly priced at $6.99, but most of them had already been sold out by the time we arrived at about 1:30 p.m. The menu items appeared ridiculously overpriced. For example, a simple hamburger was $6.95, and my two small pork chops with vegetable sides was a whopping 13 bucks! They seemed to be justifying the high prices by offering sides that were a bit more sophisticated than you ordinarily found in these little eateries. My mashed potatoes were flavored with chicken broth and butter, turning me off a bit because I found them a bit too rich. Also offered was a spinach casserole with artichoke hearts, a dish of which they had also sold out. Sandy found her hamburger to be very ordinary—perhaps a two on a scale of five. Even though we were put off by our impression that the Monument was trying to be something it wasn't, the place was quite busy, even this long after lunchtime. I'm beginning to think these poor diners are desperate for something other than chain restaurants.

We did a little more sightseeing and shopping, then turned in early, again anticipating a good night's sleep on the new king size bed. We weren't disappointed. What a difference a little more room makes!

Euless to Round Rock

It's hard to believe four months have passed since our last RV trip. We weren't particularly motivated to travel during the colder months, but there was another big reason: We were trading RVs! Having made four significant trips in the original Homer, we had pretty well zeroed in on the things about our first RV that we wanted desperately to change. Being complete novices to RV travel when we bought that rig, we accepted certain known compromises in the Jayco and discovered others as we roamed from place to place. Clearly, Homer I's tiny bathroom was the greatest annoyance, followed closely by the separate sleeping arrangements. Sandy and I have never been able to sleep together in anything but a king size bed, and Homer I's bed was not even a full queen size. Our compromise was that I would sleep in the front bedroom and she would sleep on one of the bunk beds in the rear of the coach. Under normal circumstances, it would have been the other way around, but my 6'-2" frame didn't fit in the bunk bed. Besides, Sandy was never able to overcome the claustrophobic feeling of the lower bunk. The front bedroom was also an irritation, because the ceiling was very low, and not even 5'5" Sandy could stand upright in it. Because of this, making the bed became a chore to be dreaded. Although we tried to make the experience more accommodating by replacing the factory mattresses with comfortable custom made ones, the sleeping arrangements were definitely a pain.

Of almost equal annoyance was the tiny bathroom, which contained a small shower stall and a tiny toilet. The space was so cramped that it was necessary for me to have one foot in the shower stall while sitting on the "throne." The impossibly small sink was on the outside of the bathroom, and one couldn't help but splash water everywhere while washing up.

Another problem area was the lack of kitchen counter space. There was almost none! Meal preparation is very frustrating when you don't have a place to work. These were the sorts of little problem areas that we knew were there in Homer I, but we didn't realize that living with the compromises would become more untenable with each succeeding trip. If I had a piece of advice for other newbies, it would be to consider carefully that the passage of time doesn't necessarily make the heart grow fonder about living with these frustrations every day. In fact, the small living space seems to magnify them exponentially. If you're shopping for an RV, and you know that your prospective rig has a feature that you're not particularly happy about, you will probably grow to despise it once you own it and live in it!

This was the backdrop for our visit last February to the RV show held in the Tarrant County Convention Center in Fort Worth every winter. After roaming around the huge hall for about an hour, we happened upon a 2006 Sierra fifth wheel, model 295 RGD, made by Forest River. Its layout and features were such that none of our Homer I pet peeves were in evidence. It had a king size bed in a large front bedroom with freestanding full-size shower. The toilet was concealed in its own little room, and there was a full size lavatory. There was also a full wardrobe across the front of the bedroom, in which I could easily stand upright, and a dresser with lots of drawers. In the rear kitchen, there was plenty of counter space and enough room in the living area for two recliners, something that we had definitely missed in Homer I. It was a beautiful coach, and we were amazed how much difference a couple of feet in length and height made. Best of all, the price was right--only about eight thousand dollars more that we paid for Homer I.

We left the show dazzled by what we had seen and, after thinking about it overnight, we decided we wanted to trade up to this model. We went back to the show the next day, only to find that it had been sold! We asked one of the representatives of the dealer, United RV of Fort Worth, if he had any others, and he said no, that it was a popular model, and we would likely have to order one from the factory, as other dealers who had them in stock would be reluctant to give them up to another dealer. While I have learned to be skeptical about generalizations like this from salespeople, I let it pass. We went to United RV the next day and ordered a Sierra just as we wanted it. I have also learned the value of purchasing our RV from a local dealer. If you have problems with your unit—-and you will-—the dealer that sold it to you will always give you extra service, no matter how many assertions they make that their customer service is the same regardless of where you bought your rig. This was certainly true with Vogt RV, who sold us Homer I, and it has proved to be true with United RV, located just across the freeway from Vogt on state highway 121 in Fort Worth. So far, we can truthfully say that we've been treated well by both firms, and we would have no qualms about recommending them to others.
Homer II!

After a wait of about eight weeks, United RV called to say that our new Sierra had arrived and they were installing the new TrakVision satellite antenna that I had ordered. After having used the manual-point external dish for a couple of trips in Homer I, I declared that I would no longer be willing to go through the hassle of trying to find satellites by moving that stupid dish around outside in the weather. I wasn't very good at it, and we found that by the time we got everything set up, I was exhausted and frustrated, and had probably missed the TV show we wanted to see.

One more extra I added to the new rig was a top-of -the line porcelain toilet. The unit installed at the factory was made entirely of plastic and, because of its diminutive size, did not exactly accommodate the, ah, larger derriere.

You can tell from reading this that Sandy and I are not into "roughing it." While we like RV camping, we'd just as soon leave the "camping" part out of it. Our idea of camping is to have along with us all the same comforts and conveniences of home. This would brand us "sissified" by those folks who like outdoor camping and communing with nature's creatures, but we don't care. If we want to commune, we'll do it with drink in hand, sitting in our lounge chair under Homer's awning. Unless it gets too hot...or we see an insect or something.

An inspection of Homer II revealed that it was manufactured exactly has we had ordered, and we signed on the dotted line, leaving Homer I behind for someone else to enjoy all the extra features we had added—like the custom mattresses, the doubly large black tank and the tank flushing system. Oh well, it served its purpose, by allowing us to dip our toe into the water and see what we liked and didn't like about fifth wheels. Naturally, we took quite a hit in depreciation, but I thought, everything considered, it was money well spent.

Trading RVs is much like moving from your stick house to another one. Absolutely EVERYTHING must come out of the old trailer, and a new scheme must be thought out for placement of the stuff in the new rig. This is not easy, as the layout is much different, and one has to think carefully about where everything goes for maximum ease of access. This was made somewhat easier in the roomy Sierra, whose storage space, inside and outside, was substantially greater than the Jayco.

I hooked up the Hornet and took Homer II for a test drive. I was pleased that I couldn't tell much difference in the way it pulls compared to the Jayco, even though the new rig weighs 2200 pounds more, at 9900. Even after we get all our "stuff" loaded into the trailer, we'll still be well under the 13,000-pound towing limit for the Hornet. The new Sierra also has a much improved exterior look, thanks to the smooth fiberglass skin. Note to readers contemplating buying a trailer with aluminum exterior skin: Don't. It's much too easily dented, and you can't help but get dings all the time. This was another good lesson we learned from Homer I.

Although we have some longer trips planned this summer, I was eager to take Homer II out for a short shakedown cruise. I mentioned doing a long weekend trip down to Georgetown and Temple, where we could visit Sandy's mom and some good friends from our church when we lived in Temple years ago. Sandy was in agreement, so we brought Homer II to the house and loaded up, planning to leave on the morning of April 28. Unfortunately, a cold front was pushing its way through north Texas that morning, and the weather radar showed multiple squall lines that would be moving across I-35 during the day. I quickly decided that our departure could wait another day, so we continued with our preparations. Even though we had plenty of time to get ready for this short trip, we still forgot some things. One hindrance was that the lack of the checklist I had developed for departures in the first Homer. This checklist was a hybrid of the generic checklist contained in the Jayco owner's manual, upon which I appended extra items peculiar to us. When Homer I went away, so did the owner's manual and the checklist. It looks like we'll have to develop a new one. The older we get, the more we find it important to write notes to ourselves. The scary thing is that we sometimes forget where we put the notes. Getting old is just plain scary.

We made an uneventful trip to Georgetown, where we began to set up at the Berry Springs RV Park. This is a clean and quiet little park and fairly new, it appears. Even though it had just rained, the gravel roads and parking spots were in good shape, except for one easily avoidable mudhole at the far north end of the property. There was no cable TV, so we flipped on the TrakVision, and after a few little whirring noises, the antenna zeroed in on the correct Direct TV satellite, and the Fox News Channel popped up on the screen. What a cool gadget this antenna is! How could an RVer live without one?

After reading a few more instruction manuals on the new appliances and accessories in Homer and fiddling with everything to see how it all worked, we made our way out to Dwain and Bobbie Marshall's house, an absolutely beautiful sprawling Austin stone manse overlooking a creek at the edge of their huge back yard. Dwain and Bobbie were victims of a bus crash a few years ago wherein some great friends of ours lost their lives. Dwain lost an arm in the wreck, and his recovery was in doubt for a while. He appears now to be just as feisty as ever and is a walking testimony to God's answering prayers and the care of a loving mate. After a wonderful dinner and an evening of reminiscing, we headed back to Homer for our first night in the new sleeping digs. Our new custom king mattress was simply wonderful, and we slept like a log. It is amazing the difference a little extra room makes. So far, the new Homer seems perfect.
Bobbie and Dwain Marshall

Belton to Euless

After a nice visit in Temple with Sandy's mom, Gaylen, and Brenda, Sandy's sister and her two children, Aaron and Staci, we headed back to Dallas, but not without stopping in Waco at La Fiesta, one of our favorite Mexican restaurants, where we have been chowing down for more than 30 years. I used to think the place was busy, but on this Friday night, a security guard had to monitor the crowd that was spilling out the front door. It was just as good as always.

So, we bid farewell to 2005 and our first year as RVers. We feel a good bit more experienced now, and more mindful of what we would like to change about Homer. I wonder what 2006 will bring?

New Braunfels to Belton

We cooked a huge Mexican omelet for breakfast today. It was plenty for two, taking two spatulas to remove it from the skillet. We knew we didn't have a long pull this day, as we were only going up I-35 as far as Belton, where we would stay overnight and then visit with Sandy's mom, who is in an assisted living center in Temple. With this in mind, we lounged around Homer all morning, then went to a nearby Camping World to pick up a few things, then to Oma's House for lunch. This is a German restaurant at the intersection of I-35 and S. H. 46 in New Braunfels, and we recalled having had a positive dining experience there on a previous occasion. Sandy had a Reuben sandwich/potato soup combination, and I had a weiner schnitzel with sauerkraut. The schnitzel was huge and quite tasty, and Sandy enjoyed her selections, as well. We will definitely return to this place.

After lunch, we stopped at Evergreen RV Center to scope out a new Coachmen 277DS fifth wheel they happened to have in stock. This is a great coach, one that we would certainly have bought if we had known about it before buying the Jayco Jayflight. Although not much longer than the current Homer, it is much more spacious inside, due higher ceilings and a much more efficient interior layout. There is even room for a king size bed, a larger bathroom and shower, and two lounge chairs in the rear! I am lusting after this rig mightily, and it could easily become the new Homer in the near future.

We went back to Canyon Trail to hook up Homer and alas! Our first mishap occurred! When I backed the Hornet's hitch onto Homer's kingpin, the extension and retraction of the locking handle appeared normal as the pin slid into place. For some reason, however, I was distracted and failed to make a visual check that the hitch's locking jaws were engaged behind the kingpin. I also failed to secure the safety latch that keeps the locking handle from moving. After retracting Homer's front legs, I began to pull the rig forward slightly to free up the wheel chocks. As soon as the truck moved, Homer's kingpin slipped out of the hitch, and the trailer fell with a loud noise onto the side rails of the pickup. I stopped immediately and got out to survey the damage. There was a slight indentation in each rail of the pickup bed and a corresponding indentation in the front edge of Homer's aluminum skin where the trailer impacted the side rails. Other than that, there appeared to be no significant damage, except to my ego. I extended Homer's front legs and then hitched up again, this time performing my customary safety check. I'm pretty sure I'll never forget this again, and I'm glad the lesson wasn't a costlier one.

Our pull up to Belton KOA was uneventful, but we weren't impressed with this park, either. The sites were gravel, it was too close to noisy I-35, and the TV cable was so bad, we had to fire up the satellite. The staff was friendly enough, but that didn't overcome the negatives for us. We had dinner at Fiddler's Catfish and Bar-B-Que in Temple. What a lousy restaurant! Everything was served buffet style, and the catfish and sides were inedible. The catfish had a disgustingly fishy taste and slimy consistency, indicating that it was frozen, not fresh. The only things I found otherwise acceptable for ingestion were the seafood gumbo and the barbecued ribs, both of which were actually quite good. Of the things Sandy chose, only the salad was passable for her. I was mystified that the owners were able to cook a really good gumbo—which requires more than a little skill, I have found—and fail so miserably with simpler things. They did have good homemade dinner rolls and cinnamon rolls which, I presume, were the main attractions for the goodly number of other customers. Otherwise, I would guess they were escapees from an asylum for the criminally indiscriminate. It would take a team of Clydesdales to drag me back to this place.

Corpus Christi to New Braunfels

This is departure day to head back home. At the Colonia del Rey RV Park, where we were staying, a large tree towered over Homer and, during our stay, it had shed hundreds of large leaves on our rig. This wasn't a problem for Homer's roof, as the leaves would obviously blow away once we started moving. However, I knew that many leaves had fallen on the flat top of the slideout, and I also knew these had to be removed before retracting the slide for departure. Leaving the leaves there would cause them to be wadded up between the slide flange and the surrounding frame of the trailer. This would cause a displacement of the rubber seal around the opening, allowing water to leak in. Homer wasn't manufactured with a roof ladder, so I had to go to Lowe's and buy a folding ladder. This worked nicely after a nearby camper saw me struggling with it and came over to help me figure out how to unfold and extend it. I am still amazed and impressed at the friendliness of RVers; I really like that about the RV experience. I carry the ladder in the Hornet's bed now, secured by a metal cable lanyard and a lock.

We finally chugged away at noon, headed for an overnight stop near San Antonio. I decided to detour through Robstown again and give Joe Cotton's one more chance at my patronage. I phoned first this time, to ensure I would not be fooled again, and a friendly voice answered that they were, indeed, open for lunch. Cotton's is a large non-descript wooden building with a metal roof, surrounded by a spacious concrete parking lot—just right for parking our rig at the far west edge. Since the décor inside was very rustic, with exposed wood and checkered tablecloths, along with country music blaring, we were a bit startled to see all the waiters in livery—black pants and white shirts and ties with maroon cutoff jackets, as you would expect to see in the Mansion on Turtle Creek. This incongruity faded, however, when we were served ribs, brisket and sausage on butcher paper, along with beans, potato salad, pickles, tomatoes, jalapeno peppers and sliced white bread. The meat was very tasty, and we went away totally unhungry.

The trek back up I-37 toward San Antonio was uneventful and boring, as the coastal plains are not exactly picturesque. Sandy was able to sleep, mercifully, and I began to be aware of the large number of RVs that were headed in the opposite direction, toward Corpus Christi. I suppose I met more than a hundred during the trip, which took about three hours, with a stop or two. The snowbirds who remained up north through Christmas were obviously now in full migration.

We arrived at the Canyon Trail RV park north of New Braunfels just before dark. This is a relatively non-descript park with no shade, skimpy cable TV and too much noise from nearby I-35. It's okay for a transient park, but we probably won't stay here again. We had dinner in Homer—nachos and homemade guacamole. Yum!

In Corpus Christi

Today we decided to make a round robin from the southernmost part of North Padre Island, northward through Port Aransas and across the ferry to Aransas Pass. Since we seem always to leave the trailer late in the morning, we stopped at Snoopy's, which was nestled under the bridge leading from Corpus Christi over to Padre Island. This is a very popular restaurant with a large al fresco dining area overlooking the bay. We chose a table outside, as the weather was a perfect 78 degrees with a light breeze from the southeast. We ordered another fried seafood platter, and we were much more pleased with this one. The fish was battered and fried fish-and-chips style, which was okay, because it wasn't catfish, which I mentioned before, must be fried only in a cornmeal coating to avoid ridicule. I was unable to identify the fish used here, however. It tasted like cod, which would have been appropriate for fish and chips, but hardly indigenous to the Texas gulf coast. The rest of the platter consisted of shrimp, oysters and scallops that were breaded before frying, but the breading was sufficiently light to allow the freshness and tastiness of the seafood to be enjoyed. All in all, it was a very good meal, and we decided this was a place to which we would return.
Sandy at Snoopy's

Across the bridge, we turned south into the Padre Island National Wildlife Preserve. This involved a ten-mile trek down the island to a visitor center erected by the National Park Service.
Padre Island Nature Preserve

I guess we don't have much appreciation for the sand dunes and sawgrass, which comprised the totality of the topography that was visible during this drive. Surely wildlife out here would be in desperate need of preserving, lest they die of boredom. The visitor center was very nice and modern and looked out over the beach at the Gulf of Mexico. This is the same seashore that you see in Galveston—the water being sort of dishwater-looking and the beach sand a dirty tan color. We were underwhelmed, to say the least. The things that was most off-putting, however, were several information displays under plexiglass at the railing of the deck area overlooking the ocean. Each one of these mentioned not so much the importance of the area as a nature preserve but imparted to the reader a stern lecture about the evils mankind has done to the environment. They warned the visitors of possible tarballs on the beach that were still washing ashore from an oil spill from a drilling rig back in 1997, even going so far as to describe how to remove them from your skin (use baby oil, which I'm sure everyone carries to the beach). Another placard described, with an array of photographs, samples of the rubbish left behind by visitors and that which washes ashore from other continents and from the ships at sea. The narrative admonished visitors to "take away more trash than you bring." Yet another placard warned that the visitor center in which we were standing, and even Padre Island itself, may disappear one day due to the rise in the oceans' water level due to global warming. At this point, I had had enough. This place must have been built during the Clinton administration by a bunch of environmentalist wackos. We retreated quickly to the Hornet, fired up the diesel engine, whose computer I had reprogrammed to produce more power and better fuel economy by bypassing the factory's clean-emission settings imposed by the EPA. Leaving the parking lot with a nice puff of black diesel smoke seemed very satisfying.

After leaving this godforsaken place, we took highway 163 northbound to Port Aransas. This was a nice highway, but the scenery was much the same, except for an occasional house and storefront. Nearing Port Aransas, we saw an increasing number of RV parks and condominiums near the beach. The city itself was interesting. It has a very laid-back coastal feeling and reminded us of a nascent Key West. There were a lot of tourist shops and eat-a-bites, but we settled on a large restaurant named Virginia's On The Beach for an afternoon snack. This had been recommended to us by Kimberly and Tony, our next-door neighbors in Euless (Kimberly is a Corpus Christi native). We were seated on the open-air covered deck overlooking the yacht harbor. Again, the weather was perfect, and we enjoyed the beautiful scene as the sun slowly descended in the afternoon sky. We lingered over shrimp salad, pico de gallo and tortilla chips. The salad had a nice helping of boiled shrimp (which it should, for $13.95), but the advertised remoulade sauce in which it was tossed was desperately in need of more creole mustard. But then, I judge all remoulade sauces by that served at the legendary Johnny Cace's restaurant in Longview, Texas which, in my view, has the best remoulade anywhere. There were also too many black olives in the salad. The tortilla chips were a bit stale and the pico was only so-so. We shared a serving of much-hyped strawberry shortcake afterward and found it almost inedible. The server had touted the shortcake as being "homemade by the chef," but we would much rather have had the strawberries on top of a Twinkie, which would have been an improvement. The great view and Sandy's company, however, trumped the food misses by far and made for an enjoyable time.

Bidding farewell to Port Aransas, we took the short auto ferry across the ship channel to Aransas Pass. The trip took only about five minutes and there were no fewer than six ferry boats shuttling vehicles from one side to the other. On the Aransas Pass side, there was a very long line of traffic waiting to cross, and I expressed my puzzlement as to why building a bridge over such a short span of water wouldn't be a much more economical arrangement than operating all these ferry boats at no cost to the users. Since we had already visited Aransas Pass the day before, we pointed the Hornet back toward Corpus, some 18 miles away.

After descending the Corpus side of the tall bay bridge, we stopped downtown at the Science and History Museum, which was nearby the Lady Lex. This museum had some mildly interesting exhibits, the most memorable being displays of rocks and minerals that revealed the state stone of Texas (the petrified palm) and the state gem cut (the star topaz). Sandy and I marveled at this, as we had never heard of either of these.

State Gem of Texas

After looking around for a while, we heard the announcement of a tour of the Pinta and the Santa Maria. Not knowing what to expect, we joined the other tour participants, who numbered about six. One of these was a curly-haired Frenchman in his early twenties, accompanied by a female of approximately the same age. Both had an overabundance of hair, but the girl had the unfortunate genetic gift of a rather noticeably misshapen nose. Instead of having the normal indentation at the top of her nose where it connects to the brow, her nose sloped straight down to her nostrils. I couldn't help but think that it looked for the world like the hood ornament on a 1954 Pontiac--you know, the one that resembled an Indian chief cast in amber plastic? On the front of his t-shirt was written, in Spanish, "Sex Instructor-First Lesson Free." The tour guide, a middle-aged male who spoke a bit of French and Spanish, took great amusement in this and delighted in translating the phrase aloud for all to hear. As he finished, the Frenchman's female companion blurted out, giggling, "I am his best customer!" I marveled at this exchange, wondering what possibly could have compelled her to believe the rest of us needed to know any of this tawdry information.
Replica of the Santa Maria

The tour took us outside the museum into an open-air display built especially for the ships, which were constructed as seaworthy vessels back in 1983 to replicate, as closely as possible, the original ships sailed by Columbus. These two ships, along with another replica, the Nina, were actually sailed on an ocean voyage in 1990-91 to commemorate the 500-year anniversary of the discovery voyage in 1492. I was amazed by the handiwork of the construction; this obviously represented an enormous effort by the artisans who crafted these large vessels entirely of wood. Some interesting tidbits offered by the tour guide (who was still flustered and giddy over the t-shirt thing) revealed that the ship's crew slept on the main deck due to the omnipresence of rats in the hold. They also cooked their meals on the main deck, in a metal fireplace with a tray to hold the coals that would otherwise ignite the wooden deck. The ships were made of large wooden planks and, in an attempt to make them as leakproof as possible, tar was used to fill the cracks between the planks. Even so, it was impossible to keep water from leaking into the ship, eventually sinking it if not removed. So, each ship was fitted with a bilge pump made with an assembly of tubes and a leather holding pouch which had to be squeezed regularly by the crewmembers, causing the water to be suctioned out of the hold and overboard. At the beginning of the voyage, kegs of drinking water were taken aboard, but they soon became fouled with bacteria a few days into the voyage. Also taken aboard were kegs of wine, which were mixed with the water to kill the bacteria. This may explain Columbus's arrival in America when he thought he was somewhere else.
Silliness

Joe'Cotton's BBQ

The museum closed after our tour, and we decided to drive over to Robstown to eat at the famed Joe Cotton's barbecue, a restaurant that I had heard of for many years. We found Robstown to be a particularly non-descript place, located in the middle of the very flat coastal plain and surrounded by tilled farmland. Most of its residents appeared to be of a rather low economic status and the place just seemed sort of seedy and worn out. We finally found Joe Cotton's, only to discover that it was inexplicably closed for the evening. Even so, a steady stream of vehicles were driving into the parking lot, noting the darkened sign and building and driving away. This included me, of course, and I was immediately reminded of my similar misfortune last summer when I found McClard's barbecue closed in Hot Springs, a misfortune from which I still have not quite recovered. We decided to protest by eating Mexican food. I picked Taqueria Alto de Jalisco (which I roughly translated, "Tall Taco Joint of Jalisco") nearby, whose parking lot was crowded and contained a police car, always a good sign. Sandy and I split a Tacos al Pastor platter and a serving of crispy beef tacos, along with the requisite beans and rice and charro beans, as well. It came with pico de gallo and guacamole, and it was wonderful. We ate like pigs, forgetting for a while the inhospitable Joe Cotton's.

In Corpus Christi

This day, we were headed out to see the aircraft carrier Lexington, which had been decommissioned by the Navy in 1991 and donated to the City of Corpus Christi. We had a small snack instead of a full breakfast, anticipating that we would want to be hungry at lunch and dinnertime as we tried some of the restaurants that had been recommended to us or that I had found on the Internet. After enjoying a drive down Ocean Drive that fronts on Corpus Christi Bay, we took a photo of the original Whataburger restaurant near downtown. It was now a large, modern two-story restaurant, but we were told that the original burger joint was very modest by comparison.

The Original Whataburger

We stopped for lunch at Catfish Charlie's on McArdle Road and had a combination of fried shrimp and fried catfish filets. These were very fresh and tasty, but the coating on the fish and shrimp had too much flour and not enough cornmeal for our liking. However, they had, hands down, the best homemade tartar sauce we had ever eaten, and wonderful hot hushpuppies.

The Lady Lex

We arrived at the Lady Lex, as the carrier was known during WWII, along with the nickname Blue Ghost. (In keeping with the latter nickname, the ship is illuminated at night with ghostly blue lights, giving it an almost eerie countenance at its moorings in Corpus Christi Bay.) We boarded a tram to take us from the beach up the long concrete and steel ramp built to allow access by tourists. I was quickly struck by the enormity of the ship. It is as tall as a 19-story building and longer than three football fields. Entering into the hangar deck from the ramp, it was amazing how cavernous an area it was, obviously capable of housing a large number of WWII fighter aircraft. As guys must do, I had to go below and tour the engine room. I warned Sandy that there would be a number of staircases down to the bottom of the ship and just as many back up again, but she wasn't deterred. She has a difficult time with stairs since her ankle surgery last February, and I was apprehensive for what I figured lay ahead. My suspicions were verified as we eventually descended five staircases to reach the engine room. On the way, however, we saw a number of other interesting parts of the ship, including the galley, dental clinic, sick bay, post office, chapel and firefighting headquarters. The engine room contained two huge compound steam turbines driving two shafts from massive reduction gears that turned the propellers at a maximum of around 300 RPM. The steam was generated from a series of boilers that burned oil fed to them from tanks in the hold of the ship containing more than a million gallons of the stuff. The turbines also turned generators that delivered 440-volt electricity with enough power for 5,000 homes. It was quite incredible to take in the huge scale of the machinery and superstructure evident there in the bowels of the ship. I was most impressed by the technology available in the late 1930s to construct this leviathan of the seas. All this was pretty much lost on Sandy, who is certainly counted among those to whom things mechanical are not particularly friendly. What goes on under the hood of a car, for example, holds about as much interest for her as making lace doilies would hold for me.
Sandy Bringing up Steam

We made the long trek back up the stairs to the hangar deck, but not without what I know was a good deal of pain for Sandy, as her movements were halting and unsteady. I felt very sorry to have put her in this predicament, although she didn't utter a syllable of complaint. Once upstairs, I proposed that I would go to the upper decks by myself to see the captain's quarters while Sandy rested on a nearby bench. She protested a bit, but finally gave in. I told her I would take photos, and she seemed mollified by this.

Admirals's Conference Room

The captain's and admiral's quarters adjoined each other between the hangar deck and the flight deck. The captain's quarters included a combined stateroom and dining room and a separate bedroom and bath. He also had his own kitchen and a personal chef assigned to make his meals. The admiral's quarters joined this suite, and consisted of a conference room and separate bedroom and bath. The admiral's quarters were actually less impressive than the captain's, but I assume this was because the Lexington did not always serve as a flagship, and the admiral, when aboard, would have access to the captain's amenities anyway.
Captain's Stateroom

The air traffic and combat control centers, while technological marvels of their day, nevertheless seemed prehistoric in their reliance on the use of men with grease pencils, writing on glass panels to plot the movements of aircraft. This stood in contrast to modern ships, where computers control practically everything.

After this, we went to an IMAX movie, included in the price of admission to the ship and playing in a new theater constructed near the stern on the hangar deck (this gives you another idea of how large a place it is). The movie was about fighter pilots in a training exercise and was only mildly interesting.

Afterward, I wanted to go up and see the bridge, and this time Sandy insisted on going up as far as the flight deck, which required climbing another three flights of stairs. She would not be deterred, and up she went, although I knew she would later regret it. On the hangar deck were parked a number of decommissioned fighter aircraft, and we were surprised by the amount of open deck space still remaining empty. A carrier's flight deck appears very spacious except, I assume, when you're trying to land an aircraft on it.

Flight Deck on the Lady Lex

Bridge on the Lady Lex

The bridge was surprisingly small. There were four leather chairs, raised high off the floor for the senior officers, the captain always seated on the front left chair. No one else was allowed to sit in this chair, we were told, when the ship was in motion. Behind the bridge was the pilot house, where the helm was controlled by a wheel no bigger than that of a truck. Behind the pilot house was the captain's day room, which had a bunk and where the captain would ordinarily spend most of his time while at sea. Behind that was the chart room and navigator's station with tall angled tables where the maritime charts would be spread out to monitor the ship's progress. Again, this area seemed almost quaint, given that all of it would be obsolete nowadays when navigation is controlled by computers and satellites.

We then left the Lady Lex, greatly enjoying my time aboard this living piece of history and her important role in some of the most significant naval battles of WWII. She was damaged on two occasions during the war—once by a kamikaze attack and again by a torpedo to the stern. Twenty-seven sailors lost their lives in this attack, but the Lady Lex dealt crippling blows to the Japanese navy, from which Japan never recovered. I imagined what it must have been like aboard that mighty vessel when it was launching planes or under attack itself, and I swear I could almost hear, in a haunting muffled sense, little echoes of the cacophony that must have been deafening while those desperate struggles were taking place more than sixty years ago. My heart was full as I left, mindful of the history, the sacrifice and the pride that I felt during the experience.

We headed out S. H. 35 over the long bay bridge toward Aransas Pass and Rockport to check out these places we had often heard about but never visited. Aransas Pass was a bit of a yawner, but Rockport was a somewhat more picturesque burg with a significant amount of residential development along the coastline, especially in an area known as Fulton Beach. Both places are havens for fishermen and there were RV parks—many, many RV parks—all fairly crowded. The snowbirds were here in force, and it was no wonder. The weather here in late December was just perfect, each day in the 70s or low 80s, with plenty of sun to warm the bones. It's easy to see the appeal, especially for those folks who come down from the northern and eastern states, which are basically like deep freezers during the winter. Who wouldn't want to escape to a warm seashore area where the cost of living is still low?

By this time, we were getting hungry, so we stopped at the Big Fisherman restaurant near Aransas Pass. This place was recommended by Bubba Barker's mom and dad, Aljean and Barry, and Barry said not to miss the seafood gumbo. This was a huge place and very popular. We tried the gumbo, called "Texas Gumbo" on the menu. It was quite spicy, and just as good as its recommendation. However, we were unimpressed with the fried seafood platter and the peel-and-eat shrimp. The fried offerings had too much breading, and we consider catfish that is not dusted in cornmeal before frying to be an act for which the cook would need to pray for forgiveness. The shrimps were okay, but they would have been much better if cooked in a nice spicy boil of Cajun spices. Throngs of other patrons seemed to have no problem gobbling down their dinners, and we do acknowledge that we are incredibly hard to please.